We did not stop running until we reached the second-floor stairwell.
More accurately, Amelia did not stop running.
I spent the trip trapped inside her cupped hand and shaken around like an extremely fragile coin.
Under normal circumstances, I would have objected.
Under normal circumstances, there was not a giant unknown heartbeat beneath a university dormitory commanding hundreds of insects to bow.
I accepted transportation.
For now.
Amelia pushed through the stairwell door.
Checked the hallway.
Empty.
Then finally opened her hand.
I launched immediately.
Freedom.
I hovered in front of her face.
Long high buzz.
Idiot.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I saved your life.” I buzzed again.
“You were about to fly toward it.” I stopped.
That was technically possible.
Amelia folded her arms.
“Therefore, my decision was correct.” Annoyingly.
I landed on her shoulder.
She began walking toward Room 317.
Neither of us spoke.
Or buzzed.
The farther we got from the basement, the weaker the strange energy became.
By the third floor, I could barely feel it.
If I had not seen the corridor, the insects, and the green-white light myself, I might have blamed darkness and adrenaline.
Then the Codex appeared.
— Unknown high-value biological material no longer within effective detection range.
— Nope.
Entirely real.
I dismissed the interface.
Amelia unlocked the dorm.
Mayra nearly tackled us.
“What happened?” She had been waiting beside the door.
Laptop open.
Notebook ready.
A half-eaten granola bar sat forgotten on the desk.
Her eyes moved over Amelia.
Then me.
Then Amelia again.
“Why do you both look like that?” I was a mosquito.
My facial expression had not changed.
Amelia, however, looked unusually serious.
Mayra caught that instantly.
“What happened?” Amelia closed the door.
Locked it.
Then walked to the desk.
“Sit.” Mayra sat.
Immediately.
No joke.
No argument.
Impressive.
I landed beside the notebook.
Mayra picked up her pen.
“Okay.” Amelia began.
“The sub-basement is accessible.” Mayra nodded.
“We found the old corridor.” Another note.
“There are hundreds of insects below the building.” Her pen stopped.
“Hundreds?” “At minimum.” Mayra looked at me.
I buzzed once.
Yes.
She swallowed.
“Mutated?” “Some.” Amelia continued.
“Most showed minor or no visible mutation.” “Then why are they all down there?” Amelia looked at me.
I moved toward the notebook.
Spelled: D R A W N Mayra wrote.
“Something is attracting them.” Yes.
“Food?” Two buzzes.
No.
“Heat?” No.
“Energy.” One buzz.
Mayra exhaled.
“Of course.” She added: ENERGY SOURCE Then looked at Amelia.
“What kind?” “Unknown.” “Strong?” Amelia paused.
“Locally.” That answer worried Mayra.
Me too.
Amelia leaned over the desk.
“The source appears concentrated behind a sealed maintenance door.” “Appears?” “It opened.” Mayra’s pen stopped.
“By itself?” “Possibly.” That was not better.
Mayra slowly put the pen down.
“What was inside?” We looked at each other.
I spelled: L I G H T Then: S H A P E Mayra frowned.
“What shape?” I shrugged.
Dark.
Large enough to concern me.
Amelia supplied the important part.
“We heard a heartbeat.” Silence.
Mayra stared.
“Like…” She tapped her chest.
“An actual heartbeat?” I buzzed once.
Her face paled.
“How big?” Unknown.
She looked toward the floor.
As though she could somehow see through three levels of concrete.
“There’s something alive under us.” Amelia’s voice remained calm.
“Yes.” Mayra stood.
“Nope.” She began pacing.
“Nope, nope, nope.” Amelia watched.
Mayra pointed toward the floor.
“I have been sleeping above some underground bug heart.” “We do not know that it is an insect.” Mayra stopped.
“Why would you say that?” Amelia considered.
“Accuracy.” “Accuracy is terrible.” I agreed.
Mayra continued pacing.
“We call somebody.” Amelia’s expression changed.
“Who?” “Campus security.” “And tell them what?” Mayra opened her mouth.
Closed it.
“Facilities.” “Jose already believes there is a pest problem.” “Then pest control.” I used the danger signal.
Mayra looked at me.
“What?” I spelled: B A D Then: P E O P L E D O W N She understood.
Sending an ordinary pest-control worker toward that corridor could get someone hurt.
Maybe killed.
We had no idea.
Mayra rubbed her forehead.
“So we can’t tell anybody.” “We can,” Amelia said.
“But not without deciding what we are telling them.” That was different.
Mayra sat again.
“Jose?” Interesting.
Amelia did not reject it immediately.
Jose was observant.
Responsible.
Already knew the damage was abnormal.
But explaining supernatural mutation— No.
Too soon.
I moved toward the notebook.
Spelled: W A T C H Amelia read.
“Observe.” Yes.
Mayra frowned.
“You want to keep watching the giant underground heartbeat.” Yes.
“No.” I stared.
She pointed at me.
“I am not Amelia.
That glare doesn’t work.” I buzzed the idiot signal.
“Also doesn’t work.” It worked emotionally.
Amelia sat.
“Plenteaful is right.” Mayra looked betrayed.
“Why does everyone in this room want to die?” “We do not approach the source again.” Important.
“We monitor the organisms emerging from the building.” Better.
“Track changes in behavior.” Good.
“Collect samples when safe.” Excellent.
“And determine whether the anomaly is growing.” That mattered most.
Mayra slowly nodded.
“From up here.” “Yes.” “Without entering the murder basement.” “Yes.” Mayra pointed at both of us.
“Promise.” Amelia said: “I promise not to return without sufficient information and preparation.” Mayra stared.
“That is politician language.” Correct.
She looked at me.
I buzzed once.
Promise.
Mayra narrowed her eyes.
“You’re worse.” Probably.
— That evening, the three of us built an observation station.
It looked ridiculous and worked surprisingly well.
Mayra positioned an old phone near the window with motion recording enabled.
Another pointed toward the ceiling vent.
A cheap indoor thermometer went beside Amelia’s desk.
She ordered two small environmental sensors online.
Temperature.
Humidity.
Air quality.
“Why air quality?” Amelia asked.
“Because if mystery bug radiation starts poisoning us, I’d like a graph.” Reasonable.
Mayra also created a spreadsheet.
Of course.
Columns: TIME LOCATION SPECIES SIZE BEHAVIOR VISIBLE MUTATION Plenteaful / Codex Response She was extremely pleased with it.
I hated the column title.
She refused to change it.
Our first observation occurred forty minutes later.
A beetle crawled through the bathroom vent.
Normal size.
Black.
The Codex detected: — Minor spirit-energy exposure.
No high-value compatible traits.
— Mayra recorded everything.
The beetle wandered toward Amelia’s side.
Stopped.
Turned around.
Left.
Interesting.
“It came up,” Mayra said.
“But didn’t stay.” Amelia nodded.
“Whatever is below may be stronger than what it senses here.” That was important.
Previously, the mutated cockroach and spider had been attracted toward us.
Now the flow might be reversing.
I looked toward the floor.
What had changed?
Had the source awakened?
The heartbeat?
Maybe the energy down there was increasing.
I did not like that.
The next visitor was a silverfish.
Then two ordinary gnats.
Nothing meaningful.
At 1:14 AM— the vent rattled.
We all looked.
Something dropped through.
Small.
Winged.
A moth.
Not the large one from below.
This one had perhaps a five-centimeter wingspan.
Still larger than normal.
Its wings were gray-brown.
Mottled.
The patterns matched the wall behind it unusually well.
It landed.
Then became difficult to see.
Not invisible.
Camouflaged.
My attention sharpened.
The Codex scanned.
— Mutated moth detected.
Compatible adaptation signature present.
— My front legs rubbed together.
Mayra pointed.
“There he goes.” Amelia looked at me.
“No.” I hadn’t moved.
“I am beginning to hate that you can predict me.” “Become less predictable.” Rude.
I approached slowly.
Not hunting.
Observing.
The moth remained still.
Its wing coloration was remarkable.
At certain angles, tiny scales adjusted how light reflected from the surface.
Not active color changing.
But enhanced pattern disruption.
Interesting.
The Codex continued.
— Potential compatible trait detected: Light-Absorbing Scale Microstructure Direct sampling required for full analysis.
— There.
Stealth.
My desired build.
Small.
Fast.
Hard.
Quiet.
Dangerous.
This fit.
Perfectly.
I looked at Amelia.
She already knew.
“No fighting.” I pointed at the moth.
Not fight.
Sample.
She considered.
“Shed material first.” Good.
Moths lost scales easily.
No need to injure it.
Very good.
I flew near the wall.
The moth reacted.
Not aggressively.
Its wings flickered.
It moved several inches away.
A few microscopic scales remained where it had been.
Excellent.
I landed.
The residue looked like dust.
Codex.
— Mutated lepidopteran scale residue detected.
Sample quantity marginal.
Partial trait analysis possible.
— I touched the residue with my feeding apparatus.
Barely any organic material.
Enough?
The system processed.
— Trait candidate identified: LIGHT-ABSORBING CHITIN I Codex translation from donor scale microstructure Potential effects: – Reduces surface reflectivity – Improves visual blending in low-light environments – Minor reduction in detection by motion-dependent predators when stationary Compatibility: High Integration cost: 10 Evolution Energy — I stared.
Yes.
Definitely.
That was exactly my direction.
No random adaptation.
No wasted biology.
Stealth.
I checked energy.
— Current Evolution Energy: 0.36 — Of course.
Always broke when the good upgrades appeared.
Mayra read my taps.
“Ten?” Yes.
“And you have…” I indicated less than one.
She looked sympathetic.
“Poor.” I used the idiot buzz.
Amelia ignored both of us.
“Can the sample remain viable?” Codex?
— Current residue insufficient for later full integration.
Additional biological material required before trait template can be finalized.
— I needed more.
No problem.
The moth was still in the room.
Alive.
Uninjured.
This could be easy.
I approached.
Slowly.
It moved again.
More scales shed.
Good.
I repeated.
Not touching.
Just encouraging movement.
The moth fluttered toward the curtain.
Left more residue.
Codex collected information.
— Trait-template completion: 46% — Again.
The moth moved.
— 61% — This was absurdly efficient.
Amelia watched.
“You’re harvesting shed scales.” Yes.
No combat.
No killing.
She seemed pleased.
Mayra whispered: “He’s farming it.” Long high buzz.
Idiot.
The moth landed near the ceiling.
I followed.
It moved.
More scales.
— 79% — Again.
Then the moth stopped cooperating.
It turned.
Faced me.
Its wings spread.
I stopped.
Maybe annoyed.
Fair.
I backed off.
Amelia nodded.
“Enough.” Template incomplete.
But no need to push.
The moth flew toward the open vent.
Gone.
Fine.
More would come.
We now knew the adaptation existed.
Worth waiting.
Mayra recorded: MOTH — CAMOUFLAGE Then drew a tiny ninja mask beside my name.
I objected.
She ignored me.
— That should have been the end of the night.
At 2:03 AM, the environmental thermometer changed.
One degree warmer.
Not dramatic.
Then two.
Amelia stopped reading.
Mayra checked the heating vent.
“Did the building system turn on?” No.
The airflow remained unchanged.
The warmth seemed to come— from below.
I felt it too.
The Codex reacted.
— Ambient spiritual-energy concentration rising.
— All humor vanished.
Amelia stood.
“How much?” I indicated small.
But definite.
Mayra refreshed the spreadsheet.
“Temperature is climbing.” 0.4 degrees.
0.6.
0.8.
Over ten minutes.
Not normal.
Then— every insect in the room moved.
At once.
The moth wasn’t here anymore.
But a small fly on the window rose.
A silverfish near the bathroom emerged.
Two gnats lifted from the curtain.
All turned toward the floor.
I watched.
Amelia watched.
Mayra whispered: “Oh, that’s creepy.” Yes.
Then the insects moved toward the ventilation openings.
Not entering our room.
Leaving.
Going down.
Returning to the source.
Something had called them.
The Codex displayed: — Environmental biological behavior shift detected.
— The Codex had a gift for understatement.
The temperature peaked.
Then stopped.
For thirty seconds, complete stillness.
Then— from somewhere far below— I felt it.
Not heard.
Felt.
Through the walls.
A pulse.
THUMP.
Mayra froze.
“You felt that?” Amelia’s expression hardened.
Yes.
Another.
THUMP.
The water in Mayra’s glass rippled.
Tiny.
But visible.
I flew off the desk.
The entire building vibrated faintly.
Not enough for humans outside this room to notice.
Maybe.
The third heartbeat came stronger.
THUMP.
The Codex flashed red.
— Unknown biological source activity increasing.
— Then— silence.
Temperature slowly decreased.
The insects were gone.
Mayra stared at her glass.
Amelia looked toward the floor.
I hovered between them.
Nobody spoke for almost a minute.
Finally, Mayra whispered: “Still think observation is enough?” Good question.
Amelia’s jaw tightened.
“No.” That answer surprised me.
She walked toward the desk.
Opened our notebook.
Turned to a blank page.
Then wrote one word: HELP Mayra stared.
“From who?” Amelia did not answer immediately.
I understood why.
The supernatural world existed.
She knew that.
Spirit beasts.
Cultivators.
Ancient bloodlines.
If Amelia reincarnated here— others might exist too.
Organizations.
People monitoring this kind of thing.
But contacting them would expose her.
And possibly me.
That was dangerous.
Amelia tapped her pen.
“We first determine whether modern authorities already track anomalous energy.” Mayra frowned.
“Google?” I almost laughed.
Amelia looked at her.
“What?” “You want to know if the government has a secret monster department.” “When you phrase it like that—” “It’s what you mean.” Yes.
Absolutely.
Mayra opened her laptop.
“I’ve got this.” That statement rarely comforted me.
She began searching.
Unexplained animal incidents.
Campus closures.
Federal environmental response teams.
Strange biological outbreaks.
Westbridge.
Hawthorne.
The surrounding city.
Most results were nonsense: conspiracy forums, cryptid videos, and people mistaking raccoons for demons.
Then Mayra stopped.
“Wait.” An article.
Six months old.
A local warehouse had been closed after an “unidentified chemical exposure” caused abnormal insect activity.
Federal response.
Agency not named.
Another article.
Dead wildlife found near a storm drain.
Officials cited contamination.
Another.
A park closed overnight after reports of “aggressive animal behavior.” All within forty miles.
Amelia read.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Pattern.” Yes.
Not proof, but a pattern.
Mayra searched deeper.
Most official details were vague.
Too vague.
Then one archived news photo showed several people in dark jackets behind police tape.
One jacket carried a small white insignia.
Letters.
Hard to read.
Mayra zoomed.
A.R.B.
She frowned.
“ARB?” I moved closer.
Amelia became very still.
“Search it.” Mayra did.
Nothing obvious.
Agricultural Resource Board.
Accounting Review Bureau.
Association of Regional Builders.
No supernatural agency publicly existed.
Of course.
Mayra searched the image.
The same insignia appeared in two other unexplained incidents.
Different towns.
Different circumstances.
Same dark jackets.
Amelia whispered: “Someone is watching.” Exactly.
Mayra looked uneasy.
“So we call them?” Not yet.
We knew nothing.
Friendly?
Hostile?
Would they help?
Would they capture Amelia?
Dissect me?
My body tightened.
Amelia looked at me.
She understood.
“We do not contact anyone until we know what ARB is.” Good.
Mayra stared at the photo.
“Then how do we find out?” Silence.
I looked toward the window.
Then the hallway.
Then back.
People left traces.
Vehicles.
Badges.
Incidents.
Jose might know something.
Campus security might have records.
Maybe the ARB had already been here.
Maybe they knew Westbridge was changing.
We just needed the right clue.
I landed beside the photo.
Letters: A.R.B.
A larger and far less comfortable world had just appeared beyond Room 317.
For weeks, my universe had been a dormitory.
Amelia.
Mayra.
Predators.
Evolution.
Now— someone else knew monsters existed.
And if they knew— eventually, they might notice us.
I looked at my reflection in Mayra’s laptop screen.
Tiny.
Dark.
Six legs.
One nearly completed regenerated leg.
Four biological adaptations.
Still easy to crush.
Still nowhere near ready for whatever existed beyond campus.
Amelia shut the laptop.
“Tomorrow, we investigate ARB.” Mayra groaned.
“Can we have one normal day?” I used two buzzes.
No.
Amelia almost smiled.
Below us, somewhere deep beneath the building— THUMP.
One final heartbeat rolled through the walls.
Mayra closed her eyes.
“Of course.”