I spent the next day hiding.
This was tactical.
There is an important difference between cowardice and intelligently refusing to approach a sleeping woman whose unconscious hand movement generates weather.
I chose a narrow space behind the desk lamp.
Dark, warm, difficult to reach.
Excellent mosquito real estate.
My body slowly recovered from the impact.
The pain faded.
Both wings worked.
All six legs remained attached.
Success.
The Codex provided no miraculous healing, no free starting gift, and no apology for placing me beside an absurd blood source.
Only a status page.
— Name: Plenteaful Species: Mosquito Evolutionary Stage: Ordinary Mosquito Evolution Energy: 0 Condition: Mild structural bruising — I hated that “structural bruising” accurately described my entire body.
The woman—whose name I did not yet know—left early.
She moved with the same quiet precision she had shown while waking: dark hair tied back, gray sweater, black jeans, no unnecessary motion.
Before leaving, she paused at the window and studied the curtain.
I pressed deeper into shadow.
Her gaze lingered.
Then she left, and the lock clicked behind her.
Freedom.
I immediately searched for food.
Sugar water would have been ideal.
Flowers would have been acceptable.
Instead, I found sticky residue beneath an abandoned drink cup in the trash.
Former human dignity objected.
Mosquito biology overruled.
I fed.
— Evolution Energy gained: +0.01 — One hundredth.
At this rate, dragonhood would arrive shortly after the heat death of the universe.
Still, the food helped.
My legs steadied, and the bruised ache around my thorax eased.
I explored.
At mosquito scale, ordinary human objects became architecture.
A pencil was a beam.
A charging cable became a suspended bridge.
Dust formed terrain.
A strand of hair was rope.
The gap beneath the closet door looked like a tunnel entrance.
It was almost interesting enough to distract me from the fact that a shoe could become an extinction event.
Around noon, the door opened.
I hid.
A second woman entered carrying two bags and enough energy to make the quiet room feel occupied all at once.
Brown skin.
Dark curls.
Bright sweatshirt.
She kicked the door shut behind her.
“Amelia, if you used my mug again, we’re fighting.” Amelia.
There.
The dangerous woman had a name.
The newcomer put down the bags and looked around.
“Amelia?” No response.
She checked her phone, sighed, and muttered, “Right.
Class.” Her own name appeared on a notebook near the desk.
MAYRA BENNETT.
Useful.
Humans revealed an astonishing amount of information when they believed nobody important was listening.
A mosquito was apparently ideal intelligence equipment.
Mayra spent much of the afternoon on the phone.
I learned that we were at Westbridge University, in East Residence Hall, Room 317.
Amelia Winters was a sophomore and a recent transfer.
She had top grades, no visible family nearby, and a reputation for declining invitations with enough efficiency that people apparently treated rejection as an academic event.
She disliked parties.
She disliked strangers touching her belongings.
She knew old languages, obscure history, how to identify poisons by smell, and how to fix a dislocated finger.
Mayra laughed while listing those things.
I did not.
Then Mayra added that rooms sometimes felt colder when Amelia became angry.
“So she has resting murder face,” she told whoever was on the phone.
“That doesn’t mean she controls the weather.” I remained very still behind the lamp.
Resting murder face had not thrown me into a wall.
The air had.
Later, Mayra noticed a different mosquito near the ceiling.
A normal one.
She rolled a magazine.
The mosquito died instantly.
I reconsidered my opinion of her.
Humans were all final bosses from the correct perspective.
Mayra left for dinner near sunset.
Amelia returned shortly afterward.
She entered alone, closed the door, locked it, and stood in the center of the room without moving.
Listening.
I made no sound.
Her eyes shifted toward the lamp anyway.
No.
Impossible.
She watched my hiding place for several seconds, then looked away.
Maybe she was merely paranoid.
Good.
Paranoid people blamed normal fear.
Not intelligent reincarnated mosquitoes.
Amelia changed clothes, placed a notebook on the desk, and sat cross-legged on her bed.
When she closed her eyes, nothing happened at first.
Then the room changed.
The air did not become heavier, exactly.
Pressure gathered in it—presence without weight, something my new body recognized before my mind understood.
The lower corner of the window fogged.
A thin pattern of frost spread across the glass.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
My six legs tightened against the lamp.
Mayra had been wrong.
Amelia controlled something.
Cold gathered around her in faint currents.
It traced the edge of one sleeve without touching her skin.
Her breathing deepened.
The temperature continued to fall.
The Codex activated without permission.
— High-grade biological bloodline detected.
Classification: Incomplete Elemental tendency: Cryogenic Direct consumption above current safe limit may cause host failure.
— Host failure.
Death, again.
Good to know.
Then the Codex added: — Potential evolutionary relevance: EXTREME — Of course.
The most dangerous meal in the building was also the best one.
My front legs rubbed together before I consciously decided anything.
I stopped them.
Yesterday’s attempt had nearly ended my second life before breakfast.
Tonight, I would be cautious.
Amelia’s breathing slowed.
Frost curled farther across the window.
Her hair lifted slightly despite the absence of wind.
The skin at her throat remained warm, and beneath it blood carried enough energy that I could sense it from across the room.
My hunger returned.
Not ordinary hunger.
Evolutionary greed.
The Codex had promised that unusual organisms could provide traits.
Amelia was the most unusual organism I had found.
Maybe on campus.
Maybe in the state.
I watched her cultivate.
I watched the frost build and retreat with each measured breath.
Then I made the only intelligent decision available.
I stayed hidden.
For tonight.
Amelia’s eyes opened without warning.
One moment still.
The next completely alert.
She looked directly at my hiding place.
I froze.
Her gaze narrowed, then moved away.
She whispered something in a language I did not know.
The frost vanished.
The room slowly warmed.
Amelia lay down.
I remained behind the lamp.
My second conclusion in this life was equally simple.
That girl was definitely not human.
Or at least not only human.
And eventually, very carefully, I was going to drink her blood.