I went to basketball practice for reconnaissance.
That was the official reason.
The unofficial reason did not exist.
Certainly not one involving Chase Morgan, a public livestream, and the possibility of flying directly in front of his face during a free throw.
I had promised Amelia.
No biting.
No venom.
No injury.
Technically, I had promised more than that.
But technicalities were an important part of civilization.
At 3:42 PM, I left Room 317.
Alone.
This was not suspicious.
Mosquitoes did not require permission to fly around campus.
I was a free citizen.
Legally uncertain.
Spiritually free.
The Westbridge athletics complex sat on the opposite side of campus.
Wind complicated the trip.
Three separate birds attempted to turn me into lunch.
One bicycle nearly ended my reincarnation.
By the time I reached the practice facility, I was already regretting several life decisions.
Then I saw the open side door.
Worth it.
Students moved in and out carrying camera equipment.
A sign stood nearby.
WESTBRIDGE MEN’S BASKETBALL — OPEN PRACTICE LIVE STREAM 4:00 PM I entered behind a student carrying cables.
Nobody noticed.
Mosquito first.
— The gym was enormous.
Humans had designed a climate-controlled cathedral specifically for throwing orange spheres through metal circles.
Thousands of seats rose around the polished court.
Lights blazed overhead.
Music played through speakers.
Cameras stood near one baseline.
I landed high on a structural beam.
Safe.
Hidden.
Excellent view.
The team was warming up.
Chase wore number eleven.
He moved differently on court.
That surprised me.
Outside basketball, he was relaxed.
Social.
Almost casually confident.
Here— focused.
Sharp.
He sprinted through drills with none of the awkward pride from the courtyard.
No talking.
No showing off.
Catch.
Pass.
Cut.
Shoot.
Again.
Competent.
Annoyingly competent.
He hit four three-pointers in a row.
I disliked him slightly more for no rational reason.
Then he missed the fifth.
Balance restored.
One teammate shouted: “Zero for four!” Several players laughed.
Chase threw the ball at him.
Not hard.
“Shut up.” More laughter.
He was laughing too.
Maybe the internet joke had already begun dying.
No reason for intervention.
I could leave.
Immediately.
I remained.
Reconnaissance.
Obviously.
The livestream began.
A student commentator introduced the team.
Practice drills became more organized.
Camera followed players.
Chase appeared frequently.
Not superstar treatment.
Just one of the recognizable athletes.
I drifted lower.
Still far above human notice.
A camera operator stood near the sideline.
If I flew directly in front of the lens— No.
Promise.
I moved away from the camera.
Mature.
Responsible.
Then Chase stepped to the free-throw line.
The universe tested me.
The gym went quiet enough that I could hear shoes squeak twenty meters away.
He bounced the ball.
Once.
Twice.
Raised it.
I hovered.
Imagine.
One tiny pass beside his ear.
No contact.
No injury.
Barely even harassment.
His shot would— No.
I turned away.
Swish.
Good for him.
Second shot.
I refused to look.
Swish.
Third.
Swish.
I began to resent personal growth.
— Practice continued for almost an hour.
Nothing happened.
No scandal.
No villainy.
No supernatural disaster.
It was deeply disappointing.
Then the coaches called a break.
Players moved toward the benches.
Chase sat with a towel around his shoulders.
One teammate—the same one who had made the mosquito joke—dropped beside him.
“Party Saturday.” Chase drank water.
“What about it?” “You bringing Ice Queen?” Chase stopped drinking.
I moved slightly closer.
Not because I cared.
Intelligence gathering.
“No.” The teammate laughed.
“She really cooked you.” “Drop it.” Interesting.
“Bro, I’m just saying.” “I said drop it.” The teammate studied him.
“You mad?” Chase gave him a look.
“At you?
Starting to be.” Good.
Very good.
The teammate raised his hands.
“Fine.” Then smiled.
“You could invite the mosquito.” Chase threw his towel at him.
Everyone nearby laughed.
Including Chase.
Even I had to admit that one was decent.
My revenge operation continued collapsing.
Then another player approached.
“Yo, Morgan.” He held up his phone.
“Your boy posted another edit.” Chase looked.
His expression changed.
“What the hell?” The player laughed.
Apparently someone had taken the courtyard clip and added dramatic music.
Then inserted footage of Chase missing a shot.
Then a close-up of a mosquito.
Very mature internet culture.
Chase’s jaw tightened.
“Who made this?” “Probably Tyler.” “Tell him to take it down.” The player blinked.
“Why?” “Because Amelia didn’t do anything.” I became still.
The player stared at him.
Then shrugged.
“Okay, damn.” Chase took the phone.
Typed something.
Handed it back.
“Enough.” That— was reasonable.
Again.
Terrible.
What was I supposed to do with this?
I had traveled across campus prepared to deliver mosquito justice and discovered a young man actively telling his own friends to stop bothering the woman who rejected him.
This was a complete waste of spite.
I landed on the beam.
Considered going home.
Then the side door opened.
A man entered.
Late twenties.
Maybe thirty.
Tall like Chase.
But broader.
Dark hair instead of blond.
Black collared shirt beneath a charcoal jacket.
Not athletic staff.
Not student.
He moved with the kind of awareness I had begun recognizing.
Doors.
Cameras.
Exits.
People.
He scanned all of them.
My attention sharpened.
Ordinary human scent.
No supernatural aura.
But trained.
Very trained.
He walked toward the bench.
Chase saw him.
His expression immediately soured.
“Marcus.” Marcus Morgan.
Older cousin.
Marcus stopped beside him.
“Practice.” Chase gestured around.
“Excellent observation.” Marcus ignored the sarcasm.
“We need to talk.” “After.” “Now.” Chase’s face hardened.
The coach noticed.
Marcus lifted two fingers.
Some silent signal.
The coach nodded.
Allowed it.
That mattered.
Marcus had influence.
Or authorization.
Chase stood.
They moved through a tunnel beneath the seating.
My reconnaissance mission suddenly became legitimate.
Excellent.
I followed.
— The tunnel led toward locker rooms and staff offices.
I stayed high near exposed pipes.
Marcus and Chase entered a quieter corridor.
Marcus stopped.
Turned.
“What happened with the Winters girl?” My wings slowed.
Chase stared.
“Seriously?” “Answer.” “I asked her out.” “I know.” “She said no.” “I know that too.” Chase crossed his arms.
“Then why are we talking?” Marcus looked irritated.
“Because your name is attached to half a dozen posts making fun of her.” “I didn’t post them.” “Doesn’t matter.” “How does it not matter?” “Because you’re a Morgan.” Ah.
Family.
Reputation.
Chase looked exhausted.
“Here we go.” Marcus stepped closer.
“People think your friends speak for you.” “They don’t.” “Then make that clear.” “I did.” Marcus paused.
Apparently he hadn’t expected that.
Chase pulled out his phone.
Showed him.
“I told them to delete it.” Marcus read.
His expression eased slightly.
“Good.” Chase laughed once.
“No congratulations?” “Want a medal for acting like an adult?” I liked Marcus immediately.
Chase did not.
He put his phone away.
“Anything else?” Marcus studied him.
“Stay away from East Residence.” My entire body became still.
That was why Marcus mattered.
Chase frowned.
“What?” “The dorm.” “I know what East Residence is.” “Then stay away.” “Why?” “Maintenance problem.” Chase laughed.
“You’re doing that thing.” “What thing?” “Where everybody says something obviously fake and expects me not to notice.” Interesting.
Marcus’s expression hardened.
“Chase.” “There were federal people there.” “Contractors.” “Federal contractors.” Marcus said nothing.
Chase pointed toward him.
“And Blackwell had people on campus.” There.
Blackwell.
Confirmed.
“Why?” Marcus looked around the corridor.
I pressed myself flat against the pipe.
Invisible enough.
For now.
“Your uncle’s company has a facilities-security contract.” Chase stared.
“For a dorm pest problem?” Marcus did not answer.
Chase’s face changed.
“You know something.” “Drop it.” “Marcus.” “Drop it.” This family apparently communicated primarily through repeated imperatives.
Chase lowered his voice.
“Is anyone in danger?” Marcus paused.
That pause told me everything.
Chase noticed too.
“Jesus.” “It’s being handled.” “What does that mean?” “It means people with the right training are handling it.” ARB.
Blackwell.
Together?
Maybe.
Chase’s jaw tightened.
“Should Amelia move?” Oh.
Interesting.
Marcus looked at him sharply.
“Amelia Winters?” “She’s in East Residence.” Marcus’s expression changed.
Very small.
But I saw it.
Recognition?
Interest?
Why?
“Third floor?” Marcus asked.
Chase frowned.
“Yeah.” My entire body went cold.
How did Marcus know?
Chase noticed too.
“How did you know that?” Marcus recovered.
“I’ve seen the evacuation manifest.” Lie?
Possible.
As security contractor, maybe.
But his reaction came too quickly.
Chase stared.
“You’re creepy.” Marcus ignored him.
“She should follow campus instructions.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” Chase looked unconvinced.
Then: “Do you know her?” “No.” Too fast.
I shifted closer.
Marcus’s eyes suddenly lifted.
Not toward me.
Toward the ceiling generally.
I froze.
Trained human.
Maybe he’d heard wing noise.
Impossible at this distance.
Probably instinct.
Still dangerous.
I remained motionless.
Chase continued.
“She’s weird.” Marcus looked back at him.
“You’re the one asking her out.” “Not bad weird.” He struggled.
“Just…” A pause.
“She catches mosquitoes.” I nearly slipped off the pipe.
Marcus’s face went blank.
“What?” Chase laughed.
“Never mind.” “No.” Marcus’s voice sharpened.
“What do you mean?” Danger.
Chase looked confused.
“She has this pet mosquito.” Marcus stared.
“Pet.” “Mayra named it.
Or Amelia did.
I don’t know.” Do not say— “Plenteaful or something.” Fantastic.
My operational security had died in a gym corridor.
Marcus did not laugh.
That was the worst part.
He became very still.
“Plenteaful.” Chase shrugged.
“Yeah.” Marcus looked away.
Thinking.
Why did the name matter?
Had he heard it?
No.
Impossible.
Mayra had spread it casually.
Could have reached people.
But his reaction— not normal.
Chase noticed.
“Why do you care?” Marcus looked back.
“I don’t.” Lie.
Definitely lie.
“You’re acting weird.” “I’m always weird.” “No, you’re usually an asshole.” “Family love.” Chase shook his head.
Then glanced toward the court.
“I need to get back.” Marcus caught his shoulder.
“One more thing.” Chase looked down at the hand.
Marcus released him.
“If anything unusual happens around that dorm…” His voice lowered.
“…you call me.” “What counts as unusual?” Marcus stared.
“Anything.” Chase laughed.
“That’s not helpful.” “Animals acting wrong.” My attention sharpened.
“Strange equipment.” More.
“People asking questions about biology.” Dr.
Caldwell.
Matthew.
Us.
“Or anyone from Blackwell who isn’t me.” There.
Important.
Very important.
Chase’s amusement disappeared.
“Why?” Marcus looked tired.
Not threatening.
Not secret-agent cold.
Tired.
“Because not everyone working the contract is there for the same reason.” Oh.
Faction inside faction.
Excellent.
Terrible.
Chase studied his cousin.
“Are you in trouble?” Marcus smiled without humor.
“Go play basketball.” “Marcus.” “Go.” Chase hesitated.
Then left.
Marcus remained in the corridor.
Alone.
Except for one mosquito.
He pulled out his phone.
Dialed.
I stayed.
Bad decision.
Necessary decision.
The call connected.
“It’s me.” Pause.
“No.” He looked toward the direction Chase had left.
“There’s a civilian connection I wasn’t aware of.” Civilian connection.
Us?
“Amelia Winters.” Pause.
“Yeah.” His face tightened.
“Third floor.” Another pause.
“No.
Don’t flag her.” “Because I said don’t.” Whoever was on the other end did not appreciate that.
Marcus’s voice hardened.
“We don’t know what she is.” What she is.
Not who.
A chill seemed to pass through my entire body.
They suspected Amelia.
How?
Energy?
ARB readings?
Cameras?
“Halden wants every anomalous resident screened.” Halden.
Same name Esther Caldwell had mentioned.
Connection.
“I don’t care what Halden wants.” Marcus rubbed his forehead.
“After the 7C mess, he doesn’t get to make unilateral calls.” My wings nearly moved.
Lot 7C.
Marcus knew.
Blackwell knew.
Halden.
Whoever Halden was— connected to missing material.
Maybe.
Marcus continued.
“And tell your people to stop touching the third-floor sensors.” Pause.
“They’re ARB equipment.” Another pause.
“Exactly.” Blackwell was interfering with ARB monitoring?
Not allies.
Contractors with overlapping access.
Marcus looked furious now.
“If anything disappears from that building again, I’m sending the logs directly to Mercer.” Mercer.
John Mercer?
Maybe.
Or another Mercer.
Important.
He ended the call.
Stood still.
Then suddenly said: “You can come out.” I stopped existing.
Not literally.
Emotionally.
Marcus looked up.
Directly toward my pipe.
No.
He could not see me.
I remained still.
He waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then sighed.
“Probably a fly.” Correct.
A fly.
Extremely normal fly.
He walked away.
I did not move for another full minute.
Mosquito first.
Survival before curiosity.
Then I left.
Fast.
— When I returned to Room 317, Amelia knew immediately.
Not because of bloodline resonance.
Not because of ancient intuition.
Because I flew directly into the window screen.
Tink.
Recovered.
Entered through the gap.
Landed on the desk.
Mayra looked up from her laptop.
“Why is he drunk?” Long high buzz.
Idiot.
Amelia held out her hand.
I ignored it.
Went directly to the notebook.
Rapid triple buzz.
Attention.
Then: M A R C U S Mayra frowned.
“Marcus?” I spelled: M O R G A N Her eyes widened.
“Chase’s cousin?” Yes.
Amelia sat.
I continued.
B L A C K W E L L Then: E A S T R E S I D E N C E Amelia’s expression hardened.
Mayra stopped typing.
“Marcus works for Blackwell.” One buzz: yes.
She knew the general family connection.
But not details.
I spelled: S E C U R I T Y C O N T R A C T Then: N O T S A M E Mayra frowned.
“Not same what?” Harder.
I spelled: P E O P L E D I F F E R E N T G O A L S Amelia understood.
“Blackwell personnel have different objectives.” Yes.
Then the important name.
H A L D E N Amelia froze slightly.
Mayra wrote it.
“Halden.” Yes.
7 C Mayra’s eyes widened.
“He knows about Lot 7C.” Marcus did.
Halden apparently had authority tied to it.
Maybe responsibility.
I continued.
A M E L I A She looked at me.
S C R E E N Mayra frowned.
“Screen Amelia?” No.
I pointed toward sensor.
Then her.
Amelia’s expression cooled.
“They want to screen anomalous residents.” Exactly.
M A R C U S S A I D N O Mayra slowly sat back.
“So Marcus protected you.” Maybe.
Or delayed scrutiny.
Unknown motive.
Amelia’s face remained unreadable.
“Why?” No idea.
Then I spelled: T H I R D F L O O R S E N S O R S B L A C K W E L L T O U C H Amelia turned toward the little white device beside the vent.
Her expression became dangerous.
Mayra whispered: “They’ve been messing with the ARB sensor.” Yes.
Apparently.
That changed things again.
ARB had installed monitoring.
Blackwell employees had accessed it.
Maybe data.
Maybe readings.
Maybe sabotage.
The sensor sat six feet away.
Blinking green.
Suddenly it felt less like protection.
More like an eye.
Amelia stood.
“Do not touch it.” Mayra had already begun reaching for a screwdriver.
She stopped.
“Right.” Amelia approached.
No magic.
No physical contact.
Just observed.
Then looked at me.
“What else?” I hesitated.
The embarrassing part.
She narrowed her eyes.
“What were you doing near Marcus?” Mayra looked at me.
Then at the clock.
Then her face changed.
“Oh my God.” No.
“You went to basketball practice.” The room went quiet.
Amelia slowly turned her head.
I began grooming.
Mayra slapped both hands on the desk.
“He did!” No proof.
“He went to Chase’s livestream!” Tactical reconnaissance.
Amelia stared.
I moved to the alphabet.
R E C O N She closed her eyes.
Mayra was laughing now.
“You crossed campus to spy on Chase.” No.
I pointed at: B L A C K W E L L See?
Useful.
Mayra wiped her eyes.
“You only found Marcus because you were stalking a basketball player.” When phrased badly, anything sounded irresponsible.
Amelia opened her eyes.
“Did you interfere with practice?” Two buzzes: no.
“Did you approach Chase?” No.
“Did you attempt to distract him?” I hesitated.
Attempt?
No.
Thinking was not attempt.
Two buzzes: no.
Amelia stared.
“What did you consider doing?” Irrelevant.
Mayra leaned forward.
“Oh, this is going to be good.” I backed away from the notebook.
Amelia pointed.
“Answer.” Tyranny.
I slowly spelled: F R E E T H R O W For a moment, nothing moved.
Mayra understood first.
She folded over laughing.
Amelia’s face became completely blank.
“You considered buzzing past him during a free throw.” I gave one tiny buzz.
Maybe.
Mayra could no longer breathe.
Amelia stared at me for several seconds.
Then— to my shock— she laughed.
Not the quiet amused breath she usually allowed herself.
Actually laughed.
Brief.
Warm.
Real.
I stood frozen.
Mayra looked up.
“You can’t encourage him!” Amelia recovered.
Immediately.
Her expression reset.
“I am not.” Too late.
I had evidence.
She pointed at me.
“But you did not do it.” One buzz.
Correct.
Her gaze softened.
“Good.” There it was.
Worth the entire trip.
Almost.
Then Mayra said: “He’s totally jealous.” Long high buzz.
Idiot.
Normality restored.
— Later that night, we added Marcus Morgan to the wall.
Mayra’s conspiracy board had become too complex for red string.
She switched to different thread colors.
Amelia objected.
I supported Mayra.
Organization mattered.
Current connections: LOT 7C → Dr.
Esther Caldwell’s discontinued research → missing waste shipment → first East Residence incident → ARB investigation → Blackwell security access → Halden Then: MARCUS MORGAN → Blackwell contractor → knows East Residence anomaly → knows Lot 7C → distrusts Halden → warned Blackwell away from ARB sensors → told Chase to report unusual activity → specifically asked about Amelia Potential ally?
Unknown.
Potential threat?
Unknown.
Mayra added: probably less annoying than Chase I buzzed approval.
Amelia crossed it out.
Then she added another line.
JOHN MERCER Marcus had threatened to send logs directly to “Mercer.” Could mean John.
Could mean someone else.
But John had photographed ARB seven months ago.
Had been questioned.
Still connected somehow.
The pattern tightened.
Not enough to solve.
Enough to show that Westbridge’s secret world wasn’t divided into humans and monsters.
It had departments.
Contracts.
Disagreements.
People hiding information from their own side.
Messy.
Very human.
I stared at Marcus’s name.
He might be protecting students.
Or protecting Blackwell.
Or protecting himself.
Maybe all three.
Then Amelia tapped Halden.
“We find him.” Yes.
Mayra nodded.
“Carefully.” Both Amelia and I looked at her.
She frowned.
“What?” “You always say it.” Progress.
I approved.
The next step was obvious.
Find Halden.
Learn his connection to Seven-C.
Determine why Blackwell was touching ARB sensors.
And perhaps discover why Marcus Morgan cared whether Amelia Winters was screened.
I looked toward the window.
No mysterious spirit beast.
No mutant insects.
No heartbeat.
For once, the threat wasn’t hiding underground.
It wore identification badges.
Signed contracts.
Made phone calls.
And apparently attended basketball games.
Human problems.
I had always hated those.