01.1

Tick, tock, tick, tock – the sound of the clock above the blackboard seemed to drill into her skull, as though collecting something personal from her. The girl didn't blink; she was sitting perfectly still at her desk with her eyes fixed on the second hand as it moved forward, ticking. She was no longer paying attention to the class; she hadn't been for a while.

She knew exactly how many minutes were left in the period, she always knew. And yet, when people started putting their things away, it caught her by surprise. The buzzing of backpacks being zipped began to sound, chairs being dragged back, and laughter spilling into the hallways as the real world returned to normal.

She got up slowly, putting her notebook in her backpack and sliding her pen into its usual loop. As she did it, she felt it again: that familiar and sharp sensation of being watched.

She glanced sideways to confirm her suspicions. From the other side of the classroom, a boy was staring at her fixedly. When their gazes met for barely a second, he smiled sarcastically and looked away.

"Did you see the way she looked at us?" he said, not bothering to lower his voice, he even seemed to be speaking loudly on purpose.

"She always does," replied the girl half-distracted checking her phone.

“Maybe she should just stay home if she’s gonna drop dead any second.”

“That’s dark,” the girl said, not even looking up.

“No, I'm being honest. It's weird, nobody knows what's wrong with her. She just looks... bad.”

She didn't flinch or speak; she just kept walking towards the classroom door, gripping the strap of her backpack tighter with each step.

They always talked as if she weren't there. As if her illness had stripped her of her humanity, reducing her to a rumour, a warning or a curiosity to be whispered about behind cupped hands.

Of course, they would never say it to her face.

She kept her gaze fixed ahead as she walked through the corridors. She noticed her heart beating harder, not from fear, but from something else gnawing at her from within. It was a bitterness that she had always carried with her like a second skin.

She remembered hospitals, white walls and the scent of disinfectant in the air. She remembered machines that hummed, blinked and beeped as if doing something important; rooms full of soft-voiced doctors who avoided eye contact more and more each year.

They never found an answer.

No diagnosis or name ever appeared. Only vague suggestions and scribbled theories that changed with inconclusive test results. They talked as if they were close; as if they were trying. But she knew the look in their eyes when hope dried up, leaving only polite persistence.

Years passed, and she gave up before they did.

She had learned that whatever lived inside her, whatever gnawed at the edges of her strength, didn't want a name. It wasn't something they could cut out or cure, it was something else, and it wasn't going anywhere.

So she adapted. She didn't trust her body, and it didn't trust her. She stopped trying to be normal, stopped pretending she had time. There was no room for friends, no reason to let people get close, of course not when everything slipped through her fingers.

She shifted the weight of her backpack against her sore shoulder. Her chest contracted as she took a deep breath, but she didn't stop.

Suddenly, she was shaken to one side by an unexpected impact, startling her.

Her backpack slipped off her shoulder. Papers flew like feathers. She looked back, but the man who had hit her didn't stop; he just muttered, “Watch it” over his shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

Her gaze fixed on the mess, she didn't get angry, she didn't care what happened to her anymore. She crouched down slowly to pick up the pages, her hands moving before her mind could process anything.

A sheet fluttered near the edge of the hallway. She reached out—

But someone else got there first.

A pale hand with long fingers was now holding her notes as if they were something delicate.

She looked up and froze.

Yves.

Yves Desaulniers. Everyone knew him. He floated among the crowds with that stupidly perfect face and his voluminous, tousled hair, which fell in dramatic waves as if he had used only wind and arrogance to style it. It was streaked black and light blonde, with two longer strands at the bottom.

His face was too beautiful, but not just in a delicate way. It was a bold beauty with strong eyebrows and bright, sharp violet eyes. His straight nose had just a hint of a turn-up. His thin but full lips curved naturally into a smile, revealing teeth that were slightly too big for his face, making him look both youthful and wolfish.

That smile was directed at her now.

“Seriously?” he said, shaking his head. “Some people are just born without manners, huh?”

He kept picking up her papers, his rings ringing softly as he moved. For someone who looked like he had never touched anything dirty in his life, he handled the mess with surprising ease.

She narrowed her eyes. She knew exactly who Yves was. The walking distraction, the charming idiot, the guy who got away with everything because he smiled like that.

She didn't trust people who smiled so easily, in fact, it pissed her off.

“I didn’t need help,” she muttered.

“Well, I needed to help you,” he responded without missing a beat, showing her another of those lopsided and too-sincere smiles. “Keeps my hero stats up.”

She stared at him and frowned. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know your name,” he said, like it was obvious. “Juno. You're in one of my classes, you sit in the back, always reading ahead.”

That… surprised her.

He held out the last of her papers with a little flourish. “All rescued. No need to thank me, but I will accept compliments.”

Just as she was about to take the papers, Yves stopped and looked down at her, that maddening smile on his face, as though there was a secret behind every tooth.

“So,” he said casually, “do you believe in fate?”

Juno blinked up at him. “What?”

He tilted his head slightly, pretending to think “Or maybe it's more like... cosmic timing. Your things fall, I appear. Classic romantic encounter energy, clearly there's a higher force working here.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

Yves placed a hand over his heart. “Like what?”

“Annoying.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled, unfazed. “Nah, I’m just in a good mood.”

She crossed her arms. “"And why's that?”

Yves leaned in a little, lowering his voice as if they were sharing a conspiracy. “Because I’m about to make your day marginally more interesting.”

Juno arched a brow. “Do you ever just get to the point?”

He grinned wider. “Where’s the fun in that?”

She didn't respond, just waited with her arms still crossed, her gaze steady.

Yves rocked back on his heels, eyes gleaming. “Okay, fine, fine. If you must know…”

He made a dramatic pause.

“There’s a party tonight,” he said, like it had just occurred to him. “Birthday thing. Low-key. You should come."

An internal alarm went off in Juno, as if something unpredictable had just slipped into her carefully managed world. She simply stared back at him, tense under the stillness.

What did he want?

She blinked. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Hmm.” He tapped his chin. “Good question. Why am I telling you this…”

He left the sentence hanging in the air, enjoying her withering look a little too much before finally shrugging. “Maybe I just thought you could use a night out. Or maybe I like inviting pretty girls to fun things. Hard to say, really.”

Her face didn’t change.

“You’re joking,” she said expressionlessly.

“No, totally serious. You could take a break, right?” Yves's voice was light, too bright. There was no harshness in it, no sarcasm. “Come on,” Yves persisted, giving her encouraging pats on the shoulder, “I'm sure you'll have a great time.”

Juno caught his expression: hopeful, as if this were a game to him. She felt irritated, but wasn't sure which of all the suspicious things about him made her feel that way.

People usually didn't invite her to things. Not without a reason, and certainly didn't call her pretty, as if it meant nothing, or maybe as if it meant everything. She hated how easily it unsettled her. So she did what felt safest.

Juno narrowed her eyes. “No.”

Yves froze, blinking. “Wait—what?”

“I said no.” Juno slung her backpack over her shoulder and turned around, walking away.

He stood frozen for a second, then hurried after her, his long legs catching up to her easily. “Hold on, what do you mean no?”

“I mean no, Yves,” she said without looking at him. “I’m not going to your party.”

His voice rose slightly, incredulous. “You didn’t even think about it!”

She didn't respond.

Now he was walking beside her, stumbling a little to keep up with her pace. “Do you… not like parties?”

“I don't like being a joke,” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, with a cold tone. “You must think I'm stupid. Is it a bet? A dare? Do you pick the sick girl and see if she actually shows up?”

“What?” His voice cracked slightly, too honest to be rehearsed. “No—what? Are you serious?”

She didn't respond, just kept walking.

“I’m not like that,” he said quickly, his steps jumping to keep up with hers. “I didn’t ask you as a joke.”

She turned around, finally, fixing him with a hard look. “You ask people like me to parties?”

Yves opened his mouth, then stopped. Because the truth was: no. He didn't, he didn't have to. People just... came to him, around him. He smiled and they followed.

But not her.

And that hit something strange in his chest, sharp and unknown.

"Seriously," he added, with a small and helpless laugh, "you're the first person who has said no to me like that. Straight to my face."

Her gaze remained dry. "You'll survive."

"I'm not sure if I will," he joked, but it lacked his usual smoothness, as if the joke were secondary to the truth. "Look, I didn't mean to give the impression that I was... playing with you. I just thought maybe you'd like to have some fun."

She stopped, so did he.

They stood in the middle of the hallway, somewhere between irritation and honesty.

She looked at him, and something in his face disarmed her. He didn't look like he was making fun of her, he wasn't even sure what she had just reproached him for. There was a small wrinkle between his eyebrows, as if he were really trying to understand.

She looked away and sighed as if she were being dragged to her own funeral. "Fine, whatever, I'll go."

Yves froze. "Wait, seriously?"

She crossed her arms, not quite meeting his eyes. "Yeah. I said yes, didn't I? You don't have to look so surprised."

He smiled, bright, full of something youthful and stupidly genuine. "No, no, I'm just, great! That's great. I'll, uh, I'll send you the details."

Juno raised an eyebrow. "I'll give you my number then."

But he was already taking out his phone, touching it. "Nah, I have it."

She paused. "...Excuse me?"

Yves looked up, smiling as if he had just done a magic trick. "Student directory. From the research group mailing list last semester. Don't look at me like that, it's public information."

Her eyebrows rose, skepticism radiating from her. "And you casually memorized it?"

He froze for half a second, barely, but it was there, a crack in the charm. Then he recovered with half a shrug, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

"Something like that," he said lightly. "Maybe I just remember you."

Juno stared at him trying to decipher what could be wrong inside his head.

Yves, unperturbed, showed that impossible smile again, crooked on one side, shining as if he felt every part of her. "I'll see you tonight, Juno."

He turned around, already humming as he walked away as if he had just won the lottery.

"...Whatever," she sighed, and her voice had softened very slightly. Her hand tightened around her backpack strap as she started walking again, faster now.

Deep down, she knew the truth. She didn't belong at a party, that wasn't her life. It was for people with open futures and stable heartbeats. And she had already convinced herself that Yves was trying to make fun of her.

Still, as she walked home, she wondered what it would be like. To go, wear something half decent. Sit in a room full of voices, laughter and not feel like an intruder. What if for once she just pretended to be normal?

A cruel part inside her lit up at the idea. Just once, just to know how it felt, maybe it wouldn't even be that bad. Maybe she would laugh, someone would ask her to dance, and she would be allowed to forget about herself.

Stupid. She stopped at a corner, shaking her head. That was a stupid thought.

As she continued walking, the streets around her became quieter. The houses she passed flickered with blue light, televisions projecting their glow into the night. On every screen, headlines pulsed like silent alarms:

“Demon Attacks Surge in Recent Months.”

“Supernatural Threat Escalates Across the City.”

“Residents Urged to Stay Indoors After Nightfall.”

The sound was muted, but the urgency in the reporters' faces was unmistakable.

Juno stopped, watching a screen a moment too long. Then she looked away, a chill ran down her back. She pulled her coat around her and walked faster. Demons weren't real, supernatural things were just inventions, fake videos on the internet, stories to scare people.

She felt stupid just thinking about it, but she couldn't help thinking about her own body, her own strange condition, the failed diagnoses. What if it wasn't just illness? What if it was something else? Something that moved through her the same way those things supposedly moved through the city.

The thought made her stomach twist. Her feet hit the pavement harder. And that stupid flash of hope from before? Buried, where it belonged.

Lost in her thoughts, Juno turned down a quieter street and stopped. A movement caught her eye, there was a black cat crouched at the entrance to an alley, its fur shiny and eyes reflecting the orange glow of a distant streetlight.

It didn't move, just stared at her.

Something about the way it looked at her, it wasn't curiosity or fear, but more like... expectation. As if it had been waiting for her.

A breeze passed, lifting her hair slightly, the cat turned silently and slipped into the alley.

Juno frowned, standing there like an idiot, debating whether to follow a stray animal like some fairy tale cliche. But her feet moved anyway. She wasn't sure why. Maybe because something about this night felt wrong, too unsettling.

The alley twisted and narrowed as she walked, the cat always just out of reach, slipping through shadowed parts and flickering light. Once or twice, she thought it had disappeared, only to glimpse the edge of its tail turning another corner.

They passed closed doors, abandoned boxes, broken neon signs buzzing weakly above. Juno's breath caught in her throat as they turned a last corner and the cat stopped, perched on a ledge above a crumbling staircase that led down to the ground. This time, it didn't move.

She stood there, unsure what this even was. The cat blinked once, then slipped into the darkness without a sound. She was alone now. Just the darkness, just that growing, silent but relentless feeling that something was about to change. She shook her head, backing away from the stairs.

This is crazy, she thought. Following cats into alleys. What the hell are you doing?

Maybe her illness finally reached her brain and made her do stupid things.

She rubbed her arms, trying to chase away the cold that clung to her skin like static electricity, but something made her look back one last time.

There, right where the cat had been sitting, lay a small and worn object. Cautiously, Juno approached, her boots scraping softly against the cracked concrete and crouched down.

It was a pocket watch, old. She picked it up briefly, turning it in her hand. The back was scratched, almost ruined, but she could barely make out a partial engraving:

"For J—"

Her fingers tensed.

She looked ahead, half expecting the cat to reappear, or find a clue where this object had come from. But the alley was silent, not a sound, no movement, just her and that watch, which felt too cold, as if it had been waiting there for a long time.

Juno's chest tightened. Her first instinct was to keep it, but then something crawled up her spine, a sharp and wordless warning.

She put it back gently where she found it, the hands pointing downward ticking catching the light one last time. She backed away, her heart beating like a drum in her ears.

Her steps were uneven, as if she wasn't completely sure she was still in the same world she had woken up in that morning. Something had changed slightly, she could notice it inside her chest.

By the time she reached her apartment, the sun had fallen completely, leaving the sky in a deep navy blue stained with orange. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a long second, hoping the strange weight in her chest would lift.

It didn't.