What's Wrong With Him

I stood alone in front of the door, my hand still resting on the cool wood, my heart doing something stupid and uneven in my chest. Was this normal for them? Disappearing like smoke whenever they felt like it?

I pushed the door open slowly.

The room wasn't what I expected. No chains. No trophies. Just dark wood, low lights, shelves crowded with books that actually looked read, not just placed there to look expensive. A record player sat in the corner, dusty at the edges. And above me, painted straight onto the ceiling, was a night sky. Stars. A whole galaxy, badly done, like whoever painted it hadn't quite known what they were doing but tried anyway.

"You're staring," Ethan said.

I jumped. He was sitting in the chair by the door, one leg crossed over the other, watching me like he'd been there the whole time and I just hadn't noticed.

"You painted that," I said, ignoring him completely, pointing up at the ceiling.

He didn't answer right away.

"I was twelve," he finally said, like that was supposed to make it less embarrassing.

"It's good."

"It's crooked. That constellation isn't even real. I made it up."

"Made-up constellations are the best kind," I said, walking further into the room, trailing my fingers along the spine of one of his books. "Nobody can tell you you got it wrong."

He didn't say anything to that, but when I looked back at him, something in his face had shifted. Softer. Less guarded than I'd seen him look all night.

I sat on the edge of the bed because my legs were tired of holding me up, and because some reckless part of me wanted to see what he'd do if I got closer. He didn't move.

"So," I said. "Are you going to tell me why I'm actually here? Or are we doing this whole mysterious silent thing all night?"

"I like the mysterious silent thing. It's very effective."

"On who? Tally looked at me like she wanted to reorganize my organs."

That got a real laugh out of him. Short. Surprised. Like it escaped before he could stop it.

"Tally's mad because I didn't warn her I was bringing someone home. She likes to be informed."

"And Matthias?"

"Matthias likes anything with a pulse. Ignore him."

I smiled, and for a second, just a second, it felt normal. Easy. Like two people talking instead of a slave and the man who bought her.

Then his face changed.

It happened fast — one moment he was still half-smiling at something I'd said, the next his jaw locked tight and his hand gripped the arm of the chair hard enough that I heard the wood creak under his fingers.

"Ethan?"

He didn't answer. His breathing had gone rough, uneven, like something inside him was fighting to get out.

The door burst open.

Tally stood there, and every trace of the attitude she'd worn earlier was gone, replaced with something sharper. Urgent.

"Darius is coming," she said. "He's not alone. Twenty men, maybe more. Silver rounds."

The word alone made my stomach drop. Twelve years of silver against my skin had taught me exactly what that word meant.

Ethan stood up slowly. Too slowly, like it cost him something.

Then he smiled but not his usual careless smile, but something smaller, sharper, like his father showing up with an army to collect his stolen property was the punchline to a joke only Ethan understood.

"Well," he said. "Let's give my dad a good welcome."

That's when it happened.

His whole body jerked, like something had struck him from the inside. A sound tore out of his throat, somewhere between a groan and a growl. I watched, frozen, as his fingers curled and claws split slowly through his fingertips black at the edges, wrong, nothing like the clean shift I'd expected.

"That's not—" I stood up too fast, my mind scrambling. "It's not even close to a full moon. He can't just—"

I looked at Tally, waiting for her to tell me I was wrong. That this happened all the time. That it was nothing.

She wasn't surprised.

That scared me more than the claws did.

"Selene. Out. Now."

"What's happening to him?" My voice cracked. "Tally, tell me—"

"I said out." Her eyes shifted as she said it, gold bleeding into something colder, something with teeth behind it even though her mouth stayed shut. The air in the room pressed down on me, some old instinct screaming at me to listen.

I looked at Ethan. His head had dropped, hair hanging over his face, his whole body shaking with whatever he was fighting to hold in.

"Ethan—"

"Go." The word barely sounded like him at all.

I hesitated at the door, my hand braced against the frame, some reckless part of me still ready to fight Tally for the right to stay.

Her eyes didn't change back.

I left.

The door shut behind me, and I stood in the hallway with my heart slamming against my ribs, staring at the wood grain, listening to something on the other side that sounded less like a man and more like agony trying to find a voice.

Twenty men. Silver bullets. A father coming to collect what he thought still belonged to him.

And whatever was happening to Ethan had nothing to do with the moon at all.