Not much time had passed—maybe an hour at most—since the strange girl had dropped the bombshell about sharing her power. The house had grown quiet again, the strange tension between them dissolving into an uneasy truce.
Alex needed space.
He had heard enough.
Standing up, he moved past her without another word, pushing open his bedroom door and stepping into the hallway. His mind was spinning, but he clung tightly to one simple thought.
"I'm fine. All I have to do is not use her power, and everything will go back to normal."
He repeated it under his breath like a lifeline, convincing himself that ignoring the bizarre reality he was now wrapped in would somehow make it all disappear.
Twenty-four hours. That was it.
Just one day.
He padded down the hallway, the floor cold under his feet. The stillness in the house was broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the soft ticking of the wall clock. He entered the kitchen, hoping that food—something ordinary—might ground him again.
He opened the cupboard and reached for a mug.
But then he paused.
Wait… I have her power.
The realization washed over him again—this time slower, more potent. The words didn't feel like a casual reminder. They felt like a door creaking open inside his mind.
And then came the feeling.
A hum beneath his skin, starting in his fingertips. It was subtle at first—like the moment right before a static shock, when your body tenses instinctively. The sensation slid up his arms in waves, curling through his veins, warm and electric.
He froze, mug in hand.
The porcelain felt suddenly weightless.
He glanced toward the microwave and caught his reflection.
The unfamiliar face stared back—his face now. Soft features, wide emerald eyes, tousled blonde hair.
But those eyes—there was something in them now. Wonder. Curiosity. A dangerous glimmer of temptation.
He hadn't used the power.
Not yet.
But it was there. Tangible. Waiting just beneath the surface.
Calling to him.
And for all his resolve, for all the promises he had made to himself just moments ago…
The temptation was already beginning to wear him down.
A moment later, the sound of footsteps broke the quiet.
The girl wandered casually into the kitchen, a towel slung over her shoulder like she owned the place. Her hair was still damp, strands clinging to her cheek as she moved. Alex's t-shirt hung loosely on her frame, and… nothing else.
She walked barefoot, completely unbothered by her lack of pants, as though modesty was some outdated concept she had long outgrown.
By the looks of it, she had made herself completely at home.
Under normal circumstances, Alex would've had a few choice words for someone so shameless. But the ache in his chest from when she shoved him earlier—and maybe the lingering uncertainty of who, or what, she really was—kept him quiet.
"I hope you don't mind, but I borrowed your shower," she said with a grin, tossing the towel onto the counter. "It's been a while, and I was in desperate need."
To drive her point home, she lifted her arm and took a quick sniff under it, then immediately grimaced.
"Yikes. That's… yeah. We're not gonna talk about that."
She chuckled to herself and strolled toward the fridge like it was hers.
Alex turned back to his coffee, keeping his eyes low as he tried not to acknowledge just how little she was wearing. But it was impossible to ignore completely.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lean deep into the fridge, rummaging through its contents like she was on a treasure hunt.
And, unfortunately for him, the shirt she wore lifted ever so slightly in the back, revealing toned legs and smooth, unblemished skin.
God, she has no shame.
Alex's face flushed instantly. He looked away, cursing himself silently. He might be in a woman's body now, but inside, he was still a man—and apparently, that part of him was still very much functional.
He exhaled sharply and tried to focus on his coffee.
Snap out of it.
Thankfully, the moment passed as she straightened up triumphantly, holding a bottle of orange juice like she had just uncovered a sacred relic.
"Aha! Found it," she announced proudly.
She turned to face him, bottle in hand, and nodded toward the cabinet.
"Pass me a cup, would ya?"
Alex reached into the cupboard and pulled out a glass. But as he extended it toward her, something in him clicked.
Now's my chance.
He paused, holding the glass just out of her reach.
"You know," he said slowly, his voice measured, "you've made yourself quite comfortable—claimed a towel, raided my fridge, raided my closet…"
He locked eyes with her. "…but I still don't know your name."
She blinked, surprised.
There was a pause—just long enough for the mood to shift.
And then, a slow, crooked smile spread across her lips. She stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Her voice softened, amused by his sudden boldness.
"Gwen," she said simply.
The name hung in the air like a secret finally revealed.
As if sealing their strange truce, Gwen reached forward and took the cup gently from Alex's hand. Her fingers brushed against his, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. There was no power surge, no glowing light—but something passed between them.
Alex watched in silence, realizing they had both gotten something they wanted. She had his shelter, comfort, and now acknowledgment. And he—though he wouldn't admit it yet—had answers, a name, and maybe even a sense of control.
The glass of orange juice wasn't just a drink anymore. It was a symbol.
A deal quietly struck between two unlikely companions.
Alex sat in the quiet that followed, watching Gwen sip her orange juice like she hadn't just upended his entire life. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall—11:13 a.m.
He was supposed to go job hunting.
That had been the plan. A promise to himself. Something to give his life structure again—a step toward stability for both him and Sarah. But now, with the day already closing in on noon and his entire reality turned upside down, the idea of walking into a shop or office while looking like this felt like a cruel joke.
Still, he needed a plan. Something. Anything.
Then, like a light flicking on in a dim room, a thought hit him.
What if he didn't go as himself?
He glanced at Gwen, still lounging comfortably in his kitchen like she'd always lived there. She noticed his stare but didn't question it. She just smirked and kept sipping.
Alex leaned on the counter, his mind spinning. He could pose as his own girlfriend—a woman helping her boyfriend look for work. They could be splitting up to cover more ground. It was bold, but weirdly plausible.
He still had his old clothes. He still knew how to talk to people. And most of all, it would buy him time—time to think, to breathe, to figure out what the hell to do next.
The thought settled into place.
It wasn't the job hunt he had imagined.
But then again, nothing about today had gone according to plan.
Truth be told, he hadn't had a proper job in years—just a few shifts as a teenager to scrape together money for boxing lessons. Now, standing barefoot in his own kitchen with a stranger-turned-deity nursing juice in his favorite mug, the path forward seemed more alien than ever.
Still, the plan had legs. It wasn't exactly foolproof, but it might just get him through a few doors without raising suspicion. And right now, that was enough.
The light in the house had shifted slightly, the warm hue of morning beginning to stretch toward midday. Time hadn't vanished—but it was slipping by.
A silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy, like something unfinished.
Alex clutched his now-cold coffee cup. He wasn't sure if the bitterness on his tongue came from the drink or the weight of everything hanging over him.
"So... Gwen," he muttered, more to himself than her. "Are you always this... invasive?"
She raised a brow mid-sip, the corner of her mouth curling. "Only when I like someone."
Alex gave a dry look. "Glad I'm flattered."
Gwen chuckled, strolling over to the window. She pulled the curtain aside and glanced out lazily. "You'll get used to me."
He doubted that.
Still... the panic from earlier had faded. The fear hadn't disappeared, but curiosity was beginning to take its place.
Alex stared at his hand. The same hand that had sparked with strange energy earlier that morning.
"So," he asked carefully, "if I did want to use this power... how would it work?"
Gwen didn't respond immediately.
She turned toward him slowly, her eyes lighting up with interest. "Ah. There it is."
"There what is?"
"The itch."
Alex raised a brow. "The... itch?"
She walked toward him with a slow, fluid grace. Her voice shifted, softening. "The beginning. That first pull in your chest. The quiet part of you that's curious, no matter how scared you are. That's always how it starts."
Alex didn't respond. He didn't have to. She could read it in his eyes.
"The answer," she said, brushing her fingers across the counter, "is that it depends. On you. The moment. The reason. The emotion."
"That's vague," Alex muttered.
Gwen gave a slight shrug. "Magic isn't a machine. It's not supposed to be predictable. It responds. It reveals. It demands."
Alex looked down again at his hands. Still his... but different.
"You'll feel it when the time comes," she added. "But remember—" she tapped her temple, "—once you use it, there's no going back."
Alex exhaled slowly and gave a small nod.
A beat passed before Gwen glanced at the wall clock and then at the hallway.
"Anyway," she said, stretching her arms over her head and yawning, "think I'll finally grab that shower. I smell like wet dog and bad decisions."
She turned toward the living room, but paused to grab the remote from the coffee table.
"You're turning on the TV?" Alex asked, brow raised.
"Yeah," she said casually. "I like background noise when I shower. Helps me think."
She clicked it on and tossed the remote onto the couch.
A news anchor's voice filled the air immediately.
"—and in tragic local news, police have now confirmed the identity of the young woman found earlier this morning near Maplewood Park."
Alex's breath caught.
Gwen, halfway down the hallway, slowed her steps.
The news anchor continued, her tone grim. "The victim, nineteen-year-old Leila Ashford, was last seen by friends leaving a community volunteer event last night. Police have not released details regarding cause of death, but sources suggest the crime scene was... disturbing."
The room fell still.
Alex's stomach tightened. He knew that name. She was from the neighborhood. Sweet, soft-spoken. Always smiling.
"That's the girl from the mini-mart..." he whispered.
Gwen stood in the hallway, watching him with a strange, unreadable expression.
"Sometimes," she said softly, "the itch isn't about power. Sometimes, it's about what you do with it when you don't have a choice."