Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter Four: Dawn of Fog And Glass

A flash of long black hair announces Hera's arrival. She doubles over, gasping for air.

"Damn," she mutters. "You're fast." She glances up, finally noticing Orion's tears. He wipes his face with his sleeve.

Hera's pretty face falls. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Orion snaps. Hera jumps, not expecting his harsh tone. I furrow my eyebrows. Orion isn't mean to us. We're never mean to each other.

He softens and pulls her into our hug. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Hera. It's just...I don't like the thought of losing Arden, and it seems like nobody else is considering it seriously. If they release Arden out there, she'll..."

The words fade on his tongue, chained up, but I know what he means, anyway. She'll die. I try not to stiffen in the hug.

Hera laughs, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "You know, Arden, being short makes you a fantastic hugger."

I reach through her hair and pinch her shoulder blade, making her yelp. "You're lucky I'm even touching you right now."

"Whatever you say, babes. I—" Hera stops short when she spots the glass shards littering the stairs. A cold draft seems to pick that moment to drift in from the open window. She breaks apart from us, running down a few steps to look at the damage.

"What happened?" Her voice is quiet.

I drop Orion's arms and follow Hera down the stairs. Glass fragments twinkle in piles like crystallized salt ornamenting a beach rock. I sigh.

Orion opens his mouth to lie his ass off, willing to break our no-lie friend code again for me. I silence him before he can begin.

"It was me, Hera. At least, I think it was me. I don't know how it happened. I didn't mean to cause any damage; Orion fainted."

She purses her lips. "So, you showered him with glass bits? How did you do that? In what universe would that help?"

The accusation in her eyes rolls away as she realizes what I mean. She raises two well-shaped eyebrows, mouth slightly ajar. Her inky eyes flick from me to the glass to the open window, silent for a few painful moments.

"Please say something," I whisper. My heart races. It bothers me that the dull thudding of the glass is almost completely gone after having shattered the window.

"A Morph?" Her voice is so quiet that at first, I wonder if it's my imagination. I nod. My throat swells, coated in acid. I'd rather curl up in a ball and cry instead of being here, watching my friends stare at me as if I've just killed someone.

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs. Apparently, she must not think of me as being killer-level. It doesn't mean she doesn't view me as a monster, a beast with a poor attitude and a vicious hunger for its prey. I see the way she avoids my gaze. She's afraid of it, I think.

Crawlers surround these parts. In the country a few miles from the city, the ones who have become less human join groups and claim territory. None have been able to penetrate the Marksberg border, but that doesn't mean that they couldn't if they smelled Morph blood. My blood.

I remember the way they came for Draco. It was silent for three days in that cellar. The Crawlers were still figuring out what was happening to them. It seemed like a planned attack when they ripped through the wooden cellar door with their bare hands, but it couldn't have been. I saw those wild green gazes, bloodthirsty and ready to devour the Morph in front of them.

It was even more disturbing how normal they looked: an accountant woman, a construction worker in a bright chartreuse and orange vest; they were just ordinary people attempting to live their normal lives. Attempting to ignore their new heightened senses and cravings. Yes, maybe they sweated through ghostly skin with red blotches. Maybe their hair was unkempt, missing in parts. Maybe their eyes cut through the Fog, a green colour so sharp it could cut. Maybe blood dripped down their chins and coated their hands as they went searching for more. But through all that, they looked...human.