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I yawn widely as the blacktop in front of me simmers in the blazing sun. The New Orleans humidity makes it worse, and I feel like the sun beats down on my skin, despite sitting in the shade of a large oak tree. Green light filters down through the leaves; perhaps that's why I'm so hot.

I forgot how much I disliked heat when I applied here.

The shimmering heat mirage on the blacktop catches my gaze again, and I stare into it. I'm at the outdoor sports area at the university, where I spend thirty or so minutes every day when I'm not in class. Sweat slowly drips down my face, the sensation nearly as unpleasant as the symptoms of being cold. Yet I sit still. For a moment, I almost think I can see something in the mirage--but it quickly disappears.

My back cracks as I stand and stretch, checking the sky. The sun glares down, over three quarters of the way to the westward horizon. 3:43. I have found myself, in the past year, increasingly able to precisely measure time simply from the position of the sun. With a quick flick of my thoughts, a soft breeze rustles my clothes--but leaves the grass at my feet undisturbed, the leaves above my head still. Time to head back to the dorm.

The day remains quiet as I walk along cement paths between the fields and playing courts, between the brick-facade buildings. Even the Commons, a central forested area on campus that's usually crowded, is quiet. Only a few students are outside, either driven away by the late summer heat, playing sports, or drawn to the dorms to cool off, hang out, and study. All the buildings around the central Commons are academic, separated by the long expanse of the Commons itself. It's one of the few places in the city that remains untamed, by intent. I often visit the Commons to play or write music, or work on a novel; assigning the calmer environment to the creative side of my mind helps me work.

The nature and artifice contrast shortly gives way to a brief open field--this one a pedicured division of the Commons--then that to closely-spaced tall buildings. The dorms. I'm on the left side of my own dorm, wiggling between it and the sophomore dorm building to get through to the front. My claustrophobia makes the few seconds before I round the corner seem much longer than they really are.

I step through the front doors of the dorm and sigh quietly as the cool air washes over my body. Something nags at the back of my mind, and it takes me a moment to recognize the fear that surrounds public situations. Almost managed to escape it. I nod to the few people hanging out in the lounge, then make my way up the stairs to my dorm.

The door to my dorm swings shut behind me, and I sigh, closing my eyes against the apartment-like space. "Ryan, you back yet?" I call to my dorm mate. No response. I open my eyes, flicking my gaze around the dorm. "Ryan?" My voice almost seems to echo in the dorm. I check his room. Empty. "Strange," I mutter, leaning against the wall next to his bedroom. He's usually back before I am.

I stride across the small, sparsely furnished main room to my own bedroom, setting my backpack down next to my desk and flopping onto my bed. A sigh escapes my lips as I stare at the ceiling, letting my body rest for a minute as I decide what to do. I took care of all my homework yesterday, and I received no surprise assignments from teachers today, so I have free time before I need to get dinner started.

After a few breaths, I sit up and grab my acoustic guitar. I don't plan to write a song, just practice, but either way, I know I should head to the Commons to play. However, a strange apathy settles over me as I rest the guitar on my lap, and I can't even summon the energy to strum the strings. Slowly, I set the guitar back down and lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling again. It almost feels like I'm staring through it, through the floors beyond, past the sun, into the constellations and stars beyond my own solar system.

Until I realize it's not a vision at all, but actually what fills my sight.

I start and sit up quickly, glancing wildly around me. The strange sight remains, though I can still see the world around me as if it's in the background. "Constellations...everywhere," I whisper as my brief panic attack fades. The constellations seem to move and wander in my eyes, Taurus the Bull bumping up against Aries the Ram, the Twins of Gemini playing with Leo the Lion. "What's going on?" I mutter.

Suddenly, without intending to, I turn my gaze toward the moon, where it rests in its rotation around the earth. Waxing half tonight. The moon is halfway along its journey to being full, and fear fills my veins. I shrink back into my mattress, huddling in its warmth against the cold eye of the moon. "I need to hide the night of the full moon." It takes me a moment to realize the words came from my mouth, and I start again, putting a hand to my lips. "What's going on?" I say again, aimlessly.

"Lestri?"

I start for a third time, jerking away from the new voice in surprise, vision snapping back to normal as I whip my gaze to the door. I tense for a moment before recognizing Ryan's face at the door and relaxing. "Oh, hey," I say with a sigh. "Startled me. Come in."

"Hey." He steps fully into the room, tilting his head. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, not at all," I say, an embarrassed smile tugging at my lips. "I was just lost in thought, is all."

"What about?" he asks.

"A...vision, I guess." I shrug. "Nothing really important. Just an irrational fear of the full moon." I force a laugh, but it comes out more like a bark.

"The full moon?" He pauses, watching me.

"What's going on up there, Ryan?" I ask. "I can see those gears turning."

After a short pause, he shakes his head. "It's nothing. Just follow your instincts in two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"The night of the full moon, precisely," he says, glancing at me, confusion written across his face. "You can't feel it?"

I frown and think for a moment before I feel it--a sort of internal clock, counting down. "You were wrong," I say suddenly, after a moment of silence.

Ryan starts and glances at me. "What?"

"The full moon is in thirteen days, four hours, three minutes, and...fifty-three seconds," I state.

"Yours is more accurate, even, than mine," Ryan mutters, as if to himself. Then, louder, he says, "Meet me at Pop's and Ma's at sunset that night. But for God's sake, be sneaky about it."

"Sneaky's my middle name," I say.

"Like hell it is!" Ryan exclaims.

"How many times have I left the dorm at night without you noticing?" I ask.

"None," he says instantly.

I raise an eyebrow, a smug smile on my face. "You sure about that?"

He falters for a moment, then glares at me and continues. "Don't leave with me--too suspicious. Don't wait too long, though--"

"Ryan," I interrupt gently. "I can handle myself. You worry about getting yourself there; I'll be fine."

Ryan frowns at me. "Alright," he says after a moment. "Just make sure you aren't tailed."

"Of course," I say. Ryan nods at me and backs out of my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts again. "Why are things so difficult?" I mutter to my ceiling as I lay back down.

My eyes drift shut, and though I don't sleep, the next two hours pass in a blur as I rest in a trancelike state. Eventually, my watch beeps at me, reminding me of the time, and I reluctantly open my eyes with a sigh. I lift my arm from behind my head, as, with another mental nudge, black pigment races to cover it. I know without looking that it's spread all over the rest of my body, black everywhere except my chest, stomach, and the base of my back, where it's white. I stare at the colouring with distaste for a few moments longer, then mentally release the transformation. My skin returns to normal. I let my arm fall to my side.

A moment later, I hear a knock at my window. I still have the blinds open, though it's nearing dark outside--I should probably close them. I shrug, then rise and walk over to my window. It's difficult to make out, as the room is lit and reflects off the window, but there appears to be a figure outside--an inhuman figure, peering in with amethyst eyes. As I peer through the window, however, the shape flits away, leaving me with a blurry, indistinct memory. I throw the window open and lean out, but the shape isn't visible anywhere. Where'd it go?

I take a deep breath of the warm evening air and smile a little. "Beautiful day for a little climbing," I say quietly, then step onto the window ledge. My heart thuds nervously as I balance for a moment, tense and stiff, despite the fact that I've done this before. A few breaths work to calm me down, and I reach across my body with my right hand, turning as I do, until my fingers wrap around the cement frame surrounding the outside of the window. Once I have it, I slowly rise, reaching up with my left hand until I can reach the small cement overhang above my window that's just sturdy enough to support my weight. I grasp it with first my left, then both, hands, then examine the wall stretching in all directions, searching for my next move.

Thankfully, a wall--even a facade brick wall like this one--has a surprising amount of handholds: exhaust pipes, A/C intakes, random poles running up and down the side of the building that have no apparent use. I allow myself a small smile, then fall into a more serious thinking pattern; if I'm not focused during the climb, I could fall. Free-climbing at its most dangerous: eleven stories above the ground, and I'll be ascending six more with this climb. A fall from this height almost certainly translates to death. I pick out my target quickly--a small drainpipe that juts out of the building, to my right and slightly up.

I slowly squat down, until, for the briefest of moments, I hang by my hands, motionless. Dangerous though that is on a climb where my forearm strength will be tested, I start immediately into motion, swinging out to the left. As I begin to rotate back to the right, I fix the drainpipe in my sights. Then, at exactly the right moment, I heave with my arms, coupling my momentum and strength to complete a move that would have otherwise been impossible. My fingers wrap around the pipe, and my heart stops as they slip slightly before finding traction. I heave a sigh, then start swinging again, finding one of those aforementioned useless vertical pipes that's within jumping range. I build up some momentum, then again launch myself to the right, grabbing onto the pipe and planting my feet against the wall. Once I have my legs to help spider-walk up the wall, it's easier for me to climb up.

My final challenge is getting up to the roof. The pole ends about five feet below the lip of the roof, just a few inches beyond my fingertips if I really stretched. Though I've completed this climb before, I glance left and right, hoping that I'd get lucky and find something closer to the roof. However, there's nothing new, leaving me with only the dino move--a leap up, so I can get my fingers over the edge. My forearms are burning and trembling. I've spent too much time on the wall already. Time to end this.

With a deep breath, I extend my arms fully, bending my knees to keep myself as close to the wall as possible. Then, with a grunt, I channel all of my power into a single, explosive leap, pulling up and in with my arms so I don't just fly away from the wall. I get a good grip on the lip of the roof, my fingers clamping on tight, but my forearms start to cramp, giving out slightly. My fingers start to slide. Growling with effort, I kick at the wall and pull up as hard as I can, even as my fingers slip. My chest thumps against the lip of the roof just as my fingers slip off, but I grit my teeth and raise them back up, scrabbling at the roof as I pull the rest of my body up onto the wall. That's when I allow myself a sigh of relief. Too close, I think, as I turn onto my back and pant, feeling the adrenaline course through my veins. Need to work on that. I silently curse my foolishness, only now realizing how close I was to falling.

A moment later, after I've recovered--slightly--I sit up and dangle my legs over the edge. The colours of the sunset still wash the sky in brilliant colours, but they slowly begin to fade, giving way to purple and black. The evening star shines bright over the western horizon, and overhead, near the eastern horizon, I can see the first few stars begin to blink into existence. The few clouds that roam the sky shine brilliant yellow and orange as the sun strikes them from below, illuminating their bellies. A warm breeze ruffles my hair and ripples my shirt, sending a comfortable shiver through my body. That shiver is a tic of mine I wish I could erase.

I frown, the thought snapping me out of my awe and wonder. Despite not being able to see any of the roof because of the direction I'm facing, I sense another presence. I'm not alone. I roll backward onto the roof, then spring to my feet and turn around. Yet I don't see anything or anyone. Cautiously, I slip around the roof, through the maze of A/C units, small raised platforms, and lightning rods, but I don't find anything strange. Until, that is, I arrive back where I was before; there I find my unexpected visitor. They sit on the edge of the roof, one arm supporting out to the side, the other propped lazily up by a knee, one leg dangling over the edge while the one supporting the arm has the foot propped up on the edge of the roof. In fact, they mirror how I was sitting almost identically. I lean back against one of the A/C units, crossing my arms and watching the stranger.

We may well be statues for the next few moments, as the sky continues to darken. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" they say finally. The voice is definitely masculine, though I can't place the slight accent. I grunt in response. The visitor glances over his shoulder at me when I remain silent, appearing amused. "Not much of a talker, are you?"

Scottish, maybe. Definitely from the United Kingdom. "Only when I choose to be," I say finally.

"Well, you gotta talk to someone, mate," he says.

I grunt noncommittally, then reluctantly say, "You'd be surprised."

"I'm sure I would be. What's your name?" he asks. I raise an eyebrow, surprised, and at the same time certain that this mysterious stalker won't get information that easily. "Fair enough. What's your house?"

"My...house?"

My confusion must be clear in my expression, because he sighs and smacks his face. "Oh. You must not know yet." He sighs, then stares at the stars sparkling overhead, rubbing his brow--massaging the mind, as my granddad used to say. Then he stands up and puts his back to the edge of the roof, facing me. "You mid-cycle kids always confuse me. Sometimes you phase two weeks early, sometimes two weeks late...and I'm only confusing you more."

I shake my head, unable to get my thoughts together to speak. Thankfully, someone else speaks in the silence. "Rax. What are you doing here?" To my surprise, Ryan emerges from the forest of metal behind me. "Making trouble?"

"Ryan!" the stranger--Rax--greets, as if drinking to a friend's health. "Of course it seems like making trouble to you. I simply wished to meet the newcomer."

"He's mine, Rax. You won't take another one," Ryan says. His voice takes on a rough animalistic nature. For a moment, I think I see his eyes flash green--but the next instant, it's gone. I must have imagined it.

"Oh, come on, mate, don't shift in front of the poor guy," Rax says in a warm tone, with a slight sigh, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "He hasn't even phased yet."

"And you mean to tell me you weren't going to?" Ryan challenges.

"Of course not!" Rax protests, but I can read the lie in his eyes.

"You're a terrible liar, mate," I say quietly, slipping into my own Irish accent. "I've counted three so far."

"Quite the observer, eh?" Rax says.

"Quite the opposite," I say. "You just don't lie well."

"Only when I choose not to." Rax watches me for a moment, then, in one graceful motion, leaps off the side of the building. Ryan curses as I break into a sprint toward the edge of the building and tackles me to the ground.

We land with a dull thump as he pins me down. "Lestri, leave him be. He'll be fine," Ryan says.

I freeze, staring at him. "Who--what--was he?"

"The largest criminal in my...our...world," Ryan says, glancing at me briefly when he makes the correction. Then he glances to the side again, avoiding eye contact.

"What are you talking about?" I demand. "'Our' world?"

Ryan stares at me for what feels like forever before speaking. "I cannot tell you now, but in two weeks, you will have your answers." He pauses and glances at the edge of the roof. "And don't give in to Rax, even if he promises you answers."

"I'll try," I say. "But if I can't keep it off my mind, I'm coming to you with questions."

"The answers may prove more disturbing than the questions themselves," Ryan says, a wisdom beyond his years shining in his eyes.

I hesitate, then push Ryan off and roll to my feet. "You think Rax survived that fall?" I ask as I walk toward the edge of the roof.

"He didn't fall," Ryan replies.

"He didn't--" I stop and turn to face Ryan. "What?"

He smiles apologetically. "I told you, didn't I? The answers will simply be more confusing."

"Then riddle me this," I say, low and menacing as I stalk back up to him, short fuse fraying. "Why is it that I can cool myself off with a flick of my thoughts, or that my skin randomly turns blue and white?"

Anger flashes in Ryan's eyes as well, and they take on that slightly green tint again. "Your first lesson it to learn to control your temper," he hisses. "Test me not, Lestri; I wield powers you don't yet understand."

I stand there, frozen and trembling, inches away from Ryan. Finally, I take a deep, shaking breath and back away two steps, fuming. "You don't know how close I am to strangling you right now."

"And, let me guess," Ryan says, recovering his composure surprisingly quickly, "the only reason you aren't is that you haven't gotten answers yet?"

"Precisely," I reply.

He watches me in silence for a few moments. Then he chuckles. "You know, I was once in the same position you are," he says. "Except I was actually strangling my mentor."

"You went through this as well?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

"I'm not the first, Lestri," he says, with a small smile. "You'll learn. For now, wait; save your questions, for the answers will come when you're ready."

I pause, then nod. "Very well. But you'd better have answers for me in thirteen days," I say.

Ryan smiles. "Rest assured, I will," he says. "But be prepared for answers you will not like."

I nod again, and Ryan raises a hand in farewell before disappearing back into the metal maze. He must have taken the east stairway up--it's the only one with roof access. I turn, again looking out over the dim western horizon. Then I turn my gaze up, watching the few dim stars struggle to shine against the light of the city. For a moment, I feel myself missing those months I spent backpacking in the backcountry, when there were so many stars the sky shone as brightly at night as it did at day, some nights. Here, I can see only a handful.

A minute passes as I reminisce. Then I shake myself out of the nostalgia and cast one last glance at the western horizon. Then I turn back to the maze and step inside, weaving my way through to the east stairway, then back down to my dorm on level five.

Ryan's door is closed, but to my surprise, a plate of food steams next to the stove. I step up to his door, but I can hear the shower running--it's not his plate of food. I glance back at the plate, and from this angle, I can clearly see the L-shape formed by the food. "Ryan," I say under my breath, releasing a soft chuckle. He does this all the time--little gestures of uncalled-for kindness. I should start doing more of the same for him. I smile at the thought, but truth is, I can't really tell what makes him tick: I might do something that I think will repay the act, and he'll get upset because he wanted to make his own breakfast. However, I do accept the gesture and take the plate to my room, eating at my desk.

A handful of minutes later, I've followed Ryan's lead and taken care of my own hygiene. The pages of my journals lay scattered about me, records of the past few months, scrawled in my distinctly messy print. I mutter indistinctly to myself as I write; I almost always talk to myself when writing something out by hand, be it math problems or a creative story, to help myself think.

Finally, I shut the journal and gather up the loose pages, setting the writings next to the head of my bed. My blinds are closed, but I peek out of one side, trying to spot the mysterious figure again. I peer long and hard into the dark night, but...nothing. Not even a glimpse of a moving shadow. It's not out there.

I back up, letting the curtain fall shut, and sit on my bed. My curiosity nags at me, and I glance down at my arms. Was that figure...Rax? I let myself simply sit and stare for a while, the question running through my head over and over again. Then I reach over and shut my door, checking to make sure Ryan's still in his room. I sit back on my bed and, with that practised mental nudge, send the pigment racing across my skin. As it covers me, though, I find that it's not as far as I could change; however, there's some sort of mental block in place, a barrier of sorts, preventing me from going farther. I try to push against the barrier, curious about what further transformation might hold, but nothing happens. I pause, frowning. Then I push harder, straining, and--

Pain. Sharp, searing pain slices down my spine, then slowly begins to branch out along my nerves. A howl of pain escapes my lips as I let go of the transformation, slumping back onto my bed, grabbing at my sheets and breathing heavily.

The door to my room bursts open, and I turn my head to the side. Ryan stands in the doorway, eyes wide and wild. "Lestri! What happened?" he asks, rushing over to me.

I rub my forehead. "Did something stupid," I say, then break into a coughing fit. It's a moment before I recover and can speak again. "Pushed it too far."

"Pushed what too far?" Ryan demands.

"Transformation," I say, filling my face with black.

"Stop," Ryan commands. Instantly, I let the pigment fade. He sighs and lifts his eyes for a moment, then returns his gaze to me. "So you're one of those."

"One of--one of what, Ryan?" I demand, forcing myself into a sitting position. "I'm tired of your word games. What the hell am I? What's going on? Who's Rax? Why can I summon a breeze with a snap of my fingers? How do I know exactlywhen the full moon will be here? I have hundreds of questions, Ryan, and I think I deserve some answers."

Ryan watches me silently for a moment. I can't decipher the emotion in his eyes. "You're right," he says finally, surprising me. "You do deserve some answers. However, I will only provide what is absolutely necessary right now. Everything else will have to wait until the full moon, and you'll find out then. Understand?"

I nod. "Fair." I star at the wall in front of me for a few seconds, then turn to Ryan. "At least it'll sate a bit of my curiosity."

"And we all know about that insatiable monster," Ryan says, the joke clear in his eyes.

I grin at him. "Not insatiable. I just have questions no one can answer."

Ryan chuckles, but he shortly adopts a more serious expression. "Lestri, you're--" He stops and draws his hand over his face, thinking. "Ah...how do I put this gently?"

"I've taken tough news before," I say. "I have thick skin."

"Ten bucks says that the news I've got will shock you," Ryan says, watching me with an eyebrow raised.

"I'm no gambler, Ryan," I say, sighing. "Just think of how you want to say it and tell me."

"Lestri, you're--" he starts, then stops again. Then, with a sigh, he says, "There really is no gentle way to put this. Lestri...you're not human."

"I--what? Of course I'm human. What else can I be?" I ask. Ryan stares at me in the dead silence that follows. Finally, I say, "Sorry."

"Like hell." Ryan flashes a smile at me before continuing. "No, you're not. You're a member of the Servian race--shapeshifters. That's why your skin changes colour." He pauses, then smiles again. "Well, not really. You're somewhat of a special case."

"What do you mean, a special case?" I ask.

"You're what's called a Tweener," Ryan says. "It basically means you were born so that the date you'd Phase is exactly halfway between two full moons."

"Phase?"

"Your first Shift," Ryan explains. "And Shifting is when you turn into your other form."

"Wait, only one other shape?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Yeah," Ryan says, nodding. "Or, at least, we haven't yet had anyone Shift into more than one. The only form you can shift into is your True Form. Nobody else has the same form, just like no two humans are precisely alike."

"Okay," I say slowly, digesting that. "So go back to the whole Phasing-slash-Shifting thing. How exactly does it work?"

"Most Servians are born such that the day that marks eighteen and three months is a full moon. All Servians Phase on that full moon, and most join the underground society after Phasing. A few choose to remain in the human world, for various reasons. Most of those are, at one point, selected as mentors for the new Servians. The species can Shift whenever they would like, after Phasing." Ryan nods at me. "Tweeners like you are rare--the date you should Phase falls between two full moons. Generally, when that happens, the Tweener will Phase early if they fall before the two-week mark, or late if it's at or after the two-week mark..." He pauses, then glances at me. "Your case is even rarer: you began Phasing at the previous full moon, and--if what trends we have hold--you'll finish the Phase this coming one. The instinct to hide is bred into the species as a whole--helps stay hidden from the humans."

"Why hide?" I ask.

"As you can imagine, humans won't like it if they know that creatures smarter and stronger than they live among them," Ryan says.

I nod slowly, giving that a moment to sink in. "'Secret society'," I say after I've digested the information. "Why secret?"

"Did you not hear what I just said?" Ryan exclaims.

"I did, I did!" I say, holding up my hands as if to shield myself. "I was just...if it was just that Servians are smarter and stronger, humans would recognize it and dislike it, but eventually accept it. So, what more is there?"

"Good," Ryan says, eyes glinting with something. Pride? "Perceptive. That'll help you. Yes, there is something more: magic."

He pauses, waiting for a reaction. That's when what he said sinks in. I turn to fully face him. "Magic?" I say disbelievingly.

"Magic," Ryan repeats. "That's how you cool yourself off with a thought. However, there is a cost, and because of that, I won't teach you the art until you're integrated into the Servian community."

"But why would that interest humans?" I protest. "If the cost is what I think it is, then it's not particularly useful to them."

"What's the cost?" Ryan asks.

"Energy," I say instantly. "The same amount of energy--spent instantly--as it would take to do the task itself over time."

"Good guess," Ryan says. "And how much energy does it take to cut someone's head off with a sword?"

"Well, with enough strength and technique, minimal--oh." I blink. "Oh."

"Exactly." Ryan leans back on his elbows. "If they could figure out how to get access to our magic, they'd have access to powers that could wipe out a nation."

"And they'd go for Servians first," I say, feeling tingly as the grim realization hits me, "because we pose the greatest threat."

"There you go," Ryan says, nodding once.

"Wait," I say, as my mind rewinds through the conversation. "You're going to teach me magic?"

"I'm going to teach you magic," he says.

"So you're a Servian, too?" I shake my head with a tired smile. "What's your True Form?"

"A cat."

"A...cat." I stare at him.

"A cat," Ryan repeats, then glances at me. "You think one of those small, cute, domesticated cats, don't you?"

A flush heats my cheeks, and I look away. "How'd you know?"

"Don't be embarrassed, kid," Ryan says, grinning. "It's a mistake many before you have made. That's what I expected, but no, no..." I stare, astonished, as his face begins to morph, with several unnerving cracks. When the transformation finishes, a lynx--no, a lynx with a human shape--lounges on the bed next to me. "This is my True Form."

I close my eyes and shake my head as if to dispel a waking dream, but when I open my eyes, it's still there. "R-...Ryan?" I ask hesitantly.

"Hm?" It--he--looks up at me, brows raised.

"My God," I mutter, and shake my head again. "I'm sorry, I'm just--I'm overwhelmed. Like, what the...?" I trail off and shake my head again. "This is surreal, mate." In my surprise, some of my Irish accent starts to creep out.

"That's what I thought, too," Ryan admits. "So did all my previous mentees."

"All your--Ryan, you've been here three years!" I protest.

"Because I never got a college degree in this world," he says. "I'm not twenty-one, Lestri; I'm older. Much older."

"How much older?" I press.

"A handful of years," he says. At my glance, he relents and says, "About a century and a half."

"You're..." I stare at him disbelievingly. "You can't be over a hundred years old. Ryan, you look eighteen still!"

"One of the advantages of not dying of old age," he says, smiling--the expression looks strange on the lynx's face. "The other being that, generally speaking, it's not looked down upon to date someone decades or centuries older or younger than yourself."

I stare at the ground, then at my hands, resting in my lap. "Immortal, huh?"

"We can still be killed by the sword or gun, or by poisons and the like," Ryan says. "But yes, as far as we know, we will never die of old age. And I'm considered young by much of our race. There are still some that lived during the Renaissance."

I blink, trying to digest that. It proves almost impossible. "What will happen to my family?" I ask after a moment.

"They'll think you're dead," he says gently. "At some point within the next decade, we'll have to fake your death; looking eighteen when you're really thirty is a tell that something's not normal. And we need to stay hidden at all costs."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, holding it for a moment as sadness fills me. Then I exhale sharply, letting out the air, and the sorrow with it. "A pity," I say quietly. "Maybe one day...if I can reconcile the two races..."

"I wouldn't count on it," Ryan says seriously, sitting up and watching me closely. "Once they know what you are..."

A wisp of a deep pain seems to echo in his eyes. I ponder that for a moment, but finally decide against mentioning it. Instead, I say, "I'll believe you."

He smiles, then stands up. A series of shivers and those sharp cracks run through his body as he reverts to his normal--his human--shape. "I haven't told you everything," he says, pausing at the doorway. "The rest, you will discover in two weeks. Goodnight, Lestri."

"'Night," I reply, frowning as I stare at the ground, processing the info he just dumped on me. He leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving me to my silent thoughts. "Oh, boy," I sigh quietly, laying back. "I have a long, long road in front of me."