Chapter 2 What We Carry

Chapter 2 – What We Carry

The walk to Maya's place took exactly thirteen minutes if you cut through the alley behind Sutter Street and ignored the signs that said "Private Property" like they meant something. Isaac moved fast, hood up, heart still thudding like it hadn't gotten the memo that the fight was over. His veins still felt warm. Not burning, not glowing-just... off.

The ash from the creature clung to his boots, tiny flecks that wouldn't brush off. He'd tried. Gave up.

He wasn't sure if he was scared yet. He hadn't reached that part of the night. Right now, he was still stuck somewhere between shock and denial.

The city buzzed around him-sirens in the distance, drunken laughter echoing off graffiti-covered walls, a couple arguing under a broken streetlamp. Life in Greywood didn't stop just because something impossible happened.

He turned onto Darrow Street, past the junkyard, past old man Roland's boarded-up shop, and climbed the rusted stairs to the second floor of a brick building that had been condemned five years ago. Maya's apartment was the one with the blue curtain and the cracked lantern that still glowed faintly in the dark.

He knocked once.

The door swung open before his knuckles could hit again.

Maya stood there in sweatpants, oversized hoodie, and socks that didn't match. She looked at him for exactly two seconds before yanking him inside.

"I swear to God, Isaac, if you got into another fight-"

"I didn't," he said automatically.

She narrowed her eyes. "You're shaking."

"I'm not."

"You're literally vibrating."

He looked down at his hands. She was right. His fingers trembled slightly, like they were still echoing with something they didn't understand.

Maya stepped closer, gently gripping his wrist. "What happened?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"I don't know."

She stared at him for a long second. "That's not like you."

"No," he said quietly. "It's not."

She led him to the worn-out couch in her living room. It smelled like curry and cinnamon and safety. A sitcom played on mute in the background. A single candle flickered on the coffee table. Warm light. Normal.

Isaac sat down, elbows on knees, hands clasped together like prayer.

"I saw something," he said. "It came through my window. It wasn't human. It-" He stopped. The words were too big for his mouth.

Maya didn't interrupt. She never did.

"It had armor... or skin, I don't know. Sharp teeth. Fast. It came straight for me."

"Why?"

"No idea." He met her eyes. "But when it touched me... something inside me-something burned. I moved faster than it did. I hit harder than I should've been able to. And when it died... it turned to ash."

Silence.

Then Maya stood, walked to the kitchen, and returned with a bowl of noodles and a fork.

Isaac blinked. "Really?"

"You're shaking and possibly traumatized. You eat. Then we figure it out."

He took the bowl. Ate a bite before he realized he was starving.

Maya sat beside him, knees tucked up under her. "Okay," she said. "So something attacked you. You fought back. And you changed. A little."

"A lot." He looked down at his hands again. "Something's wrong with me."

"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe something's been dormant. You ever get weird headaches? Fevers that didn't make sense? Dreams?"

Isaac stilled.

"You remember when we were sixteen?" she said. "That time you blacked out after that guy tried to mug you?"

He nodded slowly. "You said I got lucky."

"I lied," she said. "His arm was broken. I didn't tell you because you freaked out after."

"You think this has happened before?"

"I think it's been waiting."

The words hit harder than he expected. Waiting. Watching. Coiled like a snake in his chest, waiting for the right moment to strike.

He looked up. "Maya... what if I'm not human?"

She didn't flinch. "You're Isaac. That's all I care about."

"But-"

"But nothing." Her voice was soft but firm. "We figure this out. Together. Like always."

He stared at her, the warmth in her eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw. He didn't deserve her. He never had.

Maya stood and went to her bookshelf. Pulled down a worn leather journal and tossed it on the table.

"My mom used to collect stories," she said. "Old ones. Legends, myths. Stuff most people ignore."

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm in a fairy tale?"

"I think you're in something older than fairy tales. Something buried." She flipped the journal open, turning pages quickly. "There were stories about people with serpent blood. Ancient bloodlines, supposedly extinct. They weren't shapeshifters-they were power holders. Gifted. Feared."

He swallowed. "Feared why?"

"Because they could control things that shouldn't be controlled. Energy. Emotion. Memory. The old texts said they were born during moments of deep trauma. Birthed from pain."

He thought of his parents. Of the night his mother died. Of the silence that followed.

"What happened to them?" he asked.

"They were hunted. Erased. Their blood was... valuable."

A chill crawled up his spine. "Valuable how?"

"Potent. Magical. People wanted it. For spells. For power. For binding ancient creatures. It was currency in the old world."

"So if I really have this blood..."

"Then someone knows," she said quietly. "And someone's coming."