Elias didn’t sleep.

  He spent the night lying on the couch, eyes closed, body still, waiting for the drop into unconsciousness that never came. Minutes passed. Then hours. His thoughts circled — not racing, not even panicking. Just looping. There was no weight behind them. No mental fatigue. Just an eerie clarity that never dimmed.

  He didn’t feel tired.

  He didn’t feel rested either.

  He just… was.

  He also wasn’t hungry. Or thirsty. Or aching to pee, despite the tea. No dryness in the throat. No yawning. Nothing. The normal rhythms of a body doing its quiet maintenance had gone entirely quiet.

  That terrified him more than the strange voice had.

  Now, in the pale yellow of early morning, Elias stood in the hallway, staring at the front door like it might be a cliff edge.

  Riya watched him from the kitchen, a fresh tea in hand — her second or third, judging by the smell. She hadn’t said much when he stirred from the couch. Had just studied him, then nodded once, like she’d expected it: the sleeplessness, the blank stare, the quiet tension that hadn’t faded with rest.

  “I think I should go,” Elias said eventually, voice low and unused.

  Riya raised a brow. “Go where?”

  “I don’t know. Police station? A hospital?” He managed a faint, humourless smile. “Maybe just out of your hair.”

  “You’re not in my hair.”

  “Still.” He exhaled slowly. “I need to go home, get a change of clothes at least.”

  She considered that. Then stepped aside, gesturing toward the door. “Alright. Go ahead.”

  The floor creaked beneath him as he walked over. The handle felt cold. Normal. He turned it and pulled the door open. Outside, the world was still waking — the muffled sound of a car, a few birds, early morning dew clinging to the porch rail.

  He took a breath and stepped out.

  Concrete underfoot. A breeze tugged at his borrowed shirt. He blinked.

  Then the world shifted.

  Not violently. No snap, no noise, no sting. Just… a twist. A flip of direction.

  The step forward became a step back into the house.

  The porch vanished. The hallway returned. And suddenly he was inside again — facing the lounge, Riya staring at him in surprise.

  He stumbled slightly.

  “What the fuck,” he muttered.

  Riya hadn’t moved. She watched him, her face more focused than surprised.

  “You alright?” she asked.

  He looked around. Everything was where it had been. The couch. The blanket. The tea mug. The quiet.

  “I’m fine,” Elias said. “But… yeah. That was weird.”

  He ran a hand down his face, then stopped halfway. “It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel like magic or static or energy or anything. Just… I was out. Then I wasn’t.”

  Riya patted below her neck. “Still have the locket.”

  He looked at it like it might blink. “So… what, I’m bound to that thing?”

  “Or to me,” she said. “Or both.”

  They stared at each other for a long beat.

  Then she tilted her head toward the door again. “Let’s try something.”

  Riya stepped closer to the door and unzipped her hoodie. The chain of the locket was visible now, glinting faintly in the early light where it lay against the collar of her t-shirt.

  “Alright,” she said, fishing it out fully and letting it hang. “Let’s see what happens when I’m standing still with this, and you go.”

  Elias hesitated. “This feels like one of those cursed object movies. The ones where someone always makes it worse.”

  “You already tried leaving,” she said, shrugging. “Can’t get much worse.”

  He gave her a dry look and turned to the door again.

  One step out.

  Light. Air. The chill of morning.

  Then: flip.

  He stumbled forward — or backward, depending on how the universe decided to define it — and landed once more just inside the door frame, facing back into the house.

  Riya didn’t react. Just lifted the locket slightly and let it drop back down. “Yup.”

  “That’s starting to get annoying.”

  “Still no pain?”

  “No,” he said, frowning. “Just… redirection. Like the world politely refused my exit.”

  “Try it again. But this time I’ll move.”

  She stepped to the door frame and crossed through first, locket now tucked beneath her shirt again. She stood outside, half on the porch, arms crossed.

  “Okay,” she called softly. “Now you.”

  Elias followed.

  This time — no flip.

  He stepped out onto the porch. The concrete felt steady. The air was cool on his skin. He looked down at his own feet just to be sure they were still his.

  He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

  “So when you go first,” he said, “I can leave.”

  “Seems that way,” Riya said. “Come down to the path. Let’s keep testing.”

  They walked a few metres down the garden path together. Elias let her walk ahead slightly, then lingered. He took two steps back.

  Nothing happened.

  Three more.

  Still fine.

  Another step.

  Something twitched in the back of his mind. Not a tug. Not a warning. Just a subtle pull, like gravity beginning to reassert itself.

  “I think that’s the limit,” he said, pausing. “About five metres?”

  She turned, arms still crossed, observing him like a scientist watching a lab rat try a new maze.

  “Try stepping back another half metre.”

  He did.

  Reality didn’t flip — but something tensed.

  His skin prickled. The world felt tighter, like the geometry of space had subtly pinched. Not pain. But a boundary.

  He stepped forward again, instinctively.

  The pressure eased.

  “It’s like…” he said slowly, “an invisible rope. Not yanking me. Just saying, ‘That’s far enough.’”

  “Guess that makes me your leash,” Riya muttered.

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  They both paused.

  Elias blinked. She looked away, pretending to inspect a patch of moss on the front step.

  “Charming,” he said flatly.

  “Sorry.”

  He shook his head, but couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth twitching. “So that’s what she meant.”

  “Camilla?”

  “Binding. Not just killing me. She was tying me to something.”

  Riya looked back up, more serious now. “Looks like it worked.”

  “Great,” he said. “I’m a metaphysical balloon.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, well, I hope you don’t float. Tram’s in twenty.”

  They waited.

  Riya insisted the morning rush wasn’t worth fighting — the 8 a.m. commuters would be packing into trams like sardines. Elias didn’t argue. He didn’t want to be near crowds anyway. Not like this.

  Instead, they lingered in the kitchen over another round of tea. Riya moved with quiet efficiency, already in jeans and a fitted jacket. The locket stayed hidden under her shirt. Elias caught her touching it twice — not with concern, but unconsciously. Like it was a tool she wasn’t sure how to hold yet.

  He still wasn’t sure how to stand.

  His body felt both his and not. He could move fine. Balance. Stretch. But there was a heaviness in the joints that wasn’t fatigue. Like he’d been rebuilt a little too tightly. Too solid. And still, no hunger. No thirst. No pressure in the bladder or stomach. No pulse that he could feel.

  He ran his fingers lightly down his forearm.

  Still warm. Still human.

  Supposedly.

  When the time felt right — closer to 9:30 — they left.

  Riya stopped into a 7-Eleven a block from her place and bought Elias a Myki card. She handed it over without comment, the way someone might hand you a bandage for a scrape they didn’t want to talk about. Then they walked together through the slowly stirring streets, past school groups and cyclists and tired baristas setting up morning deliveries.

  Melbourne still felt like Melbourne.

  But it looked… thinner.

  Like a movie backdrop with just enough paint to suggest normalcy.

  Elias stayed close as they boarded the tram. Riya tapped her card and nodded toward the rear of the mostly empty carriage, as he tapped on. Late-morning emptiness. Just a few scattered passengers: an older couple reading silently, a student with headphones in, a mother with a stroller who looked halfway asleep.

  They sat side by side near the back.

  Elias watched the city slip past the windows in jerks and slides. Everything felt slightly too smooth. Like the tram was gliding over ice rather than tracks.

  He looked at his reflection in the glass.

  It didn’t quite look back.

  He could see his own face, but something was off in the way the shadows caught his features. His eyes looked deeper than they should have. Too much black in the centre. Or maybe too little light.

  He turned away.

  People didn’t seem to look at him directly. But one man did.

  Mid-forties, sun-weathered skin, salt-and-pepper beard. Tattered coat. Sat opposite them two rows up. Possibly homeless. Possibly mad. The sort of man most commuters instinctively avoided eye contact with.

  But he was staring straight at Elias.

  Not aggressively. Just… watching.

  Then he spoke, softly. Voice low, smoky.

  “They don’t always come back this whole.”

  Elias blinked.

  The man tilted his head, as if examining the grain of wood in Elias’s bones.

  “Be careful what’s holding you together.”

  Then the tram hissed, the brakes let out their soft whine, and the man stood up and stepped off without another word.

  Gone.

  Elias looked at Riya.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

  “Nope.”

  They sat in silence for the next four stops.

  Docklands hadn’t changed.

  Glass and steel towers curved upward like frozen waves, half-empty cafes spilled chairs onto wide pedestrian walkways, and the wind smelled faintly of salt and tram grease. Elias led the way down a side street, off Collins, through a gate he remembered sticking a little — and still did — then around the side of a building to a recessed brick planter near the fire exit.

  “Don’t judge me,” he muttered, crouching.

  Riya smirked. “Let me guess — spare key in a fake rock?”

  “Better.” He pried up a loose terracotta tile behind the shrubs, revealing a dusty magnetic box clinging to an old water pipe.

  He flipped it open. The key was still there.

  Riya looked vaguely impressed. “I’ve arrested drug dealers with worse setups.”

  “Thank you... I think,” he said, brushing off the key. “I take great pride in my laziness.”

  They entered the lobby — plain, quiet, clean enough — and took the lift to level six. The hallway smelled like old carpet, old curry and lemon cleaner. Elias hesitated at his front door. The number looked familiar, but distant. As if it belonged to someone else now. He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

  His flat was exactly as he’d left it.

  Books stacked unevenly on the desk, two mismatched mugs by the sink, one sock draped over the back of a chair like it had been thrown in a hurry. There was a faint mustiness in the air, like the space had been sealed just long enough to forget the rhythm of breath and movement.

  Riya stepped inside behind him. “No blood. No scorch marks. No sigils on the ceiling. Nice.”

  “Yeah. Not even a polite demonic welcome note.”

  But as Elias walked to the bedroom, pulling open drawers, sliding closet doors — a new unease grew.

  His ID was gone.

  So was his phone. His wallet. The grey jacket he’d worn the night of the work party.

  “Camilla,” he said quietly. “She must’ve kept my things when she took me home. None of it made it back here.”

  Riya checked the window locks, half out of habit. “We didn’t find any of that at the warehouse either.”

  Elias opened his closet and stared at his own clothes.

  He pulled out a pair of jeans. Held them up.

  Too short.

  He tried on a jumper. The sleeves stopped mid-forearm. The shoulders pulled tight across his back.

  Riya stood in the doorway, watching him turn in the mirror, awkwardly adjusting the hem.

  “They feel like they shrank in the wash,” he said. “Only I didn’t wash them.”

  “You’ve grown,” she said.

  He turned to her. “How does that even happen overnight?”

  Riya didn’t answer. Just folded her arms and looked around the flat. “Can’t stay here. Not without me. And I’m not exactly moving in.”

  Elias sat heavily on the edge of the bed. “I feel like a rescue dog with separation anxiety.”

  She smirked faintly. “You chew my shoes, I’m calling an exorcist.”

  He sighed, then stood again, grabbing a backpack and stuffing a few things into it. A notebook. USB. Some old photos.

  A second later, he paused and added his toothbrush. Instinct.

  Then he stopped again.

  “I’m not hungry,” he said softly. “Not thirsty. I didn’t sleep. My clothes don’t fit. I don’t have a pulse.”

  Riya leaned against the door frame, her voice lower now. “You still breathe.”

  “Do I?”

  He focused. Watched his reflection.

  In. Out.

  A faint lift of the chest. The slow whisper of air.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “But it feels like a habit. Not necessity.”

  They stood like that for a moment, the room too quiet, the hum of the city bleeding in through the glass.

  Riya finally spoke.

  “Let’s go. You’re crashing with me until we figure this out. And next time,” she added, “you’re buying lunch. Even if you can’t eat it.”

  Elias gave a ghost of a smile. “Deal.”

  He grabbed his backpack, took one last look around the flat — his life, or what used to be — and followed her out.

  The train was a little busier this time — not full, but enough to remind Elias he wasn’t quite part of the world anymore.

  People moved around him like he wasn’t there. Eyes slid over him, never sticking. A toddler in a puffy jacket glanced up and stared for a beat too long, but his mother tugged him away before he could say anything. Elias kept his hands deep in the hoodie pockets, head low.

  He didn’t want to look at his reflection again.

  The Myki gates beeped them through at Melbourne Central, and Riya led them along the tunnel to Bourke Street with the same quiet, practical energy she used for everything. Elias appreciated it. She didn’t try to talk him out of his thoughts. Didn’t try to fix it. Just kept moving.

  Kmart was bright. Brutally bright.

  Too many mirrors, too many racks. Fluorescent light on pale tiles. A thousand distractions. Elias blinked like a cave creature shoved into the midday sun.

  “What size do you reckon you are now?” Riya asked, picking through shirts.

  “No idea,” he muttered. “Definitely not medium anymore?”

  She snorted. “Extra broad it is.”

  They gathered a few things — plain tees, sweats, cheap jeans with some stretch. Riya gestured him toward the fitting rooms. He came back five minutes later in one of the new shirts and a pair of joggers that almost looked like they fit.

  “Better,” she said, appraising him. “You look like a real boy now.”

  He gave her a look. “Thanks, Geppetto.”

  At the register, he reached instinctively for a wallet that wasn’t there — then froze.

  Riya beat him to it. Slid her card across the terminal without comment.

  He hesitated. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “You can buy dinner. Eventually. Somehow.”

  They walked back through the mall together, Elias holding the bag as if it might slip through his fingers. The normalcy of it made the rest of the day feel surreal. Like a lie, they were both agreeing to participate in.

  Outside, the sky had dulled. The wind picked up. The city kept moving.

  “Thank you,” Elias said, finally.

  Riya looked over.

  “For letting me stay,” he added. “For… not treating me like a ghost.”

  She shrugged once, then smiled faintly. “You’re not a ghost. You’re just weird.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  They started walking again, toward the tram stop, tethered in every way that now mattered.

  The streets outside Kmart were a blur of movement — tram bells, coffee cups, overcoats, city noise softened by the grey light of late morning. Elias adjusted the bag in his hand, still not used to how his fingers fit around things now. Everything felt slightly off. Slightly borrowed.

  He didn’t speak as they walked.

  The synthetic fabric of his new shirt clung awkwardly. The track pants swished in ways that made him self-conscious. He looked like a man who’d been dressed by a mildly disinterested charity. He felt like one.

  Riya scanned the passing trams, then glanced at him sidelong.

  “You look like a backpacker who lost a bet.”

  Elias gave a dry smile. “I feel like a puppet with the wrong stuffing.”

  They paused at the tram platform. Riya dug her hand into her pocket, fiddling with the receipt, watching a street busker try to tune a guitar that had lost the will to live.

  Then she muttered it.

  Quiet. Barely thinking. A throwaway line lost in traffic.

  “I wish you could just walk out of here looking halfway normal. Like you belong.”

  Elias didn’t hear it as sound.

  He felt it.

  Like it was spoken inside his chest. The words landed with weight — not violent, but absolute. A switch thrown in some buried, ancient mechanism. His breath caught. His knees weakened slightly. And then the urge took him. It wasn’t a choice. It was an unrelenting pull — like gravity twisted sideways. His fingers twitched. His vision shifted.

  He knew what she meant. Not in specifics — but in essence. She hadn’t told him what to wear, only how he needed to be seen: belonging. Normal. Whole. And somehow, he could see it. A shape. A silhouette. A composition. Not just clothing. Presence.

  The energy swelled. Unstoppable.

  Heat rose in his lungs — not burning, but saturating, like he’d inhaled a lungful of sunlight.

  His heartbeat stuttered once.

  And then—

  Release.

  A shimmer passed over his skin, outward like a ripple on still water. His body straightened of its own accord. The plastic bag slipped from his hand and vanished mid-fall, consumed in a blink by gold-tinged light that no one else seemed to notice.

  He felt the transformation move through him — not costume but cocoon. The rough polyester shirt dissolved like ash. The track pants tightened, refined, reshaped. Boots wrapped themselves around his feet with weight and polish that whispered Italian leather. Sleeves slid down his arms, cuffs settling perfectly at the wrist. A coat draped over his shoulders, folding itself with a dignity that belonged to old cities and deeper names.

  And then it stopped.

  He was standing still.

  Breathing shallow.

  Riya was staring at him as if he’d just grown horns.

  “What the fuck?!”