Jacob Wyatt, a 10-year-old with short, electric-blue hair, sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes. He stares at his hands, flexing his fingers as if to check they are truly his own. Last night was another dream—except, sometimes, the dreams spill into daylight. He glances at the mirror, half-expecting to see someone else’s face. The secret inside him thrums, alive and restless.
Ethan Wyatt, Jacob’s 8-year-old brother, zigzags around the table, socked feet sliding on linoleum. Their mother calls from the hallway, but Jacob barely hears her. Instead, he focuses on the way Ethan laughs, the way his mop of hair bounces. He knows: if he wanted, he could become Ethan. He could become the toaster, the bowl, the very chair he sits on. But the power has its rules—terrible, silent rules that knot Jacob’s stomach.
Jacob’s heart pounds as he slips inside, pressing his back to the wall. Instinctively, he feels the shift—his skin prickles, bones soften. In a blink, he is no longer a boy but a row of cold, ceramic sinks. He has become the room itself, invisible and everywhere, feeling every drip of water, every echoing footfall. Time stretches strangely. He wonders if this is what being a ghost feels like.
He waits until the last bell rings, until the world outside grows quieter. When he wills himself back, the change is harder, slower—something is wrong. A sharp, panicked sensation tugs at his core. Then he hears it: a muffled, frightened voice. It is Ethan. Somehow, impossibly, his brother’s presence is stuck—caught inside the echo of Jacob’s borrowed shape.
Ethan is pale and shivering, his eyes wide with fear. Jacob aches to tell him the truth, to spill everything, but the power clamps down on his throat, stealing the words before they can form. "Jacob, what happened to me? Why was everything so dark? Did you do something?" Jacob shakes his head, tears stinging his eyes. He wants to confess—needs to confess—but a silent force holds him back, choking off every attempt.
Jacob watches his brother sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest a fragile comfort. He resolves to find a way to master his powers, to protect Ethan no matter what. Maybe one day, the secret will loosen its grip; maybe one day, he will speak. For now, Jacob carries the burden alone, the weight of what he’s done pressing deep into his bones. But hope flickers at the edge of morning—a promise that he will try to set things right.
