POV: Lucian Mareis
Lucian Mareis had never liked rainy nights. They pressed down on the city with a heaviness that seeped into his chest, drumming against the glass as if reminding him of things he didn't want to remember.
His phone buzzed for the fifth time, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark interior of the car. Nareth Sol. His best friend's name pulsed in white letters across the display, stubborn as always.
Lucian gripped the steering wheel tighter. "I'll call him later," he muttered, though the guilt tugged anyway.
Nareth had been nagging him all week. Don't drive this late. Don't drink so much coffee. Don't disappear when you're upset. Lucian loved him like a brother, but sometimes he wondered if Nareth knew how suffocating his concern felt. Still, there was comfort in it—like a thread that never snapped, even when Lucian tried to pull away.
The rain thickened, blurring the traffic lights into bleeding smears of red and green. Lucian blinked hard, trying to focus. His chest felt heavier tonight, though he didn't know why.
His mind drifted back to earlier that evening, to the text he'd read in the dim glow of the café.
> I'm sorry, Lucian. It's not you. I just… I can't do this anymore.
She hadn't even signed her name. His girlfriend of two years had broken up with him with a message shorter than a grocery list. And to make it worse, he already knew why. He'd seen the way she looked at Irian Thal—the quiet Omega who lived three blocks from him. She'd been laughing more with Irian in one week than she had with Lucian in the last six months.
Lucian pressed his palm to his temple, a bitter laugh escaping. Figures. People always leave.
His phone buzzed again. Nareth this time, followed by a flood of messages.
> Where are you?
Pick up the damn phone.
Lucian, answer me.
A sigh slipped from his lips. He should answer. Nareth would only keep calling. But the thought of his best friend's voice—gentle, concerned, maybe even pitying—was unbearable right now. He didn't want to hear compassion. He wanted silence.
He reached for the phone, eyes flicking from the wet road for only a second.
That was all it took.
A flash of headlights. The screech of tires. The deafening crack of metal against metal.
The world flipped.
Lucian's body slammed forward, his vision exploding in sparks of white and black. The taste of copper filled his mouth. Shards of glass cut across his skin as the car spun out of control. He tried to breathe, but the air had been punched from his lungs.
So this is it…?
His chest burned. His hands slipped from the steering wheel. He thought of Nareth—the way his friend's laugh used to fill their dorm room, the way he always carried Lucian home after too many drinks, the way his eyes looked like storms that never broke.
I never said thank you.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
---
When Lucian opened his eyes, the world was quiet. Too quiet.
He was lying in a white room, sterile and humming faintly with machines. His throat was raw, his head pounding. Slowly, he pushed himself upright. The sheets beneath his fingers were cold, almost unfamiliar.
He blinked, trying to focus on the mirror across from the bed.
The reflection staring back was not his own.
Lucian froze.
The man in the mirror had softer features, lighter hair, a body leaner than Lucian's broad frame. His skin bore faint scars Lucian didn't remember earning. His lips parted in the same shock he felt, but they weren't his lips.
"No…" His voice cracked. The sound was different, higher, strained. "No, this… this isn't—"
The door creaked open.
"Lucian?"
Nareth Sol stepped inside, his tall frame filling the doorway, damp from the rain outside. His eyes—storm-gray, worried—locked onto Lucian. Relief broke across his face as he hurried forward.
"You're awake. Thank God, I thought—" He cut himself off, his voice shaking. For a moment, his hand hovered as if he wanted to touch Lucian but wasn't sure if he should. "You've been out for three days."
Lucian's mind spun. Three days? He wanted to scream, to demand answers, but all that came out was a strangled whisper. "Nareth…"
The name tasted strange in this new mouth.
Nareth smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed sharp with concern. "Don't scare me like that again, Mareis. I thought I lost you."
Mareis.
The name burned. Because the man in the mirror… wasn't Lucian Mareis. It was his best friend.
And Lucian realized with a chilling certainty—his soul was trapped in someone else's body.
---
The machines beeped steadily in the background. Nareth pulled a chair closer to the bed, his presence grounding and suffocating all at once.
Lucian wanted to speak, to explain, but his tongue was heavy with panic. How could he tell his best friend that the boy sitting before him—the boy Nareth thought he saved—was gone?
Instead, Lucian forced a nod. "I… I'll try not to."
The words tasted like ash.
Nareth's shoulders relaxed slightly, though his gaze lingered on Lucian's face, as if searching for something he couldn't name.
Lucian looked away, clutching the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded against ribs that weren't his own, and a thought clawed its way into his mind, terrifying in its truth.
If I'm here… where is he?