The hallway buzzed with life, lockers slamming and conversations bouncing off the walls. Deuce Gorgon walked through it like a ghost, shoulders slightly hunched, a navy beanie pulled low over his forehead, curling around the snake hairs barely held at bay. His glasses—transparent, rectangular, a faint shimmer of protective magic laced through the lenses—reflected passing faces, none of which ever stopped to look directly at him. He kept his head down, not out of fear, but habit. Fear would mean he still cared what people thought. He wasn’t sure he did anymore.

A couple of normie kids passed by, laughing too loud, one of them muttering “Freak” under his breath as he walked past. Deuce didn’t even flinch. Just slid his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and kept walking. He knew better than to react. The last time someone looked into his eyes, even by accident, it almost cost him everything. The guilt still clung to his ribs like vines.

He sat in the farthest corner of the lunchroom, back to the wall, tray untouched. No one ever joined him. And maybe that was safer—for them. For him. He watched the other monsters cluster into their cliques, belonging to something. Meanwhile, his own reflection felt like a stranger. A Gorgon with broken instincts. A stone curse wrapped in skin and shame.

Still, he wore his beanie like armor, his glasses like chains. He wasn’t trying to be cool. He was trying not to hurt anyone.

When someone tripped nearby and their tray clattered, he flinched on instinct. One snake hissed under the fabric. He slammed a hand to his head to steady it, ignoring the stares.

“Just breathe,” he whispered to himself. “You're not him. You're not your mom.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed it yet.