The college hallway hummed with the usual Monday murmur, lockers clanging like distant thunder, footsteps shuffling over worn linoleum that smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and forgotten lunches. Willow leaned against the cold metal of his locker, the chill seeping through his hoodie, a reminder that the world still held onto ordinary discomforts amid the unraveling strangeness. Kimona stood beside him, her braids tied back in a loose knot, gold beads catching the fluorescent lights like tiny suns. She fiddled with the strap of her backpack, eyes on him, waiting.

  He spoke low, words slipping out between the chatter of passing students. “Mom totally freaked about the house. I told her about the shadow monster attacking, but left out the near-death part.” He shrugged, casual as if recounting a spilled drink rather than a brush with oblivion. If he had spilled the full truth, she would never unclench, her worry a constant shadow trailing him like smoke from a dying fire.

  Kimona nodded slowly, a small grin tugging at her lips as she looked at him. “Best to keep the visceral details to ourselves, yeah. No need to put more weight on her shoulders.”

  Silence settled between them for a while, comfortable yet edged with the unspoken. She pulled a soda can from her bag, the tab cracking open with a sharp fizz that cut through the hallway noise. Willow watched the bubbles rise, then dropped it almost too casually, his voice flat. “Oh, and Dad’s apparently a Djinni.”

  Kimona nearly choked, soda sputtering as she laughed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “For real? I get three wishes?”

  Willow shrugged again, hands in his pockets, staring at the scuffed floor as if it held answers. “Mom says the wishes come monkey-paw cursed or something. Twisted drawbacks.”

  Her eyes narrowed, the grin fading into something thoughtful, like clouds drifting over a clear sky. “Heard stories like that. Wishes with downsides, turning fortune to folly.”

  He nodded, the words tasting like old stories half-remembered. “I’ve heard them too. Not sure if it extends to me, though. If I can even grant wishes.”

  Kimona’s eyes lit with a glint, mischievous as a spark in dry grass. “We should try it. See for sure.”

  Willow raised a brow, pondering her question for a beat, the hallway fading around them. “If you wish for something tiny, maybe the side effects reflect that. Harmless enough. Or we’re dumb as shit for trying this.”

  Despite the risks, they agreed to test it after school, the decision hanging light yet heavy, like a promise whispered in wind. If this was part of Willow, he wanted to know.

  Lunch eventually arrived following lectures mainly consisting of scribbles, and brought them to the burger joint down the street, a place of greasy counters and vinyl booths that smelled of sizzling meat and onions. Willow slid into a seat opposite Kimona, the plastic seat creaking under him. He picked up the menu, but his stomach remained quiet, an absence he noted without alarm. “Haven’t been hungry since my birthday. Probably just everything piling up, killing my appetite.”

  Kimona crossed her arms, leaning back in her seat, and peered at him with that steady gaze of hers. Something flickered in her eyes, a ponder she held back, like a secret tucked into a pocket for later. She let it go, her voice even. “Yeah, probably that.” Whatever brewed in her thoughts, she kept it leashed, perhaps sensing the overload already pressing on him. The supernatural world unfolded in drips, not floods, and she navigated it with care, knowing speculation could turn deadly as any curse.

  Their food arrived, and Willow wasted little time before he bit into his burger, the juice dripping warm and savory, a burst of flavor that grounded him in the mundane even as his mind wandered the edges of myth.

  Mid-chatter, the door swung open, admitting two figures who carried the hidden world on their shoulders like cloaks woven from starlight and storm. Willow’s eyes caught on them immediately, the veil’s lift revealing what once hid in plain sight. A girl on the side, her hair a prism of rainbows, glittering under the fluorescent bulbs, flowing as if stirred by unseen currents beneath water. Her skin pale, eyes a vivid purple, features sharp and East Asian, she moved with a grace that whispered of depths uncharted.

  Beside her, a boy whose eyes burned gold, reflected in his hair, a messy mane of strands like sunlight spun into silk. Caucasian, slender yet athletic, his frame held a coiled energy Willow’s scrawny build could only envy from afar. They both exuded power, a presence that thickened the air without a word spoken. Their jackets bore prints hard to make out at first, but as they stepped deeper into the restaurant, the designs clarified. Dragons, European in coil and scale, fierce guardians etched in thread.

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  They looked the same age as Willow and Kimona, navigating the counter with easy confidence. Willow’s gaze locked on the boy, heart quickening, cheeks warming unbidden, his grip tightening on the burger until the bun crumpled slightly.

  Kimona noticed instantly, her voice a sharp warning. “No.” She pointed a finger at him, repeating it firm. “No. Not another bad boy. And this one? That cool, aloof face? Bad boy through and through.”

  Willow did not turn, eyes still fixed. “I have a wish you can make.”

  She spoke to him like a child eyeing forbidden sweets. “Nuh-uh.”

  He pressed on, half-joking. “Wish for him to…”

  Her flick to his forehead cut him off, stinging light. “Bad baby djinni.” He slouched, snagging a fry instead, dipping it in sauce with exaggerated nonchalance. Kimona shook her head. “You’re hopeless.”

  As they bantered, the boy turned slowly, his golden eyes meeting Willow’s across the room. Time stuttered, sunlight clashing with moonlight in a silent collision that left Willow’s breath caught. Then the pair collected their plates from the counter, turned, walked around the corner, and settled into a booth out of sight.

  Willow finally looked back at Kimona, who sat unamused, arms crossed, brows raised like arches over judgment. “I’m fine.”

  “Mhm.” She thumbed to her side, gesturing vaguely toward where they had gone. “Those jackets? Gang members. I recognize the symbol, the dragon. They’re Wyverns, one of the leading gangs in New York.”

  Willow paused, surprise flickering through him like a match struck in dark. Supernatural gangs? He took a breath, leaned back, blinking slowly. “So, are there vampire pubs and werewolf bars too?”

  Kimona just stared at him, her silence a resounding yes, the hidden world sprawling wider than he had imagined, taverns where fangs glinted under neon and howls mingled with laughter.

  They finished their meals in companionable quiet, standing to leave, the bell above the door tinkling like a forgotten charm. As they passed the window, Willow’s gaze met the boy’s again through the glass, a moment stretched thin as spider silk, his heart dropping through his stomach in a freefall of unspoken pull.

  He turned to Kimona outside, the street air cool against his flushed skin. “What were those two?”

  She shrugged, hands in her pockets. “No idea. But with a glance, they’re magical for sure.” Then she pointed at him, casual. “You look different, yourself now, remember? Those eyes of yours got this constant glow. Soft but there.”

  Perhaps that was what the boy noticed, Willow thought, the glow a beacon in the ordinary crowd.

  The day proceeded uneventful, a mercy amid the whirl, though Willow’s thoughts looped back to the shadow beast and now that sunlit boy more often than he cared to admit. Lessons blurred into one another, chalk dust and droning voices a backdrop to his wandering mind. As the last bell rang, the afternoon sun painted the world in orange hues, like spilled paint from a careless artist.

  Together, now alone, they approached an empty spot behind the high school, a patch of overgrown grass bordered by a chain-link fence and forgotten bins, the air smelling of damp earth and distant rain. Time for the test, a venture into folly that might yield wonder or woe, or simply nothing at all.

  They stood in the afternoon silence, Willow crossing his arms, pondering. “What could you wish for?”

  Kimona rubbed her chin, then snapped her fingers, eyes bright. “I wish for a stick. Just a little branch. Seems harmless enough.”

  Willow blinked, waiting for a sensation, a tug, anything. Nothing stirred. He rubbed the back of his head. “Do you need to put me in a lamp and rub it first?”

  At that, Kimona laughed, full and warm. “Wouldn’t be hard to find a lamp to put your tiny ass in.”

  Willow smirked, shaking his head, the moment light despite the undercurrent.

  They tried again. This time, Kimona took Willow’s hand in hers, warm and sure, meeting his eyes as she repeated the wish. Upon contact, something changed, as if threads were woven. As if a bridge was built between wish maker and wish granter. Their eyes unlocked the gate, fortifying the connection with promise and outcome.

  A flow wove through him then, ancient and powerful, like rivers carving stone over millennia. He stood at a crossroads, his blood whispering questions, urging response. With wide eyes, he muttered a single word. “Granted.”

  In that instant, his eyes glowed brighter for a heartbeat, a flare of blue like distant lightning. Then came a crash, sharp and startling. They turned toward it, breaths held. A bird lay there, wing broken, struggling feebly on the grass, feathers ruffled in pain. Beside it, a twig snapped from the tree above, two pieces of wood fractured clean.

  Kimona had wished for a branch, and the world delivered breakage in kind, life twisted to fulfill the request.

  She rushed forward, scooping the wounded bird with gentle hands, cooing softly as she cradled it. Words to the spirits spilled from her lips, a murmur of invocation, and that familiar glow enveloped the creature, verdant green light mending what had been twisted beneath the weight of a Djinni’s gift.

  They looked at each other, then at the twig, the implications settling like dust after a storm. Softly, Kimona uttered. “The wishes are paid for in blood.”

  Willow clenched his teeth, a shiver tracing his spine like fingers of wind from forgotten deserts. Yeah. They were, and the nausea wrapping itself around Willow’s stomach spoke volumes. Rather, it screamed.

  The bird stirred in Kimona’s palms, wing slowly straightening under the spirits’ touch, a small miracle amid a cautionary tale. Willow watched, the carefree veil he clung to fraying further, the hidden world insisting on its toll. He wondered, dimly, if every gift carried such shadows, and if he could navigate them without burning everything he held dear.