Drew barely had time to process the silence when the medallion warmed in his hand.
It happened in a blink. A tug, like falling—but inward. Then, a rush of vertigo, and his center of gravity dropped. His fingers thinned, bones shifting. His shirt ballooned, hanging loose like drapery. His jeans slouched dangerously at his waist before slipping to the tiled floor entirely. His feet were swallowed by his shoes.
He stumbled forward, catching his balance with a sudden grace that hadn’t been his before.
His heart raced. Everything felt wrong—and yet, eerily right. His body was light, spring-loaded, like it wanted to move. He could feel power and poise nestled in his limbs, something trained, sharpened, used to cutting arcs through ice.
He caught sight of himself in the long mirror across the locker room and froze.
The boy staring back was maybe eleven, slim as a reed, with long white-blond hair that curled slightly at the ends and brushed his pale neck like silk. His face was ethereal: angular yet soft, sharp green eyes, and high cheekbones flushed with natural color. His arms and legs were lean but wired with strength. This was not just any boy—he was someone sculpted for speed and performance. A prodigy, unmistakable even in a borrowed t-shirt that now hung on him like a tent.
Drew—or whatever his name was now—knew it instantly. He was the skater boy. The one. He’d seen clips of this kid before in viral competition videos: landing impossibly tight jumps, pirouetting with liquid control, defying physics with a grin. The kid was a phenom. A future Olympian.
And now, he was him.
A nervous laugh bubbled up in his throat, but it came out higher, breathier. He ran a hand through the silken waterfall of blond hair, marveling at how it slipped between his fingers. His heart thumped—half panic, half thrill.
Then: knock knock.
Two taps at the door. Kate was ready.
He hesitated, glancing down at himself. The hem of the t-shirt nearly reached his knees, and he felt absurdly small. But behind that—there was something else. Potential. Something coiled and sharp and fierce. He was delicate, yes. But not fragile.
He turned back to the mirror, staring into the wide green eyes of a boy who was too cute, too graceful, and far too talented to be anything ordinary.
Drew swallowed.
“Okay,” he whispered to himself, voice trembling with disbelief and something dangerously close to wonder. “Let’s see who you are now, Kate.”
