The whistle blew sharp and shrill across the Mystic Grove soccer field.
Scott jogged to the line with the rest of the team, heart pounding in a steady rhythm. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, but it wasn't exhaustion that made him jittery — it was energy. Too much of it. Like something inside him wouldn't sit still.
Coach Raines barked commands while Jackson White ran the warm-up drills, eyes flicking over Scott like he wasn't sure if he was supposed to ignore him or size him up.
Scott didn't care. Not really.
Joining the team hadn't been part of the plan. He hadn't even played seriously since before he moved. But when Sky casually mentioned there was an open slot, something in Scott said do it.
Now here he was, in cleats again. In front of a team that barely remembered him.
"Try to keep up," Jackson muttered as he passed Scott. Not mocking — more like muscle memory.
Scott just smiled. "You too."
The drill started — sprints, dodges, passes. And that's when Scott noticed it.
His legs carried him farther, faster.
He turned on a dime. Breathed like he wasn't even winded. His senses were...alive. He could hear the scuff of cleats behind him, feel the air shift as someone ran past, smell the adrenaline coming off the others like heatwaves.
The ball came flying at him. His body moved before he even thought. One clean strike — right between the cones.
A few heads turned.
"Damn," someone muttered behind him.
Jackson's eyes narrowed.
Coach Raines raised an eyebrow. "Tyson! Since when can you play like that?"
Scott blinked. "I, uh… just lucky, I guess."
Coach blew the whistle again. "Take five."
Scott grabbed a bottle of water and dropped onto the bench, trying not to freak out. His pulse was steady. His muscles weren't even sore. He looked down at his hands — shaking just slightly, like something electric was running through them.
Sky sat next to him, silent for a long moment.
"You feel it too, don't you?" he finally said, his voice low.
Scott looked at him. "Feel what?"
Sky didn't answer.
---
Later, in the locker room, Scott pulled off his jersey and caught sight of himself in the mirror.
The bite was healing. Not just scabbing over — healing. Fast.
Too fast.
He stared at it. At his reflection. At the flicker of gold that passed through his irises before fading again.
Something was happening to him.
And for the first time, Scott felt less afraid — and more hungry to know what.