The Hybrid — POV
Ah… Finally.
Whole.
Complete.
Not two minds.
Not a war inside.
Not pieces screaming over each other in endless noise.
Just me.
Pure. Singular. True.
My eyes flick open. The world is sharp—too sharp. I can hear the dust settle, feel the blood of rats pumping behind walls, smell fear lingering in wooden beams.
Delicious. Every inch of it. Like tasting life for the first time.
I sit up slowly.
My hands… our hands… no longer Dean's pale finesse or Kane's calloused roughness. They are now mine—strong, veined, shifting with the restrained chaos that brews just beneath the skin. Black streaks crawl along my arms like vines of corruption, pulsing, writhing with power that was once denied to me.
I flex my fingers.
The air hums with dread.
There's a silence in the house—a silence that knows something wrong now lives here. The kind of quiet that comes before the worst kind of storm.
And it should.
Because I am the storm.
A smirk pulls at my lips.
