Magnus woke up feeling like someone had replaced his bones with wet cement. Which, considering last night's training, was only slightly dramatic.
His thighs hurt. His shoulders hurt. There was dirt in places dirt should not have been. And somewhere in the back of his skull, Tony's voice still echoed with all the smug serenity of a mentor who had discovered a profound truth and weaponized it against his student.
"You do not see. You do not hear. You do not feel."
Followed immediately by:
"Chip bag!"
Magnus stared at the ceiling of his dorm room in the dark and seriously considered violence.
Not at Tony. Mostly because Tony was a raccoon and somehow still better at emotional regulation than he was.
No, Magnus's grudge was aimed squarely at existence!
His alarm hadn't gone off yet, but his body had already dragged him halfway awake out of sheer dread. Which was rude. If he was going to be miserable, he at least wanted to enjoy sleeping through it.
Unfortunately, exhaustion meant very little when your brain had decided, in the middle of the night, that now was the perfect time to replay every humiliating detail of asking Sofia for advice about Alex's period in dream form.
Twice! With bonus commentary from his own shame the second time.
So now, he lay there in the gray predawn stillness, eyes half-open, listening to the faint hum of the mini-fridge and the occasional distant sound of campus life beginning to stir.
Friday. Training with Jordan.
Business. As. Usual.
His alarm would go off in three minutes. And for the first time since this all started, Magnus genuinely considered just… not going.
Just today. One single day.
One blessed morning where he didn't have to:
— Run until his lungs filed complaints,
— Get verbally eviscerated by Jordan for bad footwork,
— Get ambushed by Tony later with a lecture about "becoming one with leaf,"
— Or spend every waking second trying not to die because a supernatural matchmaking death app had decided his love life was a public utility.
Surely that wouldn't destroy everything.
It wasn't like Jordan's Trust and Interest had been skyrocketing because of his athletic brilliance. It wasn't like missing one session would suddenly erase the microscopic progress he'd made with Jordan, either.
If anything, "progress" felt generous. He still had no idea what he was doing. The System would occasionally notify him of increases here and there, but never because of anything he understood. As far as Magnus could tell, her numbers went up in random little bursts that had nothing to do with anything he was consciously doing. One day she'd glare at him like he was a fungus on her track, the next she'd be one percent less annoyed for reasons that felt entirely unrelated to his existence.
As far as Magnus could tell, his contribution to this mission so far had been:
(1) show up
(2) suffer
(3) try not to die during cardio
(4) accidentally be himself
And somehow, against all reason, that was… working?
Apparently!
Not that he was complaining. Miracles were above his pay grade!
Still, his body ached. His eyes burned. And tonight — no, last night — Tony had announced that stealth training was officially dead and being replaced with "the sacred pilgrimage of sensory enlightenment," which sounded suspiciously like five new ways to embarrass himself in the dark.
Magnus groaned softly and dragged a hand over his face.
Maybe he could text Jordan.
"Sorry. Food poisoning."
No, she'd know he was lying.
Family emergency? Worse.
Sudden raccoon-related spiritual crisis? Tempting, but hard to explain.
He shut his eyes again and sank deeper into his pillow.
Just one day.
One skipped morning.
One—
Hands slammed down on both his shoulders.
Magnus jolted so hard he nearly launched out of bed.
A face was suddenly inches from his own.
Wrong. Not monstrous, not exactly — just unfinished. Like someone had taken a human silhouette and copied it through wet glass. The edges shimmered, unstable. The eyes were too wide with panic. The mouth moved too fast, words tripping over each other like they'd been waiting to burst out.
"Bro!"
Magnus made a strangled noise somewhere between a scream and a gasp.
The figure shook him. Hard.
"Exercises are not optional!" the apparition hissed-shouted, voice layered with static and desperation. "I thought the System was bluffing! I thought — compared to all the weird sex stuff and moral dilemmas — this part was negotiable!"
Magnus stared, frozen in sheer terror.
The ghost — because what else could it be at this point? — leaned even closer.
"I thought there'd be warnings!" it said wildly. "Second chances! A slap on the wrist! Alternative punishment! Maybe some debuff! Or at least a last chance trial… like in all those manhwas, you know?!"
It gripped his shoulders tighter.
"There weren't, bro!" it nearly wailed. "There WEREN'T!"
And then—
Nothing.
Gone!
Same as the previous times. Just disappeared into empty air.
Magnus was already halfway off the bed, breath punched out of him, heart trying to claw its way through his ribs.
The room was silent. Dark. Still.
His alarm began blaring.
Magnus grabbed his phone and tapped at it with shaking hands until it shut off.
Then he stood there in the dim light, breathing like he'd run a sprint, staring at the exact spot where the figure had been.
His shoulders still felt cold.
"Oh my God!" he whispered.
He had been awake. That wasn't a dream. It had felt too sharp, too immediate, too terrifyingly specific.
The first one had talked about rules.
The second about moral boundaries.
And now this!
Daily quests?
Exercise?!
Magnus swallowed hard.
He'd always taken the daily quests seriously. Just as he had taken all death threats from the System seriously — dying once had a way of ingraining the sensation and fear into your brain.
Still, there was a difference between knowing something intellectually, being instinctively afraid of it, and being dragged awake at dawn by the panicking remains of some poor guy who'd died because he thought squats were optional.
The thought made Magnus feel sick.
He stumbled into the bathroom and turned on the sink.
Cold water.
Splash. Again. Again.
His reflection looked awful.
Pale. Wide-eyed. Hair sticking up in every direction.
"Great," he muttered to himself. "Fantastic! Love this! Love being haunted by dead gym bros before sunrise!!!"
He brushed his teeth on autopilot. Showered. Got dressed. Tied his shoes.
Every motion felt mechanical, like if he stopped moving for even a second, his brain would catch up and short-circuit completely.
Because there were too many things screaming for attention now.
First: he and Alex were probably right.
These things — these ghosts, or whatever they were — had to be former Hosts. Dead ones. People who'd failed. People whose Systems had terminated them and then… what? Moved on to the next Host?
The implications alone were enough to make his stomach twist.
Second: daily quests really were lethal.
No loopholes. No mercy. No "miss one and make up for it tomorrow."
It wasn't something he didn't already know. But now it was confirmed, in the worst way possible. If he ever got lazy — or hurt — or complacent—
Magnus cut that thought off before it could finish.
Nope! Absolutely not.
Third: Jordan.
Because of course Jordan still existed on top of all this. Because why would his life ever let him process one crisis at a time?
The monthly deadline was still approaching. He was still nowhere near where he needed to be. And Jordan Hale was not the kind of person who tolerated excuses. Especially not invisible ghost trauma.
By the time Magnus left the dorm, dawn was only just beginning to bleed into the sky. The air was cool enough to bite, and the jog to the stadium should have helped.
Usually, movement cleared his head. Usually, routine gave him something solid to hold onto.
Today, every sound felt too loud. His shoes hitting pavement. The rustle of trees. A bike chain clicking somewhere behind him. A dog barking two blocks over.
Tony's stupid words from last night kept replaying in his head.
"Your head is louder than the world."
Well. Congratulations, Tony!
Now the world was louder too!
Magnus made it to the stadium entrance already tense enough to snap. And one look at the field told him everything he needed to know.
Jordan was there. Waiting. Arms crossed. Stopwatch in hand. Still as a statue.
Even from this distance, Magnus could feel the exact moment she checked the time. Then looked up. Locked eyes with him.
And because the universe apparently believed in consistency, Magnus glanced at the time and realized…
He was late. Not by much. Maybe three minutes?
But three minutes was still late.
And he hadn't been late to Jordan's training in nearly two weeks.
Not since the first morning where he apparently helped the janitor.
Magnus slowed to a stop at the edge of the track, chest tight for reasons that had nothing to do with the run over. Jordan stared at him, expression unreadable.
This, Magnus thought dimly, might actually be the least terrifying thing that had happened this morning. Which somehow made it worse.
He took one breath. Then another. And stepped onto the track.
***
Jordan did not greet him. She did not ask why he was late. She didn't even acknowledge it out loud. She just looked at him, once, then flicked her gaze toward the track.
"Warm up. Five laps. You're behind."
And that was that.
Magnus didn't argue. Didn't explain. Didn't even try. He just nodded and moved.
Because if there was one thing he'd learned about Jordan Hale over the past two weeks, it was this: if she decided something wasn't worth talking about, then it wasn't worth talking about.
Also, he was already late. Pushing his luck further felt like volunteering for death by cardio. So, he ran.
The first lap hurt more than usual. The second felt worse. By the third, his lungs were staging a formal protest and his legs were considering unionizing.
Sleep deprivation didn't help. Neither did the fact that his brain kept trying — very unhelpfully — to replay the morning.
"There weren't, bro! There WEREN'T!"
Magnus forced the memory down and focused on his breathing.
In. Out.
Step. Step.
Don't think. Just move.
Somewhere along the way, the rhythm took over.
Not clean. Nor effortless. But enough to keep him from spiraling completely.
Jordan's voice cut in occasionally — sharp, precise corrections that snapped him back whenever his form slipped too badly.
"Shorten your stride."
"Posture."
"You're overcompensating again."
Same as always. Normal.
Painfully, blessedly normal.
By the time they hit break, Magnus was drenched in sweat and only mildly convinced he might survive the morning. He dropped onto the edge of the track, breathing hard, staring down at his hands like they might offer answers if he looked at them long enough.
Jordan didn't sit. She never sat.
She stood a few steps away, stopwatch dangling loosely in one hand, watching him with that same unreadable expression.
A few seconds passed. Then…
"I'm letting it slide. Just this once."
Magnus blinked, looking up. "…What?"
"You being late," she clarified. "You haven't been late since the first day."
A beat. "Don't get used to it! And don't be late again."
Magnus nodded quickly. "Right, yeah. Sorry!"
She ignored the apology. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
"Also," she added, tone shifting just enough to register as something else, "don't forget what I told you."
Magnus frowned. "…About?"
"I don't care what you and Reyes are doing in your bedroom," Jordan said flatly. "Just don't bring it onto my track."
"…Huh?"
Magnus blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Then curiosity won.
"What do you mean?" he blurted.
Jordan stared at him. Squinted, maybe? Or scowled. With her, it was hard to tell.
"Oh please," she said. "Half the campus knows you're running to Ramirez for advice trying to woo Reyes during her period."
Magnus choked. On absolutely nothing.
"Wha—huh?!"
Jordan didn't even flinch. Magnus sat there, eyes wide, brain short-circuiting in real time.
"How—where—what?!" he sputtered. "Where did you even hear that?!"
She raised an eyebrow. That was it. Just one eyebrow. Magnus immediately folded under the weight of it.
"I mean—it's not like that!" he rushed out. "I was just—I was asking for general advice! Because I didn't—don't—know anything about, you know—women's—uh—time of the month… and I wanted—needed to know how to—uh, help her feel better?"
He trailed off. Because Jordan was staring at him. The same way Sofia had yesterday.
Like he was some kind of mythical creature that had wandered out of a forest and into human society by accident.
The silence stretched. Then…
"…Alright," Jordan said slowly. "Whose soul did Reyes sacrifice to wish you into existence?"
Magnus choked again. "Why does everyone keep asking me weird questions?!"
Jordan ignored that completely. Of course she did.
The silence came back. Not as heavy this time. Just… there.
Magnus shifted slightly, still trying to recover from the absolute train wreck of the last thirty seconds. And then, because his brain clearly hated him—
"Speaking of which," he heard himself say, "do you have any advice on that?"
There was a brief, terrible moment where he realized what he'd just said. Too late now. So he doubled down on it.
"You probably know Alex just as well as Sofia," he added, digging his own grave deeper, "and for way longer—"
"No!"
Immediate. Sharp. Absolute.
Jordan's expression snapped right back into a full scowl. "We're not talking about that."
Magnus recoiled slightly. "Right. Okay. Yeah. That's fair."
"If you're done sitting on your ass," she continued, already turning away, "get up. We're not done. Push-ups next."
Figured!
Honestly, Magnus wasn't even mad. If anything, he was… surprised.
Jordan bringing up campus gossip? Jordan joking — joking! — about his relationship with Alex?
That was… new. Weird. Slightly terrifying in its own way, but still. New!
Maybe Alex had been right. Maybe Jordan was opening up. Just… in her own very specific, mildly hostile way.
Magnus pushed himself back to his feet with a quiet groan. Still confused. Still exhausted. Still trying very hard not to think about the fact that half the campus was apparently inventing stories about his conversation with Sofia.
Great. Fantastic! As if his life wasn't already complicated enough.
Somewhere in the corner of his vision, the familiar translucent interface flickered into existence. He didn't react outwardly. But his eyes flicked to it anyway.
Both Jordan's Interest and Trust were at 25%.
Magnus blinked. Wait! …Since when?
He stared at the numbers for a second longer than he probably should have. Then the interface faded. Leaving him standing there, even more confused than before.
Because as far as he could tell? He hadn't done anything.
And yet somehow…
That still happened.