by C. J. McElvogue
Mason Thorne stared at his reflection in the locker room mirror, trying to convince himself this was just another meet. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting strange shadows across his face. For a moment, he could have sworn his green eyes flashed gold.
Get it together, he thought, shaking his head. You're just nervous.
The championship banner hanging in the hallway had reminded him what was at stake - not just the state title, but the scouts who'd come to watch. His entire future might hinge on the next hour. Mason pulled his City High swim cap over his dark hair, then adjusted it for the third time. Behind him, the usual pre-meet chaos of the locker room felt oddly distant, like he was hearing it through water.
"Ten minutes, Thorne!" Coach Martinez's voice cut through the haze. "How're you feeling?"
Mason turned, forcing a smile. "Ready, Coach."
Martinez's weathered face creased with concern. "You look a little pale, kid. You sleeping okay?"
Before Mason could answer, the lights flickered again. This time, he definitely saw a golden shimmer in the mirror, like sunlight on water. When he blinked, it was gone.
"I'm fine," he said, more sharply than he intended. "Just focused."
Martinez didn't look convinced, but nodded. "Remember the strategy we talked about. West's been swimming gut-busting first hundreds all season. Don't try to match his pace—"
"Let him tire himself out, then take him in the final fifty," Mason finished. "I know."
The mention of Ethan West sent an uncomfortable jolt through his stomach. Six months ago, Mason had been City High's star swimmer. Then West transferred in and started breaking records like they were promises. Tall, confident, infuriatingly graceful in the water - everything Mason wasn't.
As if summoned by his thoughts, West appeared in the locker room doorway. Their eyes met in the mirror. The usual pre-race tension crackled between them, but today it felt different. Stronger. Almost electric. The fluorescent light above West's head burst with a sharp pop, sending tiny sparks raining down.
West jumped back, cursing. Mason spun around, heart pounding. For a split second, he could have sworn he saw golden light dancing across West's skin.
"Everyone out!" Martinez shouted, ushering swimmers toward the pool deck. "Maintenance issue. Time to warm up anyway."
Mason grabbed his goggles, hands shaking slightly. As he passed West in the doorway, their shoulders brushed. Static electricity snapped between them, sharp enough to make them both flinch.
"Watch it, Thorne," West muttered, but his voice lacked its usual edge. He sounded almost... worried?
Mason hurried onto the pool deck, trying to shake off the strange encounter. The water in the warm-up pool rippled invitingly, promising to wash away his nerves. But as he approached the edge, the ripples seemed to reach toward him, like fingers beckoning him closer.
He stopped short, suddenly unsure. For the first time in his life, the water didn't feel like home.
Something was very, very wrong.
The natatorium buzzed with championship energy as Mason lined up behind block four. Two lanes over, a USC scout scribbled notes on a clipboard. Three lanes down, his mom sat with her usual perfect posture, somehow managing to look both concerned and disappointed. And right next to him, on block five, Ethan West rolled his shoulders in that fluid way that made half the school swoon.
"Two-hundred freestyle, final heat," the announcer's voice crackled through ancient speakers. "New state record set this morning by Ethan West of City High..."
Mason tried to tune it out, focusing instead on his pre-race routine. Adjust goggles. Swing arms. Stretch hamstrings. But the golden shimmer kept dancing at the edges of his vision, stronger now, making the pool water look almost alive.
"You okay?"
Mason startled. West was looking at him, blue eyes narrowed with something that might have been concern.
"Fine," Mason snapped, then immediately regretted his tone. West might be his rival, but he'd never been anything but professional. Almost friendly, even. "Just focused."
"You look like you're about to pass out." West's voice was low, meant only for Mason. "If you need to scratch—"
"Swimmers, step up."
Mason mounted the block, cutting off whatever West had been about to say. The static feeling was worse up here, making his skin prickle beneath his tech suit. Below, the water moved in ways that defied physics—tiny whirlpools forming and dissolving, ripples moving against the current.
Focus. Breathe. This is just another race.
Except it wasn't. His last chance at a state title. His last chance to prove himself to the scouts. His last chance to show he could beat West.
"Take your mark."
Mason bent down, gripping the block. The rough texture felt electric under his fingers. His heart thundered in his ears, drowning out the crowd. Through the chlorine-scented air, he caught a whiff of ozone, like the atmosphere before a storm.
Time seemed to slow. In that stretched moment, he became aware of everything at once: the golden light now clearly visible in the water below, the way West was still watching him instead of the pool, the sudden silence that fell over the crowd as if they sensed something coming.
The official's finger moved toward the starter button in slow motion. Mason could feel the electricity building in the mechanism, could sense the exact moment it would—
The buzzer shattered the moment.
Mason dove.
The moment he hit the water, he knew he'd made a terrible mistake.
The water wasn't water anymore.
Mason's perfect racing dive took him deep—too deep. The familiar embrace of the pool had turned hostile, thick like honey but cold as ice. Golden light swirled around him in impossible patterns, making it hard to tell which way was up.
Breakout. Need to breakout.
He tried to pull through the water, but his arms moved in slow motion. Each stroke felt like pushing through concrete. His lungs burned. The pressure built against his chest, against his temples, squeezing tighter with every second.
Through the strange, glowing murk, he caught glimpses of the other swimmers cutting through their lanes normally. None of them seemed affected by whatever was happening to him. None of them saw the golden light that now filled his vision.
Twenty-five meters. Just make it to the wall.
The pressure increased. Mason's muscles screamed for oxygen. He could feel his consciousness starting to fade, dark spots dancing at the edges of his golden-tinted vision. Just when he thought his lungs would burst, his hand hit the wall.
He tried to turn, to push off for the next lap, but his body wouldn't respond. The water held him pinned against the wall like a giant's hand. Through the haze, he saw Ethan executing a perfect flip turn two lanes over, droplets of water catching the light like diamonds as he kicked off.
That's when Mason realized he was going to die.
The thought came with strange clarity, cutting through his panic. He was going to drown in four feet of water, in front of scouts and teammates and his mother, because something impossible was happening to him.
No.
The word wasn't just in his mind—it seemed to ripple through the water itself. The golden light pulsed in response, brightening until it hurt to look at. The pressure that had been crushing him suddenly reversed, exploding outward from his chest like a shock wave.
In that moment, Mason could feel everything. Every molecule of water in the pool sang to him. He could sense the exact position and movement of each swimmer, could feel the complex patterns of energy flowing around them. The water wasn't fighting him anymore—it was part of him.
Without conscious thought, he pushed off the wall. His body cut through the water like a hot knife through butter, reality bending around him as he moved. The pool itself seemed to be propelling him forward, carrying him faster than should have been possible.
He hit the second wall. Flip turn. The water moved with him, around him, through him. Another lap. The golden light grew stronger. Another turn. He could hear gasps from the crowd now, could feel their energy adding to the swirling patterns around him.
Final lap. Ethan was beside him, matching him stroke for stroke. Through the strange connection he now felt with the water, Mason could sense his rival's heartbeat, could feel the mix of awe and fear radiating from him.
They hit the wall together.
Mason surfaced, gasping. The scoreboard showed an impossible time—they'd both just shattered the state record. But no one was looking at the clock. All eyes were fixed on the pool, where traces of golden light still rippled across the surface like aurora borealis.
He turned to Ethan, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression.
"What are you?" Ethan whispered.
Before Mason could respond, the connection that had been holding him up snapped. The golden light winked out, and darkness rushed in to take its place. The last thing he felt was the water welcoming him as he slipped beneath the surface, no longer hostile but somehow... satisfied.
"Get him out! Get him out now!"
Coach Martinez's voice seemed to come from very far away. Mason felt hands grabbing his shoulders, pulling him up and over the lane line. His body felt impossibly heavy, like he'd absorbed half the pool's water.
"Give him space!" Someone was pushing back the crowd that had formed around the pool's edge. Through blurred vision, Mason saw phones pointed at him, their screens flickering with strange interference.
"I'm fine," he tried to say, but the words came out slurred. The deck tiles were cold against his back. Above him, faces swam in and out of focus—Coach Martinez, the meet officials, his mother's perfectly composed features now cracking with worry.
And Ethan. Still dripping from the pool, he hovered at the edge of the crowd, his expression a mix of concern and... recognition? But that didn't make sense.
"His pulse is racing." The meet physician's fingers pressed against Mason's wrist. "Get me the AED—"
"No!" Mason managed to sit up, his head spinning. "Really, I'm okay." The words came easier now, but his whole body tingled like he'd been struck by lightning. In the pool behind him, the water still moved strangely, small whirlpools forming and dissolving of their own accord.
"Lay back down, Mr. Thorne." The physician tried to push him down, but Mason resisted. He needed to see something.
The scoreboard still showed their times, glowing red against black. Not just a state record—they'd beaten it by three seconds. An impossible improvement. Officials were already huddled near the timing booth, gesturing animatedly at printouts.
"What happened out there?" His mother's voice was tight with barely controlled emotion. "Mason, what did you do?"
What did you do? Not are you okay? The distinction wasn't lost on him.
Before he could answer, all the lights in the natatorium burst at once, showering the deck with sparks. Screams erupted from the crowd. Through the chaos, Mason caught a glimpse of someone watching from the upper deck—a girl with purple-streaked hair, her expression intense and focused. When their eyes met, she gave him a slight nod before disappearing into the panicking crowd.
"We need to clear the building," an official announced through the emergency lights' dim glow. "Everyone please proceed calmly to the exits."
Mason felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Ethan crouching beside him. "Can you walk?" His rival's voice was low, urgent. "You need to get out of here. Now."
"Why?" Mason tried to stand, stumbled. Ethan caught his arm. "What's happening to me?"
"Not here." Ethan glanced around nervously. "They'll be coming soon. The ones who've been watching you."
"Who's been—"
The remaining emergency lights went dark, plunging the natatorium into total darkness. In that moment of blindness, Mason felt it again—the strange connection to the water, the swirl of golden light behind his eyes. But this time it came with something else: a certainty that nothing in his life would ever be the same.
When the lights finally flickered back on, Ethan was gone. But he'd left something in Mason's hand: a piece of paper with an address and five words that made his blood run cold.
They killed your father too.