What Won't Stay Hidden

They sent Kyle to shadow management training the week after his shadow outed him to his entire geometry class.

Not that it said anything. Shadows couldn't talk.

But when Mr. Harrison asked if anyone wanted to solve the proof on the board, Kyle's shadow had stood up before Kyle could stop it. Walked to the front of the classroom. Stood next to Jacob Reese's shadow.

Stood way too close to Jacob Reese's shadow.

While Kyle sat frozen at his desk, face burning, trying to will his shadow back.

It wouldn't come.

Jacob transferred out of geometry the next day.

Kyle got sent to Dr. Vance's office with a note from the school counselor.

"Significant shadow management deficiency. Recommend immediate intervention."

The training center was in a converted office building downtown. Gray carpet. Fluorescent lights. A waiting room full of teenagers who wouldn't make eye contact.

Kyle's mom squeezed his shoulder. "It's just like therapy. They're going to help you."

She'd already changed his last name. Chen to Roberts. Said it would be easier. A fresh start.

A woman came out. Early thirties. Professional blazer. Brown hair pulled back. She had this warm smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes.

"Kyle Roberts?"

Her shadow stood exactly one foot to her left, perfectly aligned, perfectly still.

She led him down a hallway lined with closed doors. Through each window, he could see other teenagers. Some sitting. Some standing. All of them in rooms with specific lighting setups.

The woman led him into a room at the end. Small. White walls. A single chair in the center. Six lights positioned around it like points on a star.

"Sit," she said.

Kyle sat.

She turned on all six lights. Kyle's shadow fractured into six separate shadows.

"Think of something that makes you happy."

Kyle thought about Jacob. About the way Jacob laughed at lunch.

All six of his shadows moved. Reached out in the same direction. Toward the door.

"Stop," the woman said.

Kyle tried. His shadows kept reaching.

"Think about your mother in the waiting room. Think about how disappointed she'll be if you fail this."

Kyle thought about his mom. About the way she'd looked at him this morning. Not angry. Just tired.

His shadows stopped reaching. Started to pull back.

"Good," the woman said. "Hold that feeling. Hold it until it's all you feel."

Kyle held it.

His shadows came back to him. Settled beneath the chair. Still.

"Now hold that. Don't let go."

The shadows stayed still. Kyle kept thinking about his mother's face. About disappointing her.

"That's what you'll practice," the woman said. "Holding that feeling. Making it stronger than anything else."

Kyle was crying. He didn't remember when he'd started.

"Six weeks of this," the woman said. "Twice a week. Two hours each session."

She left him in the room with the lights.

Kyle sat there for the full two hours.

His shadows eventually stopped shaking.

They just lay there beneath him.

Still.

The training continued for three weeks.

At school, people stopped staring. His shadow stayed in place. Showed nothing unusual.

Jacob Reese started sitting with him at lunch again.

"You seem better," Jacob said one day. "Your shadow's like, totally chill now."

"Yeah," Kyle said.

He felt nothing saying it. His shadow showed nothing.

Jacob's shadow leaned closer to Kyle's. Just a little.

Kyle's shadow didn't move.

"Cool," Jacob said. But he looked disappointed.

That night, Kyle sat in his room and stared at his shadow on the wall. It sat perfectly still. Perfectly controlled.

He thought about Jacob. Tried to make himself feel something.

Nothing.

His shadow didn't move.

Kyle canceled his remaining sessions.

His mom was furious. "You need this treatment."

"I don't want to be controlled," Kyle said.

"You can feel things. You just need to feel the right things."

Kyle looked at his shadow. It was standing next to him, not perfectly aligned anymore. Off by about six inches. Facing slightly toward the door.

"What if there are no right things?" Kyle asked.

His mother's shadow backed toward the door. She didn't notice.

"That's not how it works," she said.

But her shadow was already leaving.

Three weeks later, Kyle's shadow separated completely.

He was in his room. Sitting on the floor. The bottle of his mom's sleeping pills open in his hand.

Forty-three pills. He'd counted them twice.

His shadow stood by the window, looking out at the long evening light.

Kyle looked at the pills. Looked at his shadow.

"You're supposed to tell me not to," Kyle said.

His shadow turned to look at him. Then it walked away from the window. Walked to the door. Pressed its palms against it.

And refused to move.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked.

His shadow just stood there. Palms flat against the door. Not participating.

Kyle sat there for an hour with the pills in his hand. His shadow never moved from the door.

Eventually, Kyle put the pills back in the bottle. Put the bottle in his pocket. He'd return it before his mom noticed.

When he stood up, his shadow was gone.

Not at the door anymore. Not anywhere.

Just gone.

The Department of Shadow Services came the next morning. A woman with a tablet and a man with a collection kit. They asked questions. Took readings. Marked Kyle as "uncast."

"Your shadow will be retrieved and stored at a Ward facility," the woman said. "Standard procedure."

Kyle didn't tell them what happened. Didn't mention the pills.

He just nodded.

For two months, Kyle lived without a shadow.

People stared. Teachers treated him carefully, like he might break. His mom stopped asking about his day.

Jacob stopped sitting with him at lunch.

Being uncast was worse than having an honest shadow. At least a shadow that told the truth was just honest. Being uncast meant something was wrong with you. Meant your shadow had seen something so terrible it refused to stay.

Kyle got used to it.

He learned to avoid bright rooms. Learned to ignore the stares.

And then, on June 20th, his shadow came back.

Kyle woke up and it was just there.

Standing by his window. Darker than he remembered. More solid somehow.

"You're back," Kyle whispered.

His shadow turned to look at him. And Kyle realized immediately that something had changed. This wasn't the shadow that left. This was something that had learned things. Been somewhere. Done something.

It walked to Kyle's bed. Sat down next to him.

And then it started gesturing.

Pointing at the window. At the eastern horizon where the sun was rising.

Pointing again. Insistent.

"I don't understand," Kyle said.

His shadow grabbed Kyle's arm. Pulled him toward the window. Made him look.

The sunrise looked normal. Pink and orange and beautiful.

His shadow pointed again. Then it covered its face with both hands. Shook its head violently.

Pointed at the sunrise.

Covered its face again.

"Something's coming?" Kyle asked. "From the east?"

His shadow nodded.

Then it did something Kyle had never seen a shadow do.

It grabbed him. Held onto his arm. And it looked afraid.

Kyle checked his phone. Twitter was exploding. Instagram flooded with videos. Everywhere, people filming their shadows. Shadows that had separated months ago, years ago. Shadows that were supposed to be in Ward facilities.

All of them coming back.

All of them trying to warn their people about something from the east.

Kyle looked at his shadow. At the way it was holding onto him.

"How long?" Kyle asked. "How long do we have?"

His shadow didn't answer. It just pointed at the horizon again.

And then it pulled Kyle away from the window. Into the darkest corner of his room. Where the shadows were deepest.

Like it was trying to hide him from something that was coming.

Something that even shadows were afraid of.

Kyle's mom found him an hour later, sitting in the corner of his room in the dark. His shadow pressed against him like it was trying to shield him.

"Kyle? What are you doing?"

"Watching," Kyle said. "Waiting."

"For what?"

Kyle looked at his shadow. At the way it kept glancing toward the window. Toward the east.

"I don't know," he said. "But my shadow came back to warn me."

His mom's expression changed. "Your shadow's back?"

"All of them are," Kyle said. "Check your phone."

His mom pulled out her phone. Stared at the screen. Her face went pale.

"What does it mean?" she whispered.

Kyle watched his shadow. Watched the way it wouldn't stop pointing east.

"It means my shadow thinks something's worse than dying," Kyle said.

And for the first time in months, Kyle felt something real.

Even if it was just fear.