The last car pulled away, tires crunching over gravel, leaving only glitter, deflated balloons, and the scent of cheap champagne in the air. The porch light flickered. Inside, silence settled like dust.

He waited.

In the kitchen, red solo cups lay like battlefield casualties. A smear of lipstick on the rim of one. Laughter still echoed faintly from the walls, but it was just memory now.

He walked to the mirror. The smile still painted on his borrowed face, cheeks sore from pretending. These humans so loud, so bright. They hugged. They danced. They shouted over music that rattled his bones. And still… they had no idea.

His hands twitched. Fingernails cracked open like seed pods. Beneath, black chitin. Joints bending the wrong way. He rolled his neck and felt the vertebrae shift, spine elongating. The skin peeled off easy this time he was getting faster.

The mask dropped to the floor with a wet slap.

In the dim hallway light, his real eyes adjusted dozens of them, blinking independently.

He sighed in relief, stretching limbs that hadn’t seen air in hours.

No more small talk. No more pretending.

It was time to feed.

The real after party had just begun.