I had never hated electricity until tonight.

The stupid wires. The tiny bulbs. The cardboard base that kept bending. The glue that stuck to my fingers instead of the project. And the fact that everything I touched felt wrong because my hands were not mine. They were Blake’s. Bigger. Stronger. Capable of snapping a pencil in half with almost no effort.

And Blake kept watching me.

In my body.

Sitting across the table in my room.

In my body.

It still felt surreal. Even after days of ...