Page 67 of The Slug Crystal

Alina's brow furrows. "I mean, I haven't heard of anyone talking with him.

Not since before you left for Italy. But he doesn't look like he's been missing or anything.

He looks... normal. Exactly the same." She pauses, confusion evident in her expression.

"Emma, what's going on? How is this possible? I’ve been calling out sick to work for him. I called his landlord!"

"I wish I knew," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Alina, I've been carrying around a snail I thought was Alex for almost a month. We've been searching all over Italy for Sarah to fix him... and he’s just been home this entire time?"

I look down at the terrarium in my lap, at the blue creature who has been the center of my existence for weeks, the reason for this entire journey, for all the connections formed with the men around me.

“Alina. I have to go,” I murmur. Then I disconnect the call.

My body goes rigid as if flash-frozen, muscles locking into place while my brain frantically tries to process the impossible.

The wine glass slips from my suddenly nerveless fingers, tumbling in what feels like slow motion before hitting the coffee table with a crystal-clear note of disaster.

Red liquid explodes across the surface like arterial spray, a crimson tide flowing toward the terrarium where not-Alex continues his oblivious exploration.

Jake lunges forward with athletic precision, scooping up the glass house just before the wine can lap at its base. His movements are automatic and protective. The culmination of weeks spent guarding what we all thought was a transformed human. What we thought was Alex.

"Careful," he murmurs, setting the terrarium safely on a side table, away from the spreading puddle. His voice sounds distant, underwater, as if reaching me through layers of shock.

The men exchange glances, a silent conversation of confusion and disbelief passing between them.

"It's just a snail," I whisper, the words falling into the stunned silence like stones into still water. "It's been just a snail this whole time. "

Marco clears his throat, scholar's mind already trying to make sense of nonsense. "Perhaps we should consider alternative explanations. The possibility of mistaken identity?—"

"It was him," I cut in, my voice hollow. "That was definitely Alex. The real Alex. Human Alex."

"But the crystal," Jake says, still standing protectively near the terrarium despite everything. "The flash of light, we all saw it. You, me, and Alina. Then you found the snail the next day at Alex’s apartment..."

"Coincidence," Ben suggests, though he sounds unconvinced by his own theory. "Or... I don't know, some kind of mass hallucination?"

"We've all seen the snail," Luca points out, dropping onto the arm of the sofa. "Unless you're suggesting we've all been sharing the same delusion for weeks."

"Not a delusion," I say, each word feeling like it's being torn from somewhere deep inside me.

"A mistake. My mistake." A terrible laugh bubbles up from my chest, threatening to turn into something else entirely if I let it escape.

"I thought my ex-boyfriend turned into a snail.

I've dragged all of you across Italy, spent hundreds of dollars, formed these.

.. connections... all because I thought my ex-boyfriend was a snail. "

When spoken aloud, the absurdity of it crashes over me like a wave. How could I have possibly believed this? How could any of us have believed this? A man transformed into a snail through a crystal purchased on a random website?

"To be fair," Ben says, his voice gentler than I've ever heard it, "it wasn't that much more outlandish than many other beliefs people hold. Humans believe in impossible things all the time."

"But those people don't carry snails across countries," I counter, another broken laugh threatening to escape. "They don't search for witches or form... whatever this is..." I gesture vaguely at the five of us, "...based on those beliefs. "

The room falls into stunned silence again, each of us lost in private recalibrations of reality.

Jake slowly sinks onto the couch on my other side, his solid presence both comforting and a reminder of everything that's happened between us under false pretenses.

Marco stands by the window, silhouetted against the afternoon light, his scholarly profile unusually still.

Luca stares at the ceiling, eyes tracking something only he can see.

"What happens now?" Jake finally asks, the question hanging in the air like smoke.

What happens now? To us, to this strange family we've formed? To the connections that grew between all of us as we chased an illusion across Italy? To the blue snail who isn't Alex but has been the center of our shared purpose?

I look at each of them in turn. At Jake's steady concern, Marco's thoughtful reserve, Ben's carefully masked vulnerability, and Luca's unexpected seriousness. Then I look at the terrarium, at the small blue creature who has unwittingly changed all our lives.

"I don't know," I whisper, the words inadequate but honest. "I have no idea what happens now."

The snail, just a snail, always just a snail, continues its slow journey across its lettuce leaf, one methodical step at a time, completely unaware that our world has just tilted on its axis.