Barney was back.
But Hale knew better.
He watched him from across the classroom, barely hearing the lecture. Barney was laughing again. Making snide comments. Tossing pencils at the ceiling tiles.
But it was all… off.
Too rehearsed. Too "Barney."
Like a bad actor playing a character everyone used to love.
It was the way he smiled—just a little too wide. The way he blinked—too slow, like he was learning how.
And the voice...
Same jokes, same accent, but missing that spark.
Like someone had memorized the words, but didn't understand the humor behind them.
It was like watching a puppet pretending not to have strings.
And Hale wasn't the only one who noticed.
At lunch, someone made a joke about Barney's absence the day before.
"Thought you died or something," they laughed.
Barney didn't laugh.
He just looked at them.
Blankly. Quietly.
Too long.
Then, as if a switch flipped, he gave a chuckle. Loud. Forced. Echoing just a second too late.
The table went quiet.
Hale remembered a moment from last fall.
The real Barney, standing on the lunch table, arms wide, demanding applause for stealing the biology teacher's toupee and hiding it in the vending machine.
He had laughed so hard, he cried.
That memory felt like something from another lifetime.
Now, the thing across the room just wore his face.
That evening, Hale walked past Barney's house.
The lights were off. The porch light was flickering.
Something sat on the front step. A box.
Taped up. Weathered.
With Barney's name scrawled across the top.
He didn't touch it.
He didn't need to.
It hadn't been there the night before.
The next day, Barney wasn't wearing his usual hoodie.
Instead, he wore an old jacket. Dark gray. Worn. Faded.
And stitched into the back—
A symbol.
Hale froze.
It wasn't just similar to the one burned into his own chest.
It was the same shape—but older. Sharper. Complete.
His mark felt like a sketch.
Barney's was the finished design.
Barney turned. Met his gaze across the corridor.
And for a second—
Just a second—
His eyes weren't his.
Too black.
Too empty.
Too aware.
Then he blinked.
And it was just Barney again.
Slouching. Yawning. Eating a fruit bar like nothing happened.
Later, in class, Hale noticed something carved into his desk.
He hadn't seen it earlier.
It wasn't there yesterday.
Just five words:
"He sees through your skin."
Barney didn't even glance his way.
But Hale could feel it.
That pressure. That weight.
Something was watching him.
From inside the friend he thought he'd lost.
Or maybe…
Something that found its way back using Barney.