Christy ran out of the house into the cold evening. She glanced at the clock and felt a surge of adrenaline – she had exactly ten minutes. Her battered Honda Civic Hybrid remained parked in the driveway. Driving would be impossible in this new body, but more importantly, the car would only slow her down. She had to rely on her new senses.

The first leaps over the neighbors' low fences felt surprisingly natural. The impact on the grass was muffled by the soft sound of latex against dry leaves. Christy realized she was no longer moving like a human; her body automatically leaned forward, her hands occasionally brushing the ground for better stability, while her tail cut through the air like a rudder.

***

By the time she ran into the destination alleyway, her lungs weren't burning and her muscles didn't protest. She looked at the digital stopwatch in her head and stopped. Running this route had taken her less than seven minutes. Christy stood stunned for a moment. In the early evening traffic, with all the red lights and detours, it would have taken her at least half an hour by car. This realization took her breath away more than the run itself. She was no longer just an ordinary girl in a costume; she was a being built for speed and the hunt.

It was exactly 20:27. She had only three minutes left until the meeting.

The neglected alley looked ominous in the twilight. Scraps of boxes were scattered everywhere, and a dumpster in the corner was overflowing, emitting a sour stench of trash that her new senses perceived as a physical blow. Christy stopped in front of a sheet-metal door. In the dim light of a street lamp that flickered unsteadily in the alley, she noticed a classic square sign attached directly to the door. It was simple, white with black lettering:

SECOND IDENTITY
Below this title, in smaller, neat script:
Owner: Dethreian O. Fuchs

Christy hesitated for a second and pricked up her new ears. However, she heard absolutely nothing from behind the door. No rustle, no footsteps, not even the muffled sound of sewing machines she would have expected in such a workshop. It seemed strange to her. Her hearing was now sensitive enough to catch a pin dropping on the floor, yet behind this door reigned an unnatural, almost vacuum-like silence.

***

Exactly at half-past eight, Christy stepped up to the door and knocked. It didn't take more than a few seconds before the door opened with a quiet click. Standing there was the same older gentleman she had met in the shop. He was no longer reading a book but was examining her intently. "Come in, Christy," he said in a calm voice and stepped aside. "I am Dethreian."

Christy crossed the threshold and found herself in a room that looked like a costume workshop. "I see you like your new body," Dethreian remarked as he closed the heavy door behind her, definitively cutting them off from the outside world.

"Why are you doing this?" Christy asked him.
"It's for research," Dethreian replied.
"What kind of research?" Christy asked.
"I am researching the power of wishes and desires. Your wish to become an Eevee was strong enough for the costume to choose you," Dethreian replied with a smirk on his face.
"Who are you, really?" she asked him.
"I am a wizard," Dethreian replied. "Now it's your turn to answer my question. Do you like your new body?"
"Yes, it's amazing!" Christy answered, surprised by the old man's response to his own previous question.
"Would you have believed me if I had told you?" Dethreian said.
"Probably not," Christy replied to his question about whether she would have believed he was a wizard.

Dethreian just gave a calm smile, as if he had expected such an answer. He walked over to a workbench and began tidying up scattered papers. His fingers ran over sheets covered in dense notes and diagrams, while he muttered more to himself about how people usually ignore things that don't fit into their daily routine.

"I've been observing human behavior in situations like yours for quite a long time," he continued matter-of-factly, while focusing on his papers. "Mostly, it's predictable. When someone gains a new form, those around them simply stop perceiving them as a person. The observer's brain processes such a perception only as a blur or an uninteresting shadow in the crowd. It's a fairly stable pattern... except for one small crack I've noticed just now."

Finally, he gathered the scattered notes into one pile and placed them into worn leather folders. Only then did he look up at Christy, a hint of curiosity appearing in his gaze.

"You see, I've noticed an anomaly. Someone out there isn't reacting to your presence the way they should. It seems the common mechanism of obliviousness isn't working on them, and their behavior suggests they truly perceive you," Dethreian added, his voice momentarily losing its previous certainty. "I don't know who it is yet; I only see an unexpected deviation in my records. Someone is looking at you and truly sees you. I will have to monitor this anomaly a bit more closely."