Duncan didn't look up from the workbench. "Hey—hand me my toolbox," he said, nodding toward the oversized metal case resting a few feet away.
Ethan glanced at it, then back at him. "Bring… all that to you?"
"Yeah," Duncan replied, still focused on Dylan's tomahawk, tools clicking softly in his hands. "Just bring it here."
Ethan hesitated. "…Uhmm." He walked over anyway, crouched, and gripped the handle with both hands. He braced himself, exhaled, and pulled.
The toolbox didn't budge.
He frowned, adjusted his grip, and tried again—harder this time. Muscles tensed, shoulders tightened, effort written all over him.
The box shifted. Barely an inch.
"…Why is this damn thing so heavy?" he muttered, breath hitching.
Duncan finally glanced over. "Oh—right. My bad," he said, straightening a little. "Never mind, I'll just—"
Footsteps cut him off. Ysa stepped down from the porch, eyes landing immediately on Ethan struggling over the toolbox. She took in the scene in one glance, unimpressed. "Move."
Ethan looked up at her, already stepping aside. "Good luck. Even I can't li—"
She didn't wait for him to finish. One hand on the handle. A clean lift. The toolbox came up like it weighed nothing.
Ethan blinked. "…Damn."
Ysa walked past him without breaking stride and set it down beside Duncan with a solid thud. Then she glanced back at Ethan, one brow slightly raised. "Don't beat yourself up, mortal," she said. "Blame your human biology."
Ysa turned back to Duncan, folding her arms lightly. "And what, exactly, are you working on now?"
Duncan adjusted his grip on the tomahawk, turning it over in his hands as if studying it from a dozen angles at once. "Dylan carries this on his back," he said, tone measured. "Visible. Predictable. I find that… unwise. A weapon so openly displayed invites anticipation."
Ysa inclined her head slightly. "A fair assessment. So what do you intend to do with it?"
Duncan finally looked up at her. There was a flicker in his expression—something sharp, deliberate.
A smile followed. Not warm. Not casual.
Calculated.
"I'm going to melt it."
Ysa studied the tomahawk in his hands, her gaze sharpening slightly. "That is both wise and misguided," she said. "If your aim is to remake their weapons in our likeness, you are indulging in impossibility."
Duncan arched a brow. "And why is that?"
"You lack the infrastructure," Ysa replied evenly. "The materials. The energy throughput. Do you truly believe that tower you constructed can sustain the output required for sirenic forging?"
Duncan gave a quiet huff of amusement, turning the weapon once more between his fingers. "There are ways to salvage sufficient energy for a single conversion," he said. "More than enough, if I were so inclined."
He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting. "But I'm not."
Ysa paused, reassessing. "…I see."
A small nod followed—measured, approving enough. "Then I will leave you to your artificing," she said, already turning away. "I have matters to attend to. The Chief requires checking."
Duncan didn't answer. His attention had already returned to the tomahawk—calculating, intent, and entirely his own.
The gates groaned open, metal dragging against reinforced hinges. Three vehicles rolled in, engines low and steady before cutting out one by one.
The compound settled.
A beat later, the door of the military truck swung open.
Dylan dropped down from the driver's seat, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He didn't linger—just slammed the door shut and moved, stride direct, eyes already locked on Duncan.
He stopped a few feet away, chin tilting toward the tomahawk in Duncan's hands. "What you doin' with my tomahawk?"
Duncan didn't look up immediately. He turned the weapon once, inspecting the edge before answering. "Would you prefer to keep it as it is," he said calmly, "or allow me to improve it?"
Dylan frowned slightly. "Improve it how?"
Duncan finally met his gaze. "It is a yes or no question."
A pause.
Dylan exhaled through his nose, scratching lightly at his jaw. "Do what you want," he muttered. "Thing's kept me alive more times than I can count. If she gets better—maybe she keeps someone else breathin' too."
Duncan's expression shifted—mild curiosity threading through it. "You assign gender to your weapon?" he asked. "Fascinating. Tell me—are they capable of reproduction as well?"
Dylan let out a quiet, dry chuckle. "Yeah. Sure." He turned away like the conversation was already over.
Maurice passed by him a moment later, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "He didn't mean that," he said lightly, continuing on without breaking stride.
Lucas approached, dust still clinging to his sleeves. "Hey, man. We couldn't bring much."
Duncan didn't look up at first. "Much?" he repeated, the word edged with quiet skepticism.
David stepped in behind him, wiping his hands on his jeans. "We stripped everything you asked for," he said bluntly. "Cleared the surrounding zones. Even Hillsview's tapped out—nothing left worth hauling."
That got Duncan's attention. He straightened slowly, gaze sharpening as it moved between them. "And you expect me to finish with scraps?"
Lucas lifted a hand slightly. "We'll figure that part out later, alright?" His tone was steady, but there was a weight behind it—unspoken limits, hard realities.
Duncan exhaled through his nose, long and controlled. Not agreement. Not refusal. Just restraint.
He turned and walked toward the vehicles.
The back of the military truck shifted under his weight. Inside—boxes, loosely packed. Tools. Rusted nails. Tangled wiring. Disassembled components. A generator shoved into the corner, old enough to be unreliable, heavy enough to be inconvenient.
He climbed halfway in, shifting a crate aside, scanning with a craftsman's eye—measuring worth, not quantity.
The second car was worse.
The third barely qualified as supply.
Duncan stepped back down, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in calculation. "Would've been efficient," he muttered under his breath, "if this realm had the decency to provide a single volite crystal worth harvesting."
Nothing.
Just dead weight. Dead tech. Dead ends.
He shut the car door harder than necessary. The sound echoed briefly through the yard. "For a place that pretends to sustain life," he added quietly, "it's remarkably barren where it matters."
No one answered.
Duncan turned and walked back toward the manor, already thinking three steps ahead—what could be repurposed, what could be forced to work, what would inevitably fail.
~~~
Inside the living room, the air was thick with heat and fatigue.
Scavengers collapsed wherever space allowed—sofas, chairs, even the floor. Sweat clung to skin, clothes damp, breaths heavy from the haul.
Dylan dropped into a seat without ceremony, rolling his shoulder once before settling. His gaze drifted to his arm. A faint scratch lined his elbow—nothing deep, just enough to bead a thin line of blood.
He wiped it absently against his pants.
Lucas caught the movement. "Did you get scratched?" he asked immediately, stepping closer, voice tightening just a fraction.
That was enough.
Heads lifted. The room shifted—subtle, but real. Tension replaced exhaustion in an instant.
Elena was already moving, closing the distance and taking Dylan's arm before he could brush it off.
Dylan pulled slightly, not resisting—just dismissive. "Got it when we lifted the generator," he said. "Ain't from a shrieker."
A beat.
Then the room exhaled. Shoulders eased. Someone muttered under their breath. The edge of panic dissolved as quickly as it came.
Elena didn't let go. "We're cleaning it anyway," she said, firm, already inspecting the cut. "You don't die from monsters just to get taken out by tetanus."
Dylan huffed lightly, leaning back again. "Yeah, yeah."
The door shifted open again.
Ysa stepped in, her gaze moving once across the room before settling on Dylan. "Let me see."
Dylan barely looked up. "It's nothin'."
She didn't argue. She took his arm.
Dylan stiffened at the sudden grip, a brief twist of resistance before he let it go with a quiet exhale. Ysa examined the scratch in silence—eyes focused, precise. Then her hand hovered over it.
The torn skin sealed cleanly, the trace of blood gone as if it had never been there.
Ysa released him and turned to the rest of the room. "All of you," she said calmly. "Step forward. I will examine each one."
Lucas shook his head lightly. "You don't have to—"
"To heal is my purpose," Ysa cut in, voice even but absolute. "A realm-given gift. Do not obstruct it."
A brief pause.
Lucas nodded once. "Alright. Sorry."
He stepped forward first, raising his arms slightly to give her space. Ysa moved in, her hands hovering just off his body, tracing slow, deliberate paths—feeling, not touching.
Her focus shifted.
She stopped behind him. "Lift your garments."
Lucas didn't question it. He pulled his shirt up, exposing his back. A dark bruise spread across it—deep, uneven.
Elena frowned immediately. "What happened to you?"
Lucas shrugged, like it wasn't worth the attention. "Bad fall."
Ysa didn't respond. Her hands steadied over the injury.
The discoloration faded beneath it, violet draining back into normal skin tone, tissue restoring itself in quiet, precise increments.
The door creaked again.
Taylor stepped in first, Emily right behind her—both balancing trays lined with cups of water, the faint clink of glass cutting through the low hum of the room.
Taylor's eyes lifted—and locked immediately onto Ysa's hands hovering over Lucas' back. Her expression changed.
Fast.
"Here—" she said, thrusting the tray toward Maurice without looking. "Hold this."
Before he could answer, she was already moving.
"What happened?" she demanded, closing the distance.
Lucas didn't turn right away. "Don't worry," he said, tone easy. "I'm fine."
Taylor stopped in front of him, unimpressed. "Don't you lie to me, mister. What happened?"
Lucas glanced around the room, suddenly aware of the audience. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face. "…Just a bad fall."
A beat.
Then David grinned. "Idiot slipped off the top of the military truck," he said, leaning back like he'd been waiting for this. "Scouting Hillsview. Missed his footing—straight down on his back."
Taylor blinked once—then narrowed her eyes at Lucas. "What is it with you and climbing roofs?"
Lucas turned his head just enough to shoot David a look, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth despite it. "Thought I told you to keep that a secret."
David shrugged, still smiling. "What's the point? She saw you."
Lucas shifted slightly as the last trace of pain left his back. "Is it done?" he asked.
Ysa didn't look at him. "I've already moved on to the next patient," she replied, stepping past him to Ava. Her hands hovered again, scanning with the same quiet precision.
Lucas exhaled, then turned back to Taylor. "I'm fine," he said, softer now. A beat. "Where's our son?"
"By the pool," Taylor answered.
He didn't wait after that. He was already moving—out the door, pace steady but just a little too quick to pass as casual.
Ava watched him go, then glanced at Taylor. "You always worry about him that much, huh?"
Taylor let out a small breath, folding her arms loosely. "Who wouldn't?" she said. "After what happened to Doctor Jenkins… I've been more scared than I care to admit."
A brief silence settled.
Elena spoke next, quieter. "Do you think he's still alive?"
Ysa's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing their sweep over Ava. "My sister gave her word," she said. "She would bring him back alive."
She moved on, turning toward David now, her focus unwavering. "Whatever method she chose," Ysa continued, "I can only hope it does not turn against her."
Dylan, leaning back against the wall, frowned slightly. "What d'you mean?"
Ysa didn't soften. "Limited time. Desperation," she said. "Those conditions do not produce careful decisions." Her gaze lowered briefly, something older passing through it. "She has always been like that," Ysa added. "Acting first. Consequences… later."
David leaned back slightly, arms crossed, his expression less joking than before. "I'm kind of worried."
Ava didn't hesitate. "We all are," she said quietly. "If Jenkins dies… then our hope for things to return to normal..."
Ysa's gaze lifted from her current patient for the first time. "You all rely heavily on this man."
Maurice nodded once. "Yeah. He's not physically reliable in the field, but his mind—his knowledge. That's enough for us to trust him."
David gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Not to mention the guy doesn't stop. Ever. He's been chasing a cure like it's the only thing keeping him alive."
His expression shifted slightly as memory surfaced. "Remember before we met Yve? He was in a worse state than any of us. Burned out. Running on nothing."
Maurice exhaled through his nose. "I remember that. Looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Honestly thought he was going to collapse on his own before anything else got to him."
He shook his head faintly. "No idea how he kept going."
Dylan, still leaning against the wall, spoke after a moment. "He saved my life too," he said simply. "Back when I got taken out. I owe my life to him."
A pause settled over them.
David glanced down at his hands, quieter now. "Yeah…" he said. "Just hope he's okay now."
Duncan stepped into the room, breaking the silence like a blade through fabric. "Hey," he said flatly. "Harlene says it's time to eat."
David's mood shifted instantly. "Ooooh—food. Finally." He pushed himself upright a little more. "What we got?"
Ysa tilted her head slightly. "Do you consume deer?"
David blinked. "There's meat? Actual meat? Not scraps and emergency rations?"
Emily raised a hand slightly. "Yeah… Ysa and I went hunting earlier."
Ava's head snapped toward her. "You what?"
Emily immediately waved it off. "Relax. Nothing bad happened. I just—learned a lot, actually."
Ysa's gaze lingered on Emily for a moment, approving. "The mortal adapts quickly. She is a natural hunter." Her eyes shifted toward Ava. "Why do you restrain her potential?"
Ava stiffened. "Because I'm worried about her."
"Caution is not the same as protection," Ysa replied evenly. "You are shielding yourself from discomfort, not her from danger."
Ava took a step forward. "Says the siren who tries to control Yve's entire life."
The air changed immediately.
Subtle—but sharp. The kind of silence that comes right before something breaks.
Ysa stepped forward as well, meeting her halfway. "Control?" she repeated quietly.
The distance between them tightened, tension coiling fast.
Duncan moved instantly, stepping between them with both hands raised. "Whoa—whoa. Girls. Stand down."
A beat.
No one moved at first. Then, slowly—just barely—the pressure in the room eased, like a held breath finally starting to release.
~~~
The monitor gave a steady, rhythmic beat—consistent, controlled—mirroring Jenkins' reconstructed heart.
Yve moved from console to console, scanning the data streams across his other systems. Lungs: stable. Circulation: synchronized. Neural response: suppressed but consistent. No rejection spikes. "Everything's normal," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Good."
A slow exhale followed.
She stepped back to Jenkins' side, checking him directly this time. Her hands adjusted his head position slightly, ensuring airway alignment even though machines were handling most of the function. Then she moved down—light pressure through his arms, then his legs, easing stiffness, checking for any irregular response in muscle tone.
Still stable.
"…Stay alive, Doc," she said quietly. "I'll be back."
After a final pass over the monitors, she turned toward the exit. She placed her hand against the control panel.
The seal disengaged with a deep, mechanical hiss. The door slid open. And she froze.
Nierven was there. Already waiting.
His body coiled just beyond the threshold, massive and still, eyes locked on her with a predator's focus that didn't blink or soften. The surrounding water seemed to hesitate around him, currents bending subtly as if even the ocean gave him space.
Yve jolted back half a step. "Geez—" she breathed out sharply. "You scared me."
Nierven didn't react with sound. He simply leaned forward. Slow. Intentional.
His head lowered, nostrils flaring as he sampled the air, scanning her, the space behind her, the scent of the room itself. Careful. Assessing.
Yve recovered quickly, lifting both hands in a calm, open gesture. "Come inside."
A pause.
Nierven's gaze held hers. Then his massive form shifted.
The transformation wasn't sudden—it was controlled, deliberate. Scale by scale, his body compacted, folding inward with unnatural fluidity until he reduced into a more manageable size, still powerful, still coiled with presence, but no longer filling the entire threshold.
An anaconda-sized serpent now. He glided forward.
Yve stepped aside, letting him pass.
As he crossed the boundary, the water itself reacted—suspended tension forming at the seam between inside and outside, as if the ocean hesitated to fully commit. A thin, held veil of water hung between the secret base and the open sea, distorted but stable, marking the boundary of the sealed space.
Nierven entered fully.
The door hissed again behind them, sealing the outside away.
Nierven brushed against Yve as soon as he settled beside her, the motion oddly gentle for something so large—like a dog pressing in for attention.
Yve let out a quiet chuckle, steadying him with a light pat on his head. "I love you too, buddy."
Nierven gave a low, contented rumble in response.
"Come with me," she added.
He obeyed without hesitation, sliding alongside her as they moved deeper into the base.
They reached Jenkins' bed. Nierven slowed. His head lowered.
He leaned in close, nostrils flaring as he took in Jenkins' scent—long, deliberate, analyzing something beneath the surface. Then his body stiffened.
A low growl rolled out of him. Sharp. Unsettled.
Yve's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sense what?"
Nierven hissed softly in response, circling once—tight, controlled, like he was mapping out an invisible pattern around the bed and Yve herself. His agitation didn't spike, but it didn't settle either.
Yve exhaled through her nose. "…Ah. Yes," she said quietly. "You're not wrong, buddy."
She reached out, resting a hand along Nierven's side. "You're not wrong, buddy."
Nierven continued his slow circle around her, growl fading into something lower, heavier—less warning, more concern. The sound vibrated through the room, lingering in the silence.
Yve's expression dimmed slightly. "I had no choice…"
A beat.
The machines around Jenkins continued their steady rhythm, indifferent to the weight in the air.
Yve straightened. "Let's go outside," she said, voice shifting back to composure. "He's still resting. Let's find food."
Nierven paused. Studied her. Then, without protest, he turned and followed her out.
~~~
Yve and Nierven swam toward the stables, currents shifting gently around them as the structure came into view—half-organic, half-built, anchored into the reef like it had grown there over time.
Inside, voices carried.
Raine was already there, leaning casually against a support beam, while Lysander stood nearby looking distinctly unamused. She tilted her head, smirking. "Are you having amnesia? Or did you just get too drunk?"
Yve slowed as she entered the space. "Hey—what are you two talking about?"
Raine turned immediately, grin widening. "You won't believe this," she said. "Lysander got drunk."
Yve blinked once, then laughed. "You what? Seriously?"
Raine nodded, clearly entertained. "Yeah. I think he got so watered down he couldn't remember what he did the past few days."
Yve's smile held for a second longer—then faltered slightly as she looked at Lysander. "Damn, Sander… didn't know you had it in you."
Lysander straightened immediately, offended on principle. "Seriously? No one beats me at drinking," he said flatly. "My tolerance is solid. I cannot get drunk."
Yve hesitated. "Yeah… then maybe you've got early signs of amnesia."
Raine immediately pointed at her. "That's what I said."
Both Yve and Raine snapped their hands up and high-fived, still laughing.
Raine tilted her head, watching Yve and Nierven. "So what are you guys up to?"
Yve patted Nierven's back. "Taking Nierven out for a food trip."
Raine's expression brightened immediately. "Oh—can you bring back some pufferfish? I've been craving them."
Yve let out an exhausted sound. "Those things are a pain to catch. I get itchy a lot"
Raine waved a hand dismissively. "Oh come on. When have I ever asked you for a favor?"
Yve gave her a flat look. "Yesterday. When you asked if I could hunt you some pufferfish."
Raine didn't even hesitate. "And Nierven was the one who did it. Because you were busy." Her gaze sharpened slightly. "Whar have you been doing anyway?"
Lysander nodded once. "Yeah," he added. "I barely see you these days."
Yve froze for half a beat. Then she smiled too quickly. "Uhm—hehe—well… that's none of your business." Without waiting for a response, she turned sharply. "Let's go, Nierven."
Nierven followed instantly.
They left.
A brief silence settled after they were gone. Lysander exhaled. "Well… that's weird, right?"
Raine shrugged. "Not as weird as you." Then she leaned in slightly, curiosity returning. "But seriously—who got you drunk?"
Lysander blinked. "I told you. I didn't drink."
Raine raised a brow.
"I just… couldn't remember what I did these past few days."
That landed a beat too long.
Raine straightened. "You should get checked. Could be a parasite eating your brain."
Lysander visibly recoiled. "Gross."