" what is coming after me " lucy asked in confusion
Merlin told her " first, get back to your home "
The hospital doors hissed behind Lucy as she stepped into the cold night air. The wind cut through the thin fabric of her jacket, and for a moment, she shivered—not just from the weather, but from the exhaustion weighing every part of her body. Merlin walked beside her, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark military jacket, matching her pace like he had been doing it all his life.
The streets were almost empty. The lamps flickered, casting long, lonely shadows across the pavement. The faint hum of the city at night seemed far away, like a sound coming from another life. Lucy wrapped her arms around herself, eyes still stinging from the sight of her grandmother lying unconscious just hours ago.
She inhaled shakily.
"She's safe," Merlin murmured, quietly but firmly, as if he could sense the storm in her chest. "The doctors said she'll make a full recovery."
"I know," Lucy whispered, voice cracking. "But… I keep seeing it. My mother's face. Samuel's hands. Her falling to the floor. Grandma is—she's all I have left. If anything had happened to her…"
Her voice broke entirely then, and she stopped walking. The tears she'd been fighting all night finally slipped out, warm against the cold air. She lifted a hand to wipe them away, embarrassed, but Merlin gently reached out before she could.
"Lucy," he said softly. "Don't apologize for feeling. You've been holding everything together alone for too long."
Something in his voice—a mixture of anger and empathy—unraveled her even more.
The tension in her shoulders eased just a little, and she nodded, letting herself breathe. She realized how steady Merlin's presence felt. Not intrusive. Not demanding. Just… there. Like a lighthouse in a storm she didn't ask for.
After a moment, they resumed walking.
The night around them deepened. Frost gathered at the edges of signboards. Dogs barked in distant alleys. Every now and then, Lucy's eyes drifted sideways—to him.
He was handsome. Uncomfortably so. She hadn't noticed it clearly earlier because fear had drowned out everything else. But now, under the streetlights, his profile was sharp and striking—high cheekbones, strong jawline, dark eyes that were unreadable yet warm when they turned to her.
A tiny, unwelcome thought bloomed in her mind.
Why does being near him feel… safe?
She pushed it away immediately. Tonight was not the night for such thoughts. Not when everything felt like it was collapsing around her.
She cleared her throat.
"Merlin… about the video you mentioned earlier," she said. "That… thing in the forest. The man… the wolves… Did your father say anything about it?"
Merlin exhaled slowly, staring ahead as their footsteps echoed on the empty road.
"I've seen a lot of strange things around the Evergreen," he began. "But nothing like what that footage showed. At first, I thought it was a trick of the camera—fog, light distortion, maybe an animal crossing. But when I showed it to one of the senior officers who worked with your father for years, he went pale. He told me not to dig further."
Lucy's lips parted. "Why?"
"Because," Merlin said, lowering his voice, "people who ask too many questions about the Evergreen don't always stay alive long enough to get answers."
His words trembled faintly with truth, not drama. It sent a chill down Lucy's spine.
"But my father…" She hesitated. "He wasn't the kind of man to get scared easily."
"No," Merlin agreed. "He wasn't."
They walked in silence for a while. Lucy could hear her heart beating faintly in her ears.
Finally, she asked, "Do you think the same thing that killed him… is still out there?"
Merlin looked at her—not with pity, but with an honesty she wasn't prepared for.
"Lucy," he said gently, "I don't think what killed your father was human."
Her breath hitched.
"And whatever it was… it wasn't acting alone."
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
The streetlamps flickered again.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog growled.
Lucy swallowed, trying to steady her voice. "So…" she said. "This wasn't an accident. It wasn't a wild animal attack."
"I don't believe so."
"And you think someone—or something—might be coming for me?"
Merlin hesitated. "I think your father's death wasn't random. And you… you're a loose thread in something bigger."
He didn't say it to scare her. He said it because it was the truth he carried, heavy and dangerous.
Lucy exhaled shakily. "That doesn't make me feel better, you know."
"I know," he said softly. "But you deserve the truth."
They reached her street. Her home stood at the far end, dark and quiet like a wounded thing trying to hide from the world. She felt her chest tighten when she saw it. The memory of her grandmother's body hitting the wooden floor replayed with brutal clarity.
She stopped at the gate.
"Merlin…" she whispered. "Can you stay? Tonight?"
He blinked. "Are you sure?"
She nodded slowly, her eyes trembling. "I don't want to be alone. Not after… everything."
Her voice was raw, stripped bare of pride or pretense.
Merlin didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied her expression carefully, making sure she wasn't asking out of impulse or confusion. When he finally nodded, it wasn't with reluctance—it was with commitment.
"I'll stay," he said quietly. "You're not facing this night alone."
A breath she didn't know she was holding escaped her.
Then they entered the house.
Inside, everything felt colder. The air heavy. Silent. The kind of silence that remembered violence.
Lucy walked to her bedroom, changed into warm clothes, and lay down on her bed. Merlin sat in the chair beside the door, alert even in his stillness. He wasn't relaxed—he was guarding.
Lucy watched him through half-closed eyes.
"You don't have to stay awake," she murmured.
"Yes, I do," he replied.
Her lips curved weakly. "Stubborn."
"You should sleep."
She nodded, exhaustion pulling her under.
As sleep claimed her, the last thing she saw was Merlin's silhouette in the dim light—solid, unwavering.
But sleep did not bring peace.
Her dream began gently.
She was small again—six, maybe seven. Running barefoot on sun-warmed grass beside her father. Robert Desmond laughed, scooping her into his arms, spinning her around until her giggles filled the air.
"Daddy! Put me down!" she squealed.
"Never," he laughed. "You're too light."
Warm sunlight. The smell of earth. Safety.
Then the dream darkened.
Her father coughed.
Once. Twice.
Then blood spattered on his palm.
"Dad?" young Lucy asked softly, her smile fading.
Robert staggered.
He fell to his knees.
"Dad!" adult Lucy cried, sprinting toward him inside the dream.
But the world warped.
A figure stepped between her and her collapsing father—tall, broad, silhouetted in cold lunar light. The moonlight clung to his body like liquid silver.
His skin glowed faintly, as if drinking the moon into his veins.
Lucy tried to run around him.
But every time she moved, he shifted too—blocking her view, blocking her path, blocking her father.
"Who are you?!" she screamed.
The figure didn't speak.
Instead—
He tilted his head back—
—and howled.
A deep, furious, animalistic howl that shook the dream like thunder.
Wolves burst from the shadows, eyes blazing with silver fire, circling her, snarling.
Lucy stumbled backward as the world dissolved into fangs, moonlight, and a terror older than the forest itself.
She screamed—
and woke up—
heart pounding, breath ragged, sweat soaking her clothes.