The music box had long wound down, its last note, Yve ran her fingers along the carved edges, gently tracing the curves of the tiny spinning mermaid as if memorizing every detail.
Dylan leaned back a little, eyes narrowing at the shimmer coiled around her wrist. "Nice bracelet," he muttered, voice low and rough. "Your sister give ya that?"
Yve blinked like she hadn't noticed it, then followed his gaze. A soft chuckle escaped her as she lifted her arm, the green coil glinting in the light.
"What? No. No, no, no," she said, a little grin forming. "That's no jewelry. That's Nierven."
Dylan squinted. "Nierven?"
"Yeah." She brushed a finger along the shape, and it shifted—barely—like a living breath under glass. "He's sleeping."
Dylan tilted his head. "Didn't think snakes snored."
Yve laughed, the sound like soft bells. "He's not a snake. He's a Water Serpent. A real one. Ancient, actually."
He stared, eyes flicking from her face back to the 'bracelet.' "You're tellin' me that little coil there's the same damn thing pullin' tuna outta the ocean like it's a hobby?"
"Mmhmm, well…he does help me" she said proudly. Her fingers brushed the coil with reverence. "When he's still, he takes this shape—woven tight, fast asleep."
"Looks like jewelry." Dylan muttered with fascination.
"And that's the trick, isn't it?" she murmured. "He hides. Shifts his shape. Becomes what the sea needs him to be. Becomes what I need him to be."
Dylan exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his boot. "You're tellin' me this thing shapeshifts… bites… senses fear… turns into coral…"
"Mm," she said sweetly. "He likes you though. Or he'd have uncurled."
Dylan didn't move. Just gave the bracelet another side-eye glance. "Hell of a welcome committee," he muttered.
Yve smiled. "You haven't seen him dance yet."
A few hours passed and the sun has began to set, Dylan tossed a fish bone into the ocean while Yve eats cooked fish in one bite. Then, Dylan spoke without looking at her. "So how you gonna get your legs?"
"Full moon tonight. I hope it happens. I've been waiting for years…" Her voice softer than the breeze. Her words hung there—unrushed, unburdened. Hope wrapped in patience.
Dylan scratched at the corner of his jaw, stared at the fire too long. "Well…" he said, voice gruff, low, "whatever happens… it's meant to be."
But the words stuck halfway down his throat. Because he wanted to believe that. Because part of him—the part he kept buried deep under calloused skin and stitched wounds—did want her to surface. To walk beside him. Maybe even stay.
But the other part, the one that saw good people torn up by the world he wandered, knew better. She didn't know what the land had become. It wasn't just the rotters. It was the people too. The kind that smiled before pulling a trigger.
He looked at her. "You sure that's somethin' you still want?" he asked, quieter now. "Bein' up here? Walkin' in all this?"
Yve met his gaze with an odd sort of peace in her eyes. "I've wanted it longer than I've feared it."
Dylan didn't answer. Just stared back at the flames as they cracked over blackened logs—silent, torn between running and wishing.
The full moon crested the sky, haloed in silver mist. Yve sat near the edge of the dock, her eyes closed, her hands clasped before her chest like a prayer. Her tail stirred gently beneath the surface, glinting dark green and opal with each flick.
Dylan stood behind her, silent, arms folded. His eyes were fixed on her, the way she breathed desperation between every exhale. "Please… please… please…"
It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. Just quiet, frantic hope, like she was bargaining with something ancient and unseen. Minutes passed. The wind held its breath. Waves lapped against the dock, unchanged.
And then—
The moonlight shifted, sharpened. Not brighter, exactly—focused. As if the sky had turned its gaze solely on her.
Dylan's breath caught.
The sea stirred. Gentle at first, then faster. Water coiled around Yve's tail like living silk, pulsing once, twice, drawing in toward her. She gasped—the sound half-shocked, half-wonder.
Dylan stepped forward instinctively, boots heavy on the boards. The waves spiraled tighter, glowing faintly where they touched her skin.
Still no legs.
But something was happening.
Something real.
And Dylan could only stand there—half in awe, half in dread—watching a moment unfold that would change everything.
The water surged higher, coiling tighter around Yve's tail until it looked less like flesh and more like liquid light—blue-green and translucent, churning like it was being reclaimed by the ocean. She gasped, clutching her chest as the sea began to draw from her, not violently, but with purpose.
Her tail shimmered once more… then melted. It bled into the waves in soft ribbons, dissolving into foam and starlight. And where it once was—legs. Pale, trembling, foreign.
She looked down in disbelief, breathing sharp and silent. The bra—once seagrass and scale—had vanished too, pulled back into the tide like a completed offering.
Dylan blinked hard, frozen for half a beat before instinct kicked in. He dropped to one knee beside the duffle bag and yanked it open, muttering under his breath as he fished through shirts, dresses, and denim.
He found the towel first. Rough but clean. Without a word, he stepped forward and wrapped it around her shoulders, eyes averted, jaw locked tight.
Yve didn't move. Didn't speak. Her fingers hovered just above her new legs like she was afraid to touch them in case they vanished.
He knelt beside her and set down the clothes, beside it, a pair of brand-new rubber shoes, tags still tucked into the soles.
The waves calmed. The moon dimmed, slipping back behind a thin veil of clouds, no longer blazing—just watching.
Still, she didn't speak. Just blinked. Then let out a shaky exhale that might've been a laugh, or a sob, or both.
Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Well, hell," he muttered. "You really did it."
Yve trembled, her fingers curling tighter around the towel draped over her shoulders. The first sob came quiet—barely a hitch in her breath—but the second hit like a wave. Her face crumpled, and suddenly tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "I've waited for years…" she choked out, voice cracking through the dark.
Dylan shifted, alarm flashing in his eyes. "Hey," he murmured awkwardly, patting her shoulder—light, stiff, like he was afraid she might shatter under his touch. "C'mon now. You, uh… you did it."
She didn't answer—just cried harder, head dipping as her new legs folded awkwardly beneath her, still foreign, still overwhelming. Then, without warning, she turned and threw her arms around him—crying into his shoulder, clinging like the storm hadn't passed.
Dylan stiffened for half a second out of instinct—but then, slowly, his arms came around her. A little too wide. A little too uncertain. But they held firm. He kept patting her back. Light at first. Then steadier. "Alright," he muttered, not knowing what else to say. "Alright. Breathe. I got you."
And for once, he didn't pull away.
Yve slowly pulled away from him, wiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "They're so beautiful…" she whispered, wonder thick in her voice.
Dylan cleared his throat, rubbing his neck again. "Yeah. Yeah, they're… they're real nice."
She glanced at him, a grin breaking through the tears. "Help me up?"
He hesitated for a half-second, then gently reached out and took her by the arms, careful not to jostle her. "Alright. Nice 'n easy…"
Yve braced herself and, with his help, pushed upright. Her legs wobbled beneath her like seaweed pulled too far from the tide. She stood—barely—but her toes were curled, heels lifted, her body instinctively balancing as if she was still part of the waves. Her stance looked more ballerina than human. "I feel so tall…" she murmured, wobbling again.
"That's 'cause you're standin'," Dylan muttered, tightening his grip when she leaned a little too far sideways.
She giggled, took a step—and promptly collapsed into him.
He caught her fast, arms around her waist, her hair brushing against his chin. "Woah, woah—easy now. Don't gotta sprint outta the gate," he said softly, steadying her again. "Ain't no race."
Yve nodded, breathless but glowing. "I'll get it."
He offered a faint, crooked smile. "I know."
They stood there a moment—her leaning into him, him holding steady—before he adjusted his stance and whispered like he was telling a secret to the ocean. "One step at a time, alright?"
Dylan held both her hands, calloused palms wrapped gently around her smaller fingers. Yve clutched him like a lifeline, brows knit in absolute concentration.
She lifted one foot—tentative, awkward—and planted it a few inches ahead. Her body swayed hard to the side, like a Jenga tower halfway to collapse. But she gasped and adjusted, arms tightening around his.
Her knees trembled. But the foot stayed planted. Then came the second step. Her balance wobbled again, and Dylan instinctively took a half step forward to steady her, never letting go. "You're doin' good," he said, voice low, steady as bedrock.
Yve's eyes went wide, shimmering with disbelief. "Oh my Heavens," she whispered, voice trembling into a laugh. "I'm walking."
She took another step. Then another. Each one landed with an awkward, heavy thud—her heel hitting too hard, her balance still learning what bones were meant to hold. Dylan held her hands steady, palms calloused but careful.
"You're doin' fine," he muttered, watching her feet with laser focus. Then he let go of one hand.
Yve gasped, panicked, gripping tighter with the other. "Why are you letting go?"
"You'll learn faster," he said, keeping pace beside her but staying hands-off.
She stepped again—stomped, really. It was like watching a newborn fawn try to moonwalk. Her arms flailed a little for balance, and she muttered something under her breath that sounded like a half-hearted curse and a giggle smashed together.
"One problem at a time," Dylan mumbled, nodding as if they were figuring out how to fix a truck, not teach someone how to human.
When she found a rhythm—a shaky, stompy, somehow-it's-working rhythm—he took a breath. Then slowly, slowly, let go of her other hand. "No—no, don't let go of me, Dylan—"
But he already had. One beat later, Yve tilted. And tumbled sideways. Dylan lunged for her—too slow. She hit the water with a splash, arms flailing as the ocean embraced her again. The dock shook beneath his boots as he dropped to his knees, reaching—
Beneath the surface, as soon as Yve got fully submerged, her tail unfurled in a shimmer of green and silver, long and luminous. It coiled once through the water and then stilled.
She surfaced with a gasp, hair slicked back, laughing breathlessly. Not afraid. Not hurt. Just stunned—and reborn.
Dylan exhaled hard through his nose, gripping the edge of the dock. "Guess we ain't done learnin' yet," he muttered, watching her float like she'd never been made for land in the first place.
The fire burned down as night stretched deeper around them. The stars blinked clear over the ocean, but neither of them looked up. Dylan was crouched on the dock, one knee to the wood, holding a shoelace between his fingers. "No—loop it first. Like this," he muttered, demonstrating slow and stiff.
Yve mirrored him, tongue pressed lightly to the corner of her lip, brow furrowed in concentration. She bent forward, fingers fumbling with the rubber shoe like it was some cryptic artifact dredged from the sea. "I think I'm strangling it," she murmured.
"You're fine," he said. "Just… pull that through… yeah." When the loop finally formed, Dylan gave the faintest nod. "There. It won't win any races, but it'll stay on."
Yve grinned, barefoot on one side, awkwardly laced on the other. "I never thought clothing would be harder than walking."
"Well," Dylan said, handing her the other shoe, "you ain't tried a zipper yet." He helped her into a hoodie next—soft gray, oversized. She looked like the fabric might swallow her whole. Dylan tugged the collar gently straight. "And now you don't look naked," he added gruffly, avoiding her eyes.
The next hour was spent walking—one step at a time, across the dock and back. Dylan stuck close, correcting her posture, bracing her elbow, murmuring things like "heel first" and "don't lock your knees." Yve moved with new weight, like the world pulled at her differently now.
Every few minutes she laughed—high, delighted, breathless. But when she slipped and hit the dock again, she didn't cry. She just rolled onto her back, panting with a goofy grin, and said, "Again." Later, after she could take five steps without needing his hands, they sat near the edge of the dock, he showed her how to hold a gun.
"This one's empty," he said, handing her a Desert Eagle. "So you don't shoot yourself while learnin'. Aim for the head. Eye socket, temple, up under the jaw. That's how you kill 'em."
She stared at it, expression unreadable. "They move like animals?"
"They shriek," Dylan muttered. "Fast. Real twitchy. Don't think. Just react."
"And they used to be…?" Yve asked curiously.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "People." Yve didn't flinch. Just ran her fingers over the hilt and nodded once.
"Stay quiet. Move light. And if you hear anything hissin' like it's boilin' from the throat up," Dylan said, poking the water with a stick, "you run. Unless you got no choice."
She didn't ask why he knew that. She just whispered, "Alright."
The night slipped by. They practiced tying shoelaces by firelight. She fell three more times walking a straight line and once because she laughed too hard. He showed her how to unzip a jacket, how zippers catch if you rush. He handed her a bean can and explained a can opener. She cursed it like it had insulted her honor.
The morning sun flared shone, casting long shadows over the fish haul glistening in the weathered wood. Dylan stood with both hands on his hips, staring at the pile like it had personally insulted him. "How the hell am I supposed to pack all these…" he muttered under his breath.
Yve, sitting nearby tying back her damp hair, gave a small shrug. "That's up to you." He shot her a look. She tilted her head, playful. "Wait—I think I might have a solution."
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "What now?" But before he could finish the thought, Yve stood, stepped to the edge of the dock, and dove in—clean, graceful, vanishing beneath the surface with barely a splash. Bubbles curled up in her wake, and just beneath the water, a shimmer of emerald rippled outward—her tail unfurling once again. Dylan blinked. "She's just… alright."
He turned back to the fish pile and sighed. He crouched and began stuffing as many as he could into his worn duffle. It groaned under the weight, zipper already protesting. "Too damn generous," he muttered, jamming one more fish into the corner. "We're gonna smell like low tide all the way to town…"
Meanwhile, beneath the water, Yve swam farther out, her tail slicing effortlessly through the current. She moved among the underwater reeds, fingers dancing through long green strands of seaweed. She gathered armfuls—thick ropes of it, supple and strong—and coiled them together like living yarn.
When she surfaced minutes later, seaweed draped around her shoulders like ceremonial silks, Dylan was already standing at the edge of the dock, arms crossed. "You goin' for a new fashion statement or what?"
"Help me up," she grinned, holding out her hand. He hauled her onto the dock, bracing her until her legs returned—awkward and shaky, but human again. She sat quickly, catching her breath, seawater trickling off her sleeves.
With the sun warming her back, Yve began weaving. She knotted and looped the seaweed in rhythmic movements, her fingers quick and fluid. The strands twisted into a sturdy mesh, looped with woven handles she reinforced with drift-thread from the dock's old netting. Within minutes, it began to resemble something between a sling and a sack—pliable, strong, and oddly elegant. "There," she said, tying off the last knot with a satisfied hum. "That should hold most of them."
Dylan gave it a testing tug. The net flexed but held firm. "Damn. Never thought I'd be haulin' fish in some kinda siren tote bag."
Yve gave a tired smile, brushing wet hair behind her ear. "Better than a rotting duffle, isn't it?"
He grunted. "You're not wrong." He slung the sack over his shoulder, and though the weight was still enough to pull at him, it didn't break. With the rest jammed into the duffle and makeshift net in hand, they were nearly ready.
Sunlight danced off the waves, and somewhere in the sea breeze, her old world whispered goodbye as they turned toward the long road ahead.
Once everything was strapped to the bike, Dylan turned to her, his expression serious. "You ready?" he asked, his tone softening slightly.
Yve nodded, her smile warm as she stepped toward him. Her movements were a little shaky, her steps unsteady, but she managed to climb onto the back of the bike. "Ready," she said, her excitement clear despite her nervousness.
With that, Dylan revved the engine, the low rumble echoing across the dock as they sped off toward the VIRA COMPLEX. The wind whipped past them, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the quiet anticipation of what was to come.
The SilentHawk purred gently beneath them, a whisper against the winding dirt path. Dylan kept the speed low, one hand steady on the handlebar, the other bracing for Yve's balance behind him.
Yve glanced sideways at Dylan—hands steady on the handles, gaze fixed down the long dirt path winding toward the hills. "Hey," she said quietly. "Can I ask something… stupid?". She started. Dylan didn't turn his head, but he gave a faint grunt that meant go ahead.
Yve looked at the passing ground, the slow roll of grass and crumbled pavement beneath them. "What if they don't like me?"
His brows furrowed slightly. "Who?"
"Your group. Lucas, Ethan… the others. What if they think I'm strange or… dangerous?" Yve added.
He was quiet for a few beats, mouth set in that unreadable, I'm-not-gonna-sugarcoat-it line.
"People like me—sirens—we're stories. Monsters. Warnings not to get too close to the water." Yve humbly added.
Dylan adjusted his grip. "You're not a monster."
She huffed a soft laugh. "You didn't say they'd see it that way."
"No," he admitted. "They might not. Not at first."
That made her go quiet again. The wind whispered through her sleeves, the road stretching longer ahead.
"But," he added, "if they've got brains worth keepin', they'll listen. You caught food when we couldn't. That ain't something anyone can fake."
She didn't answer right away. Just held on tighter. "And if they still don't like me?" she asked softly.
He shrugged. "Then they can eat sand." That got a snort out of her—a real one. Small but warm. "They will," he added after a pause. "You'll see."
Yve let out a quiet sigh—long, almost weightless, but Dylan caught it like a ripple in still water.
He didn't look back. Just said, low over the wind, "Still worryin', huh?"
She hesitated, then nodded against his back. "They've survived so much… What if 'siren' just means 'threat' to them?"
Dylan's voice was calm, practical. "Then we don't tell them. Not yet." She blinked. "You mean… lie?"
"Call it strategy," he muttered. "Let 'em get to know you first. Just Yve. Not the myth. Not the tail." Dylan suggested.
Yve was quiet for a beat. The road ahead was starting to shift—grass giving way to old gravel and shadows that stretched from the hills like teeth. Finally, she said, "Alright. Just for now." Dylan nodded once. "Thought you might say that." Then his hands flexed on the grips. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna speed up—we're close."
Yve adjusted her arms around his waist, legs tightening against the pegs. The SilentHawk responded instantly as Dylan twisted the throttle, the low hum deepening.
The wind picked up. The terrain blurred past. And ahead—over the next rise—the skeletal edge of the VIRA Complex waited like something half-dead, half-listening. Gunfire cracked in the distance—sharp, controlled, but relentless.
Dylan's grip tightened on the SilentHawk's handlebars as he spotted movement from the VIRA watchtower. Maurice stood braced behind the mounted scope, firing down at a scattering wave of shriekers sprinting through the overgrown access road. "Stay close," Dylan snapped, pulling the bike to a stop just short of the gate. He dismounted fast, tugging a pistol from his jacket and leveling it at the closest oncoming corpse.
BANG. BANG. CLICK-THUD.
Each shot dropped one. But they kept coming. Yve stood frozen for half a beat, watching the horde spiral closer—too many, too fast.
Up in the tower, Maurice spotted them through the fogged scope. "Gate! Gate! It's Dylan—he's got someone with him!" he called into his radio.
Inside the VIRA Complex, Lucas grabbed his vest off a hook without missing a beat. "Gear up. Everyone. Now."
Ethan, David, Derek, Lara, and Joan all moved fast. Weapons were loaded, slides checked, ammo stuffed into side pouches like muscle memory. By the time Lucas shoved open the side blast door, the roar of groaning throats and gunfire echoed off the compound walls.
"Who the hell is that?" Lara asked as she saw the woman beside Dylan—hood soaked from sweat, hair tangled, eyes wide.
"Doesn't matter," Lucas barked, raising his rifle. "Get them inside first."
The group fanned out into a makeshift firing line, rounds bursting from every direction as the horde came into full view—sprinting, twitching, shrieking. Lara and Joan rushed toward Yve, yanking her out of the open. "Go! Get down!"
"She's with me!" Dylan shouted, ducking behind a rusted out van to reload.
"Dylan! Inside!" Lucas called.
"I can't!" he snapped, hauling the fish-laden seaweed net from the SilentHawk's saddle. "There's supplies on this—food. Real food. I ain't leavin' it!"
Lucas cursed under his breath, eyes darting to the bike, the bodies, the timing. "Ethan! David! Grab him and the bike. We'll cover!"
"On it!" David broke left while Ethan veered wide, firing as he went. One of the shriekers launched from behind an overturned cart—Ethan clipped it mid-air.
Dylan yanked the front of the SilentHawk toward the gate as David grabbed the back. Together they ran the bike through as bullets tore through the air beside them.
And all the while, Yve was being pushed through the doorway—her face pale, heart pounding, trying not to scream as the walls of the VIRA Complex swallowed her whole.
The last few magazines clicked empty with hollow defiance. "Fall back! Now!" Lucas bellowed, voice raw as he fired his final round into a charging shrieker. The bullet ripped through its eye socket—and it still took two steps before crumpling.
Dylan hauled the SilentHawk over the threshold, sweat streaking down his face. Ethan slammed his back against the inner wall, panting as he covered the rear with a shaking handgun.
"Come on! Come on!" Joan screamed, propping one side of the thick metal door. Her knuckles were white around the grip.
Lara stood opposite her, rifle slung to her shoulder, scanning the treeline. "Where the hell is Lucas?!"
Lucas was still outside, sprinting across the wide clearing, rifle discarded, boots slamming the pavement. Behind him—dozens. Shriekers poured from the tree line, limbs flailing, jaws stretched wide, screaming—high, unrelenting, like dying metal and madness.
One launched for Lucas—closer than the rest. "Lucas—!" Ethan shouted.
CRACK.
David's shot rang out. The shrieker's head burst open mid-air, its body spinning lifelessly to the ground. Lucas didn't stop. His boots scraped the concrete lip of the door just as Lara and Joan reached for him.
"Get in, get in!" Joan shouted. He dove through the threshold, shoulder-first. The shriekers slammed into the gate seconds later.
BANG—BANG—THUMP—SCREEEEE—!!
The entire compound echoed with flesh and bone crashing against steel. Joan and Lara shoved the door shut with all their strength. It groaned, resisted. Ethan dropped his shoulder into it too.
CLANG!
Bolts locked into place. Outside, the horde kept coming.
THUDTHUDTHUD!
Their faces smeared blood onto the view slot. Their hands clawed the seams. They shrieked and shrieked—like they didn't know how to stop.
Inside—
No one spoke. The only sound was their gasping breath, boots shifting on concrete, the metallic sting of sweat clinging to lashes.
Yve had her back against the wall, wide-eyed, her hands shaking. Lucas bent forward, hands on his knees, drenched in adrenaline. "That… was too close."
The echoes of the shriekers still pounded through the steel, but the group stood frozen in the inner chamber of the VIRA Complex—sweat-streaked, breathless, weapons still half-raised. And all eyes, every last one of them, were on her.
Yve shifted slightly, hoodie too large, legs still trembling a little, standing with quiet poise just to Dylan's right. They didn't say it out loud. But in every glance…
Who is she?
Dylan felt the air shift like a loaded trigger. He cleared his throat. "Found her near the coast," he said plainly. "Horde nearly had her. I pulled her out." No one questioned him. Not Lucas. Not Ethan. Not even Lara, who was usually first to call bullshit on strangers.
Yve looked at him then—softly, briefly—and offered a quiet smile of thanks. A sliver of warmth that flickered just for him. She turned to the others, raising a hand in a small wave. "Hi," she said gently. "I'm Yve. Thank you… for letting me in."
There was a pause. Then nods—cautious, not unkind. Ethan, still catching his breath, leaned against a wall and squinted at Dylan's duffle bag. "Okay but seriously—what the hell's even in that thing? Thing's bigger than your spine."
David pointed at the seaweed sack beside it, brows raised. "And what the hell is that supposed to be? It looks like Poseidon's laundry bag."
Without a word, Dylan picked up the slick, knotted bundle and tossed it in David's direction with a wet slap. "Fish," he said flatly.
The group moved further into the building, dragging the heavy bags of seafood that Yve had insisted on bringing. As they worked, questions began to surface, their curiosity outweighing their fatigue. "So," Ethan said, glancing at Dylan as he hefted the worn duffle bag onto the counter. "You've been bringing back a ton of fish lately. Like… a ..lot. What gives?"
Dylan shot him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. "Just skills," he muttered, his voice gruff. "Been doin' this a while. Ain't a big deal."
Ethan raised a brow but didn't push further, though the doubtful look on his face lingered. Lara, crossed her arms as she eyed Dylan. "And where were you last night?" she asked. "You didn't come home. Thought you'd be back before dark."
"Slept in one of the abandoned houses," Dylan replied smoothly, his tone clipped. "Was too far out to make it back."
Lucas studied him for a moment, his expression thoughtful but unreadable. Eventually, he nodded. "Alright," he said simply, leaving it at that. If anyone else had tried giving such vague answers, they might have been grilled for more details, but with Dylan? It was just how he operated.
Dr. Jenkins, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Yve. "I need to check you," he said, his tone professional but firm. "Scratches, bites—anything out of the ordinary. It's standard procedure."
Yve hesitated, glancing at Dylan as if seeking reassurance. He gave her a small nod, his expression softening slightly. "Go on," he said quietly. "Ain't nothin' to it."
With a faint smile, Yve allowed Jenkins to lead her to a nearby examination area. The group watched with varying degrees of curiosity and unease, their whispered conversations carrying the weight of unanswered questions.
As Dylan leaned against the wall, arms crossed and face unreadable, he couldn't help but feel the tension creeping back into his chest. He'd managed to bring Yve here, to keep her safe—for now. But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning. The truth, as always, had a way of catching up.
---------------------------------------------
Author's note;
She walked for the first time. She tied her first shoelace. She learned how to fall, and how to laugh when it hurt.
But becoming human isn't just about legs or laces. It's about learning how to lie. How to hide the parts of yourself that might get you killed.
Now she's inside the VIRA Complex—hood up, heart racing, surrounded by strangers with loaded guns and tired eyes. They don't know what she is. Not yet.
But secrets don't stay secrets for long. And the walls here? They listen.
Next chapter… someone starts asking the right questions.