The days passed in a strange rhythm, a blend of routine survival and something new that no one in the group could quite put their finger on. Yve, ever the quick learner, absorbed everything around her like a sponge, eager to understand this strange, chaotic world she'd stepped into. Whether it was learning how to navigate tasks like cleaning, scavenging techniques, or understanding the group's dynamics, Yve threw herself into it all with an enthusiasm that was hard to ignore. And through it all, Dylan was never far behind.
He shadowed her like an unspoken guardian, his eyes sharp and watchful for any signs of trouble. The uncharacteristic tenderness he showed toward Yve didn't go unnoticed. The group exchanged knowing glances and quiet whispers, their disbelief nearly palpable. Dylan Pierce—stoic, gruff, and fiercely independent—was acting like a man transformed. Every quiet word of instruction, every careful gesture to help Yve when she stumbled, left the others wondering: what *exactly* had this mysterious woman done to him?
The first ray of dawn peaked through the horizon, the scent of sizzling meat and herbs drifted through the air, drawing Yve toward the kitchen. She paused at the doorway, watching Elena and Taylor work in quiet tandem. Elena stirred a pot over a small flame while Taylor chopped vegetables with practiced ease. The supplies the boys had scavenged were being turned into something warm, something comforting—something that felt almost normal.
Yve stepped closer. "Can I help?"
Both women looked up. Elena's eyes narrowed slightly, and Taylor's hands paused mid-chop. Though they'd grown more used to Yve's presence, the apocalypse had taught them to be cautious. Comfort didn't always mean trust.
Taylor was the first to speak. "You ever cooked before?"
Yve hesitated. "No... But I'd like to learn."
Elena exchanged a glance with Taylor, then handed Yve a knife. "Start with the carrots. Peel and slice. Carefully."
What followed was a series of small disasters. Yve peeled the first carrot with too much force, sending a strip flying. The second one slipped from her fingers and rolled under the table. By the third, she was muttering to herself in frustration.
Taylor stifled a laugh. "You're not fighting it, Yve. Just guide the blade."
Elena stepped in, gently adjusting Yve's grip. "Like this. Let the knife do the work."
Yve nodded, biting her lip in concentration. She managed a few decent slices before accidentally knocking over a bowl of chopped onions. The pieces scattered across the floor like confetti.
"Oops."
Taylor sighed, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. "We'll call that… progress."
Despite the mess, neither woman raised their voice. Elena offered quiet corrections, and Taylor shared small tips between tasks. Yve listened, learned, and laughed—especially when she somehow got a smear of tomato paste on her cheek.
As the stew simmered and the vegetables were finally prepped, the three women settled into a quieter rhythm. The tension had eased, replaced by something softer.
Taylor broke the silence first. "I worry about Lucas all the time," she said, her voice low. "He acts like he's made of stone, but I see it. The weight. The fear. And Tyler… he's just a kid. He shouldn't have to grow up like this."
Elena nodded, her hands still busy with the pot. "Same with Lily. She's strong, but… she's still a little girl. I keep wondering if I'm doing enough. If I'm enough."
Yve looked between them, her voice gentle. "You are. Both of you. You're still here. They're still here. That means something."
Taylor gave a small smile. "You always talk like that. Like you've seen more than you let on."
"I have," Yve said softly. "But I've also seen what love looks like. And it's in everything you do."
Elena chuckled. "You're a strange one, Yve."
"I get that a lot." Yve replied.
They shared a quiet laugh. Taylor leaned back against the counter, wiping her hands on a cloth. "You know, I used to hate cooking. Now it's the only time I feel like I'm doing something normal."
"Same," Elena added. "Even if it's just boiling water or making soup out of scraps."
Yve smiled. "Then I'm glad I got to be part of it. Even if I nearly destroyed your kitchen."
Taylor nudged her playfully. "You'll get there. Just don't touch the knives unsupervised."
Elena smirked. "Or the onions."
By the time the stew was simmering and the vegetables were prepped, Yve's hands were sore, her apron stained, and her pride a little bruised. But she was grinning. "Thanks," she said, wiping her hands. "I didn't burn anything. That's a win, right?"
Taylor chuckled. "You didn't burn the kitchen down. That's a miracle."
Elena gave a rare smile. "You did good."
The stew was finally ready, its aroma filling the room with a warmth that made the cold walls of the complex feel a little less harsh. Elena gave the pot one last stir, then turned to Yve. "Can you call the others? Food's ready."
Yve nodded with a smile. "On it."
She wiped her hands on a towel and slipped out of the kitchen, her footsteps fading down the hall. As soon as she was gone, Elena leaned against the counter, her expression thoughtful. "There's something strange about her."
Taylor glanced up from where she was setting out bowls. "You feel it too?"
Elena nodded slowly. "It's not bad. I don't feel threatened. But… I don't know. There's something off. Like she's not telling us everything."
Taylor sighed. "Yeah. I've been thinking the same. She's kind, helpful, good with the kids… but there's this… weight to her. Like she's carrying something heavy, and we're only seeing the surface."
Elena crossed her arms. "I don't want to judge her too quickly. She's been nothing but respectful. But I've learned to trust my gut."
Taylor gave a small smile. "Same. But then I see her with Tyler and Lily… the way they laugh when she plays with them. Kids are good judges of character. Maybe that's a sign she's okay."
"Maybe," Elena said, though her tone was still cautious. "Or maybe she's just good at hiding things."
Taylor didn't respond right away. She looked toward the hallway where Yve had gone, her brow furrowed. "I just hope she's not trouble. We've had enough of that."
Elena nodded in agreement. "We'll keep watching. Just in case."
Around midmorning, Tyler, sat cross-legged beside Yve asked, "So you're really from the ocean? Like… a mermaid?" His tone was skeptical but tinged with hope.
Lily, ever the dreamer, had gasped, her hands clasped together. "What was it like? Were there dolphins? And castles? Like in the movies?"
Yve had smiled warmly, her gaze distant as though she could still see the shimmering waves of her old world. "It's unlike anything you could imagine," she said softly. "Beautiful… peaceful. A place where the currents sing and the light dances in ways the sun cannot reach."
The children hung onto her every word, oblivious to the occasional protective glance Dylan shot their way from across the room. The rest of the group, though skeptical at first, gradually began to lower their guard around Yve. She had a quiet kindness about her, a genuine desire to help and a warmth that felt increasingly rare in their broken world.
Lucas, who had been cautiously observing her since day one, eventually offered her a hesitant but respectful nod during a supply discussion, as if signaling that she was, at last, one of them. Even David, ever suspicious, had stopped questioning her presence—though he still raised a brow at Dylan's unusually protective attitude.
It was Ethan who voiced what everyone else was silently thinking during dinner "Man," he muttered, glancing at Dylan out of the corner of his eye, "never thought I'd see the day. Dylan Pierce—protector, caretaker, and now… teacher?" His tone was teasing, but his grin held genuine curiosity.
Dylan shot him a withering glare that could have melted steel. "Shut it," he growled, though the slight twitch of his jaw betrayed his discomfort.
Still, no matter how much the group speculated or how curious they grew, one thing was clear: Yve had made her way into their strange little family. And in the quiet moments, when Yve caught Dylan's eye and smiled—he felt a warmth in his chest that he'd yet to fully understand but had long since stopped denying was there.
Later that night, the VIRA Complex was quiet. The hum of distant generators echoed faintly through the corridors, but outside, under the stars, the world held its breath. Atop the watchtower, Dylan sat with his tomahawk resting across his lap, eyes scanning the treeline. Lucas stood beside him, arms folded, his silhouette outlined by the soft red glow of the emergency lights below.
The wooden steps creaked.
Yve appeared, balancing two steaming mugs and a pair of folded blankets. "Thought you two could use these," she said, handing each of them a cup and setting the blankets on the bench between them.
Lucas accepted his with a grateful nod. "Thanks, Yve."
Dylan took his, eyeing her. "Ain't you supposed to be asleep?"
She shrugged, settling on the edge of the platform. "Can't sleep."
Lucas took a sip and raised an eyebrow. "You know, for someone who can't cook, you make a damn good cup of coffee."
Yve smirked. "I'm working on the cooking thing."
Dylan took a cautious sip, then blinked. "Okay. Yeah, this is actually good."
Yve hugged her knees to her chest, watching them quietly. Lucas leaned against the railing, his voice softer now. "Before all this… I was working on a hydroelectric retrofit. We were trying to convert an old dam into a sustainable grid. It was supposed to power three towns."
Dylan gave a short laugh. "I was babysitting a pop star with more security than sense. Spent more time dodging paparazzi than actual threats."
Lucas glanced at him. "You serious?"
Dylan nodded. "Dead serious. Had to tackle a guy once who tried to throw a cupcake at her during a live show."
Yve blinked. "A cupcake?"
"Frosted," Dylan muttered. "Pink. With glitter."
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head. "And now here we are." Yve listened, her eyes flicking between them. Their words were familiar, but the world they spoke of wasn't. Dams. Security details. Glittered cupcakes. It all felt like echoes from a life she never lived.
Lucas noticed her silence and offered a small smile. "You didn't grow up with any of that, did you?"
Yve shook her head. "My world was… different. I didn't even know what a breaker box was until I saw one here."
Dylan glanced at her, something unreadable in his eyes. He knew exactly how different her world had been. But he said nothing. Lucas chuckled. "Well, you're catching up fast. Coffee's proof of that." He studied her for a moment—how she moved, how she spoke, how she always seemed just a little out of sync with the world around her. Finally, he broke the silence. "Yve," he said, voice casual but curious, "Can I ask you something?"
She looked up, alert but calm. "Sure."
Lucas tilted his head. "You said earlier you didn't grow up with microwaves. Or breaker boxes. Or… anything like that. But you're not that young. So where were you raised?"
Dylan's eyes flicked toward her, subtle but sharp. He didn't say a word. Yve hesitated, then offered a small smile. "I grew up with my sister. My mother. A few cousins. We lived close to the water. Our neighbors were… loud, but kind. Always singing."
Lucas frowned slightly. "Singing?"
She nodded. "It was part of our culture. We sang to the sea. To each other. It was how we remembered things. How we passed down stories."
Lucas leaned in a little, intrigued. "So… like a coastal village?"
Yve tilted her head. "Something like that."
Dylan sipped his coffee, eyes on the horizon, but his jaw was tight. Lucas continued, "You never went to school? Used a phone? Watched TV?"
Yve shook her head. "We didn't have those things. We didn't need them. We learned from the elders. From the tides. From the way the currents moved."
Lucas blinked. "The currents?"
She smiled faintly. "It's hard to explain." Lucas stared at her for a long moment. Everything she said sounded human—family, neighbors, traditions—but the way she said it… the words she chose… it didn't fit. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. "You're… different," he said finally.
Yve didn't deny it. "I know."
Lucas looked at Dylan, who met his gaze for a beat—calm, unreadable. Then Lucas gave a small nod, like he was filing the mystery away for later. "Well… thanks for the coffee."
Yve smiled. "Anytime."
Lucas hadn't moved from his spot by the railing. The coffee in his hand had gone lukewarm, but his mind was still turning—quiet, calculating. Yve sat cross-legged now, her blanket draped over her shoulders, eyes on the stars. Dylan hadn't said much since the last exchange, but he hadn't taken his eyes off Lucas either. Lucas finally broke the silence again. "So… you said you lived near the water. What kind of place was it? Island? Coastal town?"
Yve blinked, caught off guard. "It was… surrounded by water. Always moving. Always singing."
Lucas tilted his head. "That's poetic. But I meant structurally. What kind of buildings? Wood? Stone? Concrete?"
Yve hesitated. "We didn't really have buildings. Not like this. We had… caverns. Open spaces. Natural shelters."
Lucas's brow furrowed. "Caverns?"
Dylan shifted slightly, his posture tightening. Lucas didn't miss it. He pressed on, gently but deliberately. "And your neighbors—how far apart did you live? Were there roads? Boats?"
Yve gave a small, careful smile. "We didn't need roads. We just… swam."
Lucas blinked. "Swam?"
Dylan's voice cut in, low and firm. "Lucas."
Lucas turned to him. "What?" Dylan's eyes were steady. "She said what she said."
Lucas held his gaze for a moment, then looked back at Yve. "I'm not trying to interrogate you. I just… I'm an engineer. I like understanding how things work. And you—" he paused, searching for the right words, "—you don't fit the pattern."
Yve looked down at her hands. "I understand."
Lucas's voice softened. "You're not from any place I've ever heard of. And I've studied a lot of maps."
Dylan stood slowly, stepping between them—not aggressively, but with quiet finality. "Maybe that's the point."
Lucas studied him, then Yve, then finally nodded. "Alright. I'll drop it."
Yve looked up, meeting Lucas's eyes. "Thank you."
Lucas gave a small, respectful nod. "You're still a mystery, Yve. But I guess we all are, in some way." Dylan didn't relax until Lucas turned back toward the railing. Dylan shifted on the bench, stretching his back with a grunt. In doing so, his elbow nudged the cup of coffee he'd set beside him.
It tipped.
The cup fell.
Lucas turned, expecting the usual—ceramic shatter, hot liquid everywhere, maybe a muttered curse.
But instead—
Yve moved. In a blink, she snatched the falling cup out of the air with one hand. Then, with a flick of her wrist and a fluid twist of her arm, she angled the cup back under the stream of coffee mid-fall—catching the liquid before it could hit the floor.
Not a single drop spilled. She calmly set the cup back on the bench, upright, half-full, and steaming like nothing had happened.
Lucas stared. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide. "…What the hell," he muttered.
Dylan didn't even flinch. He just leaned back, arms crossed, like he'd seen it a hundred times before. Lucas looked between them. "Did—did she just catch a falling cup and the coffee? With the same cup?"
Yve gave a sheepish smile. "Reflex."
Lucas blinked. "That's not reflex. That's… that's impossible."
Yve shrugged. "I've had practice."
Lucas stared at her like she'd just rewritten the laws of physics. "You're not telling me everything."
Dylan gave a low grunt. "She never does."
Lucas narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more. He just sat back, still stunned, still trying to figure out how a girl who didn't know what a microwave was just pulled off a move that would make a stuntman cry. And Yve? She just tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes on the stars, pretending like gravity hadn't just lost a round to her. Lucas was still staring at Yve like she'd just bent time. "You caught the cup and the coffee," he said slowly, pointing at the now perfectly upright mug. "Mid-air. In one motion. That's not reflex. That's—what even is that?"
Yve gave a small, awkward shrug. "Fast hands?"
Lucas stepped closer, eyes narrowing—not hostile, just intensely curious. "No. No, no, no. That was precise. Like… engineered precision. You didn't even flinch. You moved before the cup even hit the halfway point."
Dylan shifted on the bench, his posture tightening. Lucas noticed, but didn't stop. "You've got balance, timing, coordination—like military-grade training or something. But you said you didn't grow up with any of that. So what gives?"
Yve opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Lucas leaned in slightly, voice softer now. "Yve… who are you, really?"
Dylan stood. Lucas held up a hand. "I'm not accusing. I'm just trying to understand. You're not like the rest of us. You move different. You are different." Yve looked down, her fingers tightening around the edge of the bench.
Then—
A shriek. Distant, but sharp. Echoing from the treeline beyond the fence. All three of them froze. Dylan turned toward the sound, already reaching for his tomahawk. "That's close."
Lucas's eyes flicked to the trees. "A shrieker?"
"Maybe more than one," Dylan muttered.
Yve stood, her body already angled toward the ladder. "We should check the perimeter." Lucas hesitated, the questions still burning behind his eyes—but the moment was gone. Dylan clapped him on the shoulder, firm. "Later."
Lucas gave a tight nod, but as they descended the tower, he glanced back at the coffee cup still sitting on the bench. Not a drop spilled. And not a single answer given.
The night air was thick with tension as they moved along the perimeter fence, flashlights cutting through the darkness in narrow beams. The trees beyond swayed gently, but the silence between the gusts felt unnatural—like the world was holding its breath again. Lucas paused near the eastern gate, scanning the treeline. "We'll cover more ground if we split up," he said, voice low but steady.
Dylan hesitated for half a second, then nodded. "Alright. You take the north side. We'll sweep west."
Lucas gave a short nod and disappeared into the shadows, rifle at the ready. Dylan turned, motioning for Yve to follow. "Stay close."
They moved in silence for a while, boots crunching softly over gravel and dead leaves. Dylan led the way, tomahawk in hand, his eyes sharp and alert. Yve followed just behind, her steps light, almost soundless. After a few minutes, Dylan spoke—quiet, but firm. "You need to be more careful."
Yve glanced at him. "About what?"
"Lucas," Dylan said, not looking back. "He's smart. Sharp senses. He's already asking questions."
Yve exhaled slowly. "I know."
"He's not trying to trap you," Dylan added. "But he's not gonna stop digging, either. That's just who he is. Besides, he means well."
Yve nodded. "I'll be more careful."
Dylan finally looked over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Good."
They surveyed the area for a little while, securing it and making sure no threats are near. They found nothing. The woods were still. Too still. No zombies. No Shriekers. Not even the wind dared to move. Dylan slowed his pace, glancing over his shoulder. "False alarm, maybe."
Yve nodded, her breath visible in the cool night air. "Let's head back."
They turned.
Then Yve stopped. Her breath hitched—low and slow at first, like a hiccup caught in her throat. She staggered, one hand clutching her chest. Dylan turned just in time to see her knees buckle. "Yve!"
She collapsed to the ground, gasping—shallow, desperate pulls of air that didn't seem to reach her lungs. Her fingers clawed at the hard concrete, her body trembling. Dylan dropped beside her, panic flashing across his face. "What happened? Yve—what's wrong?"
Her lips barely moved. "Water…" That was all he needed. Without hesitation, Dylan scooped her into his arms. He didn't stop to grab his tomahawk. Didn't stop to think.
He ran across the clearing. Toward VIRA Complex. The emergency lights cast long shadows as he burst through the door, boots pounding against the concrete.
Meanwhile, Lucas arrived at the spot where they'd split up—the old junction near the perimeter fence, marked by a rusted sign and a broken floodlight. He expected to see Dylan and Yve waiting. But the area was empty. No movement. No voices. Just the quiet hum of the fence and the distant chirp of insects.
Lucas frowned, scanning the shadows. "Dylan?" Nothing. He waited a bit longer, then checked his watch. They were supposed to regroup by now. A knot formed in his chest, something wasn't right. He turned and headed west—the direction Dylan and Yve had taken. The path curved along the outer fence, lined with overgrown bush and scattered debris. Lucas moved quickly, flashlight sweeping the ground.
Then he saw it.
Dylan's tomahawk. Lying in the cold concrete. Lucas froze. His breath caught. He stepped forward slowly, crouching to pick it up. The handle was warm—recently held. But Dylan was nowhere in sight. Lucas's grip tightened around the weapon. Dylan never left this behind. Not even for a second. And if he did… something had gone wrong.
Lucas stood, eyes scanning the treeline, heart pounding now. He turned in a slow circle, searching for any sign of movement. Then he saw it—the door to the VIRA Complex, slightly ajar. Lucas narrowed his eyes. Dylan wasn't careless. And he sure as hell didn't leave doors open. He took off running.
Dylan burst through the main corridor, boots slamming against the tile, Yve was limp in his arms, her breaths shallow and ragged—each one weaker than the last. He didn't stop to explain. Didn't call for help.
He needed water.
Now. He turned a corner, nearly slipping, and sprinted toward the utility wing. The water storage tanks were housed there—used for filtration, rationing, and emergency reserves. "Hold on," he muttered, voice tight. "Just hold on."
Yve's fingers twitched against his chest, barely lifting. Her lips parted, and she whispered, "Tank… south wing…"
Dylan didn't hesitate. He veered left, down a narrow hallway lined with rusted pipes and old signage. The south wing was rarely used—mostly for overflow and backup systems.
He reached the door and kicked it open. Inside, rows of massive cylindrical tanks loomed in the dim light, each labeled with faded numbers and codes. Dylan scanned them, heart pounding. "Which one?" he asked, kneeling beside her.
Yve raised a trembling hand, pointing weakly. "That one… third from the left…"
Dylan rushed to it, eyes darting across the control panel. Manual crank. No time for valves or pumps. He grabbed the wheel and turned with everything he had. The tank hissed, then groaned. Water surged into the basin below—clear, cold, and deep enough. He turned back, scooped Yve up again, and stepped into the basin, lowering her gently into the water. The moment her body touched the surface, something shifted. Her breathing steadied. Her skin shimmered faintly, and when she got fully submerged—
Her tail appeared. Scales glinting under the overhead lights, long and fluid, curling gently in the water. The transformation was seamless, natural—like the ocean had reached out and reclaimed her. Dylan knelt beside the tank, watching her carefully. He didn't speak until she surfaced again, sitting up slowly, water dripping from her hair and shoulders.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Dylan exhaled, his voice low but firm. "You need to watch your time." Yve nodded, guilt flickering in her eyes.
"Every twelve hours," he continued. "You know that. How could you forget?"
"I didn't forget," she said quietly. "I was distracted. And Lucas…"
Dylan's jaw tightened. "He pushed too hard."
Yve looked down. "He asked so many questions. I didn't know how to answer without lying. And I didn't want to lie."
Dylan leaned closer, his voice gentler now. "You don't owe him everything."
"I know," she said. "But I hate hiding."
The hallway was dim, lit only by flickering red emergency lights. The hum of the generator underscored the silence like a threat held just out of reach Lucas's boots hit the concrete in sharp, fast strides. He turned the corner where the outer hallway met the utility wing—and froze. Smeared along the dusty floor, under the flickering overhead bulb, were boot marks.
Fresh. He crouched low, fingers brushing the prints. Deep treads. Clear heel strikes. But what caught his eye was the distance between them. Not a stroll.
A sprint. Lucas stood quickly and clicked on his flashlight. The beam swept down the corridor, catching nothing but rusted pipes and chipped paint. The shoeprints disappeared into shadow. His pulse quickened.
Something's wrong. He followed the trail silently. Step by step. As he reached the south wing junction, a faint sound cut through the hum—a voice. No, voices. Too quiet to catch fully, just soft murmurs through the thick walls and doorframe. Lucas drew his shotgun.
Click.
The safety came off. He moved forward—slow, controlled. Every nerve alive. He turned at the final corner, the one that curved toward the old filtration room. A service crate blocked the full view of the open door ahead. He kept to the side, pressed against the wall, eyes locked on the narrow gap beyond.
Then, from inside—
"I hate hiding," Yve's voice said. Raw. Honest. Lucas's grip on the shotgun tightened. His mind raced. What is she hiding? Why is Dylan involved? What the hell are they not telling me?
He didn't step closer.
He didn't speak.
He just waited in the dark, jaw clenched, shotgun raised, heart thudding like a drumbeat behind his ribs.
Down in the basin, Yve pressed her hands to the water's surface, watching the ripples curl and fade. "I don't think I can keep this anymore, Dylan," she said quietly, voice barely rising above the hum of the filtration pumps. "We need to tell them the truth."
Dylan knelt beside the tank, jaw working. He didn't answer at first. Then. "I know."
His voice was low, rough-edged—the kind that carried weight even in whispers. "But they don't trust easy. You seen that. Gotta get 'em to see you first. Not… what you are."
Yve looked up at him, guilt flickering behind her eyes. "Feels wrong. Like I'm lying."
Dylan exhaled through his nose, ran a hand down his face. "Ain't lyin' if it's survivin'. Don't put this all on yourself, alright?" His tone softened. "You just dodge the questions. I'll run cover."
Yve gave a slight nod, but worry still pulled at the corners of her mouth. Neither of them noticed the faint scuff down the hall.
Lucas had stopped just beyond the doorway, pressed behind the crate, shotgun lowered. He'd heard every word.
"We need to tell them the truth."
"Dodge the questions. I'll run cover."
He didn't blink. Didn't breathe. In his head, the pieces moved with slow, sharp precision—what truth? What were they hiding? Why the secrecy?
Dylan's voice was calm. Too calm. Yve's was aching with something unsaid.
Lucas's jaw locked. He stepped back—silent, methodical—and turned down the hall, disappearing into shadow with the weight of suspicion clinging to his boots. The trust he'd been carefully building cracked, quiet and unseen.
But cracks only grow.
The next morning, the kitchen was already warm with the scent of simmering broth when Yve stepped in, her hair tied back and sleeves rolled up. Elena stood at the counter chopping carrots, while Taylor stirred a pot on the stove. Yve approached with a hopeful smile. "Hey… mind if I help again?"
Elena looked up and smiled. "Of course not. You did good yesterday."
Taylor nodded. "We could use the extra hands. Soup's on the menu again—ration-style."
Yve moved to the stove, taking over the pot as Taylor handed her the ladle. She stirred gently, and tasted it, then reached for the salt. A few pinches turned into a generous pour. Then another. And another. And another until there was nothing left on the salt jar. Elena didn't notice—she was busy slicing potatoes. Taylor had stepped away to grab more bowls. A few minutes later, the soup was ready. Yve ladled a small portion into a tin cup and handed it to Elena with a proud smile.
Elena took a sip. Her face froze. Then she coughed, eyes watering. "Oh—oh wow. That's… that's salty."
Taylor returned just in time to see Elena fanning her mouth. "What happened?"
Elena handed her the cup. "Try it."
Taylor took a cautious sip—and immediately grimaced. "Holy hell, that's like drinking the ocean."
Yve blinked, confused. "Really?" She dipped a spoon into the pot and tasted it herself. Her eyes lit up. "It's delicious."
Elena and Taylor just stared at her. "You're kidding," Taylor said.
Yve looked between them, genuinely puzzled. "What? It's perfect."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "Yve… that's enough salt to preserve a corpse."
Yve laughed awkwardly, setting the ladle down. "Guess I just like it… extra seasoned."
Taylor leaned in, whispering to Elena, "She didn't even flinch."
Elena whispered back, "She drank it like it was water." They both looked at Yve, who was now happily stirring the pot again, completely unfazed. Taylor muttered, "Okay, that girl's got some weird taste buds." Elena nodded slowly. "Or she's just built different."
The group had finally settled at the VIRA Complex cafeteria—plates, spoons, and forks laid out neatly on the long table. The air was still heavy with dust, but for the first time in hours, there was a moment to breathe.
Inside the kitchen area, Elena and Taylor hovered over the pot of soup, both of them frowning, trying to fix it. Taylor dipped a spoon in, tasted it, and immediately gagged. "Oh my god."
Elena coughed. "That's not soup. That's seawater with vegetables."
Taylor looked at her, horrified. "Did she… did she pour the whole salt barrel in?"
Elena nodded solemnly. "I think so. I didn't notice." From behind them, Yve appeared, holding a bowl and looking completely unbothered. "Is the soup ready?"
Taylor tried to stop her. "Yve, wait—don't eat that. It's literally inedible. We'll just throw it out and make something else."
Yve blinked. "Throw it out? No, I'll eat it."
Elena stepped in. "Yve, no. That much salt isn't safe. Your kidneys—"
Yve tilted her head. "Why is salt dangerous? It literally helps the body in curing illness and fighting bacteria. It's a medicine."
Taylor and Elena just stared at her. Elena opened her mouth, then closed it again. "You know what? Fine. You do you."
Taylor whispered, "She's gonna turn into a salt crystal." They watched in stunned silence as Yve ladled herself a full bowl and walked away like nothing was wrong.
The group began to gather, settling into their seats. Dylan sat down next to Yve, he barely had time to breathe before Yve scooped a generous portion of the soup into his bowl. "Here," she said brightly. "It's delicious."
Dylan hesitated, then took a cautious sip. His face didn't move at first. Then his eye twitched.
Yve smiled. "See? Just right."
Dylan leaned in and whispered, "Yve… humans and sirens don't have the same taste buds. Or salt tolerance."
Yve blinked. "Oh. Sorry"
He pushed the bowl slightly away. "I think I just aged five years."
Meanwhile, Taylor and Elena watched from across the table, horrified, as Yve happily finished her entire bowl—without flinching. Taylor whispered, "She's not human."
Elena nodded slowly. "She's a salt elemental."
The table was lively with the clatter of spoons against metal bowls and the soft hum of conversation—but Lucas barely touched his food.
He sat across from Dylan and Yve, his eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his cap, spoon moving in slow, thoughtless circles through the untouched broth. Every so often, his gaze flicked up—watching how Dylan leaned slightly toward Yve when she spoke, how her movements were precise, practiced. He didn't say anything. Not yet.
Taylor noticed. Of course she did. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, murmuring under her breath. "Hey. You've been chewing that same bite for five minutes. What's going on?"
Lucas shook his head, gave a faint grunt. "Nothing."
Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Nothing, huh?"
His fingers tightened slightly on the spoon. "Just thinking."
She didn't press. Not openly. But she saw the way his jaw flexed each time Yve laughed. The way his eyes narrowed when Dylan leaned back in his chair like there was nothing in the world to be wary of.
Taylor turned back to her food, spoon tapping lightly against the rim of her bowl. She wouldn't push him. Not now. Not here. But she knew her husband better than anyone.
And something was eating at him. Quiet and sharp. Something he hadn't said out loud—yet.
At one end of the table, Maurice leaned toward Dr. Jenkins, voice low but curious. "Doc," he said between bites, "you makin' any progress down there? On… y'know. A cure?"
Jenkins didn't look up right away. He was poking absently at his food, the steam long gone. His eyes were tired. Haunted. "Not yet," he said finally. "I've tried everything—retroviral agents, protein isolation, immune suppression trials. Still ends the same way."
Maurice frowned. "Damn."
"I won't stop," Jenkins added, lifting his gaze. "Not while I'm breathing. I didn't come this far just to let this world rot."
Maurice gave a slow nod. "That's why we trust you, man. Just… don't let it eat you alive in there."
Dr. Jenkins gave a faint, humorless smile and lifted his bowl. "Too late for that."
Further down the table, spoons scraped, chairs creaked, and someone let out a hushed curse over the salty soup.
The last of the bowls clattered onto the tray with a hollow clang. "I got dishes," Lucas said, already gathering up the plates. "You girls cooked. It's only fair."
Taylor raised an eyebrow, but Elena just shrugged. "Suit yourself."
As the group began filtering out, David lingered, snatching a cup off the table and giving Lucas a smirk. "Look at you. All domestic. What's next—sewing aprons?"
Lucas shot him a look. "Keep talking. I'll hand you a sponge."
David laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly. "Alright, alright. I'll help you carry 'em over."
They stacked the trays together and brought them to the utility sink in the back room, metal legs scraping across the floor. David dumped the last plate into the tub, stretched with a groan, and slapped Lucas lightly on the back. "Have fun with that, housewife."
"Get outta here," Lucas muttered.
With a grin, David disappeared. The clinking of spoons and the steady splash of water filled the quiet that followed. Lucas scrubbed absently, his brow furrowed, barely noticing the suds slipping between his fingers.
Then arms wrapped around his waist—gentle, familiar. Taylor rested her chin on his shoulder, voice soft. "Talk to me."
Lucas closed his eyes, letting himself lean into her warmth for a second longer than he meant to. "It's nothing."
"Mmm," she murmured against his back. "You forget I know your brand of 'nothing'? You've barely said two words all morning."
He didn't answer at first. Just set the last plate in the drying rack and turned, wrapping his arms around her.
She looked up into his face, waiting. Lucas's jaw shifted. "It's Yve."
Taylor blinked. "What about her?"
"The way she talks. The things she says. It's not just odd anymore, Tay. It's… off. Like she's trying too hard to sound normal, but half of it doesn't land."
Taylor stayed quiet, listening.
"She said things last night.." His eyes darkened. "She and Dylan—something's going on. I heard her say she hates hiding. Heard him tell her to avoid questions. That they'll 'tell us the truth' eventually."
Taylor's brow furrowed. "You sure?"
"I heard it clear." He exhaled through his nose. "They're keeping something big from us. And Dylan's covering for her."
Taylor didn't speak. But her arms tightened slightly around his waist, grounding him in the silence between them. Lucas rested his forehead against hers, heavy with unspoken thoughts. "She's not what she seems," he murmured.
And Taylor didn't disagree. Taylor pulled back just enough to look Lucas in the eyes. "I believe you," she said gently. "I've had my own doubts too."
Lucas blinked, surprised. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "You weren't in the kitchen this morning. She made the soup." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Lucas, she dumped all the salt from the salt jar into the pot like it was seasoning a barbecue. And then—she ate it. Like it was nothing."
Lucas's brow furrowed.
"She finished the whole bowl. Didn't even flinch. Elena and I nearly choked on one spoonful. It tasted like seawater." Taylor shook her head. "She said it was perfect."
He exhaled, that same tension deepening in his shoulders. "That's not normal."
"I know." Taylor's voice softened. "But then I look at her with the kids… and it's hard to know what to feel. Have you seen Tyler when she's around? The way he laughs?"
Lucas nodded slowly, jaw clenched.
"He sounds like before," Taylor continued, "Like before the outbreak. Like a kid who never saw the sky burn." Her voice caught slightly. "And Lily's opening up again. Smiling. Playing. That doesn't happen around just to anyone."
Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "I've seen it. I get it. I do. But I can't shake what I heard. Dylan and Yve… they're hiding something. He's protecting her, and she's afraid. That's not nothing."
Taylor touched his arm gently. "You think she's dangerous?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't want to believe it. But this place… it only works if we're honest. If we're safe."
He looked down, then back at her, his voice low. "I just want you safe, Tay. I want Tyler safe. That's all that matters to me."
Taylor rested her head against his chest again. "Then we stay sharp. Together."
Lucas held her tighter. Neither of them said anything more. But the weight between them lingered, quiet and unresolved.
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Author's note;
Lucas heard the whispers. Taylor saw the signs. And now the questions are no longer quiet.
She's kind. She's strange. She's not what she seems.
Next chapter… someone stops watching and starts digging.