Yve moved first. She bolted toward the lab. Behind her, the others followed—boots pounding, adrenaline snapping back into place. Ysa caught sight of her sister sprinting and immediately broke into motion, racing after her.
The door to the lab—
Yve didn't stop.
She nearly kicked it off its hinges.
It burst open—
And she froze. "No—!"
Jenkins was on the floor. A shrieker clung to him—teeth buried deep into his shoulder, body jerking violently as it fed. Its claws had raked across his face—blood smeared, eyes red and barely focused.
Yve moved.
Fast.
She grabbed the creature and ripped it off him with raw force—then drove her fist straight into its chest.
Crack. The body caved in, dropping lifeless before it hit the ground.
Jenkins convulsed.
His hands clawed weakly at the air, breath hitching—wet, broken.
"No, no, no—" Yve dropped beside him, panic slipping into her voice.
The others rushed in.
Dylan hit the floor next to Jenkins, grabbing him. "Doc—hey—stay with me, come on."
Jenkins' eyes fluttered.
Dylan looked up—panic breaking through. "Yve—do something."
Yve snapped her head up. "Ysa!"
Ysa rushed in, already kneeling beside Jenkins. "What do you need?"
"Save him," Yve said, her voice cracking on the words. "Please."
Elena gasped, stumbling back. Ethan caught her immediately, holding her steady as her legs nearly gave out.
Ysa closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus. Her hands hovered over the gaping wound, then pressed gently against Jenkins' shoulder. A faint, warm light flickered beneath her palms. The air tightened around the wound, pulling inward as her power surged, a visible attempt to knit flesh and seal veins.
Seconds passed.
Nothing. The wound remained a raw, weeping mess. Jenkins' body jerked violently as Ysa pushed harder—forcing the healing, accelerating it, pouring her will into him—
Then—
Something pushed back.
It wasn't a resistance like pushing against a wall. It was cold. Deliberate. A smooth, unyielding barrier that met her power and simply… stopped it.
The force snapped outward, not with an explosion, but with a cold, final *shove*.
Ysa was thrown off him, slammed into the wall with a heavy thud that knocked the breath from her lungs. "What—?!" she coughed, struggling to breathe, a foreign panic cutting into her voice. "I—I don't—"
Yve was at her side instantly. "Are you okay?"
Ysa nodded weakly, her eyes wide with a confusion that quickly turned to horror.
Yve turned back to Jenkins—the wound hadn't changed. Not even a little. Her chest tightened into a knot of ice. "What happened?"
Ysa froze, staring at her own hands as if they'd betrayed her. "I don't know," she said, voice unsteady. "But that force..." She swallowed, the memory of it like ice in her throat. "I know it. I've felt it before."
Yve's eyes snapped to hers. "What do you mean?"
"I can't place it," Ysa said, shaking her head in frustration. "It's not natural. It's not… biological. It was a wall. A signature." She looked back at Jenkins, who was twitching again—barely holding on. Ysa's voice cracked. "I can't heal him, sis... I'm sorry. Something is blocking me, and I don't know what."
Harrison rushed in and dropped to Jenkins' side, hands already moving, eyes scanning the bite.
Yve shook her head hard. "No. No—there has to be another way." She looked up at Corina. "Anything?"
"Put him in comatic stasis," Corina said, firm, immediate.
Yve snapped toward her—then stilled. "That's—" She exhaled sharply. "That's a good idea." She pushed herself upright. "Doctor Harrison—close his wounds."
"I need him on the table," Harrison said, already working. "And I need my surgical kit—now."
Ethan didn't wait. He was already running.
They lifted Jenkins—careful but fast—and laid him onto the metal table at the center of the lab.
Up close, it was worse. The skin around his shoulders and neck had begun to pale—unnaturally white. Beneath it, his veins darkened, branching like roots spreading under the surface.
"Damn it..." Harrison muttered under his breath. "Ava—here," he called.
She was beside him instantly.
"Direct pressure. Hard. Don't let up."
Ava pressed down on the wound, jaw set.
Elena rushed in a second later, breath unsteady. "Where do you need me?"
"Cloth. As much as you can find," Harrison said. "And help her—he's bleeding out."
Elena nodded and moved, grabbing anything she could use, pressing down alongside Ava.
Then—
Yve burst back in, nearly slipping as she crossed the floor, clutching a large, cactus-like plant. She scanned the room, grabbed a bowl from a nearby shelf, and tore into the plant—thick fluid spilling as she crushed and squeezed it into the container. "Wait," Yve said, breath tight. "Make him drink this first."
Harrison didn't even look up. "What is that?"
Ysa stepped in, impatient, taking the bowl from Yve. "Human—for once, don't question it." She moved to Jenkins' side, lifting him carefully, trying to pour the extract into his mouth.
It didn't go down. It spilled out the sides, his throat failing to swallow, breath hitching—airway collapsing.
Ysa's expression hardened. Without hesitation, she drank from the bowl herself—then leaned in, pressing her mouth to his, forcing the liquid down while pinching his nose shut.
A moment.
Then she pulled back. Satisfied. "Continue."
Harrison didn't waste a second.
"I got it," Ethan said from the doorway, breathing hard, a bag in his hand.
Harrison glanced once—then nodded. "Get that open."
Ethan dropped beside them, fumbling it open.
Harrison shifted position, moving up toward Jenkins' shoulder. Dylan stepped in immediately, locking Jenkins' shoulders in place. "Hold him steady."
Dylan stepped in immediately, locking Jenkins' shoulders in place.
Harrison worked fast—clearing blood from his mouth, forcing the airway open as best he could. "Breathe, come on..." he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
Jenkins' body jerked weakly. Still fighting. Still there.
"Stay with me," Dylan said, voice low, tight. "You're not done yet."
"Scalpel." Harrison ordered, laying out his hand.
Ava placed it in his hand.
He worked fast—controlled, precise—cutting away torn tissue around the bite to expose the damage beneath. Blood welled immediately. "Clamp—no, smaller. There."
Metal clicked into place as he caught a bleeding vessel, tightening it down. "Pressure stays there," he said sharply. "Do not move."
Ava adjusted, pushing harder.
"Good."
Harrison leaned in closer, eyes narrowing as he worked deeper—clearing damaged tissue, isolating what he could salvage. His hands moved without hesitation, years of experience taking over.
"Another clamp."
Ava passed it over without a word.
Harrison secured it, slowing the bleeding—barely. "Gauze."
Elena pressed more into his hand.
He packed the wound, applying pressure internally, buying time.
Yve didn't take her eyes off Jenkins. Not while Harrison worked. Not while the blood kept coming. Not while every second stretched thinner than the last.
Then she turned—
and ran. Out of the lab. Across the yard. "Is it ready?" she called.
Duncan stood up, wiping grease from his hands onto a rag that looked suspiciously like a kitchen towel.
He blinked. "Well," he said, his tone completely at odds with the emergency. "That's a mess."
Yve turned on him, her patience worn to a thread. "Duncan. We need the Tidecraft's internal temperature dropped below zero. Now."
Duncan held up a finger. "Almost finished recalibrating the energy matrix. The output was inefficient. Just need to—" He was already walking back toward his craft, talking to himself as much as to her. "—swap these primary conduits. Hold on..."
He yanked a set of wires free and reconnected them. A small, sharp spark snapped in the darkness. "...Done."
He stepped back, watching a console on the hull. A few seconds passed, then the interior of the Tidecraft fogged over slightly, the water inside turning dense and cold, faintly misting.
"Good," Yve snapped, already turning to bark another order.
"You know," Duncan said, not moving, his eyes now fixed on the manor's generator, "the reason your lights failed is because the energy flow isn't regulated. It's a brute-force system. Primitive."
"Duncan, now is not the time," Yve said, her voice dangerously low.
"It's always the time for inefficiency," he countered, gesturing with his grease-stained rag. "I could upgrade the entire grid. Increase output by a factor of four, maybe five. Stabilize the fluctuation. You wouldn't have these… explosive outages."
Yve stopped. She stared at him, then at the manor, then back. The sheer, oblivious audacity of it was so staggering it almost broke through her panic.
She took a sharp step toward him, getting in his face. "Duncan. A man is dying. The last thing I care about is your power grid. You will fix the lights. You will upgrade their generator. You will do whatever it is you need to do to make this place better. You will do it because we have a deal. And you will do it *after* you have helped me save Jenkins. Do you understand me?"
Duncan stared at her, his expression finally shifting from detached interest to serious focus. He gave a short, sharp nod. "Understood."
A few seconds passed—
Then the interior of the Tidecraft fogged over slightly, the water inside turning dense, cold, faintly misting.
Yve nodded once. She turned, scanning the yard—eyes landing on the exposed soil where the hedge had been torn apart.
She moved.
Fast.
At the next Tidecraft, she knocked hard against the hull.
A hiss.
The door cracked open, and Saige leaned out, half-awake in the suspended water. "What?"
"I need your help."
He frowned, yawning. "Can it wait?"
"Not if you want a human to die."
That did it. Saige blinked once—then pushed himself out immediately. "What do you need?"
"Stay here." Yve grabbed Duncan by the arm and dragged him along.
"Hey—what—"
"Help me with this." She dropped to the ground near the broken hedge and scooped up a handful of soil, pressing it against her hoodie to carry more.
Duncan stared for half a second—then caught on. "...Right." He crouched and started gathering soil with her.
Back and forth.
Fast.
They moved in a rhythm—grab, carry, dump.
Again.
Again.
Again.
They filled the base of the Tidecraft with a shallow layer—about three inches deep, dark soil spreading across the bottom.
"That should be enough," Yve said, already turning. She didn't wait. She ran back toward the lab.
Back in the lab, Yve didn't slow. "How's he?"
Harrison didn't look up. "He passed out. I'm almost done closing the wound."
Yve stepped closer—
and saw the blood. Too much of it.
Harrison tied off another suture, then shook his head once. "Karma's a two-faced bitch."
Yve glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"I remember it," Harrison said quietly, still working. "Jenkins assisting me when we operated on you." He pulled the thread tight. "Now it's us standing over him."
A brief pause.
"I hope whatever you're planning works," he added, softer now. "Save him, Yve."
"I will." No hesitation.
Ysa stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Jenkins. "What are you thinking?"
"We take him with us."
Ysa turned sharply. "Are you out of your mind? That wasn't the deal."
"The situation changed," Yve said evenly. She straightened, meeting her sister's gaze. "We asked them—shamelessly—to take care of one of ours." Her voice softened, but held firm. "We return it, its a siren's duty to always return a favor."
Ysa opened her mouth—
Stopped. The logic landed. "...Fine."
Harrison tied the final suture and leaned back, breath heavy, hands slick with blood. "That's it. That's all I can do here."
Jenkins lay still. Chest barely rising. Skin pale under the cold lab light.
The wound was closed—
but he wasn't stable.
"Pulse is weak," Harrison murmured, fingers at his wrist. "Still there... barely."
"We're running out of time," Yve said. Then, sharper— "Carry him outside."
Dylan didn't question it.
He moved in, careful—sliding one arm under Jenkins' shoulders, the other beneath his legs. Slow. Controlled. No sudden movement that might tear the fresh sutures.
They stepped out into the yard. Across the dirt. Toward the Tidecraft.
Yve stopped at its side and turned. "Put him inside. Gently."
Dylan hesitated—just a second—then nodded. He lowered Jenkins into the suspended water.
Careful.
Slow.
Like one wrong move would end him. The surface resisted.
Not quite liquid. Not solid either. Dense—like something alive.
Jenkins sank in inches at a time. Then stopped.
Suspended.
Dylan froze, eyes locked on him. "How's he supposed to breathe?"
"The water's oxygen-rich," Yve said, calm, steady. "It adapts. Gives whoever's inside what they need."
She didn't look away. "For us—it's water."
A beat.
"For him—it becomes air."
As if responding, the water pulsed faintly. Tiny bubbles formed around Jenkins' face—small, uniform, impossibly stable.
They gathered near his nose.
And when his chest rose—
he breathed them in.
Yve exhaled slowly—then turned, sharp and decisive. "Saige."
He stepped forward immediately. "I'm here. What do you need?"
Her voice carried this time. "Everyone—back. As far as you can."
No one argued. Humans and sirens alike pulled away toward the manor, unease written across every face. Within seconds, only Yve and Saige remained near the tidecraft.
She faced him fully. "Can you grow a Lily Somnara?"
Saige blinked. "...Grow one?"
"Make it bloom," Yve clarified.
He looked down at the soil, then back at her. "That's... not simple. I've never made one before."
"There's a first time for everything," Yve said evenly. "So—can you do it?"
Saige drew in a slow breath. "...I'll try."
Yve stepped closer and placed a firm hand on his arm. "Thank you."
He nodded once. Then he moved.
Saige leaned into the tidecraft, hands hovering over the thin layer of soil. His eyes closed as he centered himself—drawing on something deeper, older.
The earth responded.
At first, it was subtle—a tremor beneath the surface. Then a faint shift. A pale green shoot pierced through the soil, trembling as if unsure it should exist at all.
Saige held his breath—and pushed.
The soil vibrated harder.
Roots unfurled beneath the surface, thickening, coiling like living veins. The stem rose higher, stronger, fed directly by his will. Sweat beaded along his temple, then slid down as the strain began to show.
Still, he didn't stop.
The plant surged upward—unnatural, accelerated. At its peak, a bud formed. Small. Gold. Almost delicate.
Then it began to open.
Slowly.
Painfully slow. Petals peeled back one by one, glowing with a soft, golden warmth—beautiful, almost inviting. But beneath that glow, something shifted.
Something wrong.
Within the heart of the bloom, pale structures revealed themselves—layered, interlocking. Not petals.
Teeth.
Saige's eyes snapped open. "It's blooming—RUN!" He tore away from the tidecraft.
Yve didn't hesitate—she pivoted and sprinted with him, boots hammering against the ground as they closed the distance to the manor. The others watched, frozen between awe and dread.
Behind them—
The Lily Somnara awakened. The golden petals twisted violently, unraveling into thick, sinewy roots. They burst outward, spreading across the tidecraft—searching, probing, alive with intent.
Hunting.
They found him. The roots snapped tight around Jenkins' body—arms, torso, legs—pinning him in place. Another root lashed down—
And struck. It pierced him like a fang.
Jenkins jolted awake with a broken gasp—
Then froze.
The toxin flooded his system instantly. His body slackened. Muscles gave out. His breathing slowed—once, twice—then dropped into something barely there. His pulse followed, fading into a fragile, distant rhythm.
His eyes went still.
Deeper and deeper, his consciousness sank—dragged into a forced, absolute sleep.
Organ function slowed to the brink. Brain activity dimmed. Everything reduced to the bare minimum needed to survive, wrapped in the Lily Somnara's merciless mercy.
And Jenkins slept—suspended between survival and oblivion.
David stared at the tidecraft, unsettled. "What the hell did I just watch?"
"Lily Somnara," Ysa said, her gaze unwavering, fixed upon Jenkins.
David frowned. "And that means...?"
"It is a defensive organism," she replied, voice calm and measured. "Anything it ensnares is not killed—but subdued. Cast into a profound, unyielding sleep."
David tilted his head. "So... like a cryo chamber?"
Ysa's eyes flicked to him briefly. "If that is the closest frame of reference your world affords," she said, "then yes—something akin to that."
Footsteps echoed against wood as Yve climbed onto the porch. Slower now. The adrenaline was fading, leaving weight behind.
She stopped where everyone could see her. "So..." she said, steadying her breath, "Doctor Jenkins is now in comatic stasis."
A pause.
"Hopefully long enough for us to figure out how to save him."
Ysa nodded once. "Lily Somnara..." she muttered. "You really went there."
"I had to improvise," Yve replied. "Didn't have my tools."
"You did good," Ysa said.
The words landed—but the tension in her expression didn't go unnoticed.
Yve stepped closer, gently taking her hands. "Hey. What's wrong?"
Ysa looked away. "Had I succeeded in restoring him, none of this would have been necessary." Her voice tightened, controlled but strained. "Something interfered. My power was... obstructed. I do not know by what."
"Hey—" Yve softened, grounding her. "Not now. He's alive. That's what matters."
Ysa swallowed. "It did not feel like resistance," she said quietly. "It was deliberate. A barrier—precise, unyielding." A pause. "I have encountered such a presence before... yet I can't recall where."
"We'll figure it out," Yve said immediately. "Together."
She turned back to the group. "You all did great," she said, voice carrying. "Every one of you. You kept him alive long enough for this to work."
A brief pause. "I'll take it from here."
Harrison stepped forward, arms folded, exhaustion etched into his face. "And how exactly are you planning to cure him?" he asked. "Do you have an antidote to stop the spread of the virus?"
Yve didn't answer right away. When she did, it was honest. "Right now... no."
The admission settled heavy. "A lot of things is running through my head," she continued. "And I won't pretend I see the solution yet."
She lifted her gaze—steady, unshaken. "But I will."
Her voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to. "I promise you all this. I will bring him back. Alive."
A beat. "He's not done with Earth yet."
Her jaw set. "He still has a cure to find."
~~~
Later that night, the manor had gone still. Yve's fingers rested lightly against Jenkins' wrist, her own breath held as she counted. "Eleven beats per minute," she murmured, the number a stone in her gut. "Hang in there, Doc."
Footsteps approached behind her.
"How's he?" Dylan asked, low.
Yve didn't turn, her gaze fixed on the faint pulse under her fingertips. "Alive," she said, the word tasting like a lie. "…Barely."
She closed the tidecraft's door, the soft hiss sealing Jenkins in his tomb. She rolled her shoulders once, the weight of the day finally settling, heavy and absolute. "I thought I'd have at least a week," she said, her voice quiet. "But… this stasis only buys us a day. Maybe two. After that, the Lily… it starts consuming what it's preserving."
Dylan went still beside her. The unspoken question hung in the air.
Yve shook her head slightly. "I have ideas. None of them are good."
He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing hers. "Hey."
She looked at him, the exhaustion clear in her eyes.
"I believe in you," he said. It wasn't a platitude. It was a fact.
A small, tired smile pulled at her lips. "…Thanks."
She leaned back against the tidecraft door, letting the cool metal seep through her shirt. "How've you been?"
"Fine," Dylan said. "Took a bit getting used to you not being around… but we're good."
"Yeah," Yve said quietly. "Same here."
A pause stretched between them, filled by the chirping of crickets.
"Listen," she continued, "I'm leaving my sister and Duncan here."
Dylan raised a brow. "Alright."
"Duncan still owes me," she said, a flicker of her old wry humor returning. "So far, all he's done is tear apart your solar panels. Keep an eye on him. Don't let him 'upgrade' anything else to the point of explosion."
"Yeah. I will," Dylan said, a ghost of a smile on his own face. "And Ysa…"
Yve hesitated, then shook her head. "She'll be fine. She's just… angry. At me."
Dylan let out a short huff. "So Duncan's the problem."
Yve smirked faintly. "He looks responsible, doesn't he?"
A small beat.
"Leave him alone long enough," she added, making a quick flick of her fingers, "…things go kaboom."
Dylan snorted under his breath. "Figures."
"He's an Artificer," Yve said. "He sees a system, he has to take it apart… sometimes it doesn't go back together the same way."
"Or at all," Dylan muttered.
"Exactly."
A quiet beat passed. Dylan leaned back against the door beside her, his presence a solid, reassuring weight. "Tried building a model rocket once," he said, changing the subject with the ease of long familiarity.
Yve glanced at him. "That sounds dangerous already."
"Was," he said. "Me and my brother. Thing didn't even launch. Just… burned the garage down."
Yve let out a soft, genuine laugh. "I can't imagine your parents were thrilled."
"They weren't," he said. A faint smirk touched his lips, then it faded. "My brother though… he loved that kind of stuff. He's the brainiac."
Yve studied his profile in the dim light. "You miss him."
Dylan ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Yeah."
Silence stretched for a moment, comfortable and heavy.
Yve looked out into the darkness. "I don't know what that feels like," she said quietly. "But I do know… if I lost my sister…" She shook her head, not finishing the thought. "I wouldn't handle it well."
Dylan nodded. "Got people now," he said. "Not the same… but close enough."
His gaze shifted toward the tidecraft, toward Jenkins suspended within. "Just don't wanna lose them too."
Yve followed his gaze, something soft and painful settling in her expression. She didn't say anything.
For a while, neither did he.
Then—
"When'll you be back?" Dylan asked.
It landed heavier than he intended, a question filled with all the things he couldn't say.
Yve stilled. Her lips parted, then closed again. She looked away, her eyes drifting toward the cold, distant stars.
"…Honestly," she said after a moment, voice quiet, "I don't know."
Dylan let that sit. Then gave a small nod. "Hey."
She glanced back at him.
"Get yourself right first," he said. "We'll be here."
She nodded slowly. "You know I'd still worry."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"Yeah," he said.
A pause.
"…Got something to tell you when you get back."
Yve tilted her head slightly. "What is it?"
He shook his head. "Later."
She held his gaze for a second—then smiled. "Alright. I'll hold you to that."
They fell quiet after that.
Leaning against the tidecraft door, shoulder to shoulder—close enough to feel the other there.
No need for words.
Just presence.
Just familiarity.
The night settled around them, calm and heavy.
And for now—
It was enough.