Lucas's radio crackled to life. "Lucas, this is Derek at the gate. Come in. Over."
Lucas paused and dropped the hammer he was holding. It clattered onto the table. A frown crossed his face as he grabbed the radio. "This is Lucas. What's going on over there, Derek? Over."
A moment of static followed.
Then Derek answered. "I just saw Dylan. He's all beaten up and looks barely alive. But I just saw him walk with Yve literally ten minutes ago. I don't know what's going on. Over."
Lucas froze. The color draining from his face. "Derek, get back inside right now. Lock the gates and do not let anyone in. I'm coming. Over."
He didn't wait for a response as he was already moving. He switched channels on the radio as he ran out of the house. "Ethan. Ava. Victor. Joan." His voice came sharp and urgent through the radio. "Meet me at the gate. Bring your guns."
Around Havenwall, everyone immediately dropped what they were doing.
Ethan abandoned the supplies he had been sorting. Ava stepped down from her watch post. Victor left a half-finished repair lying on the ground. Joan grabbed her rifle from beside a wall and sprinted for the gate.
By the time they arrived, Lucas was already there.
Ethan reached them last, bent slightly forward with his hands on his knees. "What's going on, man?" he asked between breaths.
Lucas looked at all of them. His expression alone was enough to make everyone tense. "Dylan's a Skindrifter."
Silence.
Then Lucas shook his head. "No. The Dylan with Yve is a Skindrifter."
The realization hit all of them at once. Victor cursed under his breath. Ava's eyes widened.
Lucas turned toward the forest. "Move! Yve's in danger."
Without another word, they broke into a run.
Branches snapped beneath their boots as they disappeared into the trees.
Back at the gate, Derek watched them go. The moment the last of them vanished into the forest, he pulled the gates shut.
The metal groaned as they closed.
He secured the lock, then stepped back and worked the action on his rifle.
Click.
A round slid into the chamber.
Derek raised the weapon and took position beside the wall, eyes fixed on the forest beyond.
~~~
Halfway through their run, a gunshot tore through the forest.
BANG.
The group skidded to a halt. Lucas threw a clenched fist into the air, signaling for silence. They froze, listening.
Then—
BANG.
Another shot.
"Move!" Lucas barked.
They exploded into a sprint, branches whipping past their faces as they tore through the woods. The river clearing burst into view, and chaos greeted them.
Dylan lay motionless on the ground. A few feet away, two identical Yves were locked in a struggle.
Before anyone could react, one lunged forward, grabbing the other by the arm and dragging her toward the river.
"Ava, on Dylan!" Lucas commanded.
Ava broke away, dropping beside Dylan and pressing two fingers to his neck. A beat later, her shoulders slumped in relief. "He's alive!"
"Barely," Joan added, sliding in beside her.
Meanwhile, Lucas, Ethan, and Victor raised their rifles toward the river.
The two figures crashed into the water. The moment they were submerged, the aggressor began to change. Legs fused into a powerful tail, scales erupted across her skin, and fins unfurled along her arms. In her natural domain, the balance shifted completely.
The wounded Skindrifter fought desperately, claws flashing, water exploding upwards. But it was outmatched. It couldn't gain ground, couldn't counter—it could only survive.
For a few moments.
Then it slipped. That was all Yve needed.
Her sword manifested in her hand. A single, silver flash beneath the water.
The Skindrifter's head separated from its neck. Black sludge erupted into the river, and the body went limp.
A moment of stillness. Then Yve surfaced, one hand holding the severed head. The face staring back at them was her own.
She swam to shore and casually tossed the head onto the ground. It landed with a wet thud right beside Ethan's boots.
"What the fuck!" he yelped, jumping back.
No one answered. Their eyes were fixed on the river as another figure emerged. Yve, dragging the headless corpse behind her. Her tail dissolved back into legs, scales receded, fins folded away. She rose to her full height, grabbed the corpse by the arm, and lifted it with one hand. The body dangled limply.
Lucas slowly raised his rifle.
Yve looked at him, unimpressed. "I brought proof." She nodded toward the head.
All eyes fixed on it. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then the skin began to sag, releasing a foul odor. The face started melting, Yve's features dissolving like wax under a flame to reveal the Skindrifter's true form beneath.
A heavy silence settled over the clearing.
Lucas stared for another long moment, then slowly lowered his rifle. He gave a single, sharp nod.
Yve let the corpse drop to the ground with a heavy thud and she moved before Lucas had fully lowered his rifle.
She rushed past him and dropped to Dylan's side, kneeling hard enough to send dirt scattering. Her eyes swept over him quickly—the bruises, the torn clothes, the dried blood, the unnatural angle of his shoulder. "How is he?" she asked.
Ava glanced up from where she was checking his pulse. "Dislocated shoulder. At least one broken rib. He's covered in bruises." Her expression darkened as she looked at the wound on his cheek. "And that cut's infected. It's already oozing pus."
For a moment, Yve's jaw tightened. "Move."
The word came out flat and immediate. Ava and Joan exchanged a glance before quickly stepping aside.
Yve slid one arm beneath Dylan's shoulders and another beneath his legs. Despite the state she was in herself—soaked, bleeding, and exhausted—she lifted him effortlessly. Dylan's head rolled against her shoulder, completely unconscious.
She turned toward the others. "Bring the body and the head. Have Jenkins study it."
Lucas nodded once. "We'll handle it."
Yve didn't wait for another word. The moment she heard the answer she broke into a run, carrying Dylan through the forest. Branches snapped against her shoulders as she pushed through the trees, her pace never slowing. Within moments she had vanished into the woods, leaving the others behind in the clearing.
For a few seconds nobody spoke.
Their attention eventually drifted toward the remains of the Skindrifter. The severed head still lay near Ethan's feet, its melting flesh releasing a foul odor into the air while the headless body rested near the riverbank.
Ethan stared at it. Then took a step backward. "Nope."
Victor looked at him. "What?"
"I'm not touching that."
"You heard Yve."
"I heard Yve. Doesn't mean I'm touching that."
Lucas sighed and picked up his radio. "Save the arguing for later. Grab the body and the head. We're bringing both back."
Ethan looked down at the head one more time and grimaced. "I hate this job."
~~~
Yve finally broke through the treeline and reached the road. The ground sloped slightly upward, forcing her pace to adjust, but she didn't slow. Dylan's weight stayed steady in her arms, his head bouncing lightly against her shoulder with every step she took.
Derek spotted her from the RV roof immediately. He dropped low, rifle already raised, tracking her movement as she came into view. The moment she crossed into the clearing, the barrel followed her center mass. "Stop right there," he called out.
Yve didn't stop walking. "It's me. Yve."
Derek didn't lower the rifle. "Yeah? And I'm Derek."
Her steps finally slowed, just enough to show irritation. "It's me, Derek."
"Lucas gave orders," Derek replied flatly. "Nobody gets in."
Yve exhaled sharply through her nose, shifting Dylan slightly in her grip. "Will you believe me if I do this?"
Before he could answer, she tilted her head down and let it happen.
Scales pushed up along her neck first, then her arms, creeping like living armor beneath her skin. They climbed higher in a controlled surge, spreading toward her jaw and cheek. Her eyes sharpened, the warmth draining out of them, replaced by something older, sharper, predatory.
Derek's finger tightened on the trigger. Then he hesitated. He studied her for a long second.
Finally, he let out a breath and lowered the rifle. "...Yeah. That's you."
Yve didn't relax. "Open the gate."
Derek turned, moved down fast, and unlatched it. The metal groaned as the gate swung inward.
The second it opened wide enough, Yve moved through without stopping.
Derek fell into step beside her for half a second, eyes flicking to Dylan. "How is he?"
Yve didn't look at him. She adjusted Dylan in her arms as she ran. "Bad."
She cut through Havenwall fast. People turned at the sound of footsteps, voices rising in confusion, but Yve didn't slow down for any of it. She moved straight through the settlement, heading for Jenkins' quarters.
When she reached the door, she didn't knock.
She kicked it open.
The door slammed inward hard enough to rattle the frame. Jenkins jolted up from his desk, pen dropping from his hand, papers scattering across the surface. His eyes locked onto Yve immediately—and then Dylan in her arms.
Whatever question he was about to ask died in his throat.
"What the hell happened?" he said instead.
"Help me save him," Yve answered. Her voice cracked on the last word, barely holding together.
Jenkins stood immediately. No hesitation. "Medical building. Now."
Yve turned and moved again the moment he spoke.
They ran through Havenwall together, passing startled survivors who stepped aside too slowly, confusion and alarm rippling in their wake. Jenkins didn't waste time explaining. He just kept pace beside her, already shifting into focus.
When they reached the medical facility, the glass doors stood sealed shut.
Jenkins stopped at them once, scanned them quickly, then stepped back. "Step away."
Yve immediately took a step back, turning her body slightly to shield Dylan.
Jenkins drove his boot straight into the glass.
The doors exploded inward with a sharp crack, shards scattering across the floor like rain. He didn't flinch. He tore off his coat, wrapped it around his hands, and cleared the remaining glass from the frame with quick, practiced movements.
He glanced at the shattered entrance for a moment. "So this is what a siren's strength feels like," he muttered under his breath. Then he turned around. "Let's go."
Yve followed without hesitation, holding Dylan tighter as they stepped into the darkened medical building, their eyes adjusting, the air inside colder, heavier, and still.
They reached one of the rooms and Yve carefully laid Dylan down on the bed, adjusting him so his breathing stayed steady. The mattress creaked under his weight.
Jenkins didn't waste time watching. The second Dylan was down, he was already moving—disappearing out the door in search of supplies.
Yve went straight to the windows.
She shoved them open one by one. Cold daylight spilled into the room, cutting through the stale air. It didn't fix anything, but it made the space feel less suffocating.
Then she turned back to Dylan.
Her hands moved quickly, almost mechanically now. She tore away his shirt, exposing the bruising underneath. The side of his chest was already discolored, dark patches spreading where impact had done its damage. She pressed lightly along his ribs, listening more than looking, her expression tightening when Dylan gave a faint, unconscious groan.
"Broken," she muttered under her breath.
She shifted to his shoulder next, feeling carefully along the joint. It was wrong—loose in a way it shouldn't be. Her jaw clenched.
Then she checked the wound on his cheek again, leaning closer. The infection was worse up close, the skin irritated and angry around the cut.
Yve exhaled sharply through her nose.
Without hesitation, she moved lower, checking for any other injuries, tearing away what remained of his clothing to make sure nothing was missed. Every movement was precise, urgent, focused—no hesitation, only necessity.
Footsteps returned down the hall.
Jenkins appeared in the doorway, pushing a metal cart salvaged from the building's storage. He stopped briefly when he saw Dylan's condition laid out in full. Then he set his jaw. "Wow," he said quietly. "That is a lot of wounds."
Yve didn't wait for instructions. She stepped in beside him.
Dylan's breathing was shallow, uneven. Every rise of his chest looked like it cost him something.
"Ribs are cracked," Yve said.
Jenkins nodded once. "Then we don't move him too much."
Yve grabbed the cloth strips.
They worked without really talking after that.
Jenkins wrapped the binding around Dylan's chest, firm but careful, watching his breathing the whole time. Yve held him steady when his body shifted, one hand pressed against his shoulder, grounding him back into place like she was keeping him from slipping away.
At one point Dylan made a small sound—barely there, half pain, half reflex—and Yve leaned in immediately.
"Hey," she muttered, low. "You're safe now."
Dylan didn't answer. But he didn't drift either.
Jenkins glanced at her for a second. "You're good at this."
Yve didn't look up. "I've had to fix worse than this."
That shut the air down again.
They moved to the shoulder.
Jenkins exhaled once, gripping Dylan's arm. "This is gonna hurt."
Yve just nodded and shifted closer, bracing him.
The pull was sharp. The sound of it snapping back into place echoed too loudly in the room.
Dylan jolted, a strangled breath ripping out of him before he went limp again.
Yve's hand tightened instinctively on his shoulder—then relaxed when she saw he was still breathing.
"Good," Jenkins muttered. "It's in."
Yve immediately turned to the cheek wound. She cleaned it without hesitation, wiping away the pus with a cloth, her face unreadable except for the slight tension in her jaw.
Jenkins straightened, wiping his hands on a clean cloth before leaning over Dylan to check his breathing again. "Tonight will be worse," he stated, his voice clinical. "The fever will peak."
Yve didn't look up from the wound on Dylan's cheek. "I know. I just hope he survives it."
Jenkins gently adjusted Dylan's leg, his fingers probing for swelling. "You possess a surprisingly comprehensive understanding of human anatomy."
Yve gave a short, humorless breath through her nose. "Before I operated on you, I had to study it. Rapidly. There was no time for nuance, only for learning what kills you and what doesn't." She pressed the cloth to Dylan's skin. "It's still absurd to me that your species can be undone by something as simple as an infection."
"It's a cascade failure," Jenkins corrected, his tone like a lecturer's. "The immune system overreacts, triggering a systemic inflammatory response. The body loses its ability to self-regulate."
Yve shook her head slightly. "For sirens, an infection is localized. It inflames, it weakens, it limps. Then it recovers." She worked in silence for a moment, her movements precise.
Jenkins spoke again, breaking the quiet. "We need to stabilize the ribs. Immobilization is critical until Ysa returns."
The name hung in the air, a tangible weight.
Yve exhaled, the sound sharp and frustrated. "I feel useless." She wiped Dylan's face again, her touch lingering.
"On what basis?" Jenkins asked, looking up from his work.
Yve's hesitation was a fraction of a second too long. "There are moments… when I wish I had Ysa's gift. Something that actually heals, instead of just… holding things together until they break."
Jenkins paused, his analytical gaze settling on her. "You're insecure about your capabilities."
"Sometimes," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. Her hand rested on Dylan's forehead, steadying him as if she feared he might slip away just from being discussed. "It's also why I refused to marry Arcenaux and start a family."
Jenkins stopped what he was doing completely. "You were engaged?"
"No," Yve said, the word sharp and final. "I ran." She finally looked away from Dylan, her eyes going distant. "The moment my mother brought up marriage… I left the next day." A small, hollow breath escaped her. "That's when I first saw Dylan. At the dock."
Jenkins remained silent, listening.
Yve's voice softened without her permission. "He looked… lonely. And sad." She swallowed. "He sighs a lot. And when he sleeps, he flinches."
Jenkins's gaze flickered from Dylan back to her. "Interesting observation."
Yve let out a short, frustrated breath. "How could I ever care for a family when I can't even heal one person properly?" Her fingers tightened on the damp cloth. "Ysa would know what to do."
The room fell still again, the only sound the uneven, fragile rhythm of Dylan's breathing.
Jenkins moved back in beside the bed, pulling a thin glass IV tube from the cart. He tied a strip of cloth around Dylan's arm and carefully inserted the needle.
A slow drip began feeding into him.
He checked it once, then settled into a steady rhythm of monitoring—every few minutes pressing the soft rubber bulb manually to maintain pressure in the line, keeping the flow consistent in place of any machine.
"You'll have to keep doing this," Jenkins said, nodding at the setup.
Yve nodded once without looking away from Dylan.
Jenkins didn't look up from his work as he spoke, his tone steady, analytical, almost detached—but not unkind. "You know," he said, adjusting the IV line and pressing the bulb once to keep the flow steady, "for someone who successfully anatomically transformed a human into a completely different species… you maintain a surprisingly low assessment of your own capability."
Yve finally looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Jenkins checked Dylan's pulse before answering, counting under his breath for a second too long.
"You interpret your role as non-essential," he said. "Despite repeated empirical evidence contradicting that conclusion."
Yve let out a tired breath, her shoulders sinking slightly. "That's not—"
"You saved my life," Jenkins cut in calmly. "Since you came to us, you've been keeping our asses alive." He pressed the IV bulb again—measured, practiced—then continued. "And yet you continue to classify yourself as 'useless.'"
Yve looked down at Dylan again, jaw tightening slightly.
Jenkins finally glanced up at her. His expression remained clinical, but his voice softened by a fraction. "That's a flawed conclusion."
A beat of silence passed.
He adjusted Dylan's arm, ensuring the line stayed steady, then added more quietly: "You are one of a kind, Yve. Do not allow the absence of what you call a 'gift' to invalidate what you already are."
Yve let out a slow breath, some of the tension in her shoulders finally easing. "Thanks, Doc," she said quietly. "I needed to hear that."
Jenkins adjusted the IV bulb again, pressing it with steady precision. "We will reschedule your interview once Dylan is stabilized."
Yve gave a faint nod. "Sure…" Her eyes stayed on Dylan, watching the uneven rise and fall of his chest. Then, after a pause, she added, "I killed the Skindrifter. I'd like you to study it. Figure out if there's anything in it we can use—anything that helps us tell them apart from us."
Jenkins glanced up slightly. "It would be significantly easier if I had a functioning laboratory."
Yve gave a small, tired exhale. "Not yet. This building isn't fully secured. And if we're going to set you up properly, we'll need electricity."
Jenkins nodded once, almost reflexively. "Electricity would be optimal. It has been quite some time since I last operated a functioning centrifuge."
"Yeah," Yve muttered, almost amused despite herself. "We'd need all your lab toys back, too."
Jenkins gave a faint hum of agreement. "That would be ideal."
Yve tilted her head slightly, thinking. "Do you know a place where we could get the same equipment you had back at VIRA?"
At that, Jenkins paused longer.
"Oh no," he said finally. "The equipmets at VIRA Complex were advanced. Most of it was government-ordered, imported, and not easily replicated."
Yve's expression didn't change. "But?"
Jenkins continued, "There is another facility I know of. Less advanced, but still capable. A research lab. It may contain usable equipment."
Yve's eyes sharpened slightly. "Good. Then come with us next time we go scavenging. We'll get you everything you need."
Jenkins looked at her. "A regular truck won't work. We would require at least a ten-wheeler transport unit."
Yve's mouth curved faintly. "Who said we're using vehicles?"
That made Jenkins pause. "…I beg your pardon?"
Yve finally looked up from Dylan, a calm certainty in her eyes. "One Pegacampus can carry seven times its own weight. We rig harnesses under them, load the equipment, and fly it back. Fast. Clean."
Jenkins blinked once. Slowly. "I see," he said after a moment. "I am beginning to understand that conventional constraints do not apply here."
Yve gave a small, knowing smirk. "You'll get used to it."
Jenkins let out a short, rare chuckle. "I will leave you to it. It seems Dylan is in capable hands."
Yve nodded once. "When Ysa gets back, send her here."
"Understood," Jenkins said.
He gave one last check on the IV line, pressed the bulb once more, then turned and left the room, the sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor.