The IV drip hung beside Derek's bed, slow and steady, feeding pale blue liquid into the needle lodged in the back of his hand. The tube was thin, almost invisible against his skin. The bag above it was labeled in Henry's cramped handwriting—a formula he'd developed specifically for hybrids, something that accelerated healing without burning through their natural reserves. It wasn't a cure. Nothing was a cure anymore. But it helped.
Derek's chest rose and fell beneath the thin blanket. His face was still bruised, still swollen in places, but the cuts had closed. The burns had faded. The liquid in the bag was half-empty.
Lena sat in the chair by the window, her legs crossed, her eyes fixed on something outside that wasn't there. Jordan stood beside her, his hand resting on the back of the chair, close enough to touch but not touching. His katana leaned against the wall beside him.
Selene sat on the edge of the bed, her white hair loose around her shoulders, her pale hands folded in her lap. She was talking to Derek—something about the fight, something about the Wolfens, something about the way the ice had spread and shattered.
Wolfen walked in.
The room went quiet.
"You." Derek's voice was rough, but his eyes were clear. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Wolfen leaned against the doorframe. "I'm fine."
"And you?" He looked at Selene.
Selene Kane. She smiled—bright, open, the kind of smile that didn't belong in a world like this. But her eyes were different. Sharp. Measuring. Watching him like she was trying to figure out which version he was.
"Are you the okay one?" she asked.
Wolfen's eyebrow rose. "I'm decently okay. Yeah."
Her smile widened. "Good."
Strange, Wolfen thought. But he didn't dwell on it.
"So." He crossed his arms. "You want to explain what happened?"
Derek's face said everything. Bruh. Not again. He sighed, shifted against the pillows, and launched into the story—the same story he'd told Lena, Jordan, Leo, Eva, Maya, Warden. The figure in the snow. The fight. The ten Wolfens. The woman with the white hair who had saved him.
Wolfen listened without interrupting.
When Derek finished, Wolfen turned to Selene. "Thanks for saving him."
"No problem." Her smile was still bright. Still positive.
Something about her made Wolfen uneasy. She was as strong as Warden—maybe stronger—and she'd lost to one of his evil selves. Not lost. Struggled. Been outsmarted.
Did she even know how to fight? Had anyone taught her? Had she tried to teach herself, all those years in the prison, alone with nothing but ice and silence?
Probably not.
"Do you know how to fight?" Wolfen asked.
Selene blinked. "No."
"Do you want to learn?"
"Yes." The word came out fast. Too fast. Her eyes lit up. "Yes, I do."
Wolfen blinked. "Okay. When do you—"
"Right now."
"Okay." He held up his hands. "I'll come back later."
He left.
---
Leo was in the corridor, standing still, his lips moving—talking to himself, practicing something, rehearsing. When he saw Wolfen, he stopped abruptly.
"Hey. You okay?"
Wolfen walked past him. "You should stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Talking to yourself. Even if it's a coping mechanism."
Leo's face went red. "Okay. Yeah. Sure."
Wolfen stopped. Turned. "Do you know where Zoey is?"
Leo's eyes narrowed. A slow, terrible smile spread across his face.
"Oh. Oh, I know where she is."
"What's with that look?"
"You like her, don't you?" Leo's voice was a singsong whisper. "I heard you confessed."
Wolfen's eye twitched. "Run."
"Huh?"
"Run. Right now."
Leo looked down. Wolfen was looking at his shoes. Leo's eyes widened.
He ran.
Zoey was still in her room. The pillow was still clutched in her arms. She had fallen asleep at some point—curled on her side, her face pressed into the fabric, her breathing slow.
Shouting woke her.
She sat up, blinked, stumbled to the door, and opened it just as Leo sprinted past.
"I didn't hear anything!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"Don't lie to me, boy!" Wolfen was right behind him.
Zoey stuck out her arm.
Wolfen ran into it. Her hand closed around his wrist. He stopped.
His stomach did something complicated. A flip. A knot. Something he didn't have a name for.
He looked at her.
"So," he said. "I'm—"
Zoey grabbed his ear. Pulled.
"Ow! Zoey—ow—"
"WHAT IS IT WITH YOU?" She dragged him down the corridor. "GOING ALONE? GETTING YOURSELF INTO DANGER? ALMOST DYING? AGAIN?"
"Ow. Ow. Zoey, stop."
Leo was crouched in a corner, watching, his hand over his mouth.
Zoey's head snapped toward him. "Leave."
One word. Leo remembered what Wolfen had said about the devil learning by watching women. About women being dangerous. About fleeing when you saw them.
He fled.
Zoey turned back to Wolfen. Her grip loosened. Her face was red.
"Idiot," she said.
Wolfen rubbed his ear. "Yeah."
They stood in the empty corridor, neither of them moving, neither of them knowing what to say next.