The med bay had settled into its late-hour quiet—the kind that only comes after alarms have stopped screaming and survival has been reduced to numbers ticking steadily on monitors.
Rose and Cassidy returned without speaking.
The doors slid shut behind them, sealing out the corridors, the gardens, the stones with names carved too carefully to ever feel temporary.
Inside, the light was soft but unyielding. White, clean, revealing.
Allium lay on the reinforced bed, motionless. Too still for something that had torn the sky open not long ago. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only proof he remained in the room at all.
Weaver stood beside him.
Not weaving.
Not working.
Just watching.
Nina glanced up from her station, eyes flicking to the clock mounted high on the wall.
"Got her back on time," she said, brisk but not unkind. Her attention shifted to Rose. "How are we feeling? Any pain?"
Rose lifted a hand and rubbed near her shoulder, where the wound had been sealed. The skin was whole. Her body remembered the shape of the damage anyway.
"A little," she admitted. "Mostly when I cough."
Nina typed it into her datapad without hesitation.
"Alright. Back on the bed. I'll put in an order for stronger painkillers."
Cassidy helped Rose transfer, steady and careful. Nina adjusted the supports, checked leads, made sure Rose was settled in a way that didn't pull at healing muscle.
"I'll be right back," Nina said, already turning. "Don't move."
She left.
Cassidy exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if trying to dislodge the weight of the last few days.
"I'm pretty hungry," she muttered. "And honestly… tired."
Her hand drifted to her wrist, tugging the wrap that concealed the Mark a little tighter.
"They finished reconstructing the café," she added. "I'm gonna grab something. Want anything?"
Rose shook her head.
"No. I'll be fine. Thank you, Cass."
Weaver didn't answer. Didn't turn. His eyes stayed on Allium, like looking away might invite the wrong kind of awakening.
Cassidy hesitated, glancing between them.
"…Okay," she said softly. "I'll be back."
The doors slid shut.
The room felt smaller after that.
Rose watched Weaver for a long moment.
"Weaver," she said gently. "You've been standing for hours. Why don't you sit?"
Weaver's shoulders rose and fell once.
"It's alright," he said. "I'm just… worried."
Rose's gaze shifted to Allium.
"I'm sure he'll be okay," she said. "I'll keep watch too."
Weaver finally turned enough for her to see his face.
"I'm not worried about him waking up," he said.
Rose frowned slightly.
"Then what?"
Weaver stepped away from the bed and sat in the chair beside hers. His hands rested on his knees, still, but tension lived in them anyway—like the memory of trembling threads.
"When you were injured," Weaver said quietly, "and sent back to HQ… when I tried to reach Allium, he was fighting voices."
Rose's breathing slowed.
"Voices," she repeated.
Weaver nodded.
"They weren't chaotic," he said. "They were calm. Persuasive."
His gaze drifted back to Allium.
"They told him something very specific."
Rose waited.
Weaver swallowed.
"They told him that if he killed me," he said, voice low and steady despite the weight of it, "that would make him free."
Rose's eyes widened.
"Free…?" she whispered.
Weaver nodded once.
"Free of guidance. Free of restraint. Free of me."
Silence settled between them, heavier than before.
"And he fought it," Weaver continued. "He fought it hard."
Rose's hand curled into the blanket.
"But why would—"
"Because part of it felt true," Weaver said gently, cutting her off not with sharpness, but with honesty.
"My pride says I didn't build him to use him," he said. "That I gave him purpose. That I made him to protect Fusion."
He tapped his chest lightly.
"But my heart knows what years of control do to a person. Years of deciding who someone else is allowed to be."
He looked at Rose then, really looked at her.
"I've been killing my humanity," Weaver said softly. "And now I'm afraid I'm failing him."
Rose didn't recoil from the admission.
"If you truly believe that," she said, "then what do we do?"
Weaver hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "He is my creation… but this awakening showed me something I never planned for."
Rose glanced toward Allium.
"He attaches," Weaver said. "He cares. Deeply."
Rose nodded slowly.
"Then let him stay awake," she said. "Show him purpose—but not a mission. Life."
Weaver stiffened.
"Attachment is what made the Overload possible," he warned. "With this new energy source, that could be catastrophic."
Rose met his eyes.
"Then be a father," she said plainly. "Guide him. Don't hide him. Don't hold a leash."
Weaver opened his mouth to argue. To retreat into logic.
But he didn't.
"Father," he echoed quietly. "I am no father."
Rose's voice softened, but didn't bend.
"I see how you watch him," she said. "Every step. Every breath. You love him. Your heart already knows it."
Weaver stared at Allium.
For a moment, he looked like someone standing at the edge of a choice he could never unmake.
"I already failed him," he said. "If that's what he believes beneath it all."
Rose's gaze stayed steady.
"Then take accountability," she said. "Accept what happened. And choose what you'll do now."
Weaver exhaled slowly.
"I believe you're right," he said.
They sat in silence after that.
Not comfortable.
Honest.
The monitors hummed softly.
Then—
A faint orange glow stirred beneath Allium's skin.
Like a coal remembering heat.
Rose's breath caught.
Weaver's head lifted.
The orange brightened, slow and steady.
Allium was waking.