Inside the van, Yve gasped for air. Each breath shallow and uneven, her chest fluttering too fast to keep pace. Sweat slicked her forehead, cold and clammy.
Elena pressed a hand to Yve's shoulder, the other brushing damp hair from her face.
"Yve… hey. Stay with me. Look at me.
Yve's lips parted. Nothing came out.
Ava leaned forward between the seats, voice tight. "What's happening to her?"
Dylan's voice cut sharp from the beside the van. "Don't let her crash. Keep her awake. Talk to her!"
"I'm trying!" Elena snapped, matching Yve's breaths. "In—out. In—out. You're okay. You're safe. Come on!"
Dylan's jaw locked. His hands clenched around the SilentHawk's wheel until the leather creaked.
"She's dryin' out," he said. "She don't just need water. She needs—"
He cut himself off, eyes flicking to the van. "To live," he finished.
Elena leaned closer, urgency sharpening her voice. "Then tell me what to do. How do we help her?"
The convoy slowed.
Ahead, iron gates rose out of the dark, hedges packed tight like walls. Moonlight caught on the silver W welded at the center.
"That's it," Ava said quickly, pointing. "That's our place."
Brakes slammed. Gravel screamed beneath the tires as the vehicles staggered to a stop.
Dylan was out before the engine died. Boots hit the gravel hard as he tore the van door open.
Elena still cradled Yve's head, whispering her name like a lifeline. Dylan's gaze locked on Yve's face—too pale, too still.
"Hold on," he growled. "Almost there."
Ava jumped down, boots thudding against the ground. She ran to the gate's side panel, yanking the rope in a quick pattern—tap, pause, tap, tap. The pulleys rattled sharply over the poles.
Thirty seconds later, the gate creaked open. A tall man with dark hair and a worn face stepped forward. Quick, careful movements. He gave Ava a nod—silent recognition—then swung the gate fully open.
Dylan snatched the key from Derek's hand. "Too slow," he muttered, shoving Ava into the passenger seat. The door slammed behind her.
Ava clutched the handle. "Hey—what the hell?!"
Knuckles white on the wheel, jaw tight, Dylan glanced back at Elena, still whispering Yve's name.
But Yve didn't move.
Nothing. Chest still.
"I need water, Ava," Dylan said, voice low, urgent.
"What? Why—what's wrong?"
"Water. Now!" He slammed his palm on the wheel.
Ava's eyes darted toward the looming manor, dark and tall under the moonlight.
"Pool. Back of the house," she said quickly.
Dylan didn't reply. He floored it.
The front door creaked open as they skidded to a stop. A man stepped onto the porch—pressed shirt, slacks, sharp eyes taking in the chaos.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.
Dylan ignored him.
He lifted Yve from the van, her body limp against his chest, and charged for the steps.
The man's gaze snapped to Ava. "Ava?"
"Daddy!" she cried, breaking away, arms wrapping around him.
He held her tight, stunned. "We thought you were dead."
"No time," Dylan barked, rough and urgent. "Water. Now!."
Ava blinked, confused. "What—why do you—"
"Move!" Dylan snapped, pushing past them. "Pool. Where is it?"
Ava's eyes widened. "Through the garden. Behind the house."
Dylan adjusted his hold on Yve—bridal style, arms locked around her—and stormed down the hallway. Boots echoed against polished floors, each step sharp, measured.
Outside, the convoy rolled to a stop. Headlights dimmed one by one. Doors opened. Gravel crunched under boots. Worn, wary faces emerged, exchanging cautious glances, holding back questions.
Lucas stepped forward, voice low, respectful. "Sir… sorry for the mess. It's been… a lot."
The older man nodded slowly, still stunned, eyes following Dylan as he disappeared toward the garden.
Dylan reached the pool first.
He dropped to one knee at the edge, chest heaving. No hesitation. No pause. He lowered Yve into the water with both hands, careful even now.
Her body slipped under. Hair spread around her like spilled ink.
Ava gasped.
"What are you doing?!"
She surged forward, but Dylan caught her arms and held fast.
"She's gonna die!" Ava struggled. "You're drowning her!"
"She ain't dying," Dylan said, jaw locked.
David didn't wait.
He tore off his jacket and dove in, water exploding upward. He reached Yve in seconds, hooked an arm around her, and dragged her toward the surface.
"She's not breathing!" he shouted.
Dylan was already moving. He plunged in boots and all, grabbed Yve, and wrenched her back.
"Let go!" His voice cracked.
David refused. "You're killing her, man! She's gonna die!"
"She needs this!" Dylan roared, shoving her back under. "You don't understand!"
"You're insane!" David snarled, water sloshing violently over the pool's edge.
"David! Let go!" Lucas barked.
"She's not breathing, Lucas! She's—"
Yve twitched.
Her fingers jerked. Her chest hitched—and she sucked in air, deep and sharp. With a sudden strength, she shoved David aside.
Then she sank.
Slow. Controlled. Deliberate.
Her body drifted to the bottom as the water stilled around her.
A shimmer rippled across her skin.
Dark green scales bloomed, slick and glinting beneath the moonlight. Her legs fused, bones shifting, reshaping—until there was no mistaking it.
A tail.
The backyard went dead quiet.
No shouts. No movement.
Yve hovered at the bottom of the pool, tail swaying gently, breathing steady.
The silence shattered.
Ethan's eyes went wide. He racked the bolt on his rifle, raising it with a sharp click. "What the hell is that?"
Yve's gaze snapped to the barrel aimed at her chest. Her breath hitched. She kicked off the pool wall, tail slicing through the water as she retreated to the far corner.
Dylan dove after her. He reached her in seconds, planting himself between her and the line of guns, arms spread wide. "Back off!" His voice was raw. "She ain't a threat."
Maurice stepped closer, rifle steady. "You sure about that?"
Lara and Joan didn't speak. They raised their weapons anyway.
David hauled himself out of the pool, knife clenched tight. His face twisted with fury. "What the fuck is that thing? She's not human."
Yve pressed herself against the wall, fingers curling against the tile. Her shoulders shook. No sound came out—just breath, quick and shallow.
Dylan stayed where he was, low in the water, eyes tracking every twitch of every finger near a trigger.
"Lower your weapons," Lucas said. His voice was firm, controlled.
David barked a laugh. "You serious?"
"Nobody fires," Lucas said. "Not without my word."
No one moved.
Taylor's voice cut in, quiet but sharp. "You knew."
Dylan didn't look away from the guns. "Ain't the point."
"She's scared," he added, slower now. "That's all you need to know."
David scoffed. "It's a goddamn fish."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "Watch your mouth."
The water lapped softly against the pool's edge. Yve's tail stilled. Her eyes stayed locked on the weapons—wide, glassy, braced for impact.
Lucas lifted a hand again. "Easy. Everyone—hold."
They did.
Guns stayed raised.
No one stepped back.
The standoff held.
David's eyes narrowed, knife tight. "She's not human, Dylan. That thing—whatever it is—could kill us before we blink."
"She won't," Dylan muttered, stepping closer, chest forward like a wall. "Look at her. She hurt anyone?"
Yve's tail twitched, scales flashing under the moonlight.
"Dylan, step back. Let us think," Lucas said, voice firm.
"Step back?" Dylan spat. "You think she's weak? Fragile? She's right here. Don't screw this up."
Lara tightened her grip on her rifle. "Dylan, she's dangerous—unknown—"
"That's why you're pointing guns at her?" Dylan snapped. "She's with us. Part of us. Like it or not."
David stepped closer, knife ready. "You're not reasoning with idiots, Dylan. She's not human."
"She's alive," Dylan growled, chest heaving, water dripping from his hair. "Right now, that's all that matters."
Yve pressed against Dylan, tail curling, scales rattling faintly. She had no strength left to speak. Dylan's glare swept the group, fire in his eyes.
"Look at me," he barked. "You touch her—any of ya—and I swear…" His warning hung, unfinished, heavy. Hands froze over weapons.
"Let her go," he said, deliberate. "If you don't want her… fine. I'll take her. We leave. No hard feelings. Her with me—we're gone."
Lucas's hand tightened on his rifle. "Dylan… that's not necessary. She's—"
"Necessary?" Dylan cut him off, jaw tight. "She saved me, Lucas. She didn't wait. She jumped in, didn't ask for a damn thing."
He stepped closer, voice rougher, almost pleading. "I learned to trust her. That ain't easy. You should too."
Dylan's hands flexed, knuckles white, but his gaze softened toward Yve. "She's been kind. Respectful. Never hurt anyone. Done more for us than most ever will. You should be grateful, not standing there pointing guns at her."
He let the words hang. Night pressed in, thick and heavy.
Lara's voice cut sharp. "What if she's just… manipulating you?"
Dylan snapped, like a whip. "Shut up! If she really bewitched me, she'd have made you lower your guns too. All of you. And I wouldn't be standin' here, tellin' you not to shoot."
He leaned forward, eyes blazing. "She's risking her life right now, and you throwin' accusations? Grow up!"
From the back, a quiet voice: "Lower your guns… kids."
Heads turned to Derek. Hands loose at his sides, face calm. "Look at her," he said softly, "look at what she's doin'. Risking herself… not even fightin' back. Think that's worth trust?"
The words landed. Eyes flicked between Yve trembling in Dylan's arms and Derek, hesitant but grounded.
Slowly, rifles and knives wavered. Fingers loosened. One by one, weapons lowered.
Derek stepped forward, deliberate. Hands empty, eyes steady. He reached David, knife still raised, tension taut.
"Son," Derek said, tapping the knife-hand shoulder. "Lower your weapon. She's not dangerous… just as lost as we are in this world."
David's jaw clenched. His eyes flicked to Yve. He exhaled, long and shaky, shoulders loosening as the knife lowered. "Damn… alright," he muttered.
Dylan gave Derek a brief, tight nod—no words, just a silent acknowledgment, a thank-you packed into a glance.
He turned to Yve. Her eyes met his, wide, shimmering in pale moonlight. Her chest still rose and fell, remnants of panic lingering. Something deep inside her stirred—a mix of awe, relief, and trembling recognition of the man who'd risked everything for her.
"Yve… you okay?" Dylan's voice was low, gruff, careful.
She didn't answer. Lips parted, but no sound came. Her eyes said it all: immense gratitude, quiet sorrow, vulnerability she rarely showed.
A tense silence stretched, broken by David's voice, sharp and cautious. "Are there more of… you?"
Maurice added, low and wary, "And… what exactly are you?"
Dylan leaned close, voice rough. "You don't gotta answer them, kid. Not if you don't wanna."
Yve brushed wet hair from his forehead, eyes locking with his. "I have to," she murmured. "It's the least I can do."
A quiet understanding passed between them. Dylan gave a small, approving nod, then swam to the edge of the pool. He stripped off his soaked leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders.
Yve's lips curved into a faint, grateful smile. She straightened, voice steady for the group. "I will… answer all your questions. No lies. Just truth. I swear that on my bloodline."
The group shifted uneasily, exchanging glances. Tension eased, fragile but tangible.
Harrison cleared his throat, calm but firm. "Why don't you all come inside? Let's… talk in the living room."
~~~
The living room smelled of old wood and something bitter.
Harlene, Harrison's wife, moved between them with steady hands, setting down cups of coffee one by one. Mia, a housemaid, followed close behind, tray balanced against her hip, eyes sharp, never lingering, while Ava and Emily passed out blankets. The silence was thick, and the air was heavy..
They sat scattered—some on the couch, some near the walls, others close to the door, still measuring escape routes. Weapons were gone but not far; fingers stayed tense around ceramic cups instead.
The hallway creaked.
Heads turned.
Yve stepped inside first. Dry clothes now. Simple. Borrowed. Fabric hung loose on her frame, sleeves brushing her knuckles. She paused at the threshold, unsure if she should cross the rest of the distance.