Next afternoon, Dr. Jenkins reorganized his briefcase. Once everything was in order, he stepped out of the study and walked down the hall toward Harrison's office at the end.
He knocked once.
"Come in."
Jenkins stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
Harrison looked up. "How can I help you, Doc?"
"I've got something to show you," Jenkins said. "Something… monumental."
Harrison raised an eyebrow slightly. "Do tell. What is it?"
Jenkins set his briefcase down on the desk, opened it, and pulled out a single folder. "I've written down everything I've observed since Yve joined us," Jenkins said.
The case file name was printed on the tab: EVE-1. He slid it across the table.
Harrison frowned, confused, then opened it. "That's a hell of a name."
As Harrison flipped through the pages, his eyes widened. Shock, confusion, and awe battled across his face. He looked up at Dr. Jenkins, who fidgeted slightly, hands twitching with a hint of nervous energy.
"I don't get it," Harrison said.
Jenkins exhaled, precise and measured. "Back when we were at the VIRA Complex… there was a small incident in the lab. It revealed something extraordinary. Yve's blood… it may be the potential cure I've been searching for."
Harrison pushed back from the desk, standing abruptly. His face was a storm of disbelief, excitement, and hesitation. "WHAT?"
"I know," Jenkins said, calm but urgent. "It's a lot to process. But I am nearly certain—the blood in her veins… may be the key to saving the world."
Harrison tried to speak. "Wh—are you sure? I mean—how is that even possible?"
Jenkins stood, gathering the papers. He flipped to a page marked with a rough sketch and set it between them, one finger tapping the ink.
"I drew this while observing her blood in contact with infected cells," he said. "The cells didn't retreat. They advanced. They engaged the virus directly and dismantled it—layer by layer. I watched it happen."
He turned another page, movements sharper now. "Her blood isn't defensive. It's predatory. What's circulating in her veins behaves less like biology and more like coordinated machinery."
Another page. Another sketch. "These are her white blood cells. They don't wait for intrusion—they hunt. Those filament-like structures," he pointed, "they latch on. Like teeth. They tear pathogens apart."
Jenkins looked up, steady now. Certain.
"I'm not speculating. I'm reporting what I observed. Inside her," he said, each word deliberate, "is the solution."
Harrison flipped another page. "Are these… plasma?"
Jenkins nodded, pointing to a glowing orb in the sketch. "Yes. I have a theory. Those are healing agents. She got cut with a shard of glass during the incident. When I went to check the next morning—her hand was already healed. Like the injury never happened."
Harrison blinked, voice sharp. "Fuck no."
"YES," Jenkins said, a mixture of excitement and tension in his tone. "I've been waiting to tell someone, but a lot happened in the past week... I just couldn't bring myself to say anything."
Harrison exhaled, rubbing his temple. "What the hell do we even do now?"
"I was hoping I could talk to her," Jenkins admitted, flipping through the papers again. "But I don't know the right words. How do you tell someone they might save the world? I'm scared. If I tell her… the pressure could make her lash out."
Harrison's voice softened. "I don't think she would… I mean—"
"I know she's good," Jenkins interrupted, his tone heavier now. "But we've seen a side of her we never imagined. I'm scared. Scared of losing the only person who could stop this madness."
Harrison leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing. "Does anyone else know?"
Jenkins shook his head. "No. Just you and me."
"Why didn't you tell your group first?" Harrison asked.
"I… I didn't want to give false hope," Jenkins admitted, voice careful. "There's still a chance I'm wrong."
Harrison's jaw tightened. "We should at least tell them."
"I would… not sure about Dylan, though," Jenkins said, glancing up.
Harrison raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"You've seen how protective he is of Yve," Jenkins explained, shifting in his seat. "He might take her away. I need her blood… I mean, hoping she would voluntarily give it to me."
Harrison exhaled slowly, firm. "I'll talk to them. You stand behind me. I'll explain it to them. We can't afford to lose her—not now, not with the future of the world at stake."
~~~
Dylan stepped into the pool area. He watched Yve glide through the water, her dark green tail catching the light, he set a coffee mug and a bath towel on the umbrella table.
Yve's eyes flicked toward him, and she broke the surface, head bobbing up. Her thin irises shifted back to human-like. "Hi Dyl," she said, voice soft, curious.
Dylan just nodded, lifting the black coffee to his lips.
"Oooh, you brought me coffee?" she teased, swimming closer to the edge.
"Ava made it," Dylan said, voice flat but calm.
Yve's face brightened. "Nice. I love her coffee… help me up?" She lifted her hand, water dripping from her fingers.
Dylan set the mug down, unfolded the towel, and pulled her from the water. He then wrapped her in towel, careful, steady.
Unseen, Mia leaned over the balcony railing, watching the quiet scene. She rolled her eyes and slipped away, leaving them alone.
Yve surfaced, water dripping from her hair. "Wanna come fishing with me later?"
Dylan shrugged. "Sure, sure." He hesitated, then added, "Listen… I actually got somethin' to ask you."
"What is it?" Yve tilted her head, curiosity dancing in her eyes.
"I mean… what you did yesterday," Dylan said slowly, "I don't remember seeing your scales like that."
"Oh, you mean this?" Yve's hands and lower arms shimmered, transforming. Dark green scales spread across her skin, fins like thin, delicate ribbons sprouting along the sides of her arms.
Dylan's jaw relaxed, eyes widening slightly. "Wow. Didn't know you could do that."
Yve's smile was small, almost shy. "This is what we call the predator form of sirens."
"It's… beautiful," Dylan said, voice low, genuine.
"Really? You're… not afraid of it?" Yve's gaze softened, studying his reaction.
Dylan shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You could never scare me away, if that's what you're thinking."
Yve snorted softly, a chuckle slipping past her lips.
Yve's wet hair clung to her cheeks. "If you want, I can… show you my full predatory form later."
Dylan didn't flinch. "You're already showin' it to me, ain't ya?"
"Yeah," Yve said, tilting her head, "but I mean my whole body… bet you'd piss your pants if you saw it."
Dylan snorted, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "Mm."
"Why do you guys even have that form?" he asked after a pause.
Yve gestured to her human-shaped body. "Well… there are times we gotta defend ourselves. Our gentle form," she waved at herself, "just… can't keep up with what we need to do. Predator form makes us faster, more flexible, sharpens our senses, makes swimming easier… and scaring enemies? That's just a bonus. Whole point is survivin'."
Dylan leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "We don't transform like that… but sounds like what you're describin' is kinda like an adrenaline rush."
"Adrenaline rush?" Yve's eyes widened, curious.
"Yeah," Dylan said, voice low, measured. "It's when our bodies get pushed past the usual limits… we can do things way beyond normal. Run faster, hit harder, see clearer—sometimes it's the difference between livin' and dyin'."
Yve blinked slowly, letting it sink in. "Huh… I like that. Our predator form… maybe it's your adrenaline, just… built in."
Yve's eyes tilted with quiet curiosity. "Dyl… have you ever… felt somethin' like that? When your body… it moves faster than your mind, and it knows what to do?"
Dylan took a slow sip of coffee, letting the steam fog the morning air. "Yeah…" His voice softened, low and rough. His gaze fell to the pool. "Still… failed to save my Mom."
"Oh…" Yve's lips pressed together. "Oh… I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Dylan said, voice low.
She tilted her head. "I know you don't like talking 'bout the past… so if you're not ready, don't push yourself."
Dylan exhaled, a long, rough sigh. "Thanks… but I want to."
Yve's lips curved into a soft smile, wide and childlike. "Really? You… you would tell me?"
"Yeah," he said, voice clipped, still quiet. "I wanna give you an example."
There was a long pause. Not awkward. Just still.
Dylan exhaled, slow and heavy. He stared into his coffee like it had answers in it.
"A few weeks after my brother and dad died…" His voice was low. Rough. "Mom came with us on a scav run."
Yve didn't move. She leaned her chin on her folded arms at the pool's edge, eyes fixed on him.
"She insisted," he went on. "Said she'd rot if all she did was sit around hurtin'." A brief shrug. "Mission was supposed to be clean. Mall we'd hit multiple times before. Easy. In and out."
His fingers tightened around the mug. "When we got there… other survivors were already inside." He shook his head once. "Too many of 'em."
He inhaled, then set the mug down. It rattled against the table.
"Lucas tried talkin'," Dylan said. "Told 'em to at least let the women go."
His hands trembled. He curled them into fists, knuckles whitening.
"They weren't people anymore," he said quietly. "Just hungry animals."
Yve's brows knit together. Her head tilted, the way it did when something didn't fit right in her world.
"They tortured us," Dylan continued. His jaw locked. "Raped our women. Even the women with them… took part."
The pool water lapped softly against the tiles.
"They didn't touch me," he said. A beat. "Maurice wasn't so lucky."
Silence settled again—thick, unmoving. He swallowed hard, jaw working like it might crack.
"When they were done…" Dylan said, voice rougher now, "they killed one of ours. Cooked 'em. Ate 'em. Right there. Made us watch."
His gaze dropped. The muscles in his neck stood out.
"I couldn't move," he went on. "Beaten half to death. Tied up. Hung upside down." A breath scraped out of him. "Pure hell."
The words stalled. He dragged a hand down his face.
"I woke up to Mom cryin'." His voice faltered, just for a second. "They had her tied—arms, legs. Couldn't move an inch."
His fingers dug into his hips, pressing hard, like he was trying to hold himself together. "I fought the ropes," he said. "I swear I did. Every damn second."
His eyes stayed fixed on the ground. "Then their leader climbed on her." Dylan's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Knife to her chest."
He stopped. His chest hitched once. "I saw it," he said. "Saw life leave her eyes."
Silence stretched, brittle.
"When I finally broke loose," he continued, words coming faster now, "took a guy down, grabbed his rifle… started shootin'. Our people hung above—none got hit."
His fist struck his hip again. Harder this time.
"I didn't even know I was movin'," he said. "Didn't feel the ropes tear, didn't feel the hits anymore. One second I was hangin' there—next thing I knew, I was on my feet, gun in my hands."
His jaw tightened.
"By the time I realized what I was doin', I was already beside her."
His voice cracked. He shook his head. "Too late."
He looked up then, eyes red, furious with himself.
"I could still see it," he said. "The terror. Locked in."
A sharp breath. Then, flat and raw—
"I'm a fuckin' bodyguard," he said. "And I failed her."
His mouth twisted.
"It's funny," he added. "Whole damn life, I trained for this." He shook his head once. "Follow my dad's path. Elite bodyguard. That was him. He trained me himself."
His eyes stayed on the ground. "I was supposed to be the one standin' when he couldn't anymore," he said. "Protect the family." A pause. "Didn't happen."
He finally looked up.
Yve hadn't said a word. Tears clung to her lashes, her face open, unguarded. She rose without asking. Crossed the space between them. Knelt, then wrapped her arms around him.
Dylan stiffened. Just for a second. Then his arms came up, slow and unsure, settling around her back. "Why're you cryin'?" he muttered.
Yve snorted softly, voice wobbling. "I'm not crying." She wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "Maybe you're crying."
A thin laugh escaped her. Damp and messy.
She pulled back, dragged a nearby chair closer, and sat in front of him, studying his face like she was memorizing it. "You shouldn't carry that alone," she said. "You did everything your body allowed."
His jaw tightened. "Can't help it, Yve."
She leaned in, gentle, and rested a hand on his head. "Then don't hide it," she said. "Let me feel it with you."
He huffed out a weak chuckle. After a brief pause, he said "You know I hate it when people touch my head."
Her brows lifted. Curious. Almost playful. "Then why aren't you stopping me?"
That got a real breath of laughter out of him. Small. Tired.
He reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Thanks… for listenin'."
Yve smiled through the mess of it, old and soft and very present.
Ethan entered the pool area, arms crossed, mouth already curved into trouble.
"So," he said, accent thickening the grin as he walks toward them, "you two love birds done canoodling?"
Dylan shot him a look sharp enough to cut.
Yve smacked Ethan lightly on the shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to sting his pride.
"Hey—!" Ethan laughed, rubbing his arm. "I'm just saying." He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between them. "Just admit it. You guys together, yeah?"
Yve blinked. "We're not." She paused, then glanced at Dylan, eyes roaming him openly. "I mean… Dylan is—" she gestured vaguely at him, "—handsome."
Dylan grunted.
"Even if he looks disgusting," Yve added thoughtfully, "and dirty most of the time."
Ethan burst out laughing. "Wow. That is so you," he said, pointing at Dylan. "Romantic disaster."
Yve folded her arms. "But we are not together, alright?" She tilted her head, puzzled. "Why does everything have to be cheesy with you?"
Ethan shrugged. "Hey, I believe what I wanna believe."
Then his tone shifted, lighter but purposeful. "C'mon. Let's go inside. Harrison says he's got something to tell us." He glanced between them again. "And he wants everyone to listen."
~~~
The foyer couldn't hold them properly. Too many bodies. Too little space. Dylan stood near the wall, shoulder brushing a coat rack every time someone shifted.
Harrison was halfway up the stairs, palm hooked around the railing. He scanned the room once, then again. "Where's the girl?"
"Changin'," Ethan said. "She'll come."
Dylan glanced up. "Then what's this about?"
David snorted. "Doc's been pacing like he's about to dissect someone."
Dr. Jenkins stepped forward before Harrison could answer. His posture straightened, spine rigid, hands clasped behind his back. "We'll proceed once Yve is present," he said. "The information concerns her directly."
Mia pushed off the wall. "Funny how it always does."
Jenkins turned to her. His voice didn't rise. It sharpened. "Yes. Because without her, our survival probability drops to a statistical joke. You may continue resenting that fact, or you may accept it."
Mia's mouth opened. Closed. She looked away.
Footsteps padded in from the hall.
Yve stopped just inside the doorway, towel bunched in both hands, hair dripping onto the collar of an oversized shirt that looked stolen from someone twice her size. She blinked at the room like she'd walked into the wrong dream.
Everyone watched her.
Dylan moved first. Didn't think about it. Just crossed the space. "Here," he said, low. He took the towel from her hands.
"Oh," Yve said, then smiled like she'd been handed something precious. "Thank you."
He worked the towel through her hair, rough but careful, eyes down. The towel was damp. Cold against his fingers.
Ethan sucked in a breath, loud on purpose. "Wow. Should we leave you two alone or—"
"Don't," Dylan said.
Ethan lifted both hands. "I didn't say anything."
Yve leaned slightly into the towel, trusting, unaware. Dylan kept drying her hair.
Harrison cleared his throat. The sound cut through the room like a blade. "Alright," he said. "Now that everyone's here, we can begin. Doc?."
Dr. Jenkins adjusted the folder under his arm before speaking. He didn't rush. He never did. "While we were at the VIRA Complex," he said, "Yve and I had a laboratory incident."
Dylan straightened at once. His hand drifted closer to his side, instinctive, protective. Jenkins continued as if the room hadn't tightened. "What I discovered, is that Yve's blood does not merely survive the virus." He lifted a page. "It dismantles it."
The room broke.
Voices overlapped. Sharp. Uneven.
"That's bullshit—"
"You serious right now?"
"So you're saying—"
Dylan cut through it. "How."
Yve looked between them, lost. "What does that mean?"
Harrison raised his voice once. Just once. "Enough." He scanned the room. "Let the man finish."
The noise fell back into itself. Not silence, just restraint. Jenkins flipped another page, turning the folder so they could see. Hand-drawn diagrams. Dense notes. Careful arrows.
"The virus operates in layers," he said. "Adaptive. Recursive. Every attempt to destroy it fails because it rebuilds faster than we can disrupt it." He tapped the page. "Her blood does not attack it head-on. It unthreads it. Piece by piece."
A murmur rippled again—lower this time. Fear. Hope. Suspicion.
Jenkins looked up from the sketches, eyes bright behind the lenses. "I have spent a lot of time searching for a viable countermeasure," he said. "What stands before you may not just be immunity."
He closed the folder. "It may be a cure."
The word cure hadn't finished settling before the room fractured.
Chairs scraped. Breath caught. Every eye swung to Yve.
Eyes lingered on her. Some flinched, some turned away. Voices stacked over each other, half-formed questions, doubt, wonder—until they blurred into a single, pressing noise.
Yve's hands curled into the towel at her chest.
"Stop." It barely left her throat.
No one heard.
"Please—stop." Louder. Still swallowed.
Her head swam. The walls felt closer than they had a moment ago.
"ENOUGH."
The word cracked through the foyer.
Silence slammed down in its wake.
No one moved. No one breathed right. It was the first time any of them had heard Yve shout, now that they know her true self, the sound carried weight.
Yve swallowed and lifted her head. Dylan was already there. His hand rested on her shoulder, steady, grounding. Not tight. Just present.
She drew a breath. Then another. Her eyes found Jenkins. "Doc," she said, softer now, careful. "Are you… sure?"
Jenkins didn't flinch. "I observed it directly." He tapped the folder once. "When I collected blood samples from the group, your specimen was the only one I needed." A pause. "But I didn't want to cause suspicion."
He stepped down from the stairs, measured, deliberate.
"Yve," he said, "if you are willing—would you cooperate with me? If additional samples are required, would you consent to provide them?"
Dylan stepped forward immediately, palms up. "Hey." His voice stayed low, rough. "That don't sound like a question."
Jenkins stopped. Met his gaze. "It is not an obligation," he said evenly. "But it is, at present, the only viable path I can identify."
He looked back at Yve. "The only one that offers a chance—however slim—to keep any of us alive."
Dylan didn't back down. "What if she don't wanna give you anything?"
Yve shifted, stepping half in front of him. "Dylan… it's okay." She glanced back at Jenkins. "It's fine."
He looked at her, jaw tight. "You sure?"
She nodded once. "Yeah. I mean—" a small shrug, almost sheepish, "—it's just blood."
Jenkins inhaled, choosing his words. "Blood, yes. And—if you permit—I would also like to observe you in your natural state."
Yve blinked. "Wh—"
"Nothing invasive," Jenkins said quickly, hands raised. "I want to understand your locomotion, muscle coordination, behavioral patterns while swimming."
Dylan straightened. Sharp. "Study?" His voice dropped. "She ain't a lab rat."
"That is not what I meant," Jenkins said, irritation threading through his restraint. "At all."
Before it could snap, Lucas stepped forward, palm out. "Alright. Enough." His tone was calm but carried weight. "Everybody breathe."
Yve touched Dylan's arm. "Hey. Calm down."
She turned back to Jenkins, hesitant now. "Doc… I don't know if I'm okay with that. Watching me swim like that—it'd feel like I'm performing."
A scoff from the wall. Mia didn't bother lifting her head. "You're fine doing it with Dylan. Why not with the good doctor?"
Yve opened her mouth. "I mean—"
"You don't gotta explain a damn thing," Dylan cut in, stepping closer again. His shoulder brushed Yve's. "She said she's not comfortable. That's it."
Yve broke the tension herself. "What if I just give you blood for now, Doc?"
Jenkins nodded, relief flickering across his face before he buried it. "That would be sufficient. Yes."
David let out a short laugh. No humor in it. "Nah. That ain't real."
"It is," Jenkins said evenly. "Right now." He glanced around the room. "And if I may make a request—I'll need a sterile environment. A lab. Somewhere I can work without constant interruption."
Lucas rubbed his jaw, already thinking ahead. "We can build something." He looked up the stairs. "That alright with you?"
Harrison didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Whatever the doctor needs."
Jenkins turned back to Yve. His voice softened, careful. "I know this is… a burden I didn't ask your consent to carry. I don't want you feeling cornered. Please—stay with us. And don't put yourself in harm's way."
Yve nodded, earnest. "Of course, Doc. I'll help however I can."
Dylan leaned in close, voice rough and low. "This feels like a bad idea."
The foyer hummed with questions, some cautious, some sharp. Doubts threaded through glances and half-spoken sentences. Long pauses stretched between them, filled with the weight of what they were about to undertake. Yet beneath it all, a flicker of hope lingered, bright, fragile, daring them to believe in a future worth fighting for.