Dylan worked quietly, movements steady and careful as he eased Yve into dry clothes. Her skin was still cool from the pool, her breathing soft and shallow. Her body wasn't resting—it was surviving, pulling every drop of energy inward to heal.
He took the towel and gently dried her hair, patting instead of rubbing, brushing strands away from her face. She didn't stir. Not once.
A faint knock tapped on the door. It opened a little. Ava's face peeked through. "Hey… how is she?" she whispered as she stepped inside.
Dylan didn't look up. "She's not waking up."
Ava's expression softened. "Hmmm… she'll wake up soon. Don't worry too much, okay?"
She paused, eyes drifting to Yve's still form. "We're… we're having the funeral for Lara and Mia. Come out when you're done."
Dylan only nodded.
Ava squeezed the edge of the door before leaving, closing it quietly behind her.
For a moment, the room felt too still. Dylan stared at Yve—her lashes unmoving, cheeks pale, lips barely parted. He touched her forehead once, a brief, grounding motion, before he finally stood.
He stepped outside.
The air beside the manor was heavy, pressing against the chest. Maurice and David were knee-deep in the earth, shovels biting into the soil in slow, deliberate rhythms. Two graves. No way to soften that sight.
On a makeshift table lay two bodies wrapped in white curtain—simple, clean. The best they could do.
Joan stood nearby, shoulders shaking. Elena remained beside her, one steady hand resting on her back, anchoring her when she swayed.
Lucas caught Dylan's eye and gave a small nod—somber, understanding. No words needed.
Harrison stepped forward, voice low, worn thin.
"In just one day," he said quietly, "we lost two people… and another's inside fighting for her life."
He exhaled, gaze dropping to the open graves. "May the Heavens forgive us. And may they guide the ones we lost."
The wind slipped through the trees, soft but sharp, carrying everything no one dared to say.
Dylan didn't speak. He stood rigid—jaw tight, eyes fixed on the graves—because nothing he could offer would undo what was already done.
Footsteps approached from behind Dylan. Slow. Careful.
Emily appeared first, clutching a wicker basket overflowing with freshly picked flowers. Ethan walked beside her, Harry leaning lightly against him but holding himself upright.
Harrison turned, brows knitting. "Where'd you get that?"
"Outside," Emily said. Then quickly, before he could react, "Don't worry, Dad. Ethan and Harry were with me the whole time."
Harrison let out a long breath—half relief, half frustration. "Emily… flowers ain't worth you stepping out there with shriekers roaming. They're unpredictable."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "But they deserved more than sheets and dirt."
The words landed hard—slow, dull, painful.
Ethan shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. "She just wanted to do something. And… honestly… she ain't wrong."
Harry lowered himself onto a nearby chair, face pale but eyes steady. "It's the least we could give them."
Silence settled in thick layers.
Derek broke it quietly. "Their deaths… it didn't have to happen like this."
Lucas shovel froze mid-air. "No," he said. "It didn't."
Taylor stared down at the flowers. "If someone—if any of us—had just seen it coming…"
"No," Ethan cut in, firm. "Don't do that. Nobody knew Mia would snap."
Harrison exhaled sharply, jaw set. "Doesn't change the fact we failed to keep it together."
His gaze returned to the wrapped bodies. "I'd be lying if I said this wasn't… preventable."
Emily's shoulders finally gave. "Lara was teaching me how to braid rope," she whispered. "She said she'd show me the tight knots next week." Tears spilled freely now. "She was planning for next week."
Harlene wiped her cheek, her hand shaking as she stared at Dylan—stared straight through him. "You didn't have to shoot her," she whispered. The words trembled, but the edge was sharp.
Dylan didn't flinch. Didn't defend himself.
He stood there—still, heavy—soaked in the memory of pulling the trigger.
Harlene stepped closer. Tears spilled freely now.
"You killed her," she said.
Then, quieter. Worse.
"You murderer."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Lucas lowered his gaze. Taylor's breath hitched. The accusation had nowhere to go. It just hung there.
Dylan said nothing. Only took it.
"Harlene…" Harrison reached for her arm. "That's enough. No one is to blame for what happened."
"Yes there is." Her finger lifted, shaking, pointing straight at Dylan. "He pulled the trigger."
The air tightened. Breathing felt loud.
Still. Dylan didn't speak. He let every word strike and stay.
"And for what?" Harlene pressed, bitterness spilling through her grief. "For nothing."
That was when Dylan lifted his head. "Yve ain't nothing."
Low. Steady. No anger—just a line drawn in pain.
Harlene froze.
For a moment, she saw it in his eyes: the regret, the exhaustion—and beneath it, the certainty of a man who had already chosen which sin he could live with.
A beat.
Her voice rose again, thin and brittle. "Wow…" A hollow laugh trembled out of her. "You do have the eyes of a killer."
Her lip quivered. Taunting Dylan. "What— you gonna kill me next?"
"Harlene." Harrison stepped between them. "That's enough."
But she wasn't done. She struck his chest with her fists—weak, uncoordinated, desperate. "Why are you taking his side?" she cried. "I'm your wife!"
Another hit. Softer. "You're supposed to take my side…"
Harrison caught her wrists, gently, and pulled her into him as she collapsed. "I'm not taking sides," he murmured against her hair. "I'm trying to keep us from falling apart."
She broke against him, sobbing.
Ava stepped forward carefully, resting a hand on her mother's back. "Mom…" she said softly. "Dylan did it to protect Yve."
Harlene stiffened. She pulled back just enough to look at her daughter—eyes red, breath uneven. "Yve doesn't need protection!" she snapped. "Can't you see that? Who survives a shot to the chest?"
Ava swallowed. Her voice stayed gentle. "Mom… Yve isn't a human. She's not like us."
Silence. Cold. Absolute.
Harlene stared at her daughter as if struck. "My point exactly!" she cried. "She's not human, Ava. She's not human."
Ava didn't take it back.
Harlene wiped her face with shaking hands and turned toward the wrapped bodies. She stared at the one that used to be Mia.
"But Mia is," she whispered.
Her lip trembled. "And we humans…" Her voice fractured. "We're supposed to have each other's backs."
Dylan stepped forward—not threatening, not pleading. Just steady. "I'm sorry for what I did," he said quietly. "I feel guilty about it."
Harlene didn't hesitate. "Damn right you should be." Fury and heartbreak tangled in her voice. "If there's any humanity left in you—you should be."
Dylan didn't react.
Didn't flinch.
He accepted it like he'd been waiting for it.
Then he lifted his chin.
"But I ain't regretting it," he said.
Quiet. Unmovable.
"I'd do it again."
For a second, Harlene just stared at him.
Then she stepped forward—
SLAP.
The sound cracked through the stillness. Everyone froze.
Dylan's head turned with the force—but he didn't move. Didn't strike back.
Harlene's tears poured freely now. "You're a monster," she choked.
She turned away first—wiping her face harshly, refusing to look at anyone—and walked back toward the manor, fast and shaking.
Harrison took a step after her.
Ava caught his arm. "Don't, Dad."
He stopped.
"I'll talk to her," Ava said quietly. "Let's just… finish the funeral."
Harrison exhaled, long and tired, watching his wife disappear around the corner. His shoulders sagged. He didn't follow.
Instead, he turned back. He reached out and tapped Dylan lightly on the shoulder—no words. No judgment. Just acknowledgment.
Dylan didn't respond. But he didn't pull away.
The graves were finally ready.
Lucas and Derek lifted Lara's body first, careful and deliberate. On the other side, Ethan and Harry took hold of Mia's shroud, bracing themselves.
Before they could move, Dylan stepped forward. "I'll do it," he said quietly.
Ethan and Harry hesitated. A look passed between them—uncertain, then understanding. They stepped back.
Dylan bent down and slid his arms beneath Mia's wrapped form. He lifted her with steady, practiced strength. He didn't look at her face—or what was left of it. He just carried her.
Maurice fell in beside him without a word, guiding him toward the grave. Together, they lowered Mia into the earth.
Emily stepped forward, clutching her basket of flowers.
She offered Dylan a small white bloom.
He took it carefully, managing a faint, tired smile.
Emily moved through the group next, handing flowers to each of them—soft colors, trembling stems, small offerings that felt painfully inadequate.
Dylan stepped to the edge of the grave. He looked down once, then let the flower fall into Mia's grave with a quiet, final motion.
The others followed—some turning toward Lara's grave, others toward Mia's.
Petals scattered over white cloth and dark soil, briefly softening what could not be softened.
When they stepped back, Harrison opened his worn Bible. His voice was steady, but it carried the weight of a man who had lived too much in one day.
He spoke of life.
Of death.
Of mercy.
Of rest.
Words meant to bring peace—landing instead like stones. He closed the Bible with a slow breath. "May peace be with us," he said softly.
No one moved as the silence settled, thick and unmoving.
David reached for his shovel but Dylan took it from his hands.
David paused. "You sure?"
"Yeah," Dylan said. Quiet. Certain. "It's the least I can do."
He stepped to Mia's grave and drove the shovel into the dirt. The first load fell with a dull thud onto the white sheet below.
Maurice mirrored him at Lara's grave, their movements falling into the same steady rhythm.
Two graves.
Two lives.
Dylan kept shoveling, each motion measured, relentless, an apology he would never speak aloud.
~~~
Celeste flipped the compass open again. Same direction. Same steady pull.
She let out a frustrated sigh. "How far did she go?"
Raine flicked her tail beside her, impatient. "We there yet, Ysa?"
"No," Ysa muttered, tapping the compass like it might respond. "It hasn't moved at all. She's really far."
Callista raised a hand, signaling the Pegacampus herd to speed up. Their bodies glided faster through the water, tails slicing the currents.
"We should rest soon," Callista said.
Ysa turned sharply. "Why? There's no time to rest."
"Celeste," Callista said firmly, "these poor creatures will tire if we don't slow down."
Ysa rolled her eyes. "What use is your gift if it's not gonna be used?"
"Because it's not meant for random boost of endurance," Callista replied, calm but stern.
"Urgh," Ysa groaned, glaring at the compass. "We're still so far. I don't think we're even halfway there."
From the front, Lysander turned his head. "Callista's got a point." He rubbed his stomach. "Besides… I'm kinda hungry too."
Ysa hesitated, annoyed, restless, but unable to argue with logic she didn't like. "Fine," she said at last. "Short break. At that clearing."
They reached a wide, empty stretch of seafloor—pale sand, untouched, silent. No coral. No fish. No life.
The Pegacampus slowed, folding their tails beneath them. Raine swam forward, eyes glowing faintly, the mark on her neck pulsing in rhythm. The creatures lowered themselves obediently.
Ysa hovered above the sand, scanning the water, her expression suddenly shifting. "I… I can't feel my sis," she said, voice tight.
Callista turned immediately. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," Ysa whispered, confusion shaking her. "I just… I don't feel her."
Raine placed a gentle hand on Ysa's arm. "She's fine, cous. She's tough."
Ysa's throat tightened. "I shouldn't have let her surface. If I hadn't… none of this would've happened."
Lysander snorted lightly—not mocking, just blunt. "You can try to stop her, but we all know you won't win that fight."
He glanced around the empty seafloor, then back at the three sirens. "Once her mind is made up," he added, "no one can change it."
Callista drifted closer, her movements deliberate. She brushed Ysa's hair back. "Celestia will survive this. Trust me, Celeste."
Ysa bit her bottom lip, trying to keep steady. A single tear clung to her lashes. "Yeah… she will," she whispered. "She has to."
Raine looked away, giving them space. Her tail flicked nervously.
Lysander stretched, rolling his shoulders. "I'll just go hunt for food," he muttered, failing to sound casual.
Without waiting for a response, he angled upward, fading into the darker stretch of ocean.
~~~
Maurice tapped the mound of earth with the flat of his shovel, leveling the last of the soil. Beside him, Dylan dragged in a long breath, wiping sweat from his brow. His chest rose and fell—muscles tight from the work, and from something deeper.
Silence settled over the group.
Then Dylan spoke. Quiet. Firm. Heavy. "I'm gonna take her back."
Every head snapped toward him. Lucas frowned. "Take who back?"
Dylan kept his gaze lowered. "I'm taking Yve back to the ocean."
Lucas blinked. "Why? She's healing, isn't she?"
Dylan didn't answer. He looked at Jenkins.
Jenkins stepped forward, pushing his glasses up. His voice was steady—but grim. "She is trying. Her body is not keeping pace."
He reached into his pocket and produced a siren scale.
Yve's.
Dry. Faded. Dull.
Lucas accepted it carefully, lifting it toward the light. The surface looked brittle. Wrong.
"This is hers?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
David took it and turned it over in his fingers. "This looks wrong."
Ethan nodded. "Doesn't look like it belongs to someone alive."
Jenkins didn't soften it. "Because she's dying."
Harrison stiffened. "What?" He stepped forward, panic breaking through. "That's not possible. I operated on her. No tears, no residue, no internal failure—nothing."
Jenkins met his eyes, blunt and unkind. "Doctor Harrison… how many patients survive a bullet through the chest?"
Harrison swallowed. "It only grazed her heart. The lungs…wasn't that lucky."
"Yes," Jenkins said. "And she still lost a critical amount of blood."
He looked down at the scale again. "I have identified a weakness," he continued. "Blood loss slows her regenerative ability. Her body is attempting to repair itself—and failing."
The words moved through the group like cold water. Lucas turned to Dylan. "So the ocean… that's the only chance?"
Dylan finally raised his head. "Ain't sure," he said. "But I gotta try."
Taylor's breath shook. "So we're… losing her too?"
Dylan's voice softened—not with emotion, but with truth. "As long as she's breathing, she ain't lost."
He set the shovel down with a dull thud, wiped his hands on his jeans, and turned away.
"Dylan," Lucas called. "One more thing."
Dylan paused.
"You still haven't explained that serpent."
Dylan's jaw shifted. "It's hers. Nierven'll protect Yve no matter what."
A beat.
"The two it killed must've been a threat."
Ava frowned. "What serpent?"
Elena raised a hand, eyes wide. "The one that nearly made me piss myself."
A few tired chuckles escaped—brief, involuntary. The first crack in the tension all day.
"I had it worse," David muttered.
Lucas shot him a look, then shook his head, a faint, exhausted smile breaking through.
Jenkins frowned. "What exactly are you referring to?"
Lucas shrugged. "No idea either. Ask Yve."
Ethan rubbed his arm. "I did see a decapitated hand on the porch."
Lucas nodded. "Yeah. Probably Ravena's. Or Draven's."
Emily grimaced. "That's disgusting."
"Tell me about it," Lucas said. "I watched a serpent eat two grown humans in under a minute."
Taylor's brow creased. "What were they doing in our bedroom though?"
"That's what bugs me," Lucas muttered. "If Yve hadn't showed up, they must've done something."
Ava hesitated. "What if they weren't human?"
The air went cold. Harrison frowned. "Explain."
"Seriously? I can't be the only one who always notices things." A beat. "They seemed… off," She added. "The way they spoke. The way they looked at us."
Ethan nodded slowly. "They kept referring to us as humans. Only people I've ever heard talk like that is… Yve."
Ava pointed at him. "Exactly. Yve does. Because she isn't one."
Silence chilled the air.
Even David's jaw tightened a bit, eyes narrowing—processing, not speaking.
Lucas stepped back, heart dropping. "Then what the hell did we let into our home?"
Jenkins adjusted his glasses, processing Ava's implication faster than the rest. "Maybe I can analyze it… Where's the hand, Ethan?"
Ethan scratched the back of his neck. "Uh… I tossed it outside when I accompanied Emily."
Jenkins blinked at him, incredulous. "What? Why would you do that?"
"Well, I can't let the kids see it," Ethan replied, shrugging.
Jenkins groaned under his breath. "Think you can get it back?"
"No, man," Ethan said immediately. "I've got better things to do."
Jenkins scoffed, exasperated. "Fine. Just tell me where you tossed it. Maybe I can find it."
Ethan rolled his eyes but relented. "Ask Harry… He'll take you there."
The group had barely begun to move when Maurice finally spoke up — his first words since yesterday, his voice low and rough. "I asked Dylan if there are others like Yve,"
The group stilled.
"He said he doesn't think about it."
Another beat.
Maurice looked down at the ground.
"Guess that answers it," he said quietly.
"There are other… different, more dangerous human‑like creatures than Yve."