David hit the water hard, knees slamming into the surf as the force ripped through his shoulder. The arrow dissolved on contact, energy dispersing into sparks that hissed out against saltwater—but the damage stayed.
"—Fuck!" he roared, teeth bared, one hand clamping down on the wound as blood bloomed dark through his fingers.
"Stay still," Jenkins snapped. "You move, you bleed out faster."
David laughed once—short, breathless, pained. "Doc… I don't think they're worried about OSHA violations."
Another ripple broke the surface.
Then another.
Figures emerged from the water—not stumbling, not gasping—but rising, calm and deliberate, like the sea itself had decided to stand up.
Dylan froze.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Skin catching the light of the rising stars, eyes reflecting it wrong—too sharp, too bright. And behind them, shapes unfurling wings that should not exist, hooves striking wet sand with a weight that sent vibrations up through the shoreline.
"What the hell…" Ethan whispered.
Lucas didn't answer. He was already tracking angles, distance, numbers.
Four sirens stepped forward. No rush. No weapons raised—except one.
At the center stood Ysa.
Her bow hummed faintly in her grip, ocean energy coiling tight, restrained but very much alive. Her eyes never left Dylan.
Never left Yve. "Step away from her," Ysa said. Her voice carried easily over the surf. Calm. Cold. Absolute.
Dylan didn't move.
He tightened his hold around Yve instinctively, one arm braced beneath her shoulders, the other steadying her at the waist as waves lapped higher against his knees.
"She's hurt," he said. Rough. Controlled. "Needs the water."
Ysa's jaw tightened.
"You don't get to decide what she needs," she replied. "You don't get to touch her."
Ava shifted, blade flashing. "Hey—maybe lower the glowing murder stick, yeah? We're not the ones who fired first."
Raine laughed softly, stepping forward just enough for the light to catch her smile. "You're standing on our shore with her blood on your hands."
Jenkins looked up sharply. "Her blood?" He gestured to Yve. "She's dehydrated, exhausted, barely conscious—we were helping—"
"Silence," Ysa snapped.
The word cracked like ice.
Jenkins shut his mouth—not out of fear, but because Lucas raised a single finger without looking at him.
Lucas took one slow step forward, rifle lowered but ready.
"We're not your enemy," he said evenly. "You fired on my man without warning. That puts us on edge—but it doesn't mean this has to get worse."
Ysa's gaze flicked to David—still kneeling, Jenkins pressing gauze hard against his shoulder.
"He lives," she said flatly. "That was mercy."
Lucas exhaled through his nose. "That was a warning shot that could've killed him."
"It didn't."
A beat.
The water surged higher.
Yve stirred.
Just barely.
Her fingers twitched against Dylan's arm, breath hitching weakly as saltwater brushed her skin. Color—faint, fragile—began to creep back into her cheeks.
Ysa saw it.
Her composure cracked.
"Yve," she breathed.
She took a step forward without realizing it.
Dylan's grip tightened.
"Easy," he muttered, not taking his eyes off Ysa. "She ain't leavin' my arms like this."
That did it.
Lysander's grin sharpened. "Bold for a mortal."
Callista moved fast—too fast—sliding between Ysa and the humans in a blur of motion, hands raised, palms open.
"Stop," she said. Firm. Clear. "This ends badly if we keep posturing."
Her eyes met Dylan's—not hostile. Assessing.
"She's alive," Callista said, softer now. "That matters."
Ysa rounded on her. "They brought her here like cargo."
"I don't think so," Callista shot back. "That's not how I see it."
Raine clicked her tongue. "You're getting sentimental."
Ysa's fists clenched.
The surf crashed harder now, waves slamming into legs, soaking clothes, dragging sand loose beneath everyone's feet. The sky had gone dark violet, stars pricking through the last of the light.
Lucas adjusted his stance. "Here's what's going to happen," he said calmly. "No one fires another shot. No one rushes. We let her stabilize in the water."
"And then?" Ysa asked.
Lucas met her stare without flinching. "Then we talk."
Silence stretched—tight as a drawn wire.
Ysa lifted her bow again. Her fingers coiled energy, shaping another arrow. A crackle of light danced along its form as she leveled it at David.
"Step back," she said, voice low and lethal. "Give me Yve—or he dies."
Dylan's grip on Yve tightened instinctively. His arms burned, his knees shook in the surf, but he didn't flinch. "I… I can't just—"
Lucas's calm voice cut through the tension. "Dylan—do you know who they are?"
Dylan's head shook slowly, eyes flicking between the sirens and Ysa. "No."
Ysa shifted a step closer, bow aimed steady, eyes narrowing. "Give her to me. Now."
The arrow's glow brightened, tension coiling in the air like a wire about to snap.
A subtle click echoed over the surf. Lucas had raised his rifle and loaded it deliberately—no shot fired, just the sound of the mechanism clicking into place.
Ysa froze mid-step. Dylan's jaw tightened. He finally dared to speak, voice rough and low.
"Who… who are you?"
Her bow lowered fractionally, eyes still fierce. "I am Yve's sister."
Something clicked in Dylan's mind. He remembered Yve's story. "Are you… perhaps… Celeste Ysa?" he asked carefully, cautious, searching.
Ysa's guard lowered just a fraction, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Yes," she said simply.
Dylan exhaled softly, steadying Yve in his arms. "Yve's twin…?"
"Yes," Ysa replied, voice firmer now, but still measured.
Ysa's gaze sharpened suddenly. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
"I'm Dylan," he said.
The name struck her like a spark. Her eyes widened slightly. "Dylan…?"
Dylan nodded, watching her closely. "Dylan Pierce."
A pause, sharp and heavy, hung between them. Then Ysa's lips curved just a little. Her tone was almost teasing. "Are you… perhaps… the mortal my sister has fallen for?"
Confusion rippled through the group. Ava whispered under her breath, barely audible: "I knew it…"
From the siren side, Lysander's jaw dropped. "What—?" His voice was a mix of shock and disbelief.
Dylan's arms trembled slightly as he adjusted Yve in his hold. He exhaled slowly, grit lining his jaw.
"Alright," he said, voice rough, reluctant. He tilted his head, motioning toward Ysa. "You… you can get her. But be careful."
Ysa's eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable. Dylan's arms stayed firm, holding Yve close. "She's… she's hurt," he added. "Gunshot to the chest. Harrison stitched it… but she's still not well. She can't take much more."
Ysa's lips curled into a faint, sarcastic smirk. "Humans and your delicate mortality. Always amusing."
Dylan didn't flinch. He just kept his arms steady, letting Ysa read the truth on his face: she was her sister's only hope.
After a tense moment, Ysa's bow and arrows began to dissolve back into water, curling and collapsing into nothingness. She knelt slowly beside Yve, her movements fluid, precise, predatory.
Without warning, she tore through Yve's shirt, careful but swift, exposing the makeshift bandage across her chest. Her eyes landed on it, and fury coiled in her chest like a living thing.
"What… have you done?" Ysa snapped, shoving Dylan back lightly but firmly.
Her eyes sharpened, pupils slicing into vertical slits. Scales began creeping along her cheeks, shimmering faintly, creeping up her neck. Predator energy rippled through her form, warning, dangerous.
"I—I'm sorry," Dylan muttered, voice low.
Ysa didn't reply. Her hand hovered over Yve's wounds, fingers quivering with controlled energy. Slowly, she pressed them onto Yve's chest.
A faint mark at the back of Ysa's began to glow, subtle but persistent. Water swirled gently around her hands forming a soft whirlpool over the stitch, reacting to her focus. Her eyes glimmered faintly—just enough for the glow to catch, illuminating the intensity of her concentration.
The humans froze, eyes wide, disbelief written on every face.
Jenkins' jaw dropped. He took a careful step forward, hands hovering uselessly. "I—I… that's impossible," he whispered, voice tight, almost trembling.
David blinked rapidly, still clutching his shoulder, mouth half-open. "She… she just—" He shook his head, unable to finish the thought.
The humans watched, stunned, as Yve's chest shifted beneath Ysa's hand. The stitching yarn from Harrison's work—tiny, coarse threads—lay on her chest, expelled, as if her body had rejected it. The wound beneath was smooth, seamless, the skin whole again.
Yve inhaled deeply, lungs drawing in sharp, trembling breaths, chest rising and falling steadily for the first time in hours. Dylan exhaled slowly, worry finally easing.
Ysa's attention shifted sharply. Her voice cut through the stunned silence. "Callista. Quick—use your gift."
Callista didn't hesitate. She rushed forward, knees brushing wet sand, and positioned herself beside Yve. One hand cupped Yve's head, the other pressing lightly against her stomach. A faint glow pulsed at the mark on her back.
Yve coughed suddenly, water spilling from her lungs. Her body jerked as she struggled to sit up, still pale and trembling, trauma etched across her features.
It took her a long moment but the instant her eyes locked onto Ysa, everything inside her fractured and gave way. "Ysa…" she whispered, voice trembling.
Then her arms fling around her sister's shoulders, burying her face against her neck.
"Shh… it's alright. I've got you," Ysa murmured, voice low, steady, protective.
Seconds passed like minutes. When Yve finally lifted her head, her gaze lit up with joy. She turned to the other sirens, her face radiant, almost glowing.
"You scared me," Raine said quietly, her voice soft but strained. "I was so worried."
Yve's smile broadened, tears still shimmering in her eyes. She finally turned toward the humans.
Her gaze landed on Dylan, and she froze for a heartbeat, seeing him bewildered, frozen, utterly unprepared for this moment.
She took slow, careful steps toward him. Dylan shifted, standing, hesitating.
Finally, he slipped off his wet leather jacket, hands slightly trembling, and slung it around Yve's shoulders.
Yve looked up, meeting Dylan's eyes. They were wary, haunted, the worry etched deeply behind them. She cupped his face gently with both hands.
A single tear escaped down his cheek, tracing a cold line over stubble.
Yve couldn't hold back any longer. She hugged him tight.
Dylan, the same man who used to flinch if anyone dared touch him — returned the hug, fiercely, tighter.
Dylan's lips barely moved, voice low, strained.
"I'm… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…" he whispered, again and again, over and over, each repetition raw, full of regret.
Yve held him tighter, pressing her forehead to his chest, listening to the rapid rise and fall of his breathing.
"It's okay," she murmured softly, voice steady despite the tremor in her own chest. "It's not your fault, Dylan. Really… it's okay."
He stayed buried in her shoulder, breath ragged and heavy, like he'd been running for miles.
Yve gently pulled back enough to cup his face in her hands. Her thumbs brushed along the tense lines of his jaw. "Look at me," she said quietly. "It's okay. It's not your fault."
"I—" he started, but she shook her head gently, pressing her forehead to his once more.
"I'm okay now," she whispered. "Don't worry."
Slowly, Yve hugged him again. This time she held him deliberately, firmly, letting him lean, letting him breathe, letting him release some of the fear and guilt he'd carried for so long.
"I'm okay," she said again, voice soft but certain. "I promise. Don't worry anymore, Dylan."
Yve finally let go of Dylan, taking a slow, careful step back. Her gaze fell on David.
He was still bleeding, one hand pressed over the wound, the other bracing him on his knees in the shallow surf. His face was pale, eyes tight with pain, but he had held on—stubborn, defiant, alive.
Gently, Yve reached out, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. She cupped him with care, her touch soft and deliberate. Then, slowly, she pulled back, eyes flicking upward toward Ysa.
Ysa's gaze met hers, sharp and unyielding. She raised a single eyebrow, a subtle arch that said more than words ever could: "What? Don't tell me you're mad at me."
Yve exhaled slowly, a quiet breath of resignation. She shook her head, lips pressed together in a small, tired smile.
Without hesitation now, she stepped closer and took Ysa's hands in her own. Fingers interlaced, strength and warmth grounding the tension.
"You need to heal him," Yve said firmly, eyes steady. "These people… they saved me."
Ysa's jaw tightened, a flicker of defiance flashing in her sharp eyes. She hesitated, one hand twitching as if to pull away.
"Fine," she said at last, voice clipped, almost reluctantly.
Yve gave her a small nod of thanks, letting the weight of trust settle between them.