Ysa straightened slowly, water slipping off her hands as the glow faded completely. She looked down at David once, unimpressed.
"There," she said flatly. "Happy?"
Yve nodded, small but sincere. "Thank you."
Jenkins was already helping David to his feet, one arm braced around his back. David hissed once, more from habit than pain. Jenkins froze mid-motion.
"…Wait."
He leaned closer, fingers carefully parting the blood-soaked fabric at David's shoulder. Beneath it—nothing. No tear. No stitches. No wound.
Just clean, unbroken skin.
Jenkins stared.
Blood still streaked David's arm, still dripped from his sleeve—evidence of injury that no longer existed.
"How is this—" Jenkins stopped himself, breath hitching. He looked up slowly, eyes sharp, mind racing. "Is this magic?"
Ysa scoffed immediately. "It's not," she said. "It's a gift."
That answer only made Jenkins' expression more intense.
He turned toward Yve, already stepping closer. "May I inspect your wound?"
Yve nodded easily. "Sure."
She reached for the zipper of Dylan's jacket—
"Hang on," Dylan said.
Before anyone could react, he shrugged out of his shirt in one quick motion and stepped in front of her, pulling her gently back with one hand.
"Wear this."
Yve blinked. "You have no clothes."
"It's okay," he muttered. "Your shirt's torn."
She hesitated, then frowned up at him. "Then wear the jacket at least. It's cold."
Behind them, Ysa rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't stick.
Lysander leaned toward Raine, voice low. "I can do that to her…"
Raine didn't even look at him. "Then why aren't you?"
Yve slipped into Dylan's shirt, the fabric hanging loose on her. Jenkins gestured her gently a few steps away from the group, far enough for privacy but not isolation.
"Just a moment," he said.
Yve nodded again and lifted the hem of the shirt. Jenkins crouched slightly, inspecting her chest carefully.
No scar.
No stitching.
No sign that her skin had ever been opened.
Jenkins exhaled slowly, long and controlled, like a man trying not to let his entire worldview fracture in half.
"I have a lot of questions, Yve," he said quietly.
She smiled at him—soft, tired, but genuine.
"I'll answer them all, Doc," she said. "Don't worry."
~~~
The shoreline slowly shifted from chaos to something quieter.
Wet clothes were wrung out and laid over driftwood. Boots were emptied of water. The air was cold now that the adrenaline had drained.
Raine lifted her chin and turned toward the Pegacampus. With a soft, melodic click of her tongue, she gestured toward the higher stretch of sand near the driftwood.
"Rest," she commanded.
The creatures obeyed immediately—massive, elegant forms lowering themselves with surprising gentleness. Wings folded in tight, hooves digging shallow grooves into the sand as they settled, steam curling faintly from their bodies.
Lucas scanned the shoreline once more, then nodded to David. "You and I will grab blankets. Anything useful we can salvage for the night."
David flexed his healed shoulder experimentally. "Guess I'm good for heavy lifting again."
"I'll come with you," Yve said instinctively, already taking a step forward.
"No." Ysa's voice was sharp, absolute.
Yve stopped.
"You're still weak," Ysa continued, arms crossed. "Callista gave you energy, not recovery. It fades. You push yourself now, you pay for it later."
Yve opened her mouth to argue—then closed it. She exhaled, frustrated, but she knew her sister was right.
Her eyes shifted instead to Lysander. "Then… could you go with them?"
Lysander blinked, clearly not expecting that.
He smiled slowly, crooked and helpless. "It's very hard to say no to you."
Lucas gave him a measured look but nodded once. "Fine. Stick close."
Before anyone could rearrange themselves again, Lucas turned back to the remaining group. "Ethan. Ava. Jenkins. Stay here. Eyes open."
"Yes, sir," Ethan said automatically.
Ava twirled her shotgun once and planted it in the sand beside her boot. "Wouldn't dream of wandering."
Dylan had already turned away, scanning the edge of the treeline. "I'll find somethin' to burn," he said shortly. "Fire'll help."
~~~
The small hotel loomed like a hollowed-out carcass, windows blown out, doors hanging crooked on rusted hinges.
Lucas swept his flashlight across the lobby as he stepped inside, beam cutting through dust and rot. The smell hit immediately—stale water, mold, something sour underneath it all.
David followed close, boots crunching softly over broken glass. Lysander trailed behind them, nose wrinkling almost instantly.
"Disgusting," Lysander muttered.
David glanced back. "What is?"
Lysander's lip curled. "Since I surfaced… all I smell is the wind carrying rot. Meat left too long in the sun."
Lucas and David exchanged a brief look.
Lucas answered without hesitation. "Shriekers."
Lysander frowned. "Shriekers?"
David didn't sugarcoat it. "Corpses."
Lysander stopped walking. Slowly turned his head toward them. "You didn't bury them?"
Lucas kept moving, flashlight steady, voice flat. "They ain't exactly dead."
A beat.
Something shifted deeper in the hotel—wood creaked where it shouldn't have.
Lysander's expression darkened, interest replacing disgust. "Then what are they?"
David tightened his grip on his weapon. "Reason the world ended."
Lucas moved past the front desk, flashlight steady as he checked the corners.
"If you see one," he said evenly, "strike its chest."
Lysander glanced at him, expression cool. "I didn't come here for murder."
David snorted softly. "Didn't look like that earlier."
Lysander slowed, eyes flicking to him. "Earlier?"
"You looked like you could take all our heads off in one clean swing," David continued, dry.
Lysander's hand drifted closer to the hilt at his side. "You were holding one of ours. I wouldn't hesitate."
Lucas stopped walking.
"Yve wasn't captive," he said, voice firm. "And you won't be committing murder."
David added, blunt as ever, "Law doesn't work anymore. So you're fine."
He turned his head slightly, eyes still scanning the dark. "Unless you wanna get torn apart by them. Then yeah—go ahead and hesitate."
Lysander studied them for a moment longer, then looked forward again, jaw set.
"…Then we strike first," he said quietly.
Lucas nodded once. "Now you're gettin' it."
Lucas's flashlight cut down the hallway, the beam settling at the far end.
A housekeeping cart.
They slowed immediately, steps careful, weapons lowered but ready. Dust coated the metal frame, but the plastic wrapping on the contents was untouched.
David's face split into a grin. "Jackpot," he whispered, already rifling through it. He held up a tiny bottle. "I'm gonna smell good again."
Unopened shampoo. Soap bars still sealed. Folded robes, stiff with dust but usable.
Then—
A shriek ripped through the hallway.
High. Wet. Wrong.
All three froze.
"Stay quiet," Lucas whispered.
Lysander stepped forward without a word, head tilting slightly, eyes narrowing as he tracked the sound. His movements were smooth, deliberate—predatory.
Lucas and David exchanged a look.
As Lysander passed an open doorway—
The shrieker lunged.
David raised his rifle instinctively—
Lucas grabbed the barrel and shoved it down. "No."
Lysander moved.
Too fast.
He caught the creature mid-air, slammed it into the wall hard enough to crack tile, then twisted. There was a wet snap, followed by a violent, tearing sound.
The shrieker's head came free in his hands.
The body collapsed in a twitching heap.
Silence.
Lysander stared down at the remains for a beat, then exhaled slowly. "Sometimes," he said flatly, "I hate my gift."
Blood and stringy flesh clung to his hands. He wiped them against the wall without ceremony, smearing dark streaks across peeling paint, then turned back toward them.
David blinked once. "…Okay," he said. "So what exactly is your gift?"
Lysander didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned his back to them and pulled his shirt aside.
A mark lay on the back of his neck—etched deep into the skin, faintly luminous even now.
"Velaric," he said.
Lucas and David just stared. Then they looked at each other, neither uttering a word.
The hotel hallway fell quiet again.
Not peaceful. Just empty.
Lucas stood watch at the intersection, rifle lowered but still in his hands.
David crouched by the housekeeping cart, stuffing unopened bottles and folded towels into a duffel. He hissed when he shifted wrong, shoulder still sore even if the skin looked untouched.
"Feels wrong," he muttered. "Being healed like that."
Lucas didn't look at him. "You're alive. That's what matters."
"Yeah," David said. "Still weird."
Lysander stood a few steps back from both of them, posture loose, arms hanging at his sides. But his eyes never stopped moving. The slit pupils caught the flashlight beam now and then, flashing faintly before narrowing again.
"You move through buildings like prey," Lysander said suddenly.
David paused. "Excuse me?"
Lucas finally glanced over. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Lysander tilted his head, considering how to phrase it. "Careful. Quiet. Always expecting something to jump." His nose flared slightly. "Fear. Old fear. Lived-in."
David snorted. "Congratulations. Apocalypse'll do that to you."
Lysander hummed, unconvinced. "Still. Makes you look weak and easy to kill."
Lucas zipped the duffel once it was full and slung it over his shoulder. "We don't get the luxury of assuming we're the apex."
That earned a faint smile from Lysander. Not amused. Respectful.
"I noticed," he said. "You stopped him from firing."
David shot Lucas a look. "You mean when Prince Charming here ripped a head clean off?"
"You saw the angle," Lucas replied. "He had it handled."
Lysander's gaze slid to Lucas. Studied him. "You assess threats fast."
"Have to."
"And you trust your judgment," Lysander added. "Even when it involves strangers."
Lucas met his eyes evenly. "I trust patterns. Not people."
A beat passed.
David straightened, rolling his shoulder experimentally. "So," he said, breaking the tension, "you always do that?"
Lysander arched a brow. "Do what?"
"Rip things apart with your bare hands."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Not really. But only when enemies attack first."
Lucas didn't respond right away. The kind of look that weighed distance, speed, consequence. "Good," Lucas said finally. "Then we're aligned."
David let out a breath through his nose. "Yeah. Defensive murder. Big fan."
Lysander's lips twitched. "You joke to mask fear."
David glanced at him. "No. I joke because if I don't, I start thinking about how close that arrow came to my lung."
That earned him a look—brief, sharp—from Lucas.
Lysander studied David again, slower this time. "You didn't freeze," Lysander said. "Most mortals do."
David shrugged. "Didn't have time."
"Or," Lysander added, "you're used to violence."
David met his eyes. No smile this time. "You don't survive long out here if you aren't."
Another pause.
Lucas lifted a hand—not a command, just a signal. Both men went still.
Lysander's pupils narrowed further, slit thin as blades. His head angled, listening—not just to sound, but to movement, airflow, intent.
After a few seconds, he straightened. "It's moving away."
David exhaled quietly. "You sure?"
"Yes."
Lucas nodded once. Decision made. "We move. Now."
As they turned toward the exit, Lysander fell into step beside Lucas—not behind, not ahead.
"You protect your people well," Lysander said.
Lucas didn't look at him. "They're my responsibility."
"And her?" Lysander asked, casual but sharp. "Yve."
Lucas stopped. Just for a second.
"She's under our protection," Lucas said evenly. "Same as the rest."
Lysander held his gaze, then inclined his head. "Good," he said. "Then you understand why I'd tear this world apart if she were harmed."
They kept moving.
Boots crunched over broken concrete, the sound swallowed quickly by wind off the shore.
Lysander spoke again, tone casual, almost dismissive. "Yve doesn't really need protection."
David stopped short. "Hell no she doesn't."
Then he halted, turning just enough to keep both men in his sight. "But just for fun why'd you say that?."
"If mortals have disciplines," Lysander replied evenly, "taekwondo, kung fu, whatever names you give them—we sirens have ours too. Every life does."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you had your own versions of that stuff."
Lysander's gaze sharpened slightly. "Not since you started hunting us," he said. "And tearing apart our homes."
David muttered, "Fair."
Lucas absorbed that, then pressed, "You said she's trained. Why her specifically? Shouldn't all of you be?"
Lysander exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh—humorless.
"Our teacher focused on Yve," he said. "Because she was the only one born without a gift."
David blinked. "What?"
"Helpless," Lysander continued. "Powerless. While the rest of us had something to fall back on, she had nothing."
Lucas slowed his pace. "So they compensated."
"They overcompensated," Lysander corrected. "She started training at six."
David whistled low. "That's… young."
"We didn't begin until ten," Lysander went on. "By the time we learned how to properly hold a blade—how to cut without hesitation—Yve was almost finished."
Silence followed that.
David rubbed the back of his neck. "So you're telling me the one without powers is the most dangerous."
"In many ways," Lysander said, "yes."
Lucas stopped walking. "If she's that trained," he said carefully, "why did she let the bullet hit her?"
Lysander looked down. "I don't know," he said. "Ask her."
A beat.
"I wasn't there when she was shot."
~~~
The Pegacampus lay curled near the waterline, massive body rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Its wings twitched faintly in its sleep, feathers catching the moonlight.
Ethan hovered a few steps away.
Too close to leave.
Too far to touch.
Raine noticed immediately.
She leaned against a driftwood log, arms crossed, watching him with a knowing smirk.
Ethan shifted his weight, then finally straightened and looked at her. "Can I—can I pet them?"
Raine raised a brow. "No."
Ethan froze.
"They ought not be disturbed while sleeping," she continued calmly. "Or they'll kick you. Hard. You'll fly across the beach."
A visible shiver ran down Ethan's spine. His grip tightened on his weapon, eyes snapping back to the Pegacampus like it might wake any second.
Raine broke.
She laughed—full, sharp, almost cruel. Bent forward, hand on her knee, laughing like she'd been waiting for this moment all night.
Ethan just stood there.
"…What?"
"Oh, mortals," Raine said between laughs. "So gullible. So naïve. So fragile."
Ethan rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. Offended. Confused. "You didn't have to—"
"You can pet them," Raine cut in, waving a hand. "Just gently."
He blinked.
"And," she added, eyes flicking pointedly to his weapon, "put that down. Or then they'll kick you."
Ethan looked at the Pegacampus.
Then at Raine.
"Are you… serious?"
He didn't sound convinced.
Raine's smile faded just enough to make her point land.
"I'm serious."
Ethan hesitated—then slowly lowered his weapon, every movement careful, reverent, like he was approaching a god that might change its mind.
Ethan's fingers brushed through the Pegacampus's mane, slow and careful. The hair was warmer than he expected, softer too. He traced along the curve of its wing, breath hitching as the feathers shifted under his touch.
A wide smile split his face. His eyes burned.
"I thought Pegasus were only a myth," he said quietly, voice thick. "I could die happy."
Raine lifted a brow. "Pegasus?"
Ethan nodded eagerly. "Yeah. You know—beautiful winged horses." He glanced back at the creature, awe unfiltered. "It's always been my wishful dream to pet one. Never thought it'd actually happen."
"Sorry, mister," Raine said dryly. "Seems like it's still a wishful dream."
Ethan frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
"They're Pegacampus," she replied. "Not Pegasus."
He tilted his head. "Why is that different? They clearly look like Pegasus to me."
Raine glanced at the shoreline, then back at him. "Can your Pegasus breathe underwater?"
Ethan paused. "…No."
"Do their wings turn into tails?"
He blinked. "No—shit, they can do that?"
Raine's lips curved faintly. "These beings are a symbol. Born from the truce and union between the water realm and the sky realm."
"Sky what?" Ethan asked.
She shook her head once, dismissive. "Never mind. Your mortal mind was never meant to carry that kind of burdening knowledge."
Ethan looked back at the Pegacampus, petting it just a little more gently now.
"…Still cool though," he murmured.
Raine snorted. Then she shifted, brushing sand from her palm. Her gaze slid past the Pegacampus, past the firelight—and stopped.
Dr. Jenkins sat cross-legged near the campfire, notebook balanced on his knee. The flames lit the sharp angles of his face as he scribbled, paused, then looked up in their direction. Not staring. Observing.
"What's he looking at?" Raine muttered.
Ethan followed her line of sight. "Oh. Him." He let out a small laugh under his breath. "He's a scientist. Bet you right now his brain's… uh—overloading." He gestured vaguely at his head. "Trying to make sense of everything that's happening."
Jenkins glanced back down, pencil moving again. Faster now.
"Even I can't believe it," Ethan went on, eyes drifting back to the Pegacampus. "I mean—sirens? Sure. That's like… normal Tuesday now." He smiled, a little dazed. "But these magnificent beings?" He shook his head. "Damn. Feels like heaven."
Raine's eyes narrowed. "He better not be plotting anything against us," she said flatly. "Or I'll cut his hands off."
Ethan stiffened and raised both palms. "Woah, woah—chill." A nervous chuckle escaped him. "Why you always so feisty?"
She didn't answer. Just rolled her eyes and turned back toward the water.
~~~
Yve sneezed sharply.
Ysa, seated beside her on the sand, turned at once. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Yve said, rubbing her nose. "Just—something got in my nose." She blinked, then smiled, small and quick. "I'm fine now."
Ysa studied her a moment longer. Too long. "Hmm," she murmured. "You're getting weak."
Yve waved it off. "Nah. I'm fine. Really."
The fire crackled. Somewhere behind them, metal scraped against bone as Dylan worked through the tuna Callista had dragged in from the surf.
Ysa's voice softened, almost careful. "You know… mother misses you."
Yve's smile faded. "I know."
A beat.
"You're coming home with us, right?" Ysa asked.
Yve didn't answer.
She stared ahead, eyes fixed on the dark water like it might answer for her.
Ysa's expression shifted. Her jaw tightened. Brows lifted—not in surprise, but warning.
"Right?" she repeated, her voice colder now. Sharper.
Yve swallowed. "Uhmmmmm…"
Ysa let out a low groan, pushing herself to her feet. "After all this," she said, louder now, frustration bleeding through, "you're still not coming home?"
The raised voice carried.
Dylan paused mid-cut. He glanced up, knife still in hand, eyes narrowing as he took in the sisters' backs—one rigid, one shrinking.
"It's not that—" Yve started.
Ysa turned on her, fury finally breaking through. Sand shifted under her feet as she stood tall over Yve, shoulders squared, voice tight. "Then what is it, Yve?"
Yve stood slowly, brushing sand from the back of her shorts. Calm on the surface. Too calm. She lifted her hands between them, palms open.
"That's not what I mean…"
Ysa laughed once. Short. Bitter. "I've been nothing but patient. Understanding. Even when you decided to abandon us for these"—her gaze flicked toward the fire, the camp, the humans—"insignificant mortals."
"They're not insignificant," Yve said, sharper now. "They're my family."
Ysa's eyes flashed. "And I'm not? Am I not your family?" Her voice cracked, then hardened. "Damn it, Yve, you're being selfish."
"Please," Yve said, stepping closer, lowering her voice. "Calm down."
Ysa leaned in instead. "Don't forget," she hissed, each word deliberate, "your life is not all yours. If you die—" she tapped her own chest once, hard, "—I die."
The sound of the knife stopped.
Dylan straightened up from the tuna in one sharp motion, blood on his hands, shoulders tense. "Hold up," he said. "What do you mean?"
Ysa turned slightly, a slow, cruel smile touching her lips. "Ohhh. I guess you didn't tell them," she said lightly. "These so-called family of yours."
Dylan looked at Yve now. Really looked at her. "Yve," he said, voice rough. "What did she mean by that?"
Yve couldn't meet his eyes. Her shoulders sank just a fraction as she lowered her head, fingers curling at her sides.
Ysa didn't look away from Dylan when she spoke.
"Well, guess what, mortal," she said coolly. "Our lifeline is connected. She dies, I die. If I die—" her eyes finally flicked to Yve, sharp and unforgiving, "—so will she."
Then she turned and walked toward the shallows.
The water lapped softly at her ankles as she drew her sword. Steel rang low and clean in the night. She lifted the blade and set it beneath her jaw.
Everything snapped into motion.
Lucas, David, and Lysander broke into a run from the treeline, gear half-dropped, eyes locking onto the scene in seconds. Lucas raised a hand instinctively, slowing them even as panic cut across his face.
"Ysa—" Lucas started.
"Don't," she said without looking back.
She tilted the blade slightly, smiling thinly. "Maybe I should just speed up the process."
Yve's breath hitched. Tears spilled freely now, but her steps were steady as she moved closer, hands open, voice breaking.
"Please… Ysa."
The blade pressed tighter to her throat.
"You think I won't?" Ysa snapped. "I'm sick of it. Sick and tired of always watching you. Guarding you. Fixing things after you." Her voice shook despite herself. "For once. For once—won't you look out for me?"
"I'm sorry," Yve sobbed. "Alright? I'm sorry. I just—" she swallowed hard, chest trembling, "—I hated being cooped up down there. With nothing to do."
"Nothing to do?" Ysa laughed, sharp and wounded. "You have a life with us."
"Yes," Yve said desperately, "but I wasn't happy. Please—please, Ysa, lower the weapon. Don't do this."
The words only made it worse.
Ysa snarled and shoved the blade harder. A thin bead of blood welled, sliding down the steel.
"Do you know what I felt?" she hissed. "When you were shot?" Her voice cracked fully now. "It wasn't just pain. It was fear. Rage. Worry tearing me apart." She glared at Yve through wet eyes. "You're fast. You're trained. You could've dodged that bullet. Why didn't you?"
Yve broke.
Her knees nearly buckled as she cried, shaking her head over and over.
The others crept forward inch by inch.
Ysa's hand trembled—but she pressed the blade closer.
"Why didn't you, Yve?" she demanded, voice breaking sharp and raw. "I've seen you survive crossfire. Ambushes. War." Her teeth clenched. "A single bullet. One shot that could've killed us both. Why didn't you dodge? Why?!"
Yve shattered.
A sound tore out of her chest, half-sob, half-gasp. She bent forward, hands clutching at her own arms as if holding herself together. "Because he'd get hit if I moved!"
The words slammed into the night.
Silence followed—thick, stunned.
Ysa froze.
Dylan's breath caught hard in his throat. His eyes widened, fixed on Yve like he was seeing her for the first time and the last at once.
Yve lifted her head, tears streaming freely now, voice breaking with every word.
"That thought—it wouldn't leave me. If I dodged… the angle—" she shook her head violently. "Not moving felt right. I didn't even think. I just—"
Ysa let out a short, incredulous laugh and turned slowly toward Dylan. Her gaze was sharp, cutting.
"So," she said quietly, "you valued a mortal's life over yours." Her eyes narrowed. "Over ours?"
"It's not that," Yve said quickly, desperate. "I knew I'd survive. I knew you'd come. I trusted you. I trusted us."
That did it.
Ysa lowered the blade from her own throat, staring at Yve like she didn't recognize her anymore. She wiped at her tears roughly, scoffing, voice bitter and hollow.
"Ridiculous," she muttered. Then her eyes slid back to Dylan—dark, cold, resolved.
"If he's the reason my life is in danger," she said low, "then maybe I should just kill him."
"Ysa—" Lucas started.
Too late.
She moved.
Water exploded beneath her feet as she lunged, blade flashing silver in the firelight. Dylan barely had time to react—
Clap.
Steel rang.
Yve threw herself forward and caught the blade between her palms midair, hands slamming together around it.
Blood spilled instantly, bright and slick, running down her wrists and dripping into the sand.
"YVE!" Callista screamed.
The force drove Yve back a step, knees buckling, teeth clenched so hard her jaw shook—but she didn't let go.
"Stop," she gasped through pain. "Please—stop."
Ysa stared at her hands in horror. "You—are you insane?!"
She pushed harder.
More blood poured from Yve's palms, soaking her sleeves, but Yve dug in, muscles screaming, eyes locked on her sister's.
Lysander moved first.
He lunged in from behind, arms wrapping around Ysa's shoulders, locking her elbows tight.
"Ysa—enough!"
She reacted on instinct.
Her elbow snapped back hard into his ribs—once, twice. The impact echoed dull and brutal. Lysander grunted as the air left his lungs, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist free. She pivoted and drove the pommel of her sword into his jaw, clean and precise.
Lysander went down in the sand, skidding, stunned but alive.
"Don't touch him!" Callista shouted.
She and Raine rushed in together—Callista reaching for Ysa's wrist, Raine aiming low, fast. Ysa didn't slash. She controlled.
A sharp kick sent Callista sprawling. The flat of the blade cracked across Raine's shoulder, then her gut. Raine folded with a sharp gasp, dropping to one knee.
"Stay down," Ysa snarled, eyes glowing, scales flaring up her neck. "All of you."
Chaos rippled through the camp.
Yve spun toward the humans. Blood still streaked her palms, trembling but steady enough.
"Go," she said sharply. "Hide. Now."
Dylan shook his head immediately. "No. I'm not—"
"Dylan," Yve said, grabbing his jacket and shoving him back, voice breaking but firm, "please."
He froze—torn.
Lucas didn't hesitate. He caught Dylan by the arm. "This isn't your fight, Dylan."
David grabbed his other side. "You wanna live long enough to argue with her later? Move."
Dylan fought them for half a second—then looked at Yve.
She nodded. Just once.
They pulled him back, retreating toward the darkness, the others following fast, weapons lowered but ready, eyes never leaving the sisters.
Yve turned back just as Ysa snapped her gaze toward her again.
The air felt heavier now. Charged.
Yve stepped into the shallow water, she bent, fingers closing around steel as she pulled her sword free, water streaming off the blade.
When she straightened, she stood between Ysa and everyone else.
Blade down. Not raised.
"Please," Yve said, voice shaking, tears cutting clean lines through the blood on her hands. "Sister… stop this."