The car skidded to a stop in front of the manor.
Ava was out before the engine cut, sprinting for the porch. "Dad! Mom!" Her voice split the quiet.
Behind her, Ethan and Maurice hauled Harry from the backseat. His body sagged between them, head rolling loose, blood dark and wet along his temple. They dragged him toward the steps, boots scraping stone.
The front door flew open as Taylor and Harlene came around the corner, laughter dying mid-breath.
"What—Ava, what happened?" Harlene said, already moving.
Ava folded into her mother, shaking. Harlene wrapped her up without a word, palm steady on her back.
Emily saw the blood and froze.
"Aah—what happened to him?" The sound tore out of her.
"Lay him down," Harrison said. Not loud. Final. "Get my med kit!"
The room snapped into motion.
Ava took the stairs two at a time. Harlene stripped towels from the hall closet.
Harrison was already on the floor beside Harry. He tilted the man's chin, swept a light across his eyes.
"Harry," he said, calm and unyielding. "Stay with me. Hear my voice."
His jaw tightened a fraction as he waited.
Harrison checked Harry's pupils again. His jaw set.
"Stay with me," he said, low and sharp. "Don't go out."
Harry groaned, head shifting a fraction before settling again. Blood ran from a split near his hairline, soaking into his curls.
"Ethan. Maurice. Sit him up—easy." Harrison's hands were already steady on the towel, pressure firm but controlled. "I want gravity working for us."
They adjusted Harry carefully, bracing his shoulders.
"Emily—status?"
"Almost boiling!" she called from the kitchen.
"Good. We'll sterilize what we can." He glanced at Elena. "Get Jenkins' kit."
Elena was gone before he finished.
Harrison leaned in, light sweeping Harry's eyes again. "Follow it. Don't rush."
A slow blink. Another.
"Good," Harrison murmured. "You're still here."
Ava came down the stairs hard, med kit clutched to her chest. Harrison took it without looking, flipped it open.
"We're not opening anything," he said, mostly to himself. "Scalp bleed. Head trauma. That's it."
He cleaned fast—antiseptic, gauze, no wasted motion. Years of muscle memory.
"Talk to him," Harrison said. "Anything. Keep him engaged."
Maurice dropped beside Harry. "Hey. You look terrible." A pause. "Which is impressive, considering the day we've had. Stay awake—you still owe me a beer."
A weak huff escaped Harry before it turned into a groan.
"That counts," David said. "Do it again."
Harrison flicked a look at Ethan. "Tilt his head a little more. Slow."
Ethan adjusted him, hands careful, jaw tight.
The door slammed. Elena rushed back in with a mess of tools—forceps, clamps, a scalpel dulled by age. Harrison took the forceps and clamps, shoved the scalpel aside. "No cutting."
Steam rolled from the basin as Emily poured the boiling water. Harrison dipped the forceps, waited a beat, then went back to Harry. He found the worst bleeder near the hairline and clamped it cleanly. The bleeding slowed.
Maurice tightened his hold without being told.
"Harry," Harrison said, voice calm but immovable. "Look at me. How many fingers?"
He held up two.
Harry squinted. "Two."
"Good," Harrison said. "That's good. Stay with us."
He checked the pupils once more, then the clamp, then Harry's breathing—controlled, methodical. "Concussion," he said quietly. "He took a hard hit. We watch him. No sleep yet."
His eyes lifted briefly to the room, to everyone listening. "And whoever put him through a door," Harrison added, voice flat, "we'll deal with later."
Harrison stitched in short, tight passes, jaw locked, sweat cutting down his temple. When he tied the last knot, his fingers didn't shake.
Fresh gauze. A firm wrap.
"If he vomits," Harrison said, calm and absolute, "or if his pupils change, you get me. Immediately."
Maurice stayed crouched beside Harry, grinning thinly. "Hear that? You're not allowed to die. I'm not hauling your ass twice."
Harry managed a weak breath of a laugh.
Tires crunched outside.
Everyone stilled.
Ava turned toward the window—and froze. The military truck rolled into view.
Something hard snapped in her chest. She was out the door before anyone stopped her. It flew open, slammed against the wall as she stormed down the steps.
Mia climbed out of the truck like she was late for dinner. Unhurried. Unbothered.
The slap cracked across the yard.
"You fucking bitch," Ava said, voice shaking. "You left us. Shriekers were swarming—Harry almost died because of you."
Mia's head snapped to the side. She straightened slowly, eyes cold as she looked back at Ava. "I did what I had to do."
Ava laughed, sharp and broken. "What you had to do? We were fighting for our lives. You stole the truck and ran."
"I wasn't going to die out there," Mia said, chin lifting. "I just saved myself, is that so wrong?"
Ava stepped closer, fists clenched. "Harry's inside with stitches in his head. We dragged him bleeding while you drove off."
Mia scoffed. "There was no time. What did you expect me to do—stay and be stupid?"
Emily rushed out, grabbing Ava's arm. "Ava, stop—"
"Don't tell me to stop!" Ava tore free, tears streaking hot down her face. "She left us. She left my cousin."
Mia folded her arms, posture closed, eyes flat. "I'm not your babysitter. And you all made it back, didn't you? So why are you blowing this up?"
Something in Ava's chest broke open. "You're a fucking coward," she said, voice shaking. "That's what you are."
Mia's mouth curled. "Better a coward than dead. No one died, Ava. So maybe—just maybe—let it go."
Silence spread across the porch. Ava's hands trembled, but her voice steadied, sharp as glass.
"Wow," she said. "Where is all this audacity coming from?"
Mia rubbed her cheek where the slap had landed, unimpressed. "You done?" She jerked her chin toward the house. "I just want to rest. Get off my back."
Ava stepped closer. "Don't push me, Mia. I am done giving you grace."
Mia shrugged, eyes flicking past Ava toward the manor. Casual. Calculating. "Or what?" she said lightly. "Funny how you're screaming at me when your little mermaid wasn't even out there. Yve gets to sit safe while we're the ones risking our necks."
Ava went still.
"Don't you dare bring her into this," she said. "She had nothing to do with what you pulled."
"Oh, please." Mia's voice sharpened, venom slipping through. "Everyone bends over backward for her. Special care. Special rules. Maybe if she wasn't sitting pretty all the time, Harry wouldn't have needed saving."
That did it.
Ava surged forward. "Harry wouldn't need saving if you hadn't abandoned him!"
Taylor grabbed her arm. "Ava—stop—"
"Stay out of it!" Ava wrenched free, voice breaking open. "I almost died out there!"
Elena stepped between them, hands up. "Enough. Both of you."
"Both of us?" Ava laughed, hollow and disbelieving.
She pointed at Mia, hand shaking. "She ran. She stole the truck. And now she's standing here telling us it didn't matter because nobody died!"
Her voice dropped, deadly quiet.
Mia's smile widened—calm, cruel. "Why can't you just let it go?" she said. "None of you died. So why are you still clinging to it? Move on, Ava. Do you not know how to move on?" She added, air quoting the word "Move on".
Ava snapped.
"Move on?" she screamed. "You think I can just move on after what you did?"
Mia crossed her arms, voice cutting. "You think I wanted that? You think I like risking my life every time we need supplies?" She stepped closer. "Why is it always me out there? Why can't your precious Yve do it alone?"
Ava's head snapped up. "No one forced you to come. You begged to join the scavenging team—remember?"
"I said that because I was worried," Mia shot back. "Worried she'd get everyone killed. Because apparently y'all trust a fucking fish more than an actual human being."
Ava lunged.
Elena and Taylor caught her, arms locked tight as Ava thrashed. "Let me go! She's unbelievable!"
"Unbelievable?" Mia barked a laugh. "I'm the only one thinking straight while you're all blinded."
She reached for Ava—
And another hand clamped down.
Yve stood between them, fingers locked around Mia's wrist. Not trembling. Not angry. Just immovable.
"Enough, Mia," Yve said quietly.
Mia twisted, snarling. "Let go of me, you freak!"
Yve didn't raise her voice. "You do not get to speak like this."
Mia laughed, sharp and bitter. "Oh, listen to that. The siren giving sermons."
For half a second, Yve's grip loosened.
Mia shoved her.
Yve hit the gravel hard. Palms scraped raw. Knees split open. Blood bloomed bright against the dirt.
Dylan was there instantly.
He crouched, already checking her hands, her knees. Careful. Precise. "You alright?" Gravel in his voice. Nothing else.
Yve nodded, breath steady despite the sting.
Mia laughed. Low. Poisoned. "Look at that. Like a dog—running to his master."
Harrison's voice cut through the yard.
"Enough."
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
The space went still.
He stepped forward, eyes moving once—Mia, Yve, Ava. His tone was iron.
"You three. My office."
Mia's mouth twitched, almost amused.
Yve lowered her head, hands folding neatly in front of her.
Ava wrenched free of Elena and Taylor, fury still burning as she brushed the dirt from her shirt. She shot Mia a look that could've cut glass.
"I hope Dad throws you out."
"Ava." Harrison's voice cracked like a whip.
She stopped.
They followed him inside, the tension trailing behind them like smoke.
They passed the living room.
Harry sat upright on the couch, one hand pressed to his bandaged head. Tyler and Lily flanked him, chattering—bad jokes, made-up stories—anything to keep him awake. Harry smiled for them, thin but sincere.
Mia glanced at him and rolled her eyes.
Harry saw it. His smile faltered for half a second. Then he turned back to the kids, forcing it back into place.
The office door closed behind them.
Harrison moved behind the desk. Ava to one side. Yve in the middle. Mia apart from both of them, arms loose, posture unrepentant.
The space between them felt deliberate.
Harrison didn't speak right away.
He looked out the window, jaw tight. When he finally exhaled, it was sharp, controlled.
The kind of breath a man takes when the burden of the world is sitting on his shoulder.
His voice stayed low, even. Steel beneath it.
"I don't care what problem the three of you have with each other," Harrison said. "You do not drag it inside this house."
He turned fully to them.
Mia stood with her arms crossed, chin up. Ava and Yve kept their eyes down.
"You crossed a line today, Mia."
Mia opened her mouth.
Harrison cut her off without raising his voice. "My nephew almost died. My daughter almost died."
His hands came down on the desk.
The crack of wood echoed through the room. All three flinched.
"You will control yourself," he said. "Whatever anger you're carrying, you take it out there—on the shriekers. Not on this family."
His stare held Mia in place.
Her smirk slipped. Just for a second. Her chin dipped. Fear showed, quick and ugly.
The silence stretched.
Then Harrison's gaze shifted.
"And you," he said to Ava. "I did not raise you to put your hands on family."
"But Dad—"
"Enough." The word snapped flat. Final. "No more justifying. No more excuses. You three learn to coexist, or you will tear this place apart from the inside."
Ava broke the silence, voice tight but controlled.
"I'll apologize for the slap," she said. "But I'm not apologizing for what I said."
"Ava," Harrison warned.
She didn't look away. "Well, I won't, Dad. Not only was it the truth, but she needed to hear it."
Yve shifted, voice soft, almost hesitant. "Well… look… I've been around a long time—longer than all of you combined. Fighting over things like this… it just feels petty. Immature. And honestly, I'm tired of it."
She turned to Mia, head low, words careful. "If I offended you… or hurt you in ways I never realized… I'm sorry."
Mia rolled her eyes, exhaling sharp enough to sting.
Yve's voice stayed steady, carrying quiet weight. "I also apologize to all of you—for the trouble I've caused. Since I arrived, there's only been chaos."
Ava shook her head quickly. "That's not your fault."
"It is," Yve said softly. "I'm not numb, Ava. I know some of you are still uneasy. That should only push me to be more patient… more understanding."
Mia's voice cut through, sharp, sarcastic. "Look at you acting like the bigger person. All pure and innocent."
Yve lifted a hand, calm, measured. "I'm not acting, Mia. I'm trying to be more understanding and more patient."
Harrison's gaze settled on Mia. "Mia. Anything to say?"
Mia hesitated, then scoffed. "Well, duh. No. Why would I apologize for saving myself? No one's going to do that for me. Except me."
She spun on her heel and stormed out. The door slammed with a jolt that rattled the frame.
Harrison's shoulders sagged. He exhaled long and heavy.
"Sorry, Dad…" Ava murmured.
He looked at her, voice softer now. "You hurt? Go see Jenkins. Get it cleaned up."
"Yes, Dad…" Ava said quietly, then glanced at Yve. "Wanna come with me?"
~~~
They stepped into the living room. Dylan crouched beside the couch, pouring Harry a cup of water. Sunlight caught the sharp angles of his face, shadows cutting deep.
Yve tilted her head, voice soft, curious. "What about you? Did you get hurt?"
Dylan shook his head, "No."
Yve sighed, fingers brushing along his shoulders and neck, tracing for scratches. He caught her hands, brief but firm. "I'm fine," he said, short, sure.
Her eyes lingered, then dropped. "I should've come with you."
Dylan's jaw tightened. "Nah. Good thing you didn't. Can't risk you gettin' drained. Would've been worse."
Yve nodded and eased down beside Harry, hand hovering over the small blood trail along his cheek. "You need anything else?"
Harry groaned, forcing a weak grin. "No… just wanna close my eyes so bad."
Ava's voice cut in, sharp, protective. "Not happening. You close your eyes, you could slip."
Harry exhaled, sinking a little deeper into the couch.
Yve glanced at Dylan, voice soft. "You should all get checked by Jenkins…"
Dylan capped the jug. "You go ahead. I'll call the others."
She nodded, peeling away with Ava toward the lab.
~~~
The girls entered Jenkins' lab. The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air. Counters gleamed, but Ava's eyes caught something new: plastic curtains sealing off the center table where SR‑00 lay.
"Doc?" she called.
Jenkins' head appeared through the curtain, masked and shielded, eyes sharp behind fogged lenses. "Yes?"
Ava gestured. "That's… new."
Jenkins tugged the curtain, voice clipped, precise. "Containment protocol. If there's another breach, aerosolized blood and particles must be localized."
He gave the curtain a firm pull, checking the seal. "This will at least confine any fluid expulsion."
Ava blinked. "Okay… Dad said we need to get sanitized."
Jenkins didn't look up, tone steady, scribbling on his clipboard. "Stand near the secondary station. I'll finish this data set first."
The scratch of his pen filled the silence as he muttered under his breath: "SR‑00—vascular collapse post-injection…"
Minutes later, Dylan, Maurice, and Ethan stepped in. Jenkins finished his notes, set the clipboard down, and moved to a counter, picking up a large jug and four plastic cups.
He tipped the jug, amber gel gliding into each cup. "Grab one each," he said, clipped. "Do not get it in your eyes."
Maurice frowned. "Uh… first time. What is it, Doc?"
Jenkins adjusted his face shield. "Disinfectant compound. Broad-spectrum microbial eradication. Strong—avoid prolonged skin contact. Rinse thoroughly."
Maurice sniffed and recoiled. "Ergh. Smells brutal. What's in it?"
Without hesitation, Jenkins listed it like anatomy: "Diluted Chlorhexidine gluconate. Soap base. Glycerin for dermal protection. Distilled water for dilution."
Maurice blinked. "Sounds like rocket fuel."
Jenkins slid a towel across the counter. "Not rocket fuel. Controlled antisepsis. Apply, scrub, rinse. Next."
Dylan leaned against the counter, tipping the harsh-smelling liquid. His eyes caught a patch of raw redness creeping up Jenkins' neck. "What happened there?" Dylan asked, gravel in his voice. "Looks nasty."
Jenkins didn't pause, still jotting notes. "Chemical burns. Occurred during preliminary decontamination."
Dylan raised a brow. "What'd you use? Acid?"
Jenkins finally looked up, clipped and clinical. "Chloraprep. Isopropyl alcohol. Povidone-iodine. Immediate rinse initiated, no neutralization. Prioritized pathogen elimination over dermal integrity."
Dylan stared, then snorted. "So you cooked your own neck 'cause you were in a hurry."
Jenkins adjusted his mask. "Correct. Risk assessment favored pathogen elimination over superficial tissue damage."
Dylan shook his head, muttering. "You scientists are somethin' else."
"We are," Jenkins said, clipped. "Which is why I formulated this medical-grade soap compound."
Jenkins paused, then glanced up. "I heard what happened. Is Harry stable?"
Ava's eyes drifted over the scattered notes on his desk. She answered quietly. "He's fine… for now. Just hoping there's no clot."
Jenkins nodded once, clipped. "He needs to rinse off." He reached for a smaller plastic cup, poured half the disinfectant into it, and slid it across the counter. "Avoid contact with open wounds."
"Thanks, Doc," Ava said, taking the cup. The others murmured thanks and filed out.
Yve lingered, voice soft. "Anything else I can help with, Doc?"
Jenkins pulled open a drawer for his stethoscope. "Yes. I need to check your blood pressure. Monitor systemic response post-phlebotomy. See how your physiology is compensating for the loss of one unit."
He gestured to the chair. Yve sat, posture calm. Jenkins placed the diaphragm against her chest, listening carefully. Expression unreadable, he noted something on his clipboard. "Cardiac rhythm—stable."
He moved behind her, listening to her lungs, then circled back, lifting a penlight. "Look straight ahead."
The beam hit her eyes. Pupils constricted rapidly, blade-thin and precise.
Jenkins froze for a fraction, murmuring under his breath. "Remarkable."
Yve tilted her head, curiosity bright. "What is?"
Jenkins lowered the light, tone precise but softer now. "You."
Her lips curved faintly. "Is that a compliment?"
"Yes." Jenkins jotted another note, clipped, unemotional.
He set the clipboard aside and adjusted the stethoscope. "Any dizziness? Lightheadedness?"
Yve shook her head, voice soft but sure. "No… I feel fine."
Jenkins crouched slightly, gaze on her knees. "What happened there?"
Yve glanced down. "Oh… scraped them earlier."
Jenkins leaned closer, inspecting the abrasions. His brow furrowed. "I see… but why hasn't it healed?"
Jenkins reached for the medkit, antiseptic and gauze in hand. "Hold still."
His hands moved with clinical precision, cleaning the scratch. Not deep, but the tissue was abraded and inflamed.
"Hypothetically," he murmured, almost to himself, "could regenerative latency correlate with acute hypovolemia? That is—does the reduction of circulating blood volume impede rapid tissue restitution?"
Yve blinked, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Jenkins reached for the medkit, antiseptic and gauze in hand. "Hold still."
His hands moved with clinical precision, cleaning the scratch. Not deep, but the tissue was abraded and inflamed.
"Hypothetically," he murmured, almost to himself, "could regenerative latency correlate with acute hypovolemia? That is—does the reduction of circulating blood volume impede rapid tissue restitution?"
Yve blinked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You know Doc… I don't understand most of what you're saying. Can you… talk in normal words? At least with me?"
Jenkins froze for a fraction, then met her gaze. He cleared his throat, voice softer, less technical. "Right. Sorry. What I mean is—maybe losing blood slows down how fast you heal."
Yve tilted her head, lips curved. "Think so… wounds this small usually fix themselves instantly."
Jenkins hummed thoughtfully, securing the bandage. "So blood depletion compromises regenerative efficiency."
Yve shrugged lightly, teaseful. "You're doing it again."
Jenkins tapped his pen against the clipboard, voice calm but precise. "Sorry. I mean, in other words, if you lose too much blood, your body's systemic resilience is impaired… you could die, same as a human."
Yve's lips curved faintly, a shadow of humor. "Well… that's a scary thought."
Jenkins adjusted his glasses, tone clipped. "We're not so different after all. You still have a weakness."
Yve's voice softened, carrying quiet wisdom. "All living beings do, Doc. No one is invincible."
Jenkins nodded once, clinical. "Just be careful. I still have at least three vials of your blood—enough to analyze and determine what killed SR - 00."
Yve rose from the chair, smoothing her skirt. "Okay… you're the expert."
Jenkins added without looking up, his tone firm. "Next week, I'll draw another unit from you. So stay safe."
Yve nodded, her voice light but steady. "Got it."