"ARRGHH—!"
The scream tore through the water.
The young siren doubled over, claws digging into her chest as her body convulsed. She staggered blindly, pressing one hand to a jagged rock for balance, breath coming in sharp, broken pulls. The pressure inside her only worsened—hot, ripping, alive.
"ARGHHH!"
A few meters away, a male siren snapped his head toward the sound and swam hard. "Celeste?" His voice cracked as he reached her. "Celeste—are you okay?"
She shook her head weakly, tears blurring her vision. "No… no, it hurts so much."
Her tails gave out. He caught her just in time. "Come on," he said, already lifting her. "I'll get you home. Hold on."
She nodded once, jaw clenched, fingers trembling as she clutched at him. The male siren carried her swiftly through the darkening waters, past stone and coral, until the walls of the Earth rose before them.
Embedded within the rock lay a massive door—an ancient clam shell, fossilized and veined with age. He struck it with his fist.
Once.
Twice.
After a brief pause, the shell groaned open.
Inside waited another female siren, older, her posture stiffening the instant she saw Celeste cradled in Lysander's arms. "Lysander—what happened?"
"I—I don't know," he said, breathless. "She just started screaming."
Celeste cried out again, her body arching as she clawed at her chest. "Mother—! It hurts so much!"
"Hurry," the older siren said sharply. "Bring her inside."
Lysander laid Celeste down upon the stone bed. As they did, the glow caught their eyes.
On Celeste's wrist, faint but undeniable, half of the Gemini constellation shimmered beneath her skin—like a tattoo made of light. It pulsed slowly, dark bioluminescence breathing in and out, wrong and unmistakable.
The older siren froze.
She leaned closer, fingers hovering just above the mark, dread tightening her chest as understanding slammed into place. "No…" she whispered.
Panic surged. She seized Lysander's arm, nails biting into his skin. "Ge—get Callista. Now."
He didn't argue. He turned and vanished into the water.
Celeste writhed, sobbing, her voice breaking. "Mother… it hurts so much. I feel like—like my chest is being torn apart."
The older siren gathered her daughter close, stroking her hair despite knowing it would not help. A tear slipped free, dissolving into the water as her gaze unfocused, drifting somewhere far beyond the chamber walls.
She whispered, barely audible— "Lucien… your daughter."
A few moments later, Lysander returned, escorting another female siren through the chamber entrance.
Her hair was pure white, flowing like spun pearl through the water, a stark contrast to Celeste's deep, storm-dark blue. The moment she crossed the threshold, the older siren surged forward and seized her arms.
"Callista," she said, voice tight. "Please. Can you check my daughter?"
Callista blinked, startled. "Y-yeah, of course. What happened?"
Then she saw it.
The faint glow along Celeste's wrist caught her eye, pulsing slowly beneath the skin. Half of the Gemini constellation. Dark. Unstable.
Callista went still. "Oh no…"
She moved closer, reaching out—
Celeste screamed. "ARGHHHHHH!"
Her body arched violently, tail thrashing as her claws raked against her chest, the sound raw and tearing. The chamber echoed with it. Then, just as suddenly, the scream cut off.
Silence.
Celeste went limp, her eyes fluttering once before slowly closing.
"No—" Yen whispered.
Callista pressed her fingers to Celeste's wrist, counting, steadying her breath. After a moment, she exhaled shakily and studied the glowing mark again.
She turned to Yen, her face pale. "Yen… Celestia is in grave danger." Her voice trembled. "I-I think she's dying."
Yen's hands shook as she clutched her daughter's limp fingers, terror flooding her eyes. "I—"
"The pain isn't coming from her alone," Callista continued quietly. "It's Celestia. Whatever is happening to her is tearing through the bond. The agony must have been so severe it crossed to her other half."
Yen swallowed hard. "There has to be something we can do."
Callista hesitated, then spoke with painful honesty. "Unless I can reach Celestia… only then can I help her." She looked up. "Do you know where she is?"
Yen's heart began to pound, dread crawling into every nerve. "She's… on land."
~~~
Back on land, inside the manor, everything unraveled at once.
Elena swept her arm across the dining table in one violent motion. Plates shattered. Utensils clattered to the floor. "Move it!" she snapped. "Clear it. Now!"
Harrison stormed in behind them, already rolling up his sleeves. His eyes locked onto the blood soaking Dylan's shirt. "Where the hell is Jenkins?" he barked. "I need him here. Now."
"On it," Emily said, already moving.
Dylan didn't answer. He laid Yve down on the table with a care that didn't match the blood smeared across his hands. His breathing was rough, uneven. He stayed close, one arm braced beside her head like if he moved she would vanish.
Her lips parted. A wet cough tore out of her. Blood spilled down her chin.
"Hey. Hey," Dylan muttered, voice breaking through clenched teeth. "Stay with me, alright?"
Harrison was already there. "Dylan. Press here." He guided Dylan's hand to her chest, firm and precise. "Don't ease up."
Yve gasped, body twitching weakly.
"Easy, sweetheart," Harrison said, calmer than the room deserved. "Easy."
Her wrist lay limp against the table. A half of the Gemini mark pulsed. Faint. Dark. Slow.
Ava saw it and froze for half a second before snapping back. "Dad. Her back."
"I know," he said. "Tilt her. Gently. Don't roll her."
Dylan nodded once. Did exactly what he was told. His hands shook anyway.
Blood was already spreading beneath her. "There," Ava said sharply. "Exit wound. Mid-back. She's bleeding fast."
"Pressure," Harrison ordered. "Hard. Don't stop unless I tell you."
Elena ripped fabric from a curtain without hesitation and shoved it into Ava's hands. "Use it."
Yve coughed again. Blood bubbled at her lips.
Her eyes fluttered. "It… hurts," she whispered, barely sound at all.
Dylan leaned down so close his forehead nearly touched hers. "I know. I know. Just hang on."
The doors slammed open.
Jenkins stepped inside—and stopped cold.
Blood everywhere. On the table. On Dylan's hands. On the floor.
Yve.
Her body jerked as she coughed, a wet, choking sound tearing from her chest. Red stained her lips, her chin, the front of her clothes.
Jenkins' breath caught. "Jesus—"
"Gunshot," Harrison barked. "Through the chest. Don't stand there."
That snapped him out of it.
Jenkins moved in fast, eyes scanning, mind racing. "She's coughing blood."
"I know," Harrison said sharply. "That's why she stays tilted. Ava, don't let her lie flat."
Ava adjusted her grip immediately, bracing Yve's shoulders as another cough wracked her small frame.
Jenkins hovered near her head, useless hands curling into fists. "Her breathing's uneven. Shallow. She's struggling."
"Watch it," Harrison ordered. "If it slows or she starts choking, you tell me immediately."
Jenkins nodded, jaw tight. "I've got her."
Harrison pressed hard against the exit wound, blood seeping between his fingers despite the pressure. "We're not stitching. Not yet. Too risky. We stop the bleeding first or she won't last long enough for anything else."
Dylan stood rigid beside the table, face streaked red, hands shaking as he tried to keep pressure where Harrison pointed.
"Don't let up," Harrison said. "No matter what."
Yve whimpered softly, barely audible, her body trembling.
Jenkins leaned closer, voice low, urgent. "She's losing consciousness."
"I know," Harrison replied grimly.
Blood soaked through the towels faster than they could replace them.
Harrison didn't look up. "Jenkins. Inventory. What do you still have that's clean."
Jenkins swallowed, eyes darting to the blood pooling on the table. "Not much. Most of my kit's already been used—unsanitized." He forced himself to think. "I've got… a few clamps. Two scalpels. Three—maybe four—forceps."
Harrison exhaled sharply through his nose. "That's not gonna do it."
He pressed harder on the exit wound as Yve's body shuddered beneath his hands.
"I need sutures. Real ones. Hemostats. Sterile gauze—actual rolls, not rags. Saline if there's any left anywhere. And something strong to sedate her before she goes into shock."
Lucas was already moving. "On it. David—you with me, man?"
"You bet," David said, already grabbing his pack.
Taylor spun toward them, alarmed. "Whoa—whoa, where are you going?"
Lucas didn't slow. "Serenity. Medical wing—"
"I said I'll go."
Dylan's voice cut through the room, low and absolute.
Everyone froze.
Dylan didn't look at Lucas. He was staring at Yve. Her face was pale now. Lips tinged blue. His hands were slick with her blood.
"You hold her down," Dylan said. "Keep pressure where he tells you."
Lucas frowned. "Why you?"
Dylan finally looked up, eyes hard. "Because I know Serenity better than you. Every back hall. Every shortcut. If you go, you waste time. Time she don't got."
Silence stretched—broken only by Yve's ragged breathing.
Ethan stepped forward, voice tight but steady. "I'll go with him."
Lucas hesitated a beat longer—then nodded. "Fine. Move."
They swapped positions fast. Dylan peeled away from the table without another word, already strapping on his gear. Ethan followed, grabbing ammo and a flashlight.
Harrison barked after them, "Don't come back empty-handed!"
Dylan didn't turn. "We won't."
The door slammed behind them.
Harrison refocused immediately. "Alright. Everyone else—listen to me. Ava, keep her angled. If she coughs, let her. Don't fight it."
Yve convulsed suddenly, coughing up blood. Ava flinched but held firm, hands trembling.
Lucas pressed down where Harrison pointed, jaw clenched. "Pressure's holding. Barely."
"Barely's enough for now," Harrison said grimly. "Jenkins—watch her breathing. You call it the second it changes."
"I'm watching," Jenkins said, crouched near Yve's head, voice strained. "I've got her."
Harrison tore another cloth and packed it hard against the wound. Yve whimpered weakly, fingers twitching.
"Stay with us," Harrison muttered, more command than comfort. "Don't you drift."
~~~
The engine screamed like it was being tortured.
Dylan drove as if the road owed him something. Tires skidded through turns. Debris flew. If cops were still a thing, he would have lost his license a hundred times over. He did not slow down. He did not look back.
They reached Serenity in half the time it should have taken.
The sun was already sinking, bleeding orange into the horizon.
Dylan killed the engine a block away. Silence slammed down hard. "Move," he muttered.
They went on foot, fast but careful, cutting around the side of the building. The front entrance crawled with shriekers. Too many. Bodies twitching, groaning, sniffing the air like they remembered the taste of human fear.
Dylan didn't even glance at them.
Side window. Broken already. He slid in first, rifle up, flashlight low. Ethan followed, breath shallow.
Inside, the air smelled wrong. Old blood. Rot. Dust. They moved slow now.
Flashlights swept across overturned gurneys, dried stains on the walls, claw marks carved deep into tile. Dylan led without hesitation, feet remembering the path before his brain did. Surgical wing. The place he and Yve had cleared before. The place that was supposed to be empty.
They checked the first room.
Nothing.
Second room.
Empty shelves. Torn packaging. No kits.
Ethan's whisper barely carried. "There's nothing left here."
Dylan stiffened. "Shit."
He spun around, jaw tight. "We dropped the bag near the entrance."
Ethan blinked, whispering. "What? Why?"
"When Maurice and I grabbed Harry. Had to ditch it." Dylan's mouth twisted. "Just hope it ain't soaked in blood yet."
Ethan swallowed. "Dude. The front's full of shriekers. One noise and we're done."
Dylan didn't hesitate. "Yve needs it. I got no choice."
Ethan grabbed his arm, urgent but quiet. "Then let's check the other rooms. Maybe something got missed. Going through the front is suicide. If we don't make it back, she's dead anyway."
Dylan yanked his arm free. "She don't got time for maybes. That bag saves us time."
He was already moving. Ethan cursed under his breath and followed.
They crept down the corridor, every step measured. Shadows stretched long as the light outside faded. Groans echoed somewhere deeper in the building, slow and hungry.
Dylan glanced back. "You still got that silencer?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah. Few rounds left."
Dylan frowned. "Thought you grabbed ammo."
"I did," Ethan whispered. "For the rifle. Figured the silencer wouldn't help if they swarm us."
"Damn it." Dylan held out his hand. "Give it."
Ethan passed it over. Dylan twisted it on, movements practiced, quiet.
Then—
Crunch. Glass.
Both of them froze.
The sound felt louder than a gunshot.
Somewhere down the hall, a shrieker groaned. Another answered. Nails scraped concrete. Bodies shifted.
Dylan didn't breathe. Neither did Ethan.
The corridor seemed to close in on them, every shadow suddenly alive, listening.
Dylan lifted his rifle slowly, eyes locked forward. "Stay behind me," he whispered.
They waited a full minute.
No movement. No footsteps. Just the low, wet breathing of the building itself.
Then Dylan lifted two fingers and moved.
They advanced slower now, every step deliberate. The corner loomed ahead. Past it was the lobby. Past that, the entrance.
Dylan eased around first.
The lobby was half-lit by dying daylight bleeding through the glass doors. A few shriekers wandered aimlessly, heads twitching, feet dragging in lazy circles. No pattern. No awareness yet.
Dylan raised the silencer.
Pfft. One dropped.
Pfft. Another crumpled.
He paced his breathing. Counted shots.
Pfft. Third.
Pfft. Fourth.
Click.
Dylan cursed under his breath. Empty.
He cut the flashlight. Ethan did the same. Darkness swallowed them.
They dropped low, crouching now. They slid behind overturned trays, the concierge desk looming like a broken barricade. From there, Dylan saw it.
Two duffel bags. Right by the entrance.
Their bags. Stuffed tight. The last of Serenity's supplies.
A single shrieker stood near them, swaying gently, head tilted as if listening to something only it could hear.
Dylan lifted his hand. Two fingers. Then a slow, slicing motion. Ethan nodded.
They crept closer. Dylan slid his knife free, grip firm, wrist loose.
The shrieker turned. Too fast.
Its mouth opened— A jagged, tearing shriek ripped through the lobby.
"Shit," Dylan breathed. One clean strike. Quiet.
Outside, the answer came instantly.
One shriek. Then another. Then many.
Bodies turned. Heads snapped toward the sound. The building seemed to wake up all at once.
"RUN!" Ethan shouted.
They grabbed the duffel bags and bolted.
Shriekers poured in from the entrance, shrieking as they ran, the sound rolling outward like a signal flare. More answered from deeper inside. From outside. From everywhere.
Dylan fired blind shots as he ran, dropping one, then another. Ethan spun and fired too, covering him. They traded turns without speaking, instinct and panic guiding them.
A door. Dylan slammed into it, shoulder first. They tumbled inside and locked it just as bodies crashed against the other side.
The door buckled. Dylan pointed. "There."
A window. He grabbed a chair and hurled it. Glass exploded outward. Cold air rushed in. They tossed the duffel bags first. Ethan went next, disappearing through the frame.
The door gave way.
Shriekers spilled into the room, clawing, screaming.
Dylan vaulted the window just as fingers scraped his boot.
They hit the ground hard and ran.
Shriekers poured through the broken window behind them, others already closing in from the front of the building. Too many. Too coordinated. Like they knew.
Like they were talking.
They cut through bushes, branches tearing at skin, duffel bags slamming against their sides. The car came into view.
So close. They threw the bags in and dove inside.
Dylan twisted the key. Nothing.
The engine finally caught.
Too late.
Shriekers were already on them.
Hands slammed into the windows. Claws scraped metal. Bodies climbed the hood, the roof dipping under the weight. The windshield spider-webbed as something threw itself full force against it.
"Oh fuck," Ethan breathed, panic breaking through his whisper. "That glass ain't gonna hold."
Dylan jammed the gas. The tires screamed, but the car barely lurched. Too much weight. Too many bodies. The shriekers clawed and shrieked, high and jagged, mouths slamming against the glass.
CRACK.
The windshield caved inward another inch.
Dylan swore and yanked them into the backseat. They crouched low, shoulders tight, rifles up, bracing for the moment the glass gave way.
Then—
Gunshots.
Not theirs. Too many. Too clean. Too fast.
The shrieks outside changed pitch. Bodies dropped off the car, thudding wetly against the ground. Blood splattered the windows in thick sheets, painting everything black and red.
More shots. Controlled. Relentless.
Silence followed, sudden and heavy.
Dylan and Ethan stayed crouched, breathing hard, ears ringing. Blood slid slowly down the glass like rain.
Ethan swallowed. "What the hell just happened?"
Boots crunched outside. Voices, low and muffled. Empty shells clinked against concrete.
On Dylan's side, the door handle clicked.
The door swung open. A gun barrel filled his vision.
Dylan raised his hands instantly, slow and deliberate. Ethan followed suit.
A man stood there, mid-forties maybe, face hard, eyes sharp, weapon steady. He looked them over like inventory. "Well," the man said flatly. "Out."
They stepped from the car.
The ground around them was a slaughterhouse. Shrieker bodies piled thick, skulls shattered, blood pooling between boots. Flesh hung from the doors, the hood, the mirrors.
A shriek cut weakly through the air behind them.
A woman stepped forward and crushed the creature's head under her boot. No hesitation. No emotion. "Hmm," she said, wiping her sole against the pavement.
Dylan's eyes flicked between them, jaw tight, heart still pounding.
Something had just changed.
The female's head tilted, a slow, deliberate motion that made Ethan's skin crawl. "Humans?" she murmured, almost to herself. Then a smile crept across her face, thin and sharp, her teeth and gums out, and Ethan felt a chill race down his spine.
Dylan's voice cut through the tension. "Who you?"
The man's smile was tight, unsettling. "You're rude."
Ethan raised his hands nervously. "S-sorry… he's just like that. Th-thank you."
The man's eyes flicked to him, and the smile lingered, twisted. "Hmmm. I like you."
The woman nodded at her companion, murmuring softly, "Hmmm…" She added, voice smoother but still off-kilter, "What are you two boys doing here?"
"Scavenging," Ethan answered, voice trembling slightly.
"Can you let us go?" Dylan added, firm. "Someone's countin' on us."
The two exchanged a glance. The man's eyes narrowed, gun inching closer to Dylan's cheek. "There's more of you?"
Dylan's jaw tightened. "What do you want?"
The man's grin widened, voice low and deliberate. "I ask questions. There's more of you?"
Dylan's brow furrowed. "Why'd you ask it like that?"
The woman stepped closer, one hand resting lightly on the man's arm. She guided the gun slowly downward, her voice soft now, almost coaxing. "Don't scare them. We're sorry… it's just so exciting to see a living human."
Ethan muttered, "You don't say."
"We… we've been wandering for months," she continued, eyes glinting. "Hoping to find more survivors."
Dylan didn't flinch. "Either you let us go or tell us what you want."
The woman hesitated, gaze flicking to the man, then back to Dylan and Ethan. "C-can we… join your group?"
The man coughed, subtle but sharp, and gestured for her to step back. They moved a few paces away, whispering quickly, words lost to the wind.
Dylan and Ethan exchanged a look. Ethan leaned in slightly. "They did save us…"
"I don't trust people," Dylan muttered, eyes sharp.
"Let's not lose our humanity just because a few people broke our trust," Ethan countered. "Let's take them in, Dylan. It's not fair to leave our saviors out here."
Dylan's jaw flexed. Hesitation lingered. "Dunno… they just seem… off."
"Dude," Ethan said, voice low but urgent. "We just almost died. You're overthinking it."
A tense pause. Dylan's eyes scanned them again, slow, calculating. Then he exhaled, sharp and deliberate. "Fine."
He straightened, voice louder now. "You can come with us. Just follow our vehicle."
Ethan and Dylan climbed into the car, the engine growling softly. Outside, the pair of new survivors exchanged glances, quick nods passing between them. Then, carefully, they followed, moving with a mixture of caution and curiosity through the wrecked landscape.
The air held a tense calm, Dylan's eyes stayed on the rearview mirror, on them, alert as ever, every muscle coiled, ready. Ethan's hand rested lightly on the rifle, still cautious, but a hint of relief touched his shoulders.
For now, they were together. But the unease lingered. Dylan knew better than anyone—trust wasn't given. It was earned, and these two… hadn't earned it yet.