The afternoon sun pressed heavily over the compound, heat clinging to every surface as the sound of hammering echoed through the yard.
David drove a nail into the wooden frame with two firm strikes. Thunk. Thunk. He paused, rolling his shoulder before stepping back. "Okay, Luke — let it go."
Lucas released the plank carefully. The wood shifted once before settling into place. He nudged it with his palm, testing the stability, eyes narrowing in inspection. "That oughta do it."
David wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, breathing heavier than he wanted to admit. "What else is on the list?"
Lucas glanced down at the folded paper in his hand. "Just the solar panels," he said. "Fix those, and we're done for today."
David followed his gaze upward toward the roof, squinting against the sunlight. The panels sat crooked along the edge, one tilted at an awkward angle. "…And how exactly are we getting up there?" he asked.
Before Lucas could answer, movement caught their attention near the front gate.
Dylan entered first, carrying a long metal ladder over one shoulder. Maurice walked beside him, steadying the other end as they maneuvered it through the yard.
Lucas pointed toward them. "We use that."
David blinked. "Huh. That why they left earlier?"
"Yeah," Lucas replied. "Sent them to check nearby houses. Figured someone had to own a ladder."
The two men approached, boots crunching against gravel.
Maurice grinned as they lowered the ladder carefully to the ground. "Here ya go, Luke. Found this bad boy a few blocks out. Still sturdy too."
Lucas nodded approvingly. "Good work. Set it up over there — we'll fix that panel before sunset."
Dylan adjusted his grip and moved toward the house, already angling the ladder into position as the others stepped aside to make room.
Lucas tapped David's shoulder as he moved toward the set ladder. "Come on, man. Sooner we finish this, sooner we rest."
David let out a long breath, shoulders rising and falling. "Yeah… just give me a second. Gotta catch my breath."
He followed after him.
Lucas placed a foot on the first rung, testing the ladder with his full weight, shaking it hard to make sure it would hold.
"I'll hold it," Dylan said, already stepping forward and gripping the sides.
Lucas glanced down at him. "How you holding up?"
"I'm fine."
Lucas raised a brow. "You sure don't look like it."
"Yeah, man," David added as he approached with a toolbox in hand. "You look like hell. I've seen shriekers looking better than you."
Maurice chuckled. "Give him jagged teeth and no one'd know the difference."
A ripple of laughter passed through the group.
Dylan shook his head. "Aight, that's enough. Just go up."
Lucas smirked. "Alright, alright. Come on, Dave — before Dylan bites you."
David snorted and climbed after him, toolbox swinging lightly at his side.
Lucas and David climbed onto the roof and set to work repairing the solar panels, metal tools clinking softly against glass and frame.
Inside the lab, Dr. Jenkins hunched over a microscope, shoulders tight from hours of stillness. Papers and handwritten notes covered his desk in uneven stacks. Equations crawled across a nearby whiteboard — arrows, chemical structures, and crossed-out theories layered over one another.
He glanced up at the board, frowned, then adjusted the microscope's lenses with careful precision.
Silence settled again, broken only by the faint hum of equipment. A soft knock tapped against the table.
Jenkins jolted slightly and looked up.
Ava stood beside him, holding a tray with a steaming mug of black coffee and a small plate of food. "Time for you to eat, Doc."
Jenkins blinked, orienting himself back to the present. His gaze shifted to the tray. "Thank you… set it there," he said, nudging aside a notebook. "I'd rather not risk contamination — or coffee stains over irreplaceable notes."
Ava placed the tray carefully on a clear corner of the desk. "So," she asked, folding her arms lightly, "how's the research going?"
Jenkins adjusted his glasses "You prefer the unfavorable assessment or the encouraging one?"
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Let's start with encouraging."
"Every day yields new discoveries," he said. "Even failed experiments expand the dataset. Failure, scientifically speaking, is still progress."
Ava tilted her head. "But?"
Jenkins exhaled quietly, eyes drifting toward a refrigerated case nearby. "I am running out of Yve's blood. Only a few Vacutainers remain."
Ava frowned. "That sounds… bad."
"It is," Jenkins replied plainly. "Once supplies are exhausted, experimentation ceases entirely."
"I'm sure she'll come back," Ava said.
Jenkins gave a small, humorless breath. "I would not rely on that outcome. After what she experienced here, returning would hardly be an appealing decision."
"Nah," Ava said gently. "She'll come back. I believe in her."
Jenkins nodded faintly. "So do I. But belief does not obligate her. I would not blame her for staying away."
A brief silence passed.
"You close to figuring out a cure yet?" Ava asked.
Jenkins looked across his scattered notes, then at several petri dishes glowing faintly beneath sterile light. "No," he admitted. "I have tested only one shrieker subject — the result was catastrophic. My current obstacle is biological incompatibility. Either I must reduce the tenacity of siren blood… or discover a method for the human body to tolerate it."
He gestured toward the experiments. "I have trialed twenty pharmaceutical compounds. None produced stability. Frankly, I am beginning to suspect no human-designed medicine can safely interact with siren biology."
Ava stepped closer, studying the petri dishes. "Maybe," she said slowly, "it's because you're looking at this like a human problem."
Jenkins raised an eyebrow. "Clarify."
"Doc… everything we know about the world is just a fraction of what actually exists." She gestured around the lab. "Yve's existence alone proves that. And the Pegacampus? A winged horse diving into the ocean? That's not science fiction anymore — that's our reality."
She shook her head softly. "It's like we stepped into a fairytale and still insist the old rules apply."
Jenkins watched her carefully. "Your conclusion?"
Ava met his gaze. "You're afraid to look deeper through the looking glass, Doc. And honestly? We've barely even scratched the surface."
The words lingered.
Jenkins leaned back slightly, eyes drifting toward the whiteboard as doubt — and possibility — began rearranging his thoughts.
Ava paused at the doorway before leaving. "If I were you," she said, glancing back at him, "I'd start reading ancient scripts and old methodologies… not modern technology. Who knows? Maybe the answer you're looking for lies there."
She gave him a small nod, then stepped out, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft click.
Silence reclaimed the lab.
Jenkins remained seated, her words settling heavily in the air. He did not move at first. His fingers tapped slowly against his knee — a quiet, unconscious rhythm — as his gaze unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the walls of the room.
Ancient scripts.
Methodologies predating science.
The notion felt… improper. Unstructured. Unverifiable.
Yet the data before him refused cooperation.
After a long moment, he turned back to his desk. Papers lay scattered like fragments of failed certainty. Equations he once trusted now looked incomplete, assumptions exposed in the margins where revisions piled over revisions.
His jaw tightened.
Finally, with reluctant honesty, he admitted what he had avoided naming.
He was afraid.
Afraid to look deeper through the looking glass — not because it lacked logic, but because it might demand abandoning everything he understood as logic.
Hours passed unnoticed.
The hum of laboratory equipment became the only measure of time as Jenkins sat alone, reflecting, dissecting his own thinking with the same rigor he applied to experiments. Hypotheses turned inward. Assumptions examined. Biases identified.
For the first time since beginning his research, he considered that the limitation might not lie in the samples…
—but in the framework through which he chose to see them.
And in that quiet realization, the boundaries of his work began, slowly, to shift.
~~~
Night deepened around the Manor.
Dylan spread his sleeping bag across the bed of the pickup truck, the worn fabric rustling beneath his hands. A small campfire burned a few feet away, its steady crackle pushing back the cold just enough to matter.
He climbed inside, pulling the bag over himself before settling flat on his back.
Above him, the sky stretched endlessly — scattered stars blinking through drifting clouds.
For a long while, he simply stared.
Memories came uninvited. Faces. Voices. The ocean. Yve.
His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't move.
The fire popped beside him, embers lifting into the dark.
From a second-floor window of the Manor, Taylor stood drying her hair with a towel, droplets still clinging to her shoulders. Her gaze drifted downward, settling on the lone figure by the fire.
Lucas stepped behind her, arms sliding around her waist as he pressed a slow kiss against her neck, breathing in her scent.
"Why does he never sleep inside?" Taylor murmured, eyes still on Dylan. "It's cold out there."
Lucas followed her gaze briefly before resting his chin near her shoulder. "Let him be," he said quietly. "He says he's not used to beds anymore."
Taylor brushed her fingers over his arms wrapped around her. "He'll get pneumonia at this rate."
Lucas chuckled softly against her skin, kissing her neck again. "I'm getting jealous. You don't worry like that with me."
She laughed under her breath and turned slightly toward him. "Of course I do. You're just too stubborn to notice."
Their lips met — slow, familiar, unhurried.
Taylor pulled back just enough to whisper, "Tyler will see us."
"I sent him to Elena's room," Lucas replied, a faint grin forming. "Figured he and Lily could have a sleepover."
Her brows lifted. "You didn't even tuck him into bed yet."
Lucas answered by kissing her again, deeper this time, guiding her gently back against the wall. His voice soft between breaths.
"I miss you…"
Taylor's hands rose to his shoulders as she leaned into him, returning the kiss with equal warmth.
Lucas didn't pull away.
The kiss deepened slowly, naturally — not rushed, not desperate, but heavy with everything they hadn't had time to feel these past weeks. His hand slid gently along Taylor's waist, fingers tightening as if reassuring himself she was truly there.
Lucas rested his forehead briefly against hers, eyes half-lidded.
"I miss the old days," he murmured.
Taylor smiled faintly, brushing her thumb along his jaw. "Me too."
"But I miss you more," he said softly, before kissing her again — slower this time, deeper, lingering.
She let out a quiet laugh that faded into the kiss as he guided her gently backward. Step by step, they moved across the room until the backs of her knees met the edge of the bed.
Lucas paused just long enough to search her face — a silent question.
Taylor answered by pulling him closer.
He eased her down onto the mattress, careful, deliberate, never breaking the kiss as he followed, bracing himself above her.
Their kisses grew warmer, more familiar, years of shared history woven into every movement. Taylor's fingers slid up to his collar, tugging lightly until Lucas pulled back just enough to remove his shirt, tossing it aside without looking.
She smiled at the sight of him — tired, scarred, real.
"Still showing off," she teased quietly.
"Only for you."
Her laughter faded as she reached for the hem of her own shirt, and Lucas helped her pull it free, his movements gentle, reverent rather than hurried.
The soft candlelight cast a warm glow across the room as Taylor shifted above Lucas, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. Her hair fell in gentle waves around her face, brushing against his cheek as she leaned down to capture his lips once more. Lucas responded with equal tenderness, his hands finding their way to her back, tracing the delicate curve of her waist.
His fingers danced across her skin, memorizing every contour until they encountered the small clasp of her bra. With practiced ease, he unhooked it, the subtle sound barely audible over their soft breathing. Taylor arched slightly against him, a silent invitation that made Lucas's heart race.
Taylor's hands began their own exploration, sliding down his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Her touch was deliberate and unhurried, each movement building anticipation. When her fingers reached the leather of his belt, Lucas felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him. She worked the buckle with gentle precision, her knuckles brushing against his waist as she freed the leather from its confines.
Their eyes met in the dim light, speaking volumes without words. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, each touch igniting a new wave of emotion. Lucas cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as he pulled her down for another deep, lingering kiss that seemed to stretch into eternity.