The light above the basement flickered, throwing half-shadows over the old concrete walls.
The air smelled of antiseptic and rust. A faint sound of breathing came from the corner — Ariel, still weak, her fur patterned faintly with bandages.
Dylan set down a bowl of soup beside her and whispered,
"Eat. You'll need strength if you want to live."
Her golden eyes darted to his badge lying on the table — Officer Dylan Vefa.
"You should've killed me," she murmured. "That's what your people do."
"I'm not my people," Dylan said quietly.
The door above creaked open.
Hussain stormed down the stairs, his jaw set tight, the holster at his side glinting under the light.
"She's still here?" he snapped. "Dylan, the order was clear. Every hybrid is a threat!"
"She's not a threat," Dylan shot back. "She's wounded. She's scared."
"Scared?" Hussain scoffed, stepping closer. "She ripped men apart at that factory. You saw it! You think that thing—" he pointed toward Ariel "—deserves to breathe after what they did to Ali's men?"
Dylan's hand slammed the table, rattling the spoon. "Don't call her a thing."
Ariel flinched, curling into herself. The shadows trembled between them — anger, guilt, and loyalty all crashing together.
"You're losing it, Dylan," Hussain said, voice lowering. "Ali trusted you. He believed in you. And you're throwing it all away… for her?"
"I'm doing what Ali would've done!" Dylan yelled back. "He saved me when the world said I was nothing! I won't kill someone just because she's different!"
For a moment, the basement went silent except for Ariel's shaky breath.
Hussain turned, his eyes hard. "Then you better keep her out of my sight. Because next time I see that hybrid breathing—"
He left the sentence unfinished and stomped up the stairs, the door slamming shut behind him.
Dylan stood still, chest heaving. He could still hear Hussain's footsteps fading away.
Then a small, trembling voice whispered behind him,
"Why did you defend me?"
Dylan looked at her, his expression softening.
"Because once, someone defended me too."
He sat down beside her as the old light buzzed overhead — two broken beings hiding from a world that wanted them erased.
It had been weeks since the night Hussain stormed out.
The basement no longer smelled of blood and fear — it smelled of warm broth, candle wax, and hope.
Ariel could walk again. The wounds that once tore her skin had turned to faint scars beneath the fur on her shoulders.
Dylan had stopped wearing his police badge around her.
He said it made her eyes flinch, and he couldn't stand that.
Sometimes, late at night, she'd sit near the small window, staring at the stars.
"Do you think your god forgives monsters?" she asked once.
And Dylan, standing behind her, whispered, "He forgives those who still have hearts."
The next morning, they did it.
No grand hall. No priest.
Just two trembling souls and a dusty Bible on the table.
Dr. Mario stood as the silent witness, his eyes heavy with worry.
Ariel wore one of Dylan's shirts, tied around her waist like a gown. Her jaguar tail swayed nervously, brushing against the floor.
Dylan took her hand — warm, alive, real.
"Ariel… I don't care what the world calls you," he said softly. "Hybrid, beast, danger — none of it matters. From this day, you're my world."
She looked up at him, her pupils glowing in the candlelight.
"And you, Dylan Vefa… you're either the bravest fool alive, or the kindest."
They both laughed, nervous and free.
When they said their vows, Ariel's claws grazed his skin — not as a threat, but a promise.
A promise that even if the world burned, they would burn together.
When Dr. Mario pronounced them man and wife, Ariel's ears twitched as if she could already hear sirens far away — the world outside closing in.
But in that moment, all she saw was Dylan's smile.
She leaned forward and kissed him, her tail curling around his wrist.
It was warm. Pure. And dangerous.
For a heartbeat, even fate seemed to hesitate — unsure whether to bless or curse what it had just witnessed.
Six months passed like a dream that was never meant to last.
The city above grew noisier, and every siren that wailed in the night made Ariel flinch in the basement.
But beneath that noise, life was forming — quietly, miraculously.
Dylan came home one night drenched in rain and dust from another raid.
Ariel stood by the old mirror, her trembling hands brushing against her stomach.
The faint swell there said everything.
She turned when he entered, her eyes wide, uncertain whether to smile or cry.
"Dylan…" she whispered. "It's… it's happening."
For a moment, the world stopped spinning. The raindrops outside seemed to hang in the air.
Dylan dropped his coat and went to her, kneeling down, his hand resting gently on her stomach.
A heartbeat — faint, but real — pulsed under his palm.
He looked up at her, his eyes glistening. "Ariel… are you sure?"
She nodded slowly, her ears flicking. " I can feel them — tiny claws, tiny kicks."
Dylan let out a broken laugh, part joy, part terror.
"They…?" he asked, eyes widening.
She smiled nervously. "Twins, maybe. I can't be sure. I don't think humans have names for what grows inside me."
The thought both terrified and thrilled them.
Two lives — half human, half hybrid — in a world that hated both.
That night, Dylan couldn't sleep.
He sat beside her, watching her breathe, his hand never leaving her side.
"How do I protect you… from the world I once served?" he whispered into the dark.
Ariel's hand found his, claws softly tracing the back of his knuckles. "You already are. Just don't stop loving me."
The flickering bulb above them dimmed.
Outside, the wind carried whispers of new orders from the Intercom — hybrid raids, disappearances, "cleansing" programs.
But in that basement, beneath the weight of the city's sins, life refused to die.
And for the first time, Dylan Vefa — the runaway, the cop, the sinner — prayed not for justice, but for mercy.
The rain had softened to a quiet drizzle outside the old basement windows. The air smelled of earth and warmth — a rare kind of peace in a city that never slept.
Dylan sat cross-legged on the cold floor, a candle flickering between him and Ariel.
She was resting against the couch, tail curled around her like a blanket, one hand over her stomach.
Her eyes glowed faintly golden in the dim light.
"So…" Dylan began softly, "we should name them, right? Before the world tries to."
Ariel chuckled, tired but bright. "You and your speeches. You sound like you're baptizing the stars."
"Then let me baptize ours," he said, leaning forward with a grin.
She thought for a moment, her ears twitching. "If one's a boy," she said slowly, "I want his name to be Rodey."
Dylan tilted his head. "Rodey?"
"Yes," she smiled. "It means wanderer, doesn't it? Someone who never stops moving forward. He'll need that… in a world that might not accept him."
Dylan's chest tightened. He touched her hand gently. "Then Rodey it is."
He fell silent for a while, staring at the candle flame. "And if it's a girl…" he murmured, "Marie."
Ariel looked curious. "Marie?"
He smiled faintly. "My mother's name. She used to hum to me when storms scared me. Maybe she'll hum to our daughter, too, wherever she is."
Ariel's golden eyes softened. "Rodey and Marie," she repeated, the names rolling off her tongue like a prayer.
For a moment, the basement didn't feel like a hiding place anymore. It felt like a home — fragile, stolen, but real.
Ariel leaned her head on Dylan's shoulder. "Whatever happens, promise me," she whispered, "no matter what they say, they'll live free."
Dylan's throat tightened. "I promise."
Above them, thunder rolled faintly across the city — distant, like an omen. But down below, two names had already taken root, glowing softly in the dark.
Back to the present.
The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of the private hospital room, painting the white walls gold. The machines that had beeped through the night were now silent—because their patient was sitting up, stretching as if he'd just woken from a nap instead of surviving a near-death collapse.
Rodey yawned. "Huh. I'm starving."
Alikae's eyes twitched. "You—! You almost died!"
She raised her hand—then remembered the sleeping patients in the next ward and settled for smacking his shoulder. "You reckless idiot!"
Deniz leaned lazily against the doorway, eating chips straight from the packet. "Told ya, the kid's got a regeneration arc built into his contract."
Rodey blinked at him. "Contract?"
Before anyone could answer, Alikae turned, eyes narrowing. "You!" she barked at Deniz.
He looked up, still chewing. "Me what—?"
Her knee shot forward.
Thwack.
Deniz folded like a deck chair, dropping the chips, voice cracking an octave higher. "Ghh—what was that for?!"
"For trying to kill my fiancé!" she shouted. "Maybe this will help you remember not to hurt him again!"
He groaned, clutching himself. "Lady, I teach martial arts, not masochism—!"
Rodey winced, half-sympathetic, half-amused. "She, uh… really cares."
"Cares?" Deniz wheezed, glaring at the ceiling. "She just deleted my future family tree!"
Then he turned toward the air—toward you-know-who. "Hey, Author! You hear me? If you keep letting her kick me like that, I'm suing you for cruel character handling!"
Silence. The fluorescent lights buzzed. Dylan's shadow passed across the frosted glass outside the room, pausing just long enough for his voice to drift in:
"Deniz, stop yelling at invisible people. And try not to traumatize my son-in-law before the wedding."
Deniz groaned again. "Even the boss breaks the fourth wall now…"
Rodey laughed, the sound bright and alive—the sound of someone who had just cheated death.
Alikae smiled faintly despite herself.
For the first time in weeks, the air in the hospital didn't smell like medicine—it smelled like a new chapter waiting to begin.
The door swung open with its usual authority — only one person in the entire ward could make hinges sound like an announcement.
"Morning, everyone," Dylan said, stepping inside with that calm, heavy stride. He wasn't smiling, but the sharpness in his eyes had softened.
Alikae straightened immediately, still standing protectively beside Rodey's bed. Deniz, meanwhile, was still limping, one hand clutching a crushed chip bag and the other… well, somewhere safer.
Rodey looked up. "Boss— I mean, Dylan…"
"You can drop the 'boss' now." Dylan's tone was quiet but steady. "You're free, Rodey. The doctor's cleared you. You'll come home with us today."
Rodey blinked. "Free…?"
Dylan nodded once. "No more hospital walls. But that doesn't mean you're done learning."
Deniz perked up slightly. "Oh, oh—see? I told you he can't get rid of me yet."
Dylan turned slowly, his gaze cold enough to make the air freeze. "Deniz."
Deniz's grin faltered. "...Sir?"
"You'll teach him. But this time," Dylan said, walking closer until his shadow nearly covered the both of them, "no sparring games, no showboating. You'll teach him real fights. Guns. Knives. Poisons. The kind that leave no second chances."
Deniz blinked, hands raised. "Whoa, whoa—so, from playmate to assassin coach, just like that? You trying to make him me?"
"I'm trying to make him survive." Dylan's tone cut through the joking air. "You're the best weapon I have for that."
For a heartbeat, even Deniz didn't have a comeback.
Then, finally, he chuckled lowly. "Guess the author really is done with the comedy arcs, huh?"
Rodey looked at him, then at Dylan, confusion and determination mixing in his eyes. "If it means I can protect Alikae… I'll learn everything."
Dylan nodded once. His eyes lingered on the boy—just for a second longer than usual—before he turned toward the door.
"Good," he said. "Because the real war doesn't start with enemies. It starts with teachers."
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Deniz exhaled loudly, glancing at Rodey with a crooked grin. "Well, partner, looks like I'm your new nightmare. Let's hope you don't stab me again this time, yeah?"
Alikae folded her arms, smirking faintly. "If he doesn't, I might."