The city had not yet woken, but the ruins breathed. Mist curled low over the shattered street as Selene led Ethan away from the safehouse. Her boots made no sound on the cracked asphalt. Ethan's did, even though he tried to mimic her—he still felt heavy, clumsy, loud.
The Core inside him felt the opposite. It was light, restless. The faint crimson shimmer under his scarf pulsed with his heartbeat, warm against his skin. He thought about Selene's rules—tell me when it pulls too hard, fight to stay human—and tried to hold onto them like a lifeline.
"Where are we going?" he asked at last.
Selene didn't slow. "Outskirts. Old industrial yard. No eyes, no ears."
He adjusted the scarf around his forearms, hiding the glow. "And then?"
Her voice was flat. "Then you learn not to be a weapon pointed at yourself."
They crossed a toppled chain-link fence and entered what had once been a shipping depot. Cargo crates lay like beached whales, their sides flayed open by time. Rusted cranes leaned overhead like dying giants. Everything smelled of oil and rain.
Selene stopped at the center of the yard and dropped her pack. She scanned the perimeter with the same predator-stillness she always had. Satisfied, she turned to him. "This will do."
Ethan tried to keep his voice steady. "What exactly are we doing?"
"You're going to push the Core," she said, unstrapping her rifle and setting it aside. "And then you're going to stop it."
He stared at her. "Push it? That's—no. That's what it wants."
"That's what you need," she corrected. "If you don't understand its edges, you'll never keep it caged."
He swallowed. "And if I lose control?"
Her pale eyes locked on his. "Then I'll stop you."
The memory of her saying the same words last night flickered through him. He believed her. But for some reason, that steadied him more than it frightened him.
Selene stepped back. "Take off the scarf."
His fingers trembled as he unwound it. The glow beneath his skin was brighter now, as if the Core had been waiting for this moment.
"Close your eyes," she said.
He did.
"Breathe in. Not shallow—deep. All the way down."
He obeyed, inhaling until his ribs ached.
"Now think about what you felt when you killed the beast."
His gut clenched. "Why—"
"Do it."
He forced the memory up. The screech of the beast, the heat of its blood, the Core's exultation. The hunger bloomed immediately, sharp and sweet, curling through his veins like smoke.
"Good," Selene said, her voice still calm. "Now let it move. Don't fight yet. Just feel it."
The Core surged, eager, sensing an open door. Crimson light spidered across his arms, brighter with each heartbeat. His breath hitched.
Selene's voice came through, steady as a metronome. "Stay with me, Ethan. Describe what you feel."
He swallowed hard. "Hot. Fast. Like it's trying to—" His hand twitched. His claws flickered into being, faint translucent blades. "—take over."
"Not take over," Selene corrected. "Expand. It's instinct. You're the one who decides what it does."
"It doesn't feel like I'm deciding anything." His voice was shaking now.
"Then make it yours. Anchor it."
"How?"
Her voice dropped low, almost gentle. "Think of something that isn't hunger. Something that's yours. Hold onto it."
He tried. Faces flickered—people he'd failed as a paramedic, the ones he couldn't save when the world fell. The guilt had been his anchor once, but it didn't work now. The hunger was louder.
Selene's voice sharpened. "Look at me."
He opened his eyes. She was standing a few paces away, hood thrown back, her face bare. For the first time, he saw something unguarded in her expression—not calculation, but quiet intensity.
"Focus on me," she said. "Not the Core."
He locked onto her eyes. Pale gray, steady as iron.
"Breathe," she ordered. "With me."
He tried. In. Out. In. Out. The Core surged, then faltered, as if confused.
"That's it," she murmured. "You're not a passenger. Say it."
He whispered it. "I'm not a passenger."
"Louder."
"I'm not a passenger!"
The crimson glow flared once, bright enough to sting, then snapped inward like a shutter closing. His claws dissolved. His knees hit the ground.
He was trembling all over, but the hunger was quiet—still there, but smaller, contained.
Selene crouched in front of him, not touching but close enough that he could see the fine scar that curved along her jaw. "You did it," she said softly.
He blinked sweat from his eyes. "I—did I?"
"You stopped it."
He gave a shaky laugh. "That felt like drowning."
"It is," she said. "At first."
He sat back on his heels, forcing his breath to slow. "How long until it feels like swimming?"
A ghost of a smile touched her mouth. "That depends on how badly you want to stay human."
He looked at her then—really looked at her. The mist, the rusted cranes, the way she crouched like a coiled blade but spoke like someone who'd been here herself. For a heartbeat, the hunger inside him wasn't about blood. It was about understanding.
Selene stood, offering him a hand. "Again," she said.
He stared at her hand, then took it. Her grip was firm, grounding.
"Again?" he asked weakly.
"Until it's a reflex," she said. "Until you don't have to think about not losing yourself."
He exhaled, the Core pulsing once under his skin—quieter, obedient. "Okay."
As they moved back to the center of the yard, he realized his legs weren't shaking as much. The mist had thinned, and a shaft of pale red light cut through the clouds above.
For the first time since the Crimson Core fused with him, he felt like he'd reached out and touched its edge—and hadn't been burned.
He wasn't free. But maybe he wasn't lost either.
Selene glanced back at him, eyes unreadable. "You're not the only one learning, you know."
"What do you mean?"
She turned away. "Again," she said simply.
And he followed her into the mist.
The second attempt was worse.
Ethan could tell from the way the air shifted when Selene stepped back. She gave him no words this time, only a sharp nod. The unspoken order was clear: Do it yourself.
He inhaled, exhaled, and let the Core rise.
It came faster now, like a tide no longer afraid to drown him. His veins sang with heat; his vision pulsed crimson at the edges. He heard his own heartbeat as a drum, felt claws bloom from his fingers, thicker than before, slick with light.
Anchor it, he told himself. Make it mine.
But the hunger whispered: No. Make yourself ours.
His knees trembled. He saw Selene through a haze—her silhouette clear, but her features melting, becoming prey, blood, warmth. He wanted to lunge.
"Focus," she snapped.
He clenched his jaw. "Trying—"
The Core struck, a pulse so violent his ribs ached. His mind filled with images that weren't his: vast red fields, teeth gnashing, a voice laughing in a tongue older than the city. The Core's will.
He gasped and dropped to one knee. I'm slipping.
Selene moved—not away, but closer. She didn't draw her weapon. Instead, she crouched so their faces were level, pale eyes steady.
"Breathe," she said. "I'm right here."
"I—can't—" The claws were inches from her shoulder. "Selene, move!"
"No." Her voice was steel. "Look at me. Only me."
Her nearness cut through the hunger like a blade. The scent of her—smoke, rain, faint iron—shoved against the Core's alien perfume. His claws trembled, poised.
Selene didn't blink. "Say it again."
"I'm not…" His voice broke. "…a passenger."
"Again."
"I'm not a passenger!"
The Core writhed, hissed, then folded inward, retreating like a beast into its cage. Light bled away from his skin. His claws snapped back.
Ethan fell forward onto his hands, gasping. Sweat slicked his face; his heartbeat thundered. But the hunger was quiet, stunned.
Selene stayed crouched, her hands on her thighs, not touching him but close enough that he could feel the heat of her body. He realized she'd risked herself deliberately—if he'd lost control, she'd have been his first victim.
"Why would you…" He swallowed. "You didn't even draw your gun."
Her expression flickered—something softer than her usual mask. "Because you needed to see someone believe you could do it."
He stared at her, chest heaving. "You… believe in me?"
She looked away, hood shadowing her face again. "I believe you hate what's inside you," she said quietly. "That's enough."
For a moment, neither spoke. The cranes groaned in the wind above them. Mist curled like smoke between the crates.
Ethan sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his brow. "That felt… different."
"It was." She stood, brushing rust-dust from her knees. "It wasn't me holding it back this time. It was you."
He almost smiled. "Almost felt like swimming."
Selene's mouth curved faintly. "Almost."
He rose shakily. "So… again?"
"No." She slung her rifle over her shoulder. "Enough for one day."
"That's it?"
She hesitated, then glanced at the horizon. The mist was thinning, but a low, distant howl rolled through the broken streets. Not an animal. Not human either.
"We're not alone," she murmured. "Lesson two starts sooner than I thought."
Ethan felt the Core stir at the sound, like a predator scenting rival blood. His pulse spiked, but this time he shoved it down—and it obeyed.
He met Selene's eyes. "Then let's move."
For the first time, her lips curved in a real smile. "Good," she said. "You're learning."
They moved as one, slipping through the mist toward the fence. The howls echoed again, closer now, and Ethan realized training was over—the hunt was already coming for them.
And for the first time, he didn't just feel like prey.