Mia wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist as she fastened the st piece into pce. Her workshop was a maze of wires, scrap panels, and half-disassembled purifiers. The device on the bench gleamed—a strange fusion of Vassreln alloy and Terran plumbing logic, humming faintly with power. It had taken weeks to design, and longer to fine-tune. But it was ready. Her first real win against the odds that had been stacked against her for so long.

  Asrell drifted across her thoughts like a zily swimming eel. "That's the st piece, yes? The shiny part goes in the hole?"

  She didn't even roll her eyes anymore, too accustomed to his pyful jabs. "It's called a flow regutor. And no, it doesn't go in a hole. It screws in over the chamber to redirect pressure," she expined, her tone matter-of-fact but not unkind.

  Boring, he sang across her mind, but without malice. "You've fixed dozens of things now. The allure of the mystery is gone. But the sneaking? Now that I still like. Let's sneak and see what other wonders this pce holds."

  Mia packed the purifier into a sealed rucksack with careful precision, loading smaller parts and tools into their designated pouches. She had to do this in pieces—one wrong bump and the filtration core could rupture, undoing all her hard work. Her gloves clicked tight as she moved to the back wall of her shelter, rolled the shelf aside, and opened the heavy tunnel door, the weight of it a familiar burden.

  Cool air rushed past her as she descended into the dark, the chill raising goosebumps on her exposed skin. Even after all this time, the sensation was oddly comforting, a reminder of the world outside her makeshift sanctuary.

  "I'll talk to keep you calm," Asrell said gently, sensing her apprehension. "Did you know water is the only common substance that expands when it freezes? Also, it can dissolve more things than any other liquid. You Terrans are practically made of walking soup."

  Mia's ugh came low and brief, a rare moment of levity. "Thanks," she murmured, appreciating his attempts to distract her from the memories that threatened to surface.

  But a few turns in, her path came to a dead stop. Rubble blocked the way—metal, old stone, and fire-scorched concrete. The old tunnel had caved during the bombing, a stark reminder of the violence that had once torn through this pce. Of course it had, she thought bitterly, her hopes of an easy passage dashed.

  Her breath hitched, the air suddenly feeling tighter, heavier. Her heart smmed against her ribs as panic began to cw at the edges of her mind. The dark closed in, suffocating her with memories of metal scraping against her spine in the bcksite pit, the feel of bodies against her skin, trapped and powerless.

  "You're not there," Asrell murmured gently, his voice a lifeline. "You're here. You're building again. You're not a prisoner anymore."

  She nodded once, then twice, forcing herself to breathe through the rising tide of fear. Then she turned down a different passage, boots crunching over old gravel, determined to find a way through, no matter the obstacles in her path. She had come too far to let the ghosts of her past hold her back now.

  Eventually, she reached the old water tunnel. Ancient metal pipes groaned under their own age, patched with hasty welds that looked like they could give way at any moment. The smell hit her—chlorine, rust, and something worse, an acrid tang that made her nose wrinkle in disgust. The town was drinking this putrid sludge?

  "What the shit," she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief.

  The filter chamber was a complete mess, a tangled web of neglect and shoddy repairs. A cheap future-tech box from SVC had been duct-taped—crudely duct-taped with strips hanging loose—over cracked pipes that were surely leaking contaminants. Exposed wires dangled precariously, sparking intermittently, and there were no redundancy failsafes in sight. Just a blinking green light, mocking her with its false promise that the system was working properly.

  It wasn't. The filtration was barely functional at all, maybe 40% effectiveness if she was being extremely generous with her estimate. Mia clenched her jaw, feeling the anger simmering beneath her skin at the btant disregard for the town's well-being.

  "I have to shut the water off," she muttered, her voice ced with determination. This would not stand.

  "Then do it. I shall cheer with silent awe." Asrell's words held a hint of amusement, lightening her mood just a touch.

  She grinned faintly and pulled the valve, cutting off the water supply. In town, water lines would go dry for about ten minutes, a brief window to finish the install and set things right.

  Up above in the market square, Lena let out an ear-piercing screech as her watering can sputtered and died, the flow reduced to a pathetic trickle. "No. No, no, no! I have pnts, you shit-piping failures!" she wailed, her voice carrying across the square.

  Storming away from her stall, face contorted with rage, she stomped directly to the sheriff's office and burst through the door without knocking. Gavin was mid-process booking the town drunk when she unched into her tirade, words tumbling over each other in her haste.

  "I demand answers! This water stoppage is killing my business!" she shrieked, spittle flying.

  The town drunk, slumped in the corner, slurred a mocking response. "Lady, ain't no business. Ain't no shuttles tonight."

  Lena whirled on him, fury bzing in her eyes as she opened her mouth to y into him. Gavin, teeth clenched, prayed fervently for divine intervention to save him from this fresh hell.

  At that moment, Dane walked in, spotted the irate Lena, and immediately regretted not pretending to be somewhere else when he'd heard her banshee wail. Maybe he could have hid in a closet...

  "You!" she thundered, jabbing a finger at him accusingly. "You're the sheriff. Go look at the pipes!"

  He sighed heavily, resigned to his fate. "Fine," he bit out, turning on his heel to deal with this test disaster.

  By the time they reached the spigot by the market, water flowed again—clean, cold, and quietly blue, a marked difference from the foul sludge it had been.

  Lena didn't seem to notice the change, too consumed with ranting about compensation for her perceived losses. Dane stared at the flow, distracted by the odd color shift. But that wasn't the immediate focus here...he'd have to look into it ter.

  Back underground, Mia dragged a sleeve across her face, smearing dust, grime, and sweat... as she sealed the st valve. The purifier hummed to life, readings spiking green. It worked. It was working.

  "Yes!" she whispered, a small triumphant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. After weeks of toil, the system was finally operational.

  "What are we cheering at? That thing is doing a thing?" Asrell's voice echoed in her mind, ced with his usual sarcasm.

  "It's filtering the water. The town's getting real water now," she expined, unable to hide the hint of pride in her tone. Providing clean water was a basic necessity, but one that had eluded this community for far too long.

  "You are remarkably exceptional... for a Terran," Asrell said, his tone warm and teasing in a way that caught her off guard.

  She felt the glowing warmth of his words, surprised at the depth of what he was saying, she started to tease him back....

  Then came the sound. A sharp, ominous crack that cut through the air like a knife. She spun, eyes widening as a rusted pressure pipe burst, spewing ancient, brackish water in a violent bst. It smmed her full in the face, the force knocking her off her feet. She hit the far wall hard, pain exploding across her ribs as the air was driven from her lungs. She gagged—her mouth had been open, and the water was foul. Poisoned.

  The taste of the disgusting water, the taste transported her back, to the moment when she was barely breathing, naked, stripped of a name. Lying atop a pile of death and decay, the mountain of viscera beneath her.

  Even Asrell couldn't filter the horror fast enough. He felt it too—that day when everything reeked of desperation.

  By the time the pipe finished draining, she was already on her knees, vomiting hard, her body convulsing as it tried to purge the poisoned sludge. Each retch was a knife twisting in her gut, tears streaking down her face.

  "You're contaminated," Asrell whispered, his usual bravado repced by arm. "I'm... trying to help. Stay conscious. We're going home."

  She didn't remember getting up. One moment she was on her knees, coughing up water and bile, the next she was cwing her way through the tunnel with only Asrell's voice keeping her tethered to the present.

  She staggered into her shelter twenty minutes ter, soaked and shaking. Used her whole body to shut the tunnel door, the heavy metal groaning as it sealed them inside.

  Asrell whispered urgent instructions—get the clothes off. Shower. Disinfect. Move. His voice reverberated in her mind, tinged with frantic concern.

  She did as he instructed, peeling off the contaminated garments and stumbling into the small bathroom. Water scalded her skin as she stepped under the spray, but she didn't care. Her stomach was cramping violently, muscles were clenched. Her head pounded in time with her racing pulse. Asrell was working overtime to process the toxins flooding her system.

  "Food," he said, his tone edged with insistence. "You need food, Mia. Replenish your strength."

  She shook her head, droplets flying from her damp hair. "Later," she rasped, the word scraping her raw throat.

  Naked and trembling, she crawled into bed, curling on her side as if to protect herself from an unseen threat. Her whole body ached, muscles screaming in protest from the ordeal.

  Asrell murmured softly, his soothing tones filling her mind as he spoke of stars he'd seen in distant gaxies, of creatures from his home world, trying to keep her calm and distracted from the pain. His voice washed over her like a gentle wave, and she clung to the sound like a lifeline.

  She listened, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment.

  And slowly, under the hum of his voice, she slept, her body granting her a momentary reprieve from the trauma.

  Mia woke slowly, her head heavy and limbs reluctant to move. The air in the shelter was still, warm against her skin. She blinked at the ceiling, then shifted with a soft groan—her muscles felt like rubber bands pulled too far. Every movement seemed to drain her energy, leaving her exhausted.

  Asrell's voice was gentle, more of a ripple in her thoughts than a tone. "You didn't sleep well. You kept twitching. Dreaming too hard." His presence usually filled her mind like a warm hum, but today, it felt subdued, like a radio turned low.

  "I feel... okay," she murmured, though her throat was dry and her joints ached like she'd been walking through deep snow. A strange fog lingered in her head—not pain, but a numbness behind her eyes and along the back of her neck. Something unshaken, a heaviness that weighed her down.

  Asrell was quiet again, not gone but quieter than usual. He noticed her lethargy but didn't mention it, sensing her unspoken discomfort.

  Mia pushed herself upright with effort, bones creaking, and swung her legs off the bed. The second purifier was sitting neatly packed in its case near the door, ready to be deployed. It was a short walk to the agriculture tap-off—a job she had pnned to knock out today before town got wise to the improvements. But her body protested, goosebumps prickling her arms as she zipped up her coat, shivering despite the room's warmth.

  Outside, the sky was pale and still. Sand barely moved, the dunes tamed under a post-storm hush. She walked in silence for a while, each step feeling heavier than the st, until Asrell finally spoke again, his voice quieter than usual.

  "Are you... feeling slow today? Like the thoughts take longer to line up?"

  "Yeah," she murmured, her voice strained. "You?"

  "I don't get sick," he said, then paused. "But maybe... maybe this is something close. My senses feel... muted. Like they're gging."

  She frowned, her brow furrowing with concern. "It's just the bad water. Probably still lingering."

  They reached the agriculture tap-off—an old control panel buried in the side of a hill, crusted in sand and sun-dried algae. The hatch was half-shut. She pried it open with difficulty and swore under her breath. There was no filtration. Nothing. Just rusted piping and an inactive valve, long since shut off.

  "SVC didn't even try," she muttered, anger simmering beneath her exhaustion. "They probably bmed the dam damage and walked away."

  Asrell didn't respond, his silence heavy and weighted.

  She turned on the new system quickly, though her fingers fumbled, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Her legs felt like lead. Every movement drained her just a little more, leaving her breathless and shaky.

  The return walk felt like a trek across a continent. Sweat slicked her brow despite the chill in the air, and her breaths grew shallow and uneven. She stumbled, her steps faltering, as fatigue crept through her body like a slow poison.

  Asrell was still quiet, responding, but slowly. The pauses between his words stretched just a little too long. "You're doing fine," he said at one point, but there was a dey before it reached her, as if his thoughts were struggling to catch up.

  "Yeah," she whispered, unsure if she was comforting him or herself, her voice a mere rasp in the stillness.

  By the time she reached the shelter again, her hands were trembling uncontrolbly. Her fingers barely worked the code into the door. She made it inside, locked up, and stripped off her coat with monumental effort, her movements heavy and bored.

  She rummaged through her food stores and pulled out a nutrient bar, then another. Then a third. Her body demanded sustenance, craving fuel to replenish her dwindling reserves. She didn't even chew properly, just devoured them, her hunger ravenous and desperate. Then stumbled into the bathroom, spshed her face with water, and shivered hard, her body wracked with chills.

  Two pairs of socks. A long-sleeve undershirt. A bnket. Another. She yered them on, seeking warmth, seeking relief from the icy tendrils that gripped her bones.

  Then the bed.

  She colpsed into it and burrowed down, breath uneven, the chill deep in her bones now. "I think I've got a fever," she mumbled, her voice hoarse and strained.

  Asrell's voice was so faint, it was like a whisper in a dream. Maybe we rest. Just a little.

  "I'm not done," she said, though she wasn't sure she could stand again today, her body betraying her determination with its utter exhaustion.

  Tomorrow, he murmured, his words a gentle caress in her mind. We'll finish it tomorrow.

  She didn't answer. She was already asleep, her body surrendering to the fever's grip, seeking refuge in unconsciousness.

  Mia didn't stir.

  She hadn't moved in hours, her breaths shallow, skin burning beneath all the yers she'd bundled herself in before colpsing. Asrell hovered near the edge of consciousness, uncertain whether she was dreaming or drifting somewhere worse. And for the first time since their bond began, he tried to take control.

  It should've been easy—when she slept, he was fully in control. A simple shift. A hand was raised. A foot moved. A breath drawn deeper than before. The familiar dance of temporary possession had become second nature since their bonding.

  But nothing responded. Her limbs remained leaden, unresponsive to his will. The connection between them felt muffled, as though he were trying to reach through yers of static rather than the seamless neural pathways they normally shared. He pushed harder, concentrating his essence toward her motor cortex, but her body remained stubbornly, terrifyingly still.

  Her limbs were heavy, sluggish. He felt the fever now—their fever. The heat wasn't just in her flesh; it was in him. His awareness flickered like a faulty signal, deyed and stuttering.

  He tried again.

  Her fingers twitched.

  Barely.

  I need help, he thought, unfamiliar panic cwing at the edge of his mind. I need Elian. I need someone. But the command pathways were slow, like trying to move through water, or mosses, or space without air.

  He was sick. They were sick.

  He wasn't built to feel this kind of weakness, and yet here it was—curled into the marrow of the body they shared.

  A fever.

  A fever!

  After everything—after the pit, the experiments, the fusion of minds and marrow—it was a Terran illness that brought them low. Not a weapon. Not war. Not the centuries of hatred between his kind and hers.

  Heat pulsed through their veins, mocking him.

  How dare this body disobey? How dare it tremble?

  He seethed for a breath, fury coiling in his thoughts like a cornered beast.

  Then he exhaled, slow and shallow.

  Mia has survived worse. So have I. Rest has mended her before.

  His thoughts dimmed, folding inward.

  Then we rest.

  Above, the sky was beginning to shift—early morning light creeping across the sand. But in the shelter below, they slept on.