The clinic was quieter now.

  The boys had been taken. Gavin's boots still echoed faintly in Elian's ears, but the sharp panic of the emergency had dulled into a heavy, clinical stillness. Elian's hands were steady as he adjusted the scanner panel over Mia's body.

  Dane had come back, after ensuring the boys were tucked in a cell, and now he stood near the far wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched, still processing what they'd seen—the scars, the colpse, the strange voice that spoke through her mouth. The shock of hearing him—Asrell—had jarred even Dane's calm, but now he was watching silently, wary but steady. Waiting.

  Mia's breathing had evened out, but her skin was pale, her pulse weak. Her body y limp under the scanner's faint glow. Elian had seen many patients in worse condition, but something about this... the stillness beneath her skin, the quiet undercurrent that should've pulsed with symbiotic energy... it wasn't right. A sense of foreboding crept over him, a premonition that something was gravely wrong.

  Asrell had gone quiet again, he seemed to be resting. His bioluminescence was brighter, so Elian knew he was fully online. Asrell had mentioned toxins, he wondered if Mia had been contaminated with something, her body fighting an unseen poison.

  Elian triggered the deep scan.

  Data flickered across the screen—internal vitals, cellur integrity, metabolic function.

  And then— He stilled. The breath in his chest caught. His eyes flicked down the chart. Then again.

  It didn't make sense.

  "No..." he whispered, his voice ced with disbelief and dread.

  The symbiote—Asrell—was stabilizing her, yes. Threads of regenerative energy spiraled down her spine. But deeper... beneath the surface... her organs were failing. The damage was extensive, pervasive, and irreversible.

  The scanner showed extensive damage: lungs with scarred tissue, kidneys functioning at sixty percent. Her heart—functional, but weakened, its rhythmic beat growing fainter with each passing day. Her adrenal system was overstimuted, her body in a constant state of fight-or-flight. The readings didn't lie. They painted a grim picture, a tapestry of decay woven into every cell.

  "She's still dying," Elian said, voice barely above a breath, the weight of the revetion crushing him.

  Dane's head jerked up, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

  Elian didn't look away from the data, couldn't tear his gaze from the damning evidence. "She's... this—this isn't healing. It's maintenance. He's keeping her alive, but barely. Her body isn't recovering. It's deteriorating. Slowly. Quietly. If anything disrupts that symbiote's connection... she won't survive." The words tumbled out, each one a dagger to his heart.

  Dane was silent, absorbing that, his stoic facade cracking ever so slightly as the gravity of the situation sank in.

  "She knew," Elian said, eyes stinging with unshed tears. "She knew. That's why she didn't want a scan. She knew this." His voice broke, the anguish he felt for his friend seeping through.

  Elian reached down and gently moved her hair back from her face, his touch featherlight, reverent. Her skin was warm again. She looked peaceful, peaceful in a way that made his throat tighten. Because now he saw it. All of it. Not just the surface pain, the guarded sarcasm, the quiet brilliance behind her stone face.

  But the fear. The endurance. The unwavering courage in the face of her own mortality.

  The hope, buried under miles of bitterness and survival, a flickering fme refusing to be extinguished.

  "She's been walking around with this," Elian said, almost to himself, "building things, fixing the town... and knowing she's only got time so long as that symbiote can keep up." His voice was thick with awe and sorrow, a potent mixture that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Dane's voice cracked, low, his gruff exterior giving way to raw emotion. "Why the hell didn't she tell someone?"

  Elian finally looked up, meeting Dane's gaze, his own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Because she didn't think anyone would care. And she didn't want your pity. Or mine." He shook his head slowly, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "But she didn't do this to be thanked. She did it because she couldn't not try. That's who she is."

  A silence stretched. A heavy one, den with unspoken grief and admiration for the remarkable woman lying before them.

  Elian gently adjusted the scanner again, letting it continue its passive monitoring. Then he lowered the light and dimmed the panel. Mia needed rest, her body and spirit both in desperate need of respite from the relentless struggle.

  "She'll wake up soon," he said, his voice a hushed whisper. "And when she does... we need to give her a reason to stay. A reason to keep fighting. Because if anyone can defy the odds, it's her."

  Dane shifted slightly by the wall, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. His arms were still crossed, but his hands had curled into fists.

  "The file said twenty-five shes," he said quietly. "It said she was sent to a minimum-level facility. That she was healed. That her punishment was carried out cleanly."

  Elian didn't move, didn't speak.

  "That wasn't clean," Dane continued, his voice rising like a slow storm. "That wasn't twenty-five shes. That was someone trying to kill her."

  His eyes flicked toward Elian, sharp and haunted. "And you knew. You knew she didn't just serve time. You knew this was more than that. And you let me walk around thinking she was some terrorist out on parole."

  The accusation lingered, raw and unfair—but it wasn't meant to wound. Dane needed something solid to grab onto, and Elian was the only one in the room who had any of this figured out.

  Elian turned slowly, his expression calm but resolute. "Yes. I knew. And I didn't tell you—because she's my patient. And because she asked me not to."

  Dane opened his mouth, but Elian cut him off, his voice firmer now. "You saw her back. You saw what she's been carrying. Do you think I didn't want to tell someone? That I didn't want to scream at the injustice of it all?"

  "But she came to me the day after she arrived, exhausted, and already being told she wasn't welcome here. You remember the town square. You remember the things people said."

  "You weren't there the night she walked into my clinic," Elian said softly, voice tight. "And I can't tell you—not fully. She asked me not to. But I'll say this, Dane—what they did to her wasn't punishment. What they did to her wasn't justice—it was designed to dehumanize her. And they never let her forget it. Not for a second. So, no Dane, you don't get to be angry with me."

  Dane's jaw clenched. He didn't speak. Didn't move. But something in his posture shifted—just slightly. His arms loosened. His shoulders dropped.

  And Elian saw it. Not anger. Not an accusation. Just... grief.

  He exhaled and stepped away from the scanner, his hands stilling at his sides before he crossed the room quietly.

  "I know," he said, gentler now. "You're not angry at me. Not really."

  Dane didn't deny it. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his voice low. "I trusted the file. I trusted the system. I looked at her and saw a criminal, Elian. A problem to contain. And she..."

  He didn't finish the sentence.

  Elian cupped his cheek with a cool hand, solid and steady. "You saw what they wanted you to see. The same lie they wrote into her record. But now you know better."

  Dane looked up, his eyes rimmed with something unsaid. Not tears. But the ghost of them.

  "She fixed the water," he said quietly.

  Elian nodded. "And the North Tower during a Cat-4 wind storm, and nearly everything else broken in this town."

  Elian stepped back to go back to Mia's side, eyes back on the readouts.

  "She didn't ask for sympathy. She didn't ask for help. She just wanted a pce to sleep—and maybe a chance to try. And what did she do with that?"

  He gestured to the screen, to the data, to the still, damaged girl on the table.

  "She started fixing things. Quietly. Without thanks. Without a single demand. She did it knowing exactly how much time she didn't have."

  Elian stepped closer, his voice lowering. "And she hid it—because she thought no one would care. Not you. Not me. Not this town."

  "But she still gave us everything she had anyway."

  Dane's jaw clenched and unclenched. He didn't say anything at first.

  Then, quietly: "I should've seen it. I should've seen it."

  Elian gnced back at Mia. "She didn't ask us to fight for her. But we're going to anyway. Yeah?"

  Dane's voice came low and sure.

  "Yeah."