The drive was quiet.
Dylan kept his eyes on the road, still bothered by what had happened.
Beside him, Yve opened and closed her hand, her mind unraveling into countless possibilities.
What if she hadn’t caught the rock?
What if it had struck Dylan?
What if he’d been seriously injured?
The thought alone made her stomach drop.
She felt a hot surge of anger burning through her chest, directed at the careless machinery, the sprawling site, and the sheer unpredictability of human construction.
But beneath the fury ran a deeper, colder dread.
When she had left Dylan sitting out by the van for those long hours, anything could have happened.
What if a similar accident had occurred while she was deep inside the subterranean ruins, only minutes away and yet entirely out of reach?
Her stomach twisted again, a knot forming in her chest.
She let out a shaky breath and turned her face toward the cold glass of the window, trying to force the grim images from her mind.
It was no use.
Her mind kept looping back to the worst-case scenario, painting vivid pictures of Dylan lying motionless on the gravel.
She wanted to storm back to the perimeter and tear the heavy winches apart with her bare hands.
Instead, she locked her jaw, swallowing the rising panic and forcing every ounce of her turbulent emotion back down where no one could see it.
Meanwhile, Dylan was fighting a silent war of his own.
He didn’t give a damn about the rock, and he certainly didn’t care about a near miss.
He spent enough years in high-stakes environments staring down actual violence without blinking an eye; a stray piece of gravel wasn’t going to rattle his nerves.
It was Yve.
The way she had moved.
The impossible speed of her hand crossing the space between them before his own instincts had even registered the threat.
He glanced sideways at her, his mind running through every absurd explanation he could conjure.
Was she some kind of black-ops operative?
A highly trained assassin hiding behind a veil of innocence?
One of those shadow-runners or secret agents you only read about in classified briefs?
He almost scoffed out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of the thought.
Then his mind drifted back to the hospital.
Yve waking up in a panic.
Pushing people aside, including him, with surprising ease.
Jumping from a fourth-story window and somehow surviving the fall.
Healing almost immediately.
No identification.
No records.
Barely a name.
Then there were all the eccentric things she’d said since they’d met.
Even the way she’d introduced herself.
Celestia Yve, daughter of the Virellis line.
Who the hell introduced themselves like that?
Dylan tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles turned pale.
There were too many missing pieces, and the deeper he dug, the less sense any of it made.
Eventually, they reached the station.
Dylan hadn’t even finished parking when Yve opened the door, climbed out, and headed straight for her dorm without saying a word.
Dylan watched her go.
The motion-sensor lights flickered on as she reached the stairs, illuminating her path one section at a time.
He watched her disappear down the hallway until she reached her room, opened the door, and slipped inside.
A moment later, it closed behind her.
Only then did Dylan get out of the van and head toward his own room.
~~~
Yve shut the door behind her and rested both palms against the doorknob, leaning back against it.
The room was empty.
Emily and Harry were probably still in the archaeological research room, or somewhere else in the station.
Yve couldn’t bring herself to care.
She looked down at her hands.
Her fingers opened and closed.
The image replayed behind her eyelids with sharp, unwanted clarity, sending a fresh wave of cold dread rippling through her chest.
She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling a slow, measured breath through her nose in a deliberate bid to force the memory out.
It didn’t work.
She needed to release the anger still bubbling beneath her skin.
The crew should have been more careful.
Dylan could have taken a jagged edge straight to the temple.
He could have been bleeding out on the gravel, broken and—
Yve caught herself, snapping her eyes open.
She pushed off the door and crossed toward the center of the room, only to freeze as her gaze caught her own reflection in the wall mirror.
She stopped, studying the severe line of her own jaw.
What was she doing?
Nothing had happened.
Dylan was fine.
She had caught the rock.
There was no injuries.
No blood.
No reason for her mind to keep returning to the same moment.
If it had been Ysa, her twin sister, she wouldn’t have wasted a second thought on panic.
But Ysa was a Siren and a Haelar, practically indestructible against anything the surface world could throw at her.
Dylan was human.
A stubborn, remarkably fragile human.
Maybe that explained the spike of terror.
Then why do I still feel like this?
It still didn’t satisfy her.
She’d been worried about Lara too.
When Yve had found Mark on top of her, choking the life from her, she’d nearly torn him apart with her bare hands.
She’d wanted him to suffer for every second Lara had spent struggling beneath him.
But that had been different.
That had been pure, unadulterated rage.
Lara had been moments from dying, a tangible crisis demanding immediate violence.
Dylan hadn’t even been scratched.
So why does this feel so different?
Why did the thought of a tiny piece of stone flying toward him make something inside her drop so violently?
He probably would have walked away from it anyway.
Even a direct hit might have amounted to little more than a split lip or a bruised cheekbone.
Yet the mere possibility of him bleeding had triggered an almost violent wave of nausea.
Yve frowned at her reflection.
Why do I care if he gets hurt?
She’d spent the entire drive imagining things that hadn’t even happened, each possibility making her more anxious than the last.
She turned away from the mirror, but the thoughts followed.
Her room felt too small.
Yve crossed to the window and pushed it open, allowing the cool air to fill the room.
She leaned against the frame and closed her eyes.
The breeze moved through her hair, carrying the last of the day’s warmth away.
Little by little, the sharp panic began to recede, smoothing out into a dull, persistent ache.
The worry didn’t vanish.
The confusion remained completely unsolved.
I don’t understand.
But at least the air in her lungs stopped burning.
~~~
Dylan dropped onto the edge of the mattress, scrubbing his hands down his face before lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows heavily against his knees.
His gaze drifted across the floorboards as the events of the day replayed behind his eyes.
He’d always tried to overlook her strangeness.
There was always some excuse he could come up with, some reasonable explanation for whatever odd thing she’d done.
Tonight shattered all of them.
And then she’d caught a jagged piece of rock inches from his face without him even seeing it coming.
That was something he couldn’t ignore anymore.
Maybe she really was some kind of classified operative.
A child snatched away and molded in some black-site program, forged into a living weapon.
Dylan had never personally met anyone like that, but he’d heard the rumors.
He’d worked around powerful people in the government.
He’d been sent on dangerous missions.
He knew the world operated on tiers of violence most people never saw.
It was a cold explanation, but it made sense.
It fit the impossible reflexes and the deadpan composure.
What else could it be?
And if that harsh reality was true…
A strange heaviness settled in his chest, a mix of sorrow, pity, and something more defensive that he couldn’t quite name.
He could only imagine what kind of training she’d endured, what kind of pain that fragile-looking body had been put through.
Instead of feeling threatened or suspicious, his first instinct was to protect her.
Maybe that’s why she never wants him to carry her suitcase.
Maybe she’d never been allowed to rely on anyone.
Maybe she’d learned to carry her own weight because no one had ever been there to watch her back.
The thoughts looped and tangled until Dylan finally groaned, leaning back and letting his weight drop flat against the mattress.
He dragged one heavy arm across his forehead, staring blindly up at the pale expanse of the ceiling.
Somewhere beneath the confusion and the endless questions, one thing became clear.
Whatever Yve was hiding, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore.
He just wanted to make sure nothing in this world ever hurt her again.
The restlessness finally broke his patience.
Dylan grabbed his jacket and fanny pack from the hook by the door and stepped out into the night air.
As he made his way toward the van, his gaze caught on to Yve’s bedroom window.
She was standing there with her eyes closed, leaning against the frame, her brows drawn together in concentration.
The sight of her standing there, carrying something he couldn’t understand, struck a raw nerve.
Maybe she was reliving some part of whatever she’d been through.
Dylan didn’t say anything.
He looked away, climbed into the driver’s seat, and eased the van out of the station lot, leaving her to the quiet gravity of her own thoughts.
He drove for miles, rolling the window down to let the biting wind clear some of the static from his head.
It didn’t work.
Then his thoughts drifted back to the ring.
Dylan let out a harsh breath, cutting the wheel and pulling the transport van onto the gravel shoulder off the highway.
He sat there for a moment with both hands resting on the steering wheel before reaching into his fanny pack and pulling out the small velvet box.
Then he took out his cigar and lighter.
A moment later, a thin trail of smoke curled up into the night air as he leaned his shoulder against the side of the van, turning the velvet box over in his palm.
He flipped the lid open and stared down at the ring.
He’d had it customized.
Months of back-and-forth with the jeweler, sinking a couple thousand dollars into a ring he’d once been convinced was the anchor of his entire life.
He had even paid extra to have their anniversary date laser-etched into the inner band, marking the beginning of his relationship with Mia.
Dylan took a slow drag off the cigar, watching the distant sweep of headlights cut across the asphalt before vanishing into the night.
Halfway through the smoke, he lifted the ring out of its velvet bed, holding it delicately between his fingers.
For a moment, there was nothing else on his mind.
Just the ring.
He almost laughed at himself.
Couple of thousand dollars for this.
What a damn waste.
He shifted the cigar between the fingers of his other hand, then rolled the ring between his thumb and forefinger, turning it over one last time.
Then he threw it into the treeline.
He stood still, listening for the impact.
Nothing.
No spike of grief.
No hollow ache in his chest.
No lingering what-ifs or bitter replays.
Just an immense, ringing silence.
Relief, cold and sharp.
He looked down at the empty velvet case in his hand, a dry, humorless smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, and tossed the box in after the ring.
Another wave of relief settled over him.
Dylan leaned back against the van and finished his cigar in silence.
When the ember burned down close to his fingers, he dropped the butt onto the tarmac and ground it flat beneath his boot heel.
His hand drifted into his jacket pocket, reaching for another cigar, but his fingers brushed against something hard instead.
The crescent-shaped stone.
He pulled it out and ran his thumbs along its surface, turning it over in his palm.
He remembered the way Yve had looked when she’d given it to him, those strange eyes watching him with quiet expectation.
It was just a rock, a random fragment shaped vaguely like a crescent moon.
Yet he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.
Then his thoughts drifted back to Yve.
How could someone like Yve be capable of things he couldn’t explain and still have that kind of softness to her?
Especially after everything she’d been through, or everything he thought she’d been through.
The thought tightened something in his chest.
Not in a bad way.
More like an ache he couldn’t quite put a name to.
Whatever she’d been through, his determination to watch her back had only grown stronger.
Then he remembered the food.
Yve hadn’t finished her meal because of the incident.
She’d barely eaten anything after that rock nearly hit him.
She had to be hungry by now.
Dylan shoved the stone back into his pocket and pushed off the van.
He climbed behind the wheel, thumbed the ignition to life, and checked Google Maps for something nearby.
A McDonald’s was about thirty minutes away.
Good enough.
He started the engine and pulled back onto the highway.
~~~
Dylan knocked on Yve’s door.
A few heartbeats later, the latch clicked and swung inward to reveal Dylan standing in the dim corridor, extending a grease-stained McDonald’s bag toward her like an offering.
Yve stared at the packaging, then flicked her gaze up to his face.
Dylan gave the bag a light, prompting shake.
She took it from his hand, her brow furrowing.
“You?”
He offered a casual shrug.
“Thought you might be hungry.”
Before he could say anything else, Dylan turned to leave.
Yve caught him by the collar.
She yanked him backward over the threshold, leaving him entirely off balance, pulling him straight into the room before shutting the door behind him.
“Sit.”
Dylan glanced from the designated chair to her face, a dry incredulity shadowing his expression.
“What?”
“Sit.”
He dropped into the seat, mostly because arguing with her when she used that tone required more energy than he cared to spend.
Yve carried the food over to the small table and unpacked the bags, laying everything out between them before taking the other chair.
She picked up her spoon and looked at the meal.
“Eat.”
Dylan’s eyebrows lifted.
There was something about her tone that made the simple word sound less like an invitation and more like an order.
Dylan reached for his burger anyway, tearing into the paper.
They ate in silence.
The silence wasn’t hostile, exactly, but a strange, prickly tension hung in the air between them, the kind born of two stubborn people who hadn’t technically done anything wrong yet still managed to act like they were in the middle of a quiet war.
Dylan finally broke the quiet, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“What time we leavin’ tomorrow?” Get faster updates on g.com.
Yve paused mid-bite, setting her spoon down.
“You’re not coming with me.”
Dylan frowned, his posture stiffening.
“Can’t.
I get paid to follow ya around.”
“Yeah, well, you’re still not coming.” Her voice stayed flat as she picked her spoon back up.
“Can’t have you sitting there for hours again.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes.
“Still worried about earlier?”
Yve chewed deliberately, avoiding an answer.
“Was fine, though.”
“Whatever.” She swallowed and cast a sharp, unyielding glare across the table.
“You’re still not coming.
I’ll knock you out if you come.”
Dylan let out a dry, exasperated huff.
“Like you did at the hospital?”
Yve froze.
For a single second, she stared at him, caught completely off guard.
Then her shoulders straightened.
A small, almost guilty smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.
“Fine.
I did knock you out.” She ducked her head slightly, the amusement breaking through her defenses.
“Didn’t actually know that technique would work on a grown man, but heh.
It was worth it.”
Dylan scoffed, setting his burger down.
“Why’d ya do it?” His gaze sharpened, locking onto her.
Yve blinked, her expression hardening defensively as she poked at her fries.
“Because you’re stubborn.”
She gestured vaguely with her spoon.
“Who the hell sleeps sitting straight up when they’re half asleep?
You keep taking care of my well-being, yet you don’t take care of yours.
It was so annoying.”
Dylan stared at her, genuinely baffled.
“How’s me doin’ my damn job annoyin’ ya?”
“Darnell hired you to prevent me from causing havoc, not to babysit me.”
Something in Dylan’s expression shifted.
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, he said nothing.
His eyes dropped to the food in front of him, then lifted back to her, darker now.
Yve didn’t seem to notice.
“I’m extremely capable of taking care of myself,” she continued.
“Maybe even more capable than you.”
That did it.
Dylan leaned back in his chair, staring at her for a long moment.
“Yeah,” he said at last.
“Maybe you are.”
Yve’s expression faltered.
“But that ain’t the point.” His voice remained low, but the irritation underneath it was impossible to miss.
His gaze held hers.
“When you nearly get yourself killed, I’m gonna worry about it.”
“Whatever.” Yve rolled her eyes, shoveling another bite into her mouth.
“You’re still not coming tomorrow.
You can’t even get inside the site anyway.
I’ll just ride with Adreian.”
Something hard and cold locked into place behind Dylan’s ribs.
He pushed his chair back from the table.
“I’m finished.”
Yve glanced up, her jaw tightening.
Dylan stood, scooping up the empty bag from the edge of the desk.
“Go sleep early.”
She didn’t answer.
Yve simply dropped her gaze back down to her tray, chewing slowly as if he had already vanished from the room.
Dylan lingered by the threshold for another beat, waiting for some flicker of explanation or a backtrack, but nothing came.
He muttered a quiet curse under his breath, shook his head, and pulled the door open.
The moment the latch clicked shut behind him, the rhythmic movement of Yve’s jaw slowed to a stop.
Yve’s knuckles turned white around the plastic handle of her spoon, her jaw working as she forced down another bite.
A heavy, suffocating wave of guilt settled deep in her chest.
Why had she even done that?
Dylan had only brought her food.
He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Yet she’d snapped at him as though he’d done something unforgivable.
The harshness of her own words echoed in the silence of the room, leaving a bitter taste she couldn’t wash away.
She couldn’t even make sense of her own reactions anymore.
Minutes later, she pushed the leftovers aside, gathered the wrappers into the paper bag with sharp, jerky movements, and retreated to the quiet shadows of her sleeping area.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, hands twisted in the fabric of her shirt while the memory replayed behind her eyes.
Dylan.
The rock flying toward him.
Her catching it.
The rock again.
The sequence looped through her thoughts again and again, each repetition bringing a sharp spike of terror followed by a sickening drop in her stomach.
She exhaled hard, shaking her head as she sank back onto the bed.
She then spent the next hour tossing and turning beneath the heavy blankets, sleep offering no refuge from the storm in her head.
Her gaze remained pinned to the darkness of the room, though she was no longer seeing the walls or the ceiling.
Memory after memory of Dylan replayed behind her eyes.
The phone case.
The car rides.
The late-night walks at the beach.
His stubbornness.
The way he kept showing up.
Each fragment pulled tighter on the coil inside her chest, turning the dread in her stomach into a suffocating weight.
She threw the blankets back and sat upright in the dark, violently shaking her head as if she could physically dislodge the thought.
“No…”
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms flat against the center of her chest, trying to force the frantic, erratic rhythm of her heart back into submission.
“He’s a human.”
The words slipped out into the empty room, frail and desperate.
“He’s not worth it.”
Her hand lingered over her ribs, trembling slightly against the fabric of her shirt.
“You can’t…”
A breathless pause swallowed the quiet.
“You can’t…”
She repeated it, as though saying it enough times might make it true.
Her eyes grew watery.
She scrubbed an angry hand across her face, wiping the moisture away before a single tear could betray her, and dropped heavily back against the pillows.
A sharp, shaking breath escaped through her pursed lips.
You can’t.
Her eyelids squeezed shut again.
You shouldn’t.
Another breath.
You shouldn’t.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, carrying her to sleep with those words still lingering in her mind.