The convoy slowed, then came to a full halt along the sandy stretch of shoreline.
Raine raised a hand. One by one, the Pegacampus responded—wings folding, hooves settling as the line steadied. She stepped down from her Tidecraft and crossed the sand toward Yve and Ysa's.
She knocked once against the hull. A soft hiss answered.
The door slid open, water held perfectly still inside the craft. Ysa, still in her siren form, leaned out of the suspended pocket. "Why'd we stop?"
Raine crossed her arms. "Because I don't know where to go next. We made it to shore. That's as far as I've got."
Another head surfaced beside her. Yve leaned out, already looking uneasy. "I have some bad news."
Raine frowned. "What?"
Yve hesitated, then said it straight. "I don't know where they're camped."
Ysa snapped toward her. "You what?"
"I was unconscious when they brought me here," Yve said, wincing. "I don't know the route."
Another hiss cut through the air. A nearby Tidecraft door opened. Duncan leaned out, brow raised. "Problem, girls?"
Raine answered without taking her eyes off Yve. "Yeah. She doesn't know where to go." A beat. "Maybe Lysander can track them?"
Lysander poked his head out, already thinking. "Maybe. You got anything of theirs? Personal item, scent marker—anything like that?"
Silence. Every gaze shifted to Yve. She gave a tight, awkward smile. "Yeah…uhhh no. I've got nothing."
Ysa groaned, the sound pure exasperation. "How do you have nothing? Did you learn nothing from the Sunken City? You always leave a trail!"
Yve opened her mouth—closed it again. "I—" She exhales. "Yeah. No excuse. I'm sorry. But we'll figure something out. We always do."
Raine's jaw tightened, her voice dropping to a dangerously low level. "Don't give me that. 'We always do.' I'm the one who had to talk the Council out of branding you a deserter after that stunt. I'm not getting dragged into another one of your 'adventures' only to be left picking up the pieces. I'm not living the rest of my life stuck here because you were careless."
The tension spiked fast. Ysa's voice rose. "She's right, Yve! This isn't a game!"
"I didn't ask for this!" Yve shot back, her own voice sharp now. "I was dying and unconscious! I didn't exactly have time to grab a souvenir!"
"Uh… I might have a solution." Duncan's voice cuts clean through it.
All three turn toward him. He holds out the compass.
Raine walks over and takes it. The needle spins immediately—wild, unstable—before slowing… then locking in a direction. She glances down at it. "What's this supposed to do?"
"Give it to Yve," Duncan says. "Have her follow where it points."
Raine looks up at him. "You sure this'll work?"
Duncan smirks. "Are you doubting my expertise?"
Raine snorts. "Alright. Calm your waters."
Raine handed the compass to Yve.
Yve frowned at it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"You're sitting up front with me," Raine said.
Yve blinked. "Why?"
"Just do it."
Yve hesitated, then nodded. "Fine." She paused, then added, "Can you grab my clothes?"
Raine moved to the back of the Tidecraft and opened a narrow compartment. It hissed softly as it slid open. Despite being surrounded by water, the space inside was completely dry—everything sealed tight.
She rummaged through Yve's things and pulled out a worn hoodie and a pair of rugged shorts. Human-made. Salvaged. She handed them over.
Yve slipped the hoodie on, the fabric settling over her shoulders. "Help me out."
Raine stepped in, grabbed hold of her, and pulled. The suspended water resisted for a moment—then gave. With a final tug, Yve was dragged free of the Tidecraft.
The moment she cleared it, her tail dissolved—breaking apart and reforming into legs that pressed into the sand.
Ysa's gaze dropped immediately to the hoodie. "Where the hell did you get that?"
"Found it in human trash," Yve said.
Ysa grimaced. "No wonder it is so ugly."
Yve didn't respond. She just stared at her for a second—flat, unreadable.
Then she turned. Without another word, she strode toward the front, jumped up, and climbed onto Raine's Tidecraft.
~~~
Maurice took another careful step up the ladder. "One more," he muttered.
Lucas grunted, taking the plank from him and bracing it into place with his shoulder. "Just need a few more four-D roofing nails."
Maurice leaned over. "Hey, Dyl! You got any more four-D roofing nails?"
Dylan rummaged through a box, metal clinking. He broke into a run across the yard, boots thudding, then climbed the ladder two rungs at a time. At the top, he held out his palm. "That's it. Last of it."
Maurice took them and passed them over.
Lucas looked at the nails, then at the roof. "Yeah… we're screwed. This won't do it."
David eased up beside him, careful with his footing. "Lemme see."
Lucas tapped the wood with his knuckles. "This won't hold much."
David squinted at the patchwork—mismatched boards, old shingles, beams that had already seen too much. "Not for long. Not with weight." His eyes flicked to the solar panels nearby. Then something clicks. "What if we don't mount them?"
Lucas glanced over. "What?"
"What if we tie them instead?" David said. "Don't push straight down. Suspend them. Spread the load."
Maurice paused mid-adjustment. "You mean distribute the weight across the beams?"
"Yeah," David said. "Use rope. Wire. Hell, seatbelts if we've got any."
Lucas frowned, thinking it through. "So the roof's not carrying it… just supporting it."
Maurice let out a low chuckle. "That might actually work."
Lucas nodded slowly. "It'll look like shit."
David snorted. "So does everything else."
Maurice shifted the plank into place. "If it works, I don't care."
David gave a faint grin. "Post-apocalypse rule number one."
Lucas exhaled, then nodded. "Alright. We tie them."
Maurice smirked. "Good. 'Cause if we keep drilling, this whole roof's coming down."
Lucas stood, shifting his weight carefully as he dragged another plank across the roof. Sunlight shimmered along the horizon, heat bending the distance into a wavering blur.
He turned to reach for the hammer—
Then stopped.
Movement.
Faint. Almost swallowed by the distortion. He narrowed his eyes. "Hey, Dave," Lucas said quietly, not looking away. "Hand me the rifle."
David stiffened. "What?"
But he followed Lucas's line of sight anyway—and that was enough. He turned, grabbed the sniper rifle, and passed it up without another word.
Lucas dropped to one knee and brought the scope to his eye. The blur sharpened.
His breath caught. Far out, where the land thinned into a strip of green, shapes moved. Dozens at first—then more. Spilling out from between the trees. Twisted. Jerking. Wrong.
Shriekers. Migrating. Lucas lowered himself the rest of the way down, voice barely air. "Shh… shh…"
David leaned in, tension already creeping in. "What?"
Lucas didn't look at him. "Migrating horde."
David raised his own rifle, sighting through. A few seconds passed. His jaw tightened. "Damn."
Maurice froze mid-lift, board still in his hands. "What is it?"
"Get down," Lucas said quietly. "Slow. No noise."
Maurice didn't question it. He knew that tone. He eased the board aside and started backing off, careful with every step.
One by one, they climbed down—boots touching dirt soft, controlled.
Lucas moved the second his feet hit the ground. He grabbed Dylan by the arm as he crouched near the nail box.
Dylan whipped around, elbow already coming up—
"It's me," Lucas hissed. "Migrating horde. Inside. Now."
Dylan dropped to one knee instantly. "I'll get Jenkins."
"Be quick."
Dylan was already moving, sprinting toward the lab.
Lucas straightened, hands already signaling.
Maurice peeled off toward the back of the manor, moving fast but silent, heading to warn the others. No shouting. No panic.
Lucas and David split off toward the gates.
The air shifted as the horde drew closer.
The smell came first.
Sour. Rotting. It crept in slow, like something leaking through cracks that shouldn't exist.
Then the sound followed.
A thin, high-pitched shriek—distant at first, easy to mistake for wind if you didn't know better. But it layered over itself. Multiplied. Each second sharpening it into something jagged.
Something wrong.
Lucas and David reached the gates.
The metal felt too loud under their hands. They eased it shut inch by inch, careful with every movement. Hinges barely whispered. The chain slid through the loops, wrapped tight. David braced the inner bar while Lucas secured it, both of them breathing shallow, controlled.
The shrieking grew louder.
Closer.
Lucas could feel it in his teeth. They pressed their shoulders into the gate, holding it there for a second longer than necessary, listening as the sound crawled across the field.
Then Lucas pulled back. "Now."
They ran.
Gravel crunched underfoot—too loud, every step sounding like a mistake. They hit the porch just as Dylan burst into view, dragging Jenkins by the arm. The scientist stumbled, barely keeping pace.
"Move," Dylan muttered.
They got inside fast.
The door shut—caught just before it could slam. Locked. Secured. Windows sealed. Curtains drawn.
The manor closed in on itself, holding still.
Weapons came up without a word.
Lucas, Maurice, Dylan, and David took the front, rifles raised, angled toward the door and windows. Fingers hovered near the triggers, tension coiled tight.
Taylor backed into the corner, pulling Tyler against her. One arm wrapped around him, the other raised her handgun toward the door. Her hands trembled—but not enough to matter.
Then the shriek hit. Not just loud.
Piercing.
It cut straight through them—thin, warped, multiplied into something that didn't sound like any living thing. Some of them flinched, hands rising instinctively to their ears, teeth clenched as the sound pressed inward, like it was trying to break something open inside their skulls.
Outside, the horde moved through the streets.
Stumbling. Dragging. Bodies knocking into each other, correcting in jerks that didn't look human.
Everything about it—wrong.
The bushes along the outer wall didn't stand a chance.
They tore apart as the shriekers pushed through—branches snapping, leaves ripping free. The mass compressed inward, bodies forcing against one another. The center of the hedge bowed under the pressure, bending farther… and farther—
Then it gave. A dull thud rolled through the ground.
Shriekers spilled into the perimeter.
They didn't rush. They wandered. Heads twitching. Limbs jerking at wrong angles. Movements delayed, then sudden, like something inside them kept losing rhythm.
Lily saw them. A small sound slipped out before she could stop it.
Elena reacted instantly—her hand clamped over Lily's mouth, pulling her back from the window. Her heart slammed as the child trembled silently against her.
Too late. Four shriekers stopped. Their heads turned.
Slowly.
They fixed on the manor.
And began to walk. Each step felt louder than it should've been, even though they barely made a sound at all.
Inside, breathing changed. Short. Controlled. Almost nonexistent.
Lucas eased back from the door, lifting two fingers in a tight signal. David mirrored him. Dylan shifted his stance, rifle tracking the nearest window. He leaned in just enough to whisper, voice thin as a thread. "Nobody make a sound."
A soft click as he checked his rifle—careful, deliberate.
Outside, the shrieking pressed closer.
Closer.
Closer.
Lucas raised his hand. Everyone froze. He tilted his palm upward, then pointed toward the stairs. When he looked back at them, he didn't speak—just mouthed it.
Quietly.
They moved.
One by one.
Each step on the stairs felt like it should echo, even when it didn't. The wood gave faint, careful creaks under their weight. No one rushed. No one looked back.
Ethan led, one hand brushing the wall to guide himself. Ava followed close behind. Then Taylor, holding Tyler so tight the boy barely dared breathe. The others came after, spaced out, silent as they could manage.
The shrieking bled through the walls—muffled, but close enough to feel in the bones.
At the second floor, they turned away from the front, moving deeper into the corridor, away from the windows, away from the sound. A bedroom door opened just enough to let them slip inside.
Once they were in, Ethan turned. "I'll help downstairs," he whispered. "Stay here. Don't open the door. Stay quiet."
Ava caught his arm. "Wait. I'll come."
Ethan shook his head. "No. Stay here. Keep them safe."
"I can help—"
He finally looked at her. No hesitation. No doubt.
Just decision.
Ava stopped. The words died in her throat.
Ethan gently pulled free. "Lock the door."
Then he slipped back into the hall. The floor swallowed his steps. A moment later, the stairs shifted again as he went down—controlled, steady—back toward the sound.
The room held still.
No one spoke.
No one breathed louder than they had to.
Inside the manor, the silence stretched—tight, fragile—
Then it snapped.
A shrieker slammed into the ladder outside.
The impact knocked it sideways. It hit the railing—
CLANG.
The sound rang out—sharp, metallic—too loud, too sudden.
Then it slid.
Slow.
Uncontrolled.
Screeeeeeeeech—
Metal screamed against concrete as the body dragged down, the noise stretching, grinding, refusing to end. When it finally stopped, the echo didn't.
It stayed.
Ringing in their heads.
Every heartbeat inside the manor stalled.
That sound—
was an invitation.
More shriekers flooded through the broken hedge, spilling into the perimeter. Drawn in. Pulled toward it. Shadows multiplied outside the windows—more shapes, more movement, pressing closer, stacking over each other.
Inside, no one breathed properly anymore. Ethan stood with his shotgun raised, knuckles drained of color. His grip trembled—small, uncontrollable—but he didn't lower it.
Then came the scratching. Fingernails. Dragging.
Across wood.
Across glass.
Slow. Deliberate.
A sound that didn't rush—because it didn't need to.
It crawled. Straight down the spine.
The shrieks followed—layered, overlapping, too close now. Too many. One of them cut higher than the rest, warped and piercing, slicing clean through the noise like something breaking.
And then—
BANG.
The front door jolted inward. Every body inside flinched.
Another hit—
BANG.
Harder.
Then another. No pause. No hesitation.
They started hitting it in rhythm.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Like they understood. Like they knew something was behind it.
Bodies slammed into the wood—flesh, bone, weight piling in. More joined. The impacts stacked until it became constant, a relentless pounding that didn't give space to think.
Outside, hands struck the walls—wet slaps against brick and siding. Faces pressed against the windows, mouths opening too wide, jaws stretching as if trying to force sound through the glass. Metal bars held them back—barely.
Inside—
no one moved.
David leaned close to Lucas, the words barely forming. "That door won't hold."
Lucas didn't look away. His voice stayed thin. Controlled. Forced. "Stay quiet. They'll stop."
But the banging didn't stop. It got closer.
Heavier. The door began to give.
Not all at once.
Worse. A slow, straining creak—wood bending inward, fibers stretching to their limit. Screws whined as they loosened, one by one, metal grinding against a frame that had already seen too much.
The door bowed.
Just enough—
for light to slip through the cracks.
Thin. Sharp.
Inside, fingers tightened around triggers. Every gun came up.
Then—
THUD.
The ground shook. Then another.
Heavier. Not like the shriekers.
A third.
A fourth.
A fifth.
Each impact rolled through the manor—through the floor, through their boots, up into their bones. Something massive had just landed outside.
Then came the sound of wings. Not frantic.
Controlled. Followed by low, unfamiliar groans.
And then—
Silence.
The shrieking cut off.
No banging. No scratching. No movement. Just a dead, unnatural quiet.
No one breathed.
A voice tore through it—
"Defend!"
Dylan's head snapped up. He didn't think. He just moved.
The door flew open—
And the world outside changed.
The yard was no longer theirs.
Carriage-like vessels lined the ground, sleek and alien, water held impossibly within them. At their fronts, winged horses—Pegacampus in land form—stamped and snorted, wings twitching, bodies coiled with restrained power.
Beyond them—
Sirens. Eight of them. Moving as one.
They surged forward.
Yve at the front. "Strike their hearts!" She cut through the shriekers like something inevitable—every movement precise, every strike final. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Bodies dropped the second she touched them.
Ysa followed close—brutal, efficient—her blade tearing through chests, rupturing the blackened cores within.
Raine drove straight down the center, relentless, carving a path without slowing.
Lysander and Duncan flanked her—clean, coordinated—one drawing attention, the other finishing it. Saige and Corina held the outer edge, intercepting anything that tried to slip past.
The shriekers poured through the broken hedge—
Straight into slaughter.
Ethan let out a breathless laugh. "Yes—yes!" He fired.
A shrieker dropped mid-step.
"Come on!"
The yard erupted.
Maurice brought a crowbar down with a shout—bone gave under the impact, the body collapsing as he wrenched the weapon free.
Lucas fired once—clean—already moving.
David followed instantly, his shot punching through before the thing could close distance.
Harry moved in tight, gun flashing, finishing anything that got too close.
Dylan held the open ground, rifle snapping in controlled bursts, forcing anything that slipped through back into the sirens' reach.
The air filled with noise—gunfire, shrieks, the crack of breaking bone.
But the line held.
Upstairs, the sound reached them. Different now.
Not panic. Not fear.
Movement.
Control.
War.
Ava's head snapped up. "I'm checking."
"Honey—" Harrison started—
Too late. She was already gone. She crossed into the next room and pulled the curtain just enough to see.
Her breath caught.
The yard was alive—motion everywhere. Tidecraft across the grass. Pegacampus braced and restless. Sirens cutting through shriekers in a coordinated storm of violence.
And at the front—
She saw her.
Ava turned and ran back, pulse racing. "Stay here. I'm going to help." She didn't wait for an answer. She was already moving.
Ava hit the stairs at a sprint. She didn't slow at the bottom.
Gun up. Shot fired.
A shrieker dropped just as it broke through the line.
Outside, the fight roared.
Dylan dropped one clean and shifted—
Didn't see the one behind him.
Ava's voice cut through everything. "Dylan—behind you!"
Yve turned.
Dylan spun—
Too late.
The shrieker lunged.
Claws out. Then a blade punched through its chest mid-air.
The body went slack and collapsed at his feet.
The sword didn't fall.
It hovered—
Then snapped back.
Yve's hand closed as it returned to her grip.
For a second—
everything else blurred.
Dylan looked up.
Their eyes met.
His chest tightened.
Yve's expression was sharp. Focused. Worried.
Then—
movement.
Another shrieker rushed her flank.
She didn't hesitate. The blade moved.
Fast.
Precise.
Another body dropped before it even reached her. And she was already moving again.
The fight swallowed them whole. Yve's focus was absolute, her senses stretched to their limit. She registered the crack of gunfire, the shouts of the humans, the wet thud of Maurice's crowbar, but it was all background noise. Her world was the three-foot radius of steel and shadow.
She was so focused on the shrieker directly in front of her, so attuned to the immediate threat, that she didn't see the other one.
It burst from the pile of twitching limbs, not with a shriek, but with a low, guttural hiss. It launched itself through the air, a projectile of claws and teeth aimed directly at her exposed back.
There was no time to turn. No time to parry. Yve tensed, already bracing for the impact of claws tearing into her flesh.
BANG.
The sound was sharp, clean, and impossibly close. It wasn't the muffled report from the porch; it was right beside her.
The shrieker in mid-air jerked violently, its forward momentum arrested. A neat, dark hole appeared in its temple. It hung there for a fraction of a second, a grotesque puppet with its strings cut, then collapsed to the grass in a heap, inches from her feet.
Yve finished her current opponent, her sword slicing clean through its chest. She turned, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and her eyes found the source of the shot.
Lucas stood twenty feet away, his rifle still shouldered, barrel smoking slightly. He wasn't looking at the dead shrieker at her feet. He was looking at her. His face was smeared with dirt and sweat, his expression grim, but his eyes were clear and sharp. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, We're even. Now keep fighting.
Yve held his gaze for a heartbeat. She returned the nod. Once. Firm. A warrior's acknowledgment. Then she turned back to the fight, her expression hardening with renewed resolve, and plunged back into the storm.
"Saige!" Yve called over the chaos. "Close the breach!"
Saige turned, tracking her line of sight—the broken hedge still spilling bodies through. "I've got it," he said. "Cover me."
The formation widened instantly, the others shifting without a word, holding the line as he moved.
Saige stepped forward and planted his feet. Both hands rose. His eyes closed.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the ground answered.
A pulse moved through the soil—subtle at first, then violent. The earth split as thick roots burst upward, tearing through dirt and stone alike. They twisted, coiling over one another as Saige forced them higher.
Stronger. Faster.
They were a whirlwind of death, but the shriekers were a tide. They kept coming, pouring through the gap Saige was desperately trying to close.
They climbed, reaching for the broken edges of the hedge, latching on and pulling themselves together. Saige pushed harder—jaw tightening, breath steady but strained.
The roots obeyed. They braided.
Layered.
Locked.
What had been a gap began to close—not just patched, but reinforced. The structure thickened, interwoven until it resembled something closer to a living wall than a hedge.
A barricade.
A fortress.
Shriekers caught too close didn't make it out. Roots speared through torsos, pinning them mid-motion. Some thrashed. Some screamed. Most went still.
When Saige finally dropped his hands—
the breach was gone.
Only a handful of shriekers remained inside.
Raine moved before anyone else could. No hesitation. No wasted motion.
Her blade flashed once—
twice—
again—
Each strike clean. Each kill immediate. Bodies dropped where they stood.
And then—
nothing.
Yve staggered back, chest heaving. Her legs gave, but she caught herself—driving her sword into the ground to keep upright, head hanging as she fought for breath.
Ysa was at her side instantly. "You good?" She spotted a scratch along Yve's shoulder and hovered her hand over it. The wound sealed quickly under her touch.
Yve nodded, still gasping. "Yeah… just—give me a second."
"How's your energy?" Ysa asked.
Yve drew in a rough breath. "It's alright… I just need to catch my breath."
Around them, no one spoke. Humans looked at sirens. Sirens looked back.
After everything—the noise, the blood—
what filled the space now was quiet.
And the shrieking noise on the other side of the wall.
Yve forced herself upright.
Every movement cost something. Her legs trembled, shoulders tight, breath uneven. Still, she started forward.
Toward the manor.
Toward him.
Everyone watched but her eyes were locked on Dylan.
Step by step, she closed the distance until only a few feet remained. She stopped.
Let the sword slip from her hand.
Before it could hit the ground, it unraveled—steel softening into liquid, dissolving into water that sank into the dirt and vanished.
Yve looked at him. Smiled, breath still uneven. "Missed me?"
That was all it took.
They moved at the same time.
The collision wasn't clean—it was rough, desperate. Dylan wrapped his arms around her tight enough to anchor her there. Yve buried her face into his chest, gripping him just as hard.
Everything hit at once. Relief. Fear. The weight of time apart.
She let out a breathless laugh against him. "Heavens… you still stink."
Dylan huffed a quiet laugh, tightening his hold.
"I missed you," Yve said, voice muffled.
He didn't answer. He just held her. One arm locked around her waist. The other hand slid up, fingers threading gently through her hair, resting at the back of her head like he needed to make sure she was real.
Eventually, they pulled back.
He looked at her.
She smiled—softer now. Certain. Then she turned.
Ava was already moving. She ran down from the porch and threw her arms around Yve. "I missed you so much!"
Yve laughed, hugging her back just as tight. "I missed you too."
The tension broke. Relief spread through the group, shoulders finally dropping as the adrenaline drained out.
Ethan stepped in next, pulling Yve into a firm, quick hug. "Thought you were gone for good."
Yve squeezed him once. "I never said that."
Lucas approached slower. He pulled her into a brief embrace—solid, grounding. "Welcome back."
David hovered off to the side, clearly trying to look like none of this involved him.
Yve ignored that. She stepped in and hugged him anyway.
He grumbled under his breath, but didn't pull away.
When she stepped back, she glanced around—taking in the yard, the house, the people. "Where are the others?"
The group exchanged looks.
Small smiles.
Knowing ones.