Dusk arrived early the following day, the shadows of the surrounding mountains swallowing the sun sooner than usual.

  Ana finished wrapping the final yer of bandages around Lenka’s waist. Her movements were light, as if she were careful not to disturb the fragile silence of the cave.

  “...There. You should be able to move soon,” Ana said ftly.

  Lenka leaned against the jagged stone wall. Her legs still cked strength, but she managed a whispered, “Thank you.”

  Ana’s response was blunt. “Don’t thank me. Thank my sister—she’s the one who decided to save you.”

  Her gaze drifted past Lenka, nding on the disassembled radio resting on a makeshift table. Saliya sat there, her fingertips stained with machine oil as she repeatedly adjusted a component that refused to fit. Her brow remained deeply furrowed, locked in a state of quiet obsession.

  The air remained still for several seconds. Then, Ana spoke.

  “I have to go out.”

  Saliya finally looked up from her task. “Now?”

  “Mm.” Ana straightened her long skirt, her tone suggesting a decision made long ago. “That gunshot from yesterday couldn't have left no trace. Hunters don't usually send just one person—you know that better than I do, Sister.”

  She paused, then added, “I’m going to scrub our trail and check if there are other squads in the vicinity. It’ll take some time.”

  Lenka’s body tensed almost imperceptibly. “Then... what about here—?”

  “You stay put,” Ana interrupted. “You can’t run yet, and you shouldn't be seen by humans anyway.”

  She turned to Saliya. Their eyes met briefly in the gloom.

  “The two of you stay here. Don’t make a sound, and don’t start another fight. I’ll be back before dawn.”

  Her voice was calm, delivering instructions as she always did. But Saliya could sense a forced lightness in her tone, a hidden yer of sisterly concern.

  Ana stepped onto the overgrown trail, carefully timing her footsteps to blend with the rustle of the wind. Her senses were fully expanded; only after confirming there were no lingering scents of pursuers did she slow her pace.

  Yet, she didn't leave the immediate area right away. She turned back, casting a single look at the entrance of the abandoned mine.

  She knew Saliya was still sitting at that table, staring at a radio she couldn't seem to fix. And that hybrid girl was likely standing behind her, lost and uncertain.

  Ana let out a long, weary exhale.

  —This wasn't the path we were supposed to take.

  She had intended to lead her sister away from all of this—away from the hunters, the hybrids, and the curse of their bloodline. But after witnessing the bond between Saliya and J, the man who had sacrificed everything to help them cross the border, Ana found she couldn't be as cold-hearted as she pnned. If her sister truly didn't want to return to the True Blood territories, she would respect that choice.

  And yet, fate continued to py its cruel jokes, throwing this broken, scarred child into their ps.

  “What a mess,” Ana whispered. It wasn't a compint directed at anyone in particur; it was a mutter of resentment toward the heavens.

  Inside the cave, the only sounds were the rustle of leaves in the night wind and the distant, rhythmic chirping of unknown insects.

  Lenka stared at her own hands. She had looked at them for at least three years—hands that had killed, hands that had crushed throats, hands that had cwed at the iron bars of boratory cages and held dying kin during her flight.

  She had always believed her will was simply too weak. That was why, in certain moments, sound would vanish, scents would fail, and she would be left with nothing but the primal urge to tear something apart.

  “...So, it wasn't because I was a failure,” she whispered. Her voice was so quiet she barely seemed to be speaking to anyone at all.

  Saliya paused her work and looked toward her. Lenka slowly raised her head. Her eyes were bloodshot and raw, yet she did not weep.

  “It’s because... my head was stuffed with two different things at once,” Lenka said with a short, brittle ugh that shattered instantly. “The wolf wants to hunt, to bite, to rip—while the vampire half keeps dumping memories that aren't even mine into my brain.”

  Her fingers tightened around the bnket beneath her. “No wonder... every time I was about to lose it, I felt like I was being pulled apart by two voices.”

  One told her to pounce. The other told her to endure. In the end, she belonged to neither side. She lowered her head, her shoulders beginning to shake.

  “...I wasn't turning evil in those moments. I just... I didn't know who I was.”

  As she spoke the words, her breath hitched, her composure finally failing. Years of terror, shame, and self-loathing surged up at once. She had always thought she was the most botched of monsters. Now she understood: some people don't walk the wrong path. They simply aren't given a path to choose from the start.

  “No wonder the others like me went mad,” she murmured. “It’s not that we didn't want to be normal. It’s that 'normal' was never an option.”

  In that moment, a hand was pced gently over the back of hers. It was light, yet steady.

  “The fact that you are still sitting here,” Saliya’s voice was low and soft, “is a remarkable feat in itself.”

  Lenka froze. It took several seconds before she could manage a tiny response. “...But I almost killed you.”

  Saliya didn't answer immediately. She withdrew her hand and returned to the radio. After a moment, she said ftly, “That was only because you didn't know how much that device meant to me. It wasn't because you intended to harm me.”

  For the first time, the ache in Lenka’s chest eased, if only by a fraction.

  Lenka stood at the cave entrance, stretching her stiff body. She looked back at Saliya, who remained in the same spot, head bowed in concentration as she wrestled with the pile of shattered components. Saliya’s bangs fell forward, masking her injured right eye.

  For some reason, the sight made Lenka’s chest tighten.

  “...Wait for me,” she whispered. No one heard her. A second ter, she turned and sprinted into the darkness.

  Ordinarily, she never approached human towns. It wasn't just the fear of being recognized—it was the lights, the sounds, the smells. They reminded her of things she wanted to forget. The scent of asphalt. The screech of metal doors. The incessant static of communicators.

  The moment her feet hit the suburban highway, her breathing became erratic. When headlights swept toward her from the distance, she reflexively retreated into the shadows of the trees, pressing her back against a trunk. Her heart hammered against her ribs, too fast to be her own.

  “...Calm down,” she hissed at herself. This wasn't the time to run. This was the time to pay a debt. She had never owed anyone anything before.

  She forced herself to follow the direction she remembered from their arrival. The dipidated gas station. A row of half-closed shops. Further ahead was the town. It was small, with sparse streetlights illuminating the night. The scent of humans suddenly became overwhelming.

  Lenka pulled up her hood and zipped her jacket, blending into the street like an ordinary passerby. She dared not stop for long, nor did she look at the shop windows. A single thought pounded in her brain: Seven to nine.

  She had less than an hour left.

  She relied on the fragmented memories of parts she had been forced to memorize during her time in the cages and her early flight. She found a hardware and electronics shop that still had its lights on. The chime of the doorbell nearly made her jump out of her skin.

  “...What do you need?” an old man behind the counter asked.

  Lenka’s throat was parched. It had been an age since she had spoken to a human so normally. “...A transceiver... an old model... for communication.” She fought to keep her voice from rasping. “Do you have... a repcement osciltor module? Or an IF filter?”

  The owner blinked, clearly not expecting such an outdated request. “You’re using military-spec antique hardware?”

  Lenka nodded, her fingertips digging into her palms inside her sleeves. Every second was slipping away. The owner turned to rummage through the back shelves. Those few minutes felt as agonizing to Lenka as her time in the boratory cages. She stared at the clock on the wall. Every movement of the second hand felt like a twitch of her own heart.

  What if I’m too te?What if it can't be fixed?What if that was the benefactor's st try?

  She couldn't even bear to finish the thought. Finally, the owner returned with a small pstic box. “This is the only old stock I have. No idea if it’ll match.”

  Lenka snatched it, nearly ripping it from his hands. “How much?” She smmed all her cash onto the counter.

  The owner was stunned. “This is way too much—”

  But she had already turned and bolted out the door. The night wind rushed into her lungs as she ran back at full tilt. She ran faster than she ever had during any escape. It wasn't to save her own life; it was the fear of being too te.

  Saliya’s fingers had begun to tremble from the prolonged strain. Before her, the radio was stripped down to its skeleton. Several key components were cracked, scorched, or warped. She had done everything in her power to repair it, but one piece simply would not fit.

  She tried for the fifth time. The sixth. The seventh.

  “...I can’t,” she whispered. Her voice was raspy, unfamiliar to her own ears.

  She checked the time. 7:56 PM. Less than ten minutes remained.

  Her chest tightened. She knew the state of the machine; even if she forced it together, the success rate would be abysmal. And she didn't dare gamble. If it failed this time, she didn't know if she would have the courage to switch it on again.

  Her hand hovered in the air. For the first time, she hesitated. Ana wasn't there, and even if she were, she couldn't help with this. The only sound was the wind. Saliya suddenly realized she was terrified. Not of being tracked. Not of the hunters.

  She was afraid that no one would answer.

  “...Perhaps,” she whispered. “Perhaps he really is...” Saliya felt her vision blur; tears began to well in her eyes. She couldn't finish the sentence.

  Just then, a frantic patter of footsteps echoed from the distance. Fast. Erratic. Not like a beast, nor a hunter. Saliya snapped her head up.

  A moment ter, a figure practically tumbled into view. Her silver hair was a mess, her breathing chaotic, her jacket covered in dust.

  Lenka.

  She was clutching a small box in her hand. “...Am I... in time?” she wheezed. “I don't know if the model is right... but it was the st one in the shop...”

  She walked forward, step by step, and pressed the box into Saliya’s hands. “—I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I... I should have noticed sooner. If it's too te... I...”

  The second half of her sentence died in her throat. Saliya was stunned. She opened the box. Inside was an old filter module—the exact piece she was missing.

  Saliya’s hand paused for a second. Then, she took a very, very soft breath. “...It’s in time.”

  The words were so light they were almost inaudible. Lenka stood there, dazed. It was the first time she had seen the eyes of the calm vampire turn a vivid, tear-rimmed red.

  Saliya immediately lowered her head and began wiring the part with lightning speed. Her movements were fast and steady, as if she feared that slowing down would cause her emotions to explode. Lenka stood by, not daring to move, her eyes fixed on Saliya’s hands. She even held her breath.

  Time: 8:00 PM. Less than three minutes to spare.

  The final wire was connected. Saliya pressed the power button. The moment the screen lit up, she felt a wave of relief wash over her entire being.

  “...It’s ready.”

  Channel calibrated. The signal strength was weak, but stable. Saliya set the radio down gently, as if fearing it might fall apart if handled too roughly. She looked at the time. The moment had arrived.

  She took a deep breath. Lenka, sensing the gravity of the moment, stepped back a few paces and held her breath. Saliya reached out and pressed the transmit key.

  —Hoo.One breath. A half-beat pause.—Hoo.The second breath.

  The sound was very light, almost like the night wind brushing against leaves. She immediately released the key and began to count.

  One.Two.Three.Four.

  Her heart was pounding so loud it seemed to drown out the world. Silence. Her fingers slowly tightened around the device. She prepared to switch it off.

  Just as the seventh second was about to end, a faint sound crackled through the speaker.

  “...Crackle.”

  It sounded like the briefest bit of static from someone pressing a transmit key. Saliya froze.

  The next second.

  “...Tap. Tap. Tap.”

  Three sounds. Short. Clear. It wasn't static. It wasn't interference. It was a rhythm.

  The three-tap response. The exact rhythm of the signal she had given the person who taught her this code. A rhythm from someone who still remembered her.

  Saliya’s mind was devoid of nguage. No names, no memories, no logic. Only one truth was confirmed.

  He is alive.

  Her chest constricted violently. In that instant, her entire world seemed to turn to a bnk white. Then, it felt as though her heart had been hammered open. She took a sharp, sudden breath. A sound escaped her control.

  “—Ha...”

  The sharp intake of breath was terrifyingly clear in the silent mine. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes already entirely red. She switched off the radio and shoved it back into the foil wrapping, the movement nearly a reflex. That single breath was the only thing she hadn't been able to control.

  She lowered her head, pressing her forehead against her knees. The radio was off. The foil was sealed. Reason told her it was over—and it was a success. But her body would not obey. Those three taps were still vibrating against her eardrums. It wasn't a sound; it was a weight that had been reawakened.

  Saliya sat with her head down, her hands still gripping the radio. Her knuckles were white. Her shoulders gave a single, tiny shudder. It wasn't a sob. It wasn't crying. It was the reaction of a body that had stood still for too long, only for a support to suddenly give way.

  She tried to inhale, but failed. The air was stuck in her throat. In the next heartbeat, a sharp sting radiated from deep within her eyes. She faltered.

  And then—a single drop of dark crimson liquid slid silently from the corner of her eye. It hit the ground, soaking into the dirt.

  It wasn't a wound. It wasn't a remnant of an attack. It was the physiological response of the True Blood when exposed to a violent surge of emotion—a reaction they could not fully suppress.

  A second drop did not fall. Saliya wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the movement crisp and almost violent. It was an order to herself.

  “...Enough.”

  Her voice was barely a whisper. Her shoulders shuddered once more, then stilled. The emotion hadn't vanished; she had simply forced it back down.

  She took a deep breath. This time, she succeeded.

  Ana returned at that exact moment. She caught the scent—a scent of blood that was extremely faint yet unmistakable. For a second, she thought it was an injury, only to realize a heartbeat ter that it was something else.

  It was the scent of an emotion that had been torn open and then instantly stitched back together.

  She saw the tightly wrapped radio. She saw Lenka, her feet covered in wet mud, sitting honestly by the side, not daring to move, her eyes darting around as if unsure where to look. Ana knew what it meant.

  She didn't approach, and she didn't speak. She understood that this was not a moment where her sister needed comfort. This was a moment where her sister needed to be allowed to be fragile.

  Ana simply found a spot by the cave entrance and sat down to rest. Anyone else who tried to approach would have to go through her first.

  After a few seconds, the scent of blood was retracted. The sound of breathing returned to a steady rhythm. Only then did Ana speak, her voice tender.

  “...I’m so gd, Sister.”

  She didn't mention the blood-tears. She didn't mention the name. Because certain confirmations, once made, never need to be proven again.

  She knew her sister finally had the answer she was seeking.