Zoey lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster looked like rivers. The water stain in the corner looked like a cloud. She had counted both of them so many times she could draw them from memory.
She wanted to punch him.
Really hard. The kind of punch that would break a finger or two. Maybe three. She'd heal. It would be worth it.
Because he loved her.
He had said it. Plain. Simple. No sarcasm, no deflection, no escape route. And then he had left. Walked away. Gone to fight something that should have killed him, and she hadn't even gotten to say anything back.
Her pillow smelled like him.
She buried her face in it and screamed.
───
Henrey sat at his desk, his head in his hands, his elbows on the wood. The papers in front of him were blurred—he hadn't looked at them in hours. His neck ached. His eyes burned. His chest felt like someone had parked a truck on it.
"I can't anymore." His voice was muffled by his palms. "You should reveal yourself."
The hologram flickered. A figure stood inside it—tall, familiar, her face hidden in shadow.
"No," she said. "When the other versions are gone, I'll reveal myself. Until then—no."
Henrey's shoulders sagged. "Fine."
His hands moved to his neck, pressing against the tension. The hologram's voice softened.
"Don't worry. It will all be fine soon, Henrey. The pain. The suffering. It will ease down."
He wanted to believe her. He didn't.
"Okay," he said.
The hologram smiled. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel it—the warmth, the certainty, the quiet strength that had carried them all through worse.
He wished he had her faith.
───
Eva sat on the floor of the girl zone, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Warden sat beside her, close enough to touch, her visible eye fixed on the window. The kid sat between them, his notebook open on his lap, his pencil moving slowly across the page.
"It's not fair," Eva said.
Warden signed. The kid translated without looking up. "What isn't?"
"All of it." Eva's voice was quiet. "Lily. The other versions. Jet. Ava. The fact that I can't look at my own face without seeing her crying."
Warden was still for a long moment. Then she signed again.
"Guilt doesn't help anyone. It just makes you smaller."
Eva's throat tightened. "I know."
"But you still feel it."
"I still feel it."
Warden reached over and took Eva's hand. Her palm was rough, scarred, missing a finger. It was the warmest thing Eva had felt in years.
"You're not her," Warden signed. The kid's voice was soft. "You're not Jet. You're not the one who hurt Lily. You're just... you. And you're still here. That matters."
Eva squeezed her hand. "How do you know?"
Warden's visible eye crinkled. She signed something that made the kid smile.
"Because I'm still here too."
They sat in silence, watching the light fade through the window, holding onto each other like the world might end if they let go.
───
Derek's body still ached. His ribs were healed, his cuts were closed, his bruises had faded to yellow. But the memory of the pain lingered—the way his bones had cracked, the way his lungs had struggled for air, the way his blood had stained the snow.
He stood in the clearing outside the facility, his feet planted, his hands raised.
Selene stood across from him, her white hair loose, her pale skin glowing in the grey light. She was watching him the way a student watches a teacher—intently, carefully, hungry for knowledge.
"Again," he said.
She moved.
Her fist came toward his face—fast, faster than before, but still wild, still untrained. Derek sidestepped, caught her wrist, turned her momentum against her. She stumbled, caught herself, turned back.
"Good," he said. "You're getting faster. But you're still telegraphing."
"Telegraphing?"
"You're telling me where you're going to hit before you hit it. Your shoulders give it away. Your eyes, too."
Selene frowned. "How do I stop?"
"Practice."
She nodded and raised her fists again.
Derek watched her, and for a moment, he thought about the ten Wolfens. About the fire and the ice and the snow. About the woman who had saved his life.
He wondered if he would ever be strong enough to protect the people he loved.
Then Selene punched him in the chest, and he stopped wondering.
───
Leo sat outside the room where they kept Wrong Eva. His back was against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes fixed on the door.
Maya sat beside him, her arms crossed, her scales still visible under her sleeves.
"How long are we going to sit here?" she asked.
"Until someone tells us not to."
Maya snorted. "That's not a plan."
"It's the only plan I've got."
They sat in silence. The door didn't open. The woman inside didn't scream. The world didn't end.
It was almost peaceful.
───
Jordan had found the place by accident.
A clearing, hidden in the trees, with a stream running through it and flowers growing along the bank. The water was clear, cold, perfect. The flowers were small and white and smelled like something he couldn't name.
He and Lena sat on a fallen log, their shoulders touching, their hands intertwined.
"I should have been the one," Jordan said.
Lena turned to look at him. "The one to what?"
"To destroy the Lee clan. It was my responsibility. My family. My mess." His voice was quiet, tight. "But Lily did it. She killed them all. For me. And I never even got to thank her."
Lena didn't say anything. She just held his hand tighter.
"I feel guilty," he continued. "Every day. Every time I close my eyes. She died, and I'm still here, and I didn't even—" His voice cracked. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."
Lena leaned her head against his shoulder. "She knew."
"Did she?"
"She knew everything, Jordan. She knew what she was doing. She knew what it would cost. And she did it anyway." Lena's voice was soft. "For you. For all of us."
Jordan's eyes burned. He blinked. The tears fell anyway.
Lena didn't say anything else. She just sat there, holding his hand, letting him cry.
The stream flowed. The flowers swayed. The world kept turning.
And somewhere, far away, Lily was probably laughing at them for being so dramatic.