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Chapter Text

The auditorium hummed with anticipation, a low buzz of voices that reminded Eden of static—white noise meant to fill the space between what was and what would be.

She sat three rows from the front, spine straight, cap fitted precisely on her dark hair, hands folded neatly in her lap. To anyone watching, she was composed. Stoic. The picture of military discipline that the Hunter Association prized.

No one could see the way her thoughts fractured and reformed, a kaleidoscope of two lifetimes spinning behind her eyes.

Fourteen years.

Fourteen years since she'd woken in a sterile room with hands too small and a face she recognized but didn't know. Fourteen years since the disorientation had crashed over her like a tidal wave—this isn't real, this is a game, I was playing a game—until the pain in her chest and the taste of copper on her tongue had convinced her otherwise.

She was six years old again. Or rather, she was six years old for the first time in this world.
And she remembered everything.

The game. The routes. The characters. The plot beats and tragic backstories and carefully orchestrated romance paths that she'd navigated on a glowing screen in another life, another world, another body that had been hers and was now gone.

Eden's jaw tightened. She forced her gaze forward, toward the stage where Director Jenna stood at the podium, her voice carrying across the auditorium with practiced authority.

"...representing the culmination of years of training, discipline, and sacrifice. Today, you step forward not as students, but as Hunters—protectors of humanity across the reaches of Deepspace."

The words washed over Eden like water. She'd heard this speech before. Not in person—never in person—but she knew the cadence, the way Jenna's voice would dip at sacrifice and rise at Deepspace. She knew because she'd played this scene. Watched it unfold on a screen while lying in bed, earbuds in, thumb scrolling through dialogue options.

Except there were no dialogue options now.

There was only the weight of her uniform, the press of the cap against her skull, and the acute awareness that three rows ahead and two seats to the left, May-Celeste sat with her shoulders back and her chin high, exactly as Eden had imagined her.

No.
Not imagined.

Created.

The thought twisted like a blade between her ribs.

May-Celeste—MC, as Eden still thought of her in the privacy of her own mind—was everything Eden had wanted to be in that other life. Confident without arrogance. Witty without cruelty. Strong enough to protect, soft enough to care. She was the hero Eden had crafted, the protagonist she'd guided through danger and romance and impossible choices.

And now she was real.

Autonomous. Alive. Laughing at something Captain Jenna said that Eden missed, her voice bright and easy in a way Eden's had never been.

Eden's fingers curled slightly in her lap. She forced them to relax.

You can't control her. You were never supposed to.

That had been the hardest lesson. Watching MC make choices Eden hadn't planned for, respond to situations with humor or anger or tenderness that felt both familiar and alien. She was still MC—still brave and loyal and quick with a retort—but she was also herself. A person. Not a character.

It should have been a relief.

Instead, it felt like loss.

"And now," Jenna continued, her voice cutting through Eden's spiraling thoughts, "I'd like to recognize two exceptional graduates. It is extraordinarily rare for a Hunter to be classified as Anhaunsen class. Rarer still for two to emerge in the same cohort."

Eden's pulse spiked. Her gaze snapped to the stage.

No.

She'd known this was coming—had braced for it, planned for it, rehearsed the neutral expression she'd wear when her name was called. But hearing it aloud, in Jenna's clipped, authoritative tone, made it viscerally, terrifyingly real.

"May-Celeste," Jenna announced, and MC rose with fluid grace, her smile warm and genuine as she ascended the stage to polite applause.

Eden's chest was constricted.

Of course MC is Anhaunsen class. She's the protagonist. She has to be special.

But then Jenna's gaze swept across the auditorium, and when it landed on Eden, something flickered in the Director's expression. Surprise, maybe. Or calculation.

"And Eden."

It was always just Eden.

The applause was quieter this time. Uncertain. Eden stood, her movements precise and controlled, and walked toward the stage with the same measured gait she'd perfected over fourteen years of pretending she belonged here.

MC turned as Eden approached, and for a moment, their eyes met.

MC's expression was open, startled—her lips parting as if to say something—but Eden looked away first. She took her place beside MC on the stage, hands clasped behind her back, and stared out at the sea of faces below.

Two Anhaunsen class Hunters.

Both in the same year.

Both standing on this stage, separated by inches and an entire lifetime of context that only one of them could understand.

Eden could feel the weight of eyes on her. Jenna's. The other instructors'. Even some of the graduates in the audience, their gazes sharp with curiosity or envy or suspicion.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

In the game, MC was unique. Special. The only one with an Aether Core, the only one capable of resonating at that level. The plot hinged on her singularity.

But Eden wasn't part of the game.

She was the glitch. The anomaly. The reincarnated soul who'd stumbled into a narrative she was never meant to inhabit, and now her very existence was rewriting the rules.

Jenna stepped forward, her gaze moving between them with an intensity that made Eden's skin prickle.
"Anhaunsen class Evol users," Jenna said slowly, as if tasting the words, "are assets of extraordinary value. Your abilities will be closely monitored and carefully deployed. You represent not only the future of the Hunter Association, but the security of Deepspace itself."

MC shifted beside her, a barely perceptible movement, but Eden caught it. Nerves, maybe. Or excitement.
Eden felt neither.

She felt the way she always did when the spotlight found her: exposed. Vulnerable. Like the perfect skin and polished exterior of this body were nothing more than a mask, and beneath it, she was still the scarred, broken thing she remembered being.

Gaia did this to me.

The thought surfaced unbidden, cold and sharp.

She didn't know how. Didn't know why. But somewhere in the last fourteen years, between the disorientation of reincarnation and the slow, agonizing process of rebuilding herself in this world, the Gaia Research Center had gotten its hands on her.

And they'd changed her.

She didn't remember the experiments—not fully. Just fragments. Sterile lights. The hum of machinery. The sensation of something deep inside her chest waking up, unfurling like a flower made of knives.

Her Evol.

Overclock.

The ability to amplify, copy and control the Evol of anyone she touches.

It should have felt like power.

Instead, it felt like theft.

Jenna was still speaking, something about assignments and field rotations, but Eden's focus had fractured again. She stood perfectly still, her expression neutral, while inside, the question that had haunted her for fourteen years clawed its way to the surface once more:

Why did they do this to me?

She didn't know.

But she would find out.

That was why she'd endured the training. Why she'd pushed herself to graduate top of her class—second only to MC, which felt grimly appropriate. Why she'd kept her head down, her questions to herself, her knowledge of this world's "plot" locked away where no one could see it.

To become an S-class Hunter.

To gain access to the resources, the clearance, the authority she'd need to dig into Gaia's secrets.
To understand what they'd done to her—and why.

The ceremony ended with applause. Eden descended the stage in silence, her cap still perfectly in place, her hands steady.

MC caught up to her in the corridor outside the auditorium, slightly breathless, her smile bright and disarming.
"Hey! Eden, right?" MC's voice was warm, curious, with none of the guardedness Eden wore like armor. "I can't believe we're both Anhaunsen class. I didn't even know that was possible."

Eden turned, meeting MC's gaze with the same calm, unreadable expression she always wore.

"It's rare," Eden said simply. Her voice was low, controlled. "But not impossible."
MC laughed, a little nervous, a little excited. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot of each other, huh? If they assign us to similar missions, I mean."

"Perhaps."

There was a beat of silence. MC's smile faltered slightly, her brow furrowing as if she were trying to read something in Eden's expression and coming up empty.

"Well," MC said finally, her tone still friendly despite the awkwardness, "if you ever want to grab coffee or—"

"I have an appointment," Eden interrupted, her tone polite but final. "Excuse me."

She turned and walked away before MC could respond, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

She didn't look back.

Chapter Text

Eden's new apartment was small. Efficient.

A single room with a kitchenette, a narrow bed, and a window that overlooked the sprawling cityscape of Linkon City. She stood at that window now, still in her uniform, cap discarded on the bed behind her.

The city lights stretched out like stars, endless and cold.
She pressed her palm against the glass, feeling the coolness seep into her skin.

Fourteen years.

Fourteen years, and she was finally here. Finally free of the dormitories, the constant surveillance, the instructors who watched her like she was a specimen under glass.

She had her own space now. Her own life.

And yet, standing here in the quiet dark, she felt no closer to understanding who she was.

The girl from Earth, who'd died and woken here?

The Eden of this world, who'd been taken by Gaia and changed into something she didn't recognize?

Or someone else entirely—caught between two lives, two bodies, two identities that would never fully align?

Her reflection stared back at her from the window. Flawless skin. Sharp eyes. No scars.

Liar, she thought.

Somewhere deep inside, where no one else could see, she was still covered in them.

Eden closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

Tomorrow, she would report for her first official assignment as a Hunter.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin.

But tonight, alone in the dark, she allowed herself one moment of honesty:

She had no idea who she was anymore.

And she wasn't sure she ever would.

_____

The alarm went off at 0500 hours.

Eden's eyes opened before the sound fully registered, her hand moving on instinct to silence the device on her nightstand. The apartment was still dark, the city outside her window caught in that liminal space between night and dawn—too late for stars, too early for sun.

She lay still for three breaths, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of her body against the mattress.

Another day.

Then she rose.

The routine was familiar now, worn smooth by repetition. Fourteen years of military discipline had carved pathways into her muscle memory, and her body moved through them with mechanical precision.

Shower. Cold water first, then gradually warmer, washing away the remnants of sleep. She didn't linger.

Uniform. The Hunter Association's standard issue—fitted black combat gear with reinforced plating at the shoulders and forearms, boots that laced to mid-calf. She fastened each buckle with care, checked each strap twice.

Breakfast. Protein bar and black coffee. Efficient. Tasteless. Exactly what she needed.

By 0545, she was out the door.

The training facility was a twenty-minute walk from her apartment, but Eden took the route at a jog. The streets were mostly empty at this hour, just the occasional delivery drone humming past and the distant rumble of early transit. The city smelled like rain and ozone, the air crisp enough to bite.

She liked this time of day. The quiet. The solitude.

No one expected conversation at 0600 hours.

The facility's training grounds were already occupied when she arrived. A handful of other Hunters—some new graduates like herself, others veterans cycling through recertification drills. Eden nodded to a few familiar faces but didn't stop to chat.

She moved to the far corner of the grounds, where the targeting range sat empty, and began her warmup.

Stretches first. Methodical. Each muscle group isolated and extended until the tension released. Then footwork drills—pivots, sidesteps, advancing and retreating across the marked grid on the floor. Her movements were sharp, economical. No wasted motion.

After thirty minutes, she moved to the range itself.

The targets were holographic projections, designed to simulate Wanderers—hostile entities that appeared in unstable Deepspace zones. They flickered into existence at random intervals, their forms shifting and unpredictable.

Eden drew her weapon—a standard-issue pistol, though she knew she'd need to requisition something better soon—and fired.

The first shot went wide.

She adjusted. Fired again.

Better.

Again.

Center mass.

Her Evol hummed beneath her skin, a low frequency she'd learned to suppress. Overclock wasn't useful here—not without someone to resonate with, someone whose abilities she could amplify or copy. Alone, it was just potential energy with nowhere to go.

Alone, she was just herself.

Whoever that is.

She fired until the magazine was empty, reloaded, and fired again.

By 0730, her shoulders ached and her hands smelled like gunpowder. She holstered the weapon, wiped the sweat from her brow, and allowed herself a single moment to breathe.

Then she heard it.

Laughter.

Bright. Familiar.

Eden turned, and there—across the training grounds, near the sparring mats—was MC.

She wasn't alone.

Xavier stood beside her, his posture relaxed in a way Eden had never seen from him before. His silver-blue hair caught the early light, and his expression—usually so carefully neutral—was soft. Almost fond.

MC said something Eden couldn't hear, and Xavier laughed. A real laugh, quiet but genuine, his head tilting slightly as he looked down at her.

Eden's chest tightened.

She knew this. She'd seen this, in another life, on another screen. The way Xavier was with MC—gentle, attentive, dropping his guard in ways he never did with anyone else.
But knowing it and witnessing it were different things.

Eden looked away.

Not your business.

She packed her gear methodically, ignoring the ache that had nothing to do with physical exertion, and headed for the showers.

Chapter Text

The assignment briefing was at 0900 hours.

Eden arrived early, as always, and took a seat near the back of the conference room. The chairs filled gradually—other new graduates filtering in, some chatting quietly, others reviewing data on their tablets.

MC arrived five minutes before the hour, her hair still damp from a shower, her smile easy as she greeted a few people near the door.

Eden watched from her peripheral vision, careful not to stare.

Xavier entered a moment later.

He looked different now. The softness Eden had glimpsed earlier was gone, replaced by his usual quiet reserve. He moved like someone used to being overlooked—shoulders slightly hunched, gaze downcast, blending into the background despite his height.

He took a seat near the middle of the room. Not next to MC.

Interesting.

Eden filed that away.

At precisely 0900, Captain Jenna entered, a data pad in hand and two other senior Hunters flanking her.
"Good morning," Jenna said, her voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. "Congratulations on your graduation. As of today, you are full-fledged members of the Hunter Association. Your first assignments have been finalized."

She tapped her data pad, and a holographic display materialized above the conference table—names, team compositions, mission parameters scrolling past in neat rows.

"You'll be divided into teams of three to five, depending on mission requirements. Each team will have a senior Hunter as lead until you've completed your probationary period. Pay attention—I'll only say this once."

The room fell silent.

Jenna began reading names.

Eden listened, her expression neutral, her hands folded in her lap.

"Team Seven," Jenna announced. "Lead: Senior Hunter Tara. Members: Xavier, Eden, and two support personnel from logistics."

Eden's pulse spiked, but she didn't move.

Xavier glanced up, his blue eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. He nodded once—polite, impersonal—and looked away.

Of course.

Of all the teams. Of all the possible configurations.

She was assigned to Xavier.

Eden exhaled slowly through her nose.

It made sense, logically. They were both capable. Both disciplined. And Xavier's Evol—light manipulation—was versatile enough to complement almost any team composition.

But it also meant she'd be working in close proximity to one of MC's love interests.

One of the people whose story I know inside and out.

She knew about Philos. About Xavier's true identity, his history, the weight of centuries he carried behind that soft, boyish exterior. She knew the secrets he kept, the lies he told, the sacrifices he'd made.

And she knew—god, she knew—that he was hiding all of it from MC.

Letting her figure it out on her own.

Letting her choose him, not because of who he'd been, but because of who he was now.

Eden's jaw tightened.

It's not your place to interfere.

MC deserved to discover the truth herself. To make her own choices, her own mistakes. That was the only way any of this could be real.

Even if it meant Eden had to watch from the sidelines, knowing everything and saying nothing.
Even if it meant carrying the weight of that knowledge alone.

Jenna finished reading the assignments and dismissed them with a curt nod. "Report to your team leads by 1100 hours. Dismissed."

The room erupted into motion—people standing, talking, comparing assignments.

Eden stood and made her way toward the door, her gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Hey."

She stopped. Turned.

Xavier stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his expression carefully neutral.
"Looks like we're on the same team," he said.

His voice was quiet. Polite. The same tone he used with everyone who wasn't MC.
Eden nodded. "So it seems."

A beat of silence.

Xavier shifted slightly, as if uncomfortable. "I've heard you're... really good. Top marks in tactical assessment."

"I do my job," Eden replied evenly.

Another pause. Xavier's gaze flickered over her face, as if trying to read something there, but Eden's expression gave him nothing.

"Right," he said finally. "Well. I guess I'll see you at 1100."

"1100," Eden confirmed.

He nodded and walked away, his shoulders hunched again, retreating into that quiet, unassuming shell he wore like armor.

Eden watched him go.

He's protecting himself, she thought. Just like I am.

The difference was, Xavier had someone who made him feel safe enough to lower his guard.

Eden didn't.

She turned and left the conference room, her footsteps echoing down the empty corridor.

At 1100 hours, Eden reported to the briefing room assigned to Team Seven.
Senior Hunter Tara was already there—a woman in her mid-thirties with short auburn hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. She looked up as Eden entered, her sharp eyes assessing.

"Eden," Tara said. "Good. You're early. I like that."

"Ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am. Tara's fine." She gestured to the seats around the table. "Take a seat. We're waiting on Xavier and the logistics crew."

Eden sat.

Xavier arrived two minutes later, apologizing quietly for the delay, and took the seat across from her.
The two logistics personnel—a man and a woman Eden didn't recognize—filed in shortly after.
Tara wasted no time.

"Alright, listen up. Our first mission is reconnaissance in the Restricted Zone outside Linkon City. Wanderer activity has spiked in the last seventy-two hours, and intel suggests there may be a Protofield forming. Our job is to confirm the threat level and report back. We are not engaging unless absolutely necessary. Understood?"

Nods around the table.

Tara's gaze landed on Eden, then Xavier. "You two are our heavy hitters. Eden, I've read your file—Anhaunsen class, Overclock Evol. That's a hell of an asset, but it's also a liability if you can't control it. Can you?"

Eden met her gaze steadily. "Yes."

"Good. Xavier, same question. Can you keep your abilities in check if things go sideways?"

Xavier nodded. "Yes."

"Alright." Tara leaned back in her chair. "We deploy at 1400 hours. Gear up, review the mission parameters, and meet at the hangar. Questions?"

Silence.

"Then get moving."
........

The afternoon passed in a blur of preparation. Eden checked her equipment twice, reviewed the mission data three times, and ran through combat scenarios in her head until the variables blurred together.

By the time she arrived at the hangar, the sun was high and the air was thick with the smell of fuel and heated metal.

Xavier was already there, standing near the transport shuttle, his gaze distant.

Eden approached, her boots clanging softly against the metal grating.

"Ready?" she asked.

Xavier blinked, as if pulled from some far-off thought, and nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Ready."

But his eyes—those soft, blue eyes that MC saw so much warmth in—looked tired.

Ancient, Eden thought.

Because that's what he was, wasn't he?

Not twenty-four. Not young.

Old. Worn down by lifetimes MC couldn't even begin to imagine.

Eden looked away.

It's not your place. She boarded the shuttle in silence.

…

The Restricted Zone was quiet.

Too quiet.

Eden stood at the edge of the shuttle's loading ramp, her wand held loosely in her right hand, and scanned the landscape. The weapon was a thing of elegant brutality—polearm-length, with intricate engravings along its shaft that glowed faintly with stored energy. It hummed against her palm, a low vibration that synced with her pulse.
The zone itself looked like the aftermath of something violent. The ground was cracked and uneven, sections of asphalt buckled as if the earth beneath had shifted suddenly. Buildings—what remained of them—jutted up like broken teeth, their windows shattered and walls scorched black.

No movement. No sound.

Just the wind, whistling through the ruins.

"This is wrong," Eden said quietly.

Tara glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "Wrong how?"

"Too quiet. If there's a Protofield forming, there should be Wanderers. Scouts, at least."

Xavier stepped up beside them, his expression thoughtful. "She's right. It feels... dormant."

Tara's jaw tightened. She tapped her earpiece. "Command, this is Team Seven. Zone appears clear, but something's off. Requesting permission to proceed with caution."

A crackle of static, then a clipped voice: "Permission granted. Maintain constant communication. Report any anomalies immediately."

"Copy that." Tara turned to the team. "Alright, listen up. Standard recon formation. Xavier, you're on point. Eden, you're rear guard. Logistics crew stays in the middle. No one breaks formation unless I say so. Clear?"

Nods all around.

They moved out.

The ruins swallowed them slowly, the broken buildings casting long shadows that stretched and twisted in the afternoon light. Eden kept her wand raised, her senses on high alert. Every footstep echoed too loud. Every breath felt like it carried too far.

Xavier moved ahead with surprising grace, his body language relaxed but his eyes sharp. He was scanning rooftops, doorways, anywhere a threat could emerge from.

He's done this before, Eden thought. Hundreds of times. Thousands, maybe.

It was strange, watching him like this. Knowing what she knew.

In the game, Xavier had been the soft-spoken love interest. The one who fell asleep mid-conversation, who made terrible puns, who looked at MC like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

But here, now, he moved like a soldier. Like someone who'd seen too many battles and survived them all.
It was a reminder that everything she thought she knew was only half the story.

"Contact," Xavier said suddenly, his voice cutting through her thoughts.

Everyone froze.

"Where?" Tara's hand went to her weapon.

Xavier pointed toward a collapsed building about fifty meters ahead. "Movement. Upper floor. Can't get a clear visual."

Eden's grip on her wand tightened. She extended her senses, reaching out with her Evol, but there was nothing—just the ambient energy of the zone, thick and oppressive.

"Could be a survivor," one of the logistics crew suggested nervously.

"Could be a trap," Eden countered.

Tara's eyes narrowed. "Xavier, can you get closer? Get a better look?"

Xavier hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, then nodded. "Yeah. Cover me."

He moved forward, low and fast, his form blurring slightly as light bent around him—camouflage, subtle but effective.

Eden watched him go, her jaw tight.

Something didn't feel right.

She didn't know how she knew. The mission briefing hadn't mentioned an ambush. The game hadn't had a scene like this.

But her instincts—honed by fourteen years of survival in a world that wasn't supposed to exist—were screaming.

"Tara," Eden said quietly. "We should pull back."

"Not yet. Let Xavier confirm—"

The explosion cut her off.

Chapter Text

It erupted from the building Xavier had been approaching, a burst of white-hot light and concussive force that threw debris in every direction. Eden threw up a hand instinctively, channeling energy through her wand to create a barrier—shimmering, translucent, just wide enough to shield the logistics crew and Tara from the worst of it.

The blast wave hit the barrier and dissipated, scattering harmlessly around them.

"Xavier!" Tara shouted.

No response.

Eden's heart slammed against her ribs. She scanned the wreckage, searching for any sign of movement, and then—
There.

A figure, half-buried in rubble, blood streaking down one side of his face.

Xavier.

"Wanderers!" one of the logistics crew screamed.

Eden spun.

They were emerging from the ruins—twisted, grotesque forms that barely resembled anything human. Their bodies flickered and warped, like static interference, and their eyes glowed with an unnatural light.

Five. No, six.

And they were fast.

"Formation!" Tara barked, raising her weapon. "Protect the crew!"

Eden moved on instinct, stepping between the logistics personnel and the advancing Wanderers. Her wand spun in her hands, the shaft a blur of motion as she planted it into the ground.

Energy rippled outward.

A support field—wide-range, defensive. It wouldn't stop the Wanderers, but it would slow them. Give Tara time to coordinate.

"Eden, can you hold them?" Tara shouted.

"For now!"

The first Wanderer lunged.

Eden swept her wand up, the tip igniting with concentrated energy, and fired.

The blast caught the creature center-mass, disintegrating it in a flash of light and ash. Two more came at her from the flanks. She pivoted, her movements sharp and precise, and struck one with the shaft of her wand. The impact resonated with a satisfying crack, and the Wanderer recoiled, its form destabilizing.

She didn't give it time to recover.

Another blast. Another kill.

But there were more.

Always more.

"Tara!" Eden's voice was tight with strain. "We need to fall back!"

"Not without Xavier!"

"Then I'll get him!"

Eden didn't wait for permission. She vaulted over the barrier she'd created, her wand spinning as she carved a path through the Wanderers. Her movements were methodical, efficient—each strike calculated for maximum impact, each step deliberate.

She reached Xavier in seconds.

He was conscious, barely, his eyes unfocused and blood dripping from a gash on his temple.

"Xavier," Eden said sharply, crouching beside him. "Can you move?"

He blinked, his gaze struggling to focus on her face. "...Eden?"

"Yes. We need to go. Now."

She hooked an arm under his shoulders and hauled him upright. He was heavier than he looked, his weight sagging against her, but she braced herself and held firm.

Behind them, the air shifted.

Eden's blood went cold.

She turned, slowly, and her breath caught.

The Protofield was forming.

It started as a shimmer—a distortion in the air, like heat rising off pavement—and then it expanded, fast, swallowing the ruins in a dome of warped space. The buildings inside twisted and fractured, their structures bending in ways that defied geometry.

And at the center of it all, more Wanderers were emerging.

"Shit," Eden breathed.

"Eden!" Tara's voice crackled over the comms. "Get out of there! Now!"

"Working on it!"

But Xavier's weight was dragging her down, and the Wanderers were closing in, and the Protofield was expanding faster than she could run.

I can't do this alone.

The thought cut through her panic, sharp and undeniable.

She couldn't hold them off and protect Xavier and make it back to the team.

She needed help.

Her Evol hummed beneath her skin, restless and hungry.

Overclock.

She'd never used it in field combat. Never resonated with another Hunter under pressure.

But she didn't have a choice.

Eden gripped Xavier's arm tighter, her fingers digging into his sleeve finding a point with direct skin contact, his wrist, and reached out with her Evol—tentative, searching.

She felt his energy immediately.

Light. Warm and steady, like sunlight filtered through water. But beneath it, something else—something vast and ancient and tired.

Philos, she thought distantly.

She pushed deeper, syncing her frequency to his, and felt the connection snap into place.
Xavier gasped, his body going rigid.

Energy flooded through her—raw, overwhelming, like holding lightning in her bare hands. Her wand flared, the engravings along its shaft blazing with white-gold light.

"Eden," Xavier rasped, his voice strained. "What are you—"

"Trust me," she said tersely.

And then she pulled.

His Evol surged through her, amplified by her own, and she redirected it—channeling it through her wand and out into the field.

Light exploded outward.

Not a single beam, but a wave—an area-of-effect blast that swept across the Protofield like a tidal surge. The Wanderers shrieked, their forms disintegrating under the onslaught, and the distortion in the air flickered, destabilizing.

For a moment, everything was white.

And then it was over.

Eden staggered, her knees buckling, and Xavier caught her—barely.

They held each other up, breathing hard, the ruins around them silent once more.

"...What was that?" Xavier's voice was hoarse, his blue eyes wide and disbelieving.
Eden met his gaze, her expression unreadable.

"Overclock," she said simply.
.......
The shuttle ride back was tense.

Tara had patched Xavier up as best she could with the field kit, but he was still pale, his movements sluggish. He sat across from Eden, his gaze flickering to her every few minutes, as if trying to figure something out.

Eden ignored him.

She stared out the shuttle window, her wand resting across her lap, and focused on keeping her breathing even.
The resonance had left her shaken.

Not because it hadn't worked—it had worked too well.

Is this what MC felt every time she resonated with her Evol?

She'd felt everything. Xavier's power, yes, but also his emotion. The weight of centuries, the grief he carried like chains, the way he looked at the world with eyes that had seen too much.

And beneath it all, a longing so profound it had nearly drowned her.

MC.

He thought of MC when he resonated.

Of course he did.

Eden's chest tightened.

You're not her, she reminded herself harshly. You'll never be her.

"Eden."

She turned.

Xavier was watching her, his expression unreadable.

"That resonance," he said slowly. "It felt...you felt."

Eden's pulse spiked, but she kept her face neutral. "Resonance often does feel overwhelming. It's an intimate connection."

"No." Xavier shook his head. "Not like that. It felt like—" He hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Like someone else."

MC.

Eden looked away.

"I don't know what you mean," she said evenly.

Xavier didn't respond, but she could feel his gaze on her, heavy with questions he didn't know how to ask.
And Eden, for her part, had no intention of answering them.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the shuttle wall, exhaustion settling over her like a shroud.
You're not MC, she thought again.

And she needs to remember that.

Chapter Text

The medical bay was too bright.

Eden sat on the examination table, her uniform jacket discarded, bare arms exposed as the medic ran a scanner over her vitals. The device hummed softly, casting pale blue light across her skin.

She didn't look at it.

Didn't look at the medic, either.

Her gaze was fixed on a point somewhere past the wall, unfocused, as if she could stare through the metal and into something else entirely.

The resonance wouldn't stop.

It had been three hours since they'd returned from the Restricted Zone. Three hours since she'd severed the connection with Xavier's Evol. Three hours since she'd felt the weight of centuries pressing against her consciousness like water against a dam.

And she could still feel it.

Not the power—that had faded, receding back into Xavier where it belonged.

But the emotion.

The grief. The exhaustion. The way his thoughts had circled back, again and again, to her. To MC.
To the warmth in his chest when he thought of her laugh. The way his pulse quickened when she smiled at him. The desperate, aching hope that maybe, this time, in this life, things could be different.

Eden's hands curled into fists against her thighs.

Stop.

But her mind wouldn't obey. It kept pulling her back to that moment—to the resonance, to the flood of Xavier's consciousness pouring through hers, raw and unfiltered.

She'd felt what it was like to love MC.

Not from the outside, observing. Not from a screen, reading dialogue and making choices.

From the inside. As if she were Xavier. As if his longing were her own.

And it had been—

"Eden."

She blinked.

The medic was watching her, concern creasing his brow. "Your heart rate's elevated. Are you experiencing any pain? Disorientation?"

"No," Eden said automatically.

Her voice sounded distant. Mechanical.

The medic didn't look convinced, but he made a note on his datapad and stepped back. "Overclock Evol can cause psychological strain during resonance, especially at high intensity. If you experience any aftereffects—insomnia, intrusive thoughts, emotional volatility—report it immediately."

Too late, Eden thought.

"Understood," she said aloud.

The medic nodded. "You're cleared for now. Captain Jenna wants to see you for debriefing. Conference room B."
Eden slid off the table, retrieved her jacket, and left without another word.

.......

The corridor was empty. Her footsteps echoed too loud against the metal flooring, each step a reminder that she was walking, moving, here—but her mind was still somewhere else.

Still trapped in Xavier's consciousness.

Still feeling the way he'd looked at MC that morning on the training grounds. The softness in his expression. The way he'd lowered his guard, just for a moment, just for her.

Eden's jaw tightened.

You're not her.

She'd told herself that a thousand times over the last fourteen years. Reminded herself, again and again, that MC was her own person—autonomous, real, separate.

But knowing it intellectually and feeling it were two different things.

Feeling it through Xavier's eyes—feeling the way he saw MC, the way he loved her—had been like swallowing glass.

Because Eden had created her.

Eden had given MC those traits. That confidence. That warmth. That easy, unguarded way of connecting with people.

All the things Eden had wanted to be and never could.

And now someone loved MC for those things. Loved her because of them.

Loved her in a way no one would ever love Eden.

Stop.

Eden forced the thought down, buried it beneath layers of control and discipline, and kept walking.

Conference room B was smaller than the one they'd used for mission briefings. Just a table, six chairs, and a holographic display mounted on the far wall.

Captain Jenna was already there, seated at the head of the table, a datapad in front of her. Tara sat to her left, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Xavier sat across from them.

He looked up as Eden entered, and their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Eden saw the question in his gaze—the confusion, the curiosity, maybe even suspicion. He'd felt the resonance too. Felt the way it had gone deeper than it should have, the way Eden had pulled his power and amplified it beyond anything he'd experienced before.

He was trying to figure her out.

Eden looked away first.

She took the seat farthest from him, her posture straight, hands folded neatly on the table.
"Eden," Jenna said, her voice clipped. "Glad you could join us."

"Ma'am."

Jenna's gaze sharpened. "Don't call me ma'am. We've been over this."

"Captain," Eden corrected.

Jenna nodded, satisfied, and tapped her datapad. The holographic display flickered to life, showing a three-dimensional map of the Restricted Zone.

"Let's start with what went wrong," Jenna said. "The mission was supposed to be simple reconnaissance. Low-risk. And yet we ended up with a Protofield, six Wanderers, one injured Hunter, and a resonance event that registered on our sensors from five kilometers away." Her gaze moved between Eden and Xavier. "So. Explain."

Tara spoke first. "The intel was incomplete. The zone wasn't dormant—it was a trap. The Wanderers were lying in wait, and the explosion that injured Xavier triggered the Protofield formation."

"A trap," Jenna repeated slowly. "Wanderers don't set traps, Tara. They don't have the cognitive capacity for strategic ambushes."

"Then someone set it for them," Tara said flatly.

Silence.

Jenna's expression darkened. "You're suggesting the Protofield was deliberately triggered?"

"I'm suggesting the timing was too convenient. We arrive, Xavier gets close to the building, and suddenly everything goes to hell. If Eden hadn't been there—" Tara broke off, shaking her head. "We'd have lost him. Maybe all of us."

Jenna turned her gaze to Eden. "Is that your assessment as well?"

Eden hesitated.

She didn't want to speak. Didn't trust her voice not to crack.

But this was her job. Her duty.

"Yes," Eden said quietly. "The Wanderers were waiting. Their positioning was too deliberate. And the Protofield expanded too quickly—it should have taken longer to stabilize."

Jenna's jaw tightened. She looked at Xavier. "And you? What do you remember?"

Xavier's expression was distant. "Not much. I approached the building, and then—" He shook his head. "The explosion. After that, it's fragmented. I remember Eden pulling me out. And then the resonance."

Jenna leaned forward slightly. "Tell me about the resonance."

Xavier glanced at Eden, and she felt the weight of his gaze like a physical thing.

"It was... intense," Xavier said slowly. "More than I've experienced before. Eden's Evol—Overclock—it didn't just amplify my power. It felt like she was inside it. Like she understood how it worked on a fundamental level."

Jenna's eyes narrowed. "Eden?"

Eden kept her expression neutral. "Overclock allows me to copy and amplify the Evol of anyone I resonate with. The stronger the resonance, the more effective the amplification."

"And how strong was this resonance?"

Too strong, Eden thought.

"Strong enough to destabilize the Protofield," she said aloud.

Jenna studied her for a long moment, and Eden had the uncomfortable sense of being dissected. Analyzed.
"Anhaunsen class," Jenna murmured. "And when you resonate, the effect is exponential." She leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. "That's... unprecedented."

"It saved our lives," Tara pointed out.

"It also raised questions." Jenna's gaze didn't leave Eden. "Overclock is a rare Evol. Extremely rare. And the fact that you have it, combined with your classification, makes you an asset of significant strategic value. But it also makes you a target."

Eden's stomach tightened.

"Target," she repeated carefully.

"If someone is setting traps in the Restricted Zones—if there's an organization deliberately triggering Protofield—then they're testing us. Pushing our capabilities. And two Anhaunsen class Hunters on the same team?" Jenna shook her head. "That's a high-value target. Especially now that you've demonstrated what you can do together."

Xavier shifted in his seat. "Are you saying we shouldn't work together?"

"I'm saying we need to be careful," Jenna said firmly. "Until we know who's behind this, you're both under increased surveillance. No solo missions. No unauthorized use of Evol. And Eden—" She fixed her with a hard look. "You report any side effects from the resonance immediately. Understood?"

Eden nodded. "Understood."

Jenna dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and Tara stood, already pulling out her comm device to coordinate follow-up.

Xavier rose slowly, still favoring his injured side, and glanced at Eden.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly.

Every instinct Eden had screamed no.

But she couldn't avoid him forever.

"Fine," she said.

.......

They walked in silence.

Xavier led her to one of the observation decks—a small, glass-enclosed space overlooking the city. Linkon stretched out below them, a sprawl of lights and movement that looked almost peaceful from this height.
Xavier stopped near the window, his hands in his pockets, and stared out at the city for a long moment.
Eden stood a few feet away, her arms crossed, waiting.

Finally, Xavier spoke.

"When we resonated," he said slowly, "I felt something. Something... familiar."

Eden's pulse quickened, but she kept her voice steady. "Resonance can feel that way. It's an intimate connection."

"No." Xavier turned to face her, and his blue eyes were sharp now, searching. "Not like that. It felt like—" He hesitated. "Like I knew you. Like we'd done this before."

Eden's throat tightened.

You don't know me. You know MC. You felt her in the resonance because I created her, because some part of me is in her, and when we connected, you felt that.

But she couldn't say that.

Could never say that.

"I don't know what you mean," Eden said evenly.

Xavier's brow furrowed. "You felt it too. I know you did. The resonance went both ways—I could feel you reaching into my Evol, but I also felt... you. Your thoughts. Your emotions."

Eden's chest constricted.

"What did you feel?" she asked, and hated how her voice wavered.

Xavier's expression softened. "Loneliness," he said quietly. "Like you were standing in a room full of people and still completely alone."

Eden looked away.

"That's none of your business," she said, but the words came out too sharp, too defensive.

"Eden—"

"We resonated once. Under duress. It doesn't mean we're connected." She turned toward the door, her movements stiff. "If that's all—"

"Wait."

She stopped but didn't turn around.

Xavier's voice was gentle. "I'm not trying to pry. I just—" He paused. "I know what it's like. To feel like you don't belong. Like you're... out of sync with the world around you."

Eden's hands curled into fists.

You have no idea.

"Thank you for saving my life today," Xavier continued. "I mean it. You didn't have to resonate with me. But you did. And I—" His voice caught. "I'm grateful."

Eden closed her eyes.

She wanted to tell him it wasn't gratitude she needed. Wasn't friendship or understanding or any of the things he was offering.

She wanted to tell him that feeling his love for MC—feeling it as if it were her own—had broken something inside her that she didn't know how to fix.

But she didn't.

"You're welcome," she said quietly.

And then she left.

.......

Eden's apartment was dark when she returned.

She didn't turn on the lights.

Just stood in the doorway, staring at the empty space, feeling the weight of the day press down on her like a physical thing.

The resonance after effects wouldn't stop.

Even now, hours later, she could still feel the echo of Xavier's consciousness—the grief, the longing, the way his thoughts circled endlessly around MC.

And beneath it all, her own thoughts, tangled and sharp: I created her. I gave her everything I wanted to be. And now someone loves her for it.

But no one will ever love me.

Eden's knees buckled.

She sank to the floor, her back against the door, and wrapped her arms around herself.
The perfect body. The flawless skin. The Anhaunsen class Evol.

None of it mattered.

Because she was still the same broken, scarred thing she'd always been.

Just wearing a better mask.

Eden pressed her forehead to her knees and let the tears come—silent, shaking, until the darkness swallowed her whole.

Chapter Text

The notification came at 0730 hours.

Eden stared at it on her datapad, the words blurring slightly as exhaustion pulled at the edges of her vision.

MANDATORY MEDICAL EVALUATION
Hunter ID: E-7749
Reason: Post-Resonance Assessment - Overclock Evol
Location: Akso Hospital, Cardiology Department
Physician: Dr. Zayne Li
Date: Today
Time: 1000 hours

Her hands started trembling before she could stop them.

The datapad slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor.

Eden stared at it, her breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Dr. Zayne.

No.

No, no, no—

She pressed her palms against her thighs, trying to ground herself, but the panic was already rising—a tide that threatened to drown her.

Zayne.

Her Main.

Her choice. The route she'd played first, replayed obsessively, the character whose voice she'd fallen asleep listening to, whose scenes she'd screenshotted and saved and—

And now he was real.

Now he was here.

And she had to see him.

Had to let him examine her.

Had to sit in a sterile room while he touched her, assessed her, looked at her with those hazel-green eyes that she'd stared at through a screen for hours, days, months—

Eden's stomach lurched.

She stumbled to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet before she retched, her body convulsing with dry heaves that left her shaking and hollow.

After effects of the Resonance, or pure nerves, she doesn't know.

But the nausea wouldn't stop.

She slumped against the cool tile, her forehead pressed to the floor, and tried to breathe.

It's just a medical evaluation. Just a checkup. You've done this before.

But not with him.

Never with him.

The other doctors had been strangers. Faceless, impersonal. Easy to endure because they didn't matter and honestly they didn't care much about her.

But Zayne—

Zayne mattered in ways Eden couldn't articulate. Couldn't even think about it without feeling like she was being flayed open.

Because in that other life, when everything had been dark and heavy and unbearable, Zayne's route had been her escape.

His voice—calm, steady, that dry humor slipping through the cracks of his composure—had been the thing that made her feel less alone.

His scenes—the quiet intimacy, the way he'd looked at MC with such careful tenderness, like she was something precious he was afraid to break—had been the closest thing to comfort Eden had known.

She'd loved him.

Not in the way people loved real things. But in the way people loved lifelines.

In the way drowning people loved air.

And now he was real.

Now he existed, solid and tangible, in the same world she inhabited, she knew he was there, but she had never been so close to meeting him, his life was on a different path.

But now–

And she had to face him.

Had to let him see her.

Had to pretend she didn't know him. Didn't know his birthday, his favorite desserts, the scar on his hands from his Evol, the way his voice softened when he was worried, the exact cadence of his heartbeat—

Eden's breath hitched.

Stop. Stop. STOP.

She forced herself upright, stumbled to the sink, and splashed cold water on her face.

Her reflection stared back at her—pale, hollow-eyed, the perfect features twisted with something that looked like grief.

You can't do this.

But she had to.

The evaluation was mandatory. Refusing would raise questions she couldn't answer. Would draw attention she couldn't afford.

And besides—

A small, traitorous part of her wanted to see him.

Wanted to know if his voice sounded the same. If his hands were as steady as they'd seemed. If he really did carry himself with that quiet, unshakable composure.

Wanted to know if he was real.

Even if it destroyed her.

Eden gripped the edge of the sink until her knuckles went white.

Then she straightened, dried her face, and went to get dressed.

…….

Akso Hospital was a gleaming monolith of steel and glass, all clean lines and antiseptic efficiency. Eden stood outside the main entrance, her hands clenched at her sides, and stared up at the building.

It looked nothing like the Gaia Research Center.

But her body didn't care.

Her pulse was racing. Her skin felt too tight. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to turn around, to run, to find somewhere dark and small and safe—

There is no safe.

The thought cut through the panic, sharp and bitter.

There was no safe. Not in this world. Not in any world.

There was only forward.

Eden forced her legs to move.

The lobby was bright and bustling, filled with the soft hum of conversation and the occasional beep of medical equipment. A receptionist directed her to the Cardiology Department on the fourth floor, and Eden took the elevator in silence, her reflection staring back at her from the polished metal doors.

She looked composed.

Professional.

Like someone who had their life together.

Liar.

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.

Eden stepped into the corridor, her boots silent against the polished floor, and followed the signs to Dr. Zayne's office.

The door was closed.

A nameplate beside it read: Dr. Zayne - Cardiothoracic Surgeon

Eden stared at it.

Her vision blurred slightly at the edges.

This is real. He's real. This is happening.

She raised her hand to knock—

And froze.

Her hand was shaking.

Visibly. Uncontrollably.

Eden clenched it into a fist, pressed it against her thigh, and tried to breathe.

You can do this. You've faced Wanderers. Protofield. Resonance that nearly broke you. You can handle one doctor.

But it wasn't just one doctor.

It was Zayne.

And that made all the difference.

Eden closed her eyes, counted to three, and knocked.

"Come in."

The voice was exactly as she remembered.

Low. Steady. Calm.

Like the world could be ending and he'd still sound like that—unshakable, grounded, safe.

Eden's chest constricted.

She opened the door.

The office was exactly what she'd expected—meticulously organized, shelves lined with medical texts, a desk with a single monitor and a stack of patient files. Clean. Efficient. No unnecessary decoration.

And behind the desk, rising from his chair as she entered—

Zayne.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Black hair neatly styled, hazel-green eyes sharp and assessing. The scars on his hands were visible as he set down his stylus, and Eden's gaze caught on them before she could stop herself.

And yet, seeing him in person—real, solid, here—made something in her chest constrict painfully.

"Eden," he said, his voice smooth and even. He glanced at the tablet in his hand. "Anhaunsen-class. Evol: Overclock. Graduated top of your cohort.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze.

"I'm Dr. Zayne. I'll be overseeing your medical evaluations going forward."

Eden opened her mouth to respond.

Nothing came out.

She tried again.

"I—yes. That's—" Her voice cracked slightly, and she cleared her throat, mortified. "That's correct."

Smooth, Eden. Very smooth.

Zayne's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Curiosity, maybe. Or amusement.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Eden said quickly. Too quickly. "I'm fine."

He studied her for a moment longer, then nodded and set the tablet aside.

"Let's begin with the basics. I'll need to check your vitals, run a few standard tests. Your Evol classification requires additional monitoring—Anhaunsen-class abilities can place significant strain on the body."

"I'm aware," Eden said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Zayne moved closer, pulling a stethoscope from his coat pocket.

"Deep breath," he instructed.

Eden inhaled.

He pressed the stethoscope to her back, his touch clinical and impersonal, and she felt her pulse spike despite herself.

He's just doing his job. This means nothing. She reminded herself.

But her traitorous heart didn't care.

She knew this man. Knew the way he took his coffee (black, lots of sugar). Knew he read mystery novels late at night and had a weakness for anything sweet. Knew he struggled with control, with letting people in, with the fear that caring too much would make him vulnerable.

She knew him.

And he didn't know her at all.

"Again," Zayne said.

She breathed.

He moved the stethoscope, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Your heartbeat is irregular," he noted.

Eden stiffened. "It's always been like that."

"Since when?"

Since Gaia did whatever they did to me, she wanted to say.

"Since I was young," she said instead.

Zayne's gaze sharpened. He stepped back, his expression thoughtful.

"I'd like to run a few tests…" he said. "Just to be thorough."

Eden's stomach dropped.

"Is that necessary?"

"Yes."

His tone left no room for argument.

........

The room was colder than the examination room, and the machine loomed over her like something out of a nightmare.

Eden lay on the table, staring at the ceiling, and tried not to think about what Zayne might find.

That he may or may not find what she knew was there.

The machine hummed. A flash of light.

"Done," the technician said. "You can sit up."

Eden did, her hands trembling slightly.

A few minutes later, Zayne returned, a tablet in hand. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his jaw that hadn't been there before.

"I'd like to run two more tests," he said quietly.

Eden's pulse spiked. "Why?"

"Because I saw something on the E.C.G that concerns me."

"What did you see?"

Zayne hesitated, his gaze flicking to hers, and for a moment, she saw something crack in his composure—worry, carefully controlled but unmistakable.

"I'd rather confirm before I say anything definitive," he said finally.

Eden's hands curled into fists. "Tell me."

"Eden—"

"Tell me." She insisted, trembling.

Zayne exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly.

"Your heart," he said. "There's... an abnormality. A crystalline structure growing around the cardiac tissue."

Eden went very still.

"Protocore Syndrome," she said flatly.

Zayne's eyes widened, just slightly. "You know the term."

"I know a lot of things."

He studied her, his expression sharp and assessing, and Eden forced herself to hold his gaze.

"If it is Protocore Syndrome," Zayne said carefully, "then we need to confirm the progression. The tests I'm suggesting will give us a clearer picture."

"And if it's confirmed?" Eden's voice was steady, but her hands were shaking. "What then?"

Zayne's jaw tightened.

"Then we'll discuss treatment options."

"There is no treatment."

The words hung between them, cold and final.

Zayne didn't deny it.

"There are experimental therapies," he said instead. "Clinical trials. I have contacts—"

"It's untreatable," Eden interrupted. Her voice was flat, emotionless, the words rehearsed. "No cure. No remission. Just a slow decline until the Protocore fully integrates with the heart and—"

She stopped.

Zayne was staring at her, his expression stricken.

"You already knew," he said quietly.

Eden looked away.

"I suspected."

"How long?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." His voice was sharper now, edged with something that might have been anger or fear or both. "It matters because if you've been operating as a Hunter with an untreated, life-threatening condition, you're putting yourself and your team at risk."

Eden's head snapped up. "I'm doing my job."

"Your job will kill you."

"Everything kills you eventually."

Zayne's expression hardened. He set the tablet down with more force than necessary and crossed his arms.

"I can't let you continue field operations without further evaluation."

"You don't have the authority—"

"I'm your attending physician. I absolutely have the authority."

They stared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension.

Eden's chest felt tight, her breathing shallow, and she hated it—hated the way he looked at her like she was fragile, like she needed protecting.

She hated that he was right.

She didn't need that.

She didn't need him.

her eyes were burning with unshed tears.

"Run your tests," she said finally, her voice cold. "But I'm not quitting."

Zayne's gaze didn't waver.

"We'll see."

.......

Eden made it to the elevator before the trembling became uncontrollable.

She stepped inside, pressed the button for the ground floor, and sagged against the wall as the doors slid shut.

Her reflection stared back at her from the polished metal—pale, hollow-eyed, barely holding together.

You don't have to handle everything alone.

Eden closed her eyes.

But she did.

Because no one else could.

Because no one else would understand.

The elevator descended, and Eden pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart beneath her palm.

She'd survived.

She'd seen Zayne. Spoken to him. Let him examine her.

And it had been everything she'd feared it would be.

And worse.

Because he'd been kind.

And kindness, Eden had learned, was the cruelest thing of all

Chapter Text

Eden stared at the ceiling of her apartment, watching the shadows shift as dawn crept through the window.

She hadn't slept.

Again.

Her mind kept circling back to the same moment—the way she'd stood abruptly, the scrape of the chair against the floor, the tightness in her voice as she'd cut Zayne off mid-sentence.

God, she'd been rude.

Not just dismissive. Not just professional. Rude.

To Zayne, who'd done nothing but try to help her. Who'd offered kindness when she'd been visibly falling apart. Who'd noticed her elevated heart rate and trembling hands and suggested follow-up appointments because he was concerned.

And she'd fled like he was the threat.

Eden's hands curled into fists against the sheets.

You're an idiot.

But what was she supposed to do? Sit there and accept his concern? Let him see how broken she was? Let him get close?

No.

She couldn't.

Because Zayne—like Xavier, like all of them—wasn't there for her.

He was there for MC.

In the game, Zayne had been MC's childhood friend. Her protector. The one who watched over her with quiet devotion, who performed her surgery, who loved her with a steadiness that transcended lifetimes.

Eden was just... a patient. A Hunter with an unstable Evol who needed medical monitoring.

Nothing more.

And she needed to remember that.

Needed to keep her distance, maintain professional boundaries, and stop herself from wanting things she had no right to want.

Like his concern. His gentleness. The way his voice had softened.

Eden pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

Focus.

She couldn't afford to get distracted by him. Couldn't afford to let herself care about people who were never meant for her.

She had a mission.

Find out what EVER and the Gaia Research Center had done to her. Understand why they'd given her an Aether Core. Figure out what they wanted from her.

That was all that mattered.

Eden sat up, grabbed her datapad from the nightstand, and pulled up her research files.

She'd been compiling information for months—cross-referencing Hunter Association records, news archives, corporate databases. Anything that mentioned EVER Group or Gaia Research Center.

The problem was, there wasn't much.

EVER Group was a massive conglomerate with its hands in everything from medical technology to energy production to space exploration. Gaia Research Center was listed as one of their subsidiary facilities, focused on "advanced biomedical research."

Vague. Sanitized. Deliberately opaque.

But Eden knew better.

She knew that Josephine—MC and Caleb's adoptive grandmother—had worked at Gaia. Had been part of the Unicorn Team. Had been there when... whatever had happened to Eden, happened.

And Josephine was connected to MC.

Eden's jaw tightened.

Everywhere she looked, MC was there.

It wasn't her fault. MC didn't know. But, MC's life was so entangled with the conspiracy Eden was trying to unravel, that avoiding her was impossible.

Eden scrolled through her notes, her eyes catching on familiar names.

Xavier.

She knew things about him that no one else in this world did. Knew that Lumiere—the mysterious Hunter who'd emerged during the 2034 Chronorift Catastrophe, taking down Wanderers with impossible skill—was Xavier's alter ego.

Knew that Xavier wasn't from this time. That he'd lived for centuries. That his connection to MC went deeper than anyone realized.

And she knew that he was hiding it. All of it.

Playing the role of the sleepy, awkward boy-next-door while carrying the weight of lifetimes behind those soft blue eyes.

Eden had resonated with him. Felt the exhaustion, the grief, the way he looked at MC like she was the only thing worth living for.

And she'd felt his secrets, too. Buried deep, locked away where even resonance couldn't fully reach them.
Xavier knew Gaia. She was certain of it.

The Chronorift Catastrophe. The experiments. The way Evol users had started manifesting more frequently after 2034.

It all connected back to him somehow.

But she couldn't confront him. Couldn't reveal what she knew without exposing herself.

Eden moved to the next file.

Rafayel.

The game had been less clear about his connections, but Eden had pieced it together from context clues and lore fragments.

Rafayel wasn't just an artist. He was Lemurian—one of the sea people, nearly extinct, hunted and trafficked for their unique biology.

And he operated in the N109 Zone.

The most dangerous, lawless region in Deepspace. A place where criminals, traffickers, and black-market dealers thrived under the radar of the Hunter Association.

Rafayel used the Zone to protect other Lemurians. Posed as a buyer, infiltrated trafficking rings, and smuggled refugees out under the guise of purchasing art supplies.

He had a bounty on his head. Multiple, probably.

And he knew things. About EVER. About Gaia. About the experiments they were running on Lemurians and Evol users.His devotion to his people drove him to do dark things to protect what was left of them.

Things MC would eventually discover, once she got close enough to him.

Eden's fingers hovered over the datapad.

Rafayel was a lead. A good one.

But approaching him meant entering the N109 Zone. And the N109 Zone meant dealing with...him.

Sylus.

Eden's pulse quickened just thinking the name.

Sylus. Leader of Onychinus. The most powerful criminal syndicate in Deepspace. A man who controlled the N109 Zone with ruthless efficiency and terrifying charisma.

In the game, he'd been... complicated.

Her heart stuttered, as she remembered his suave lines.

Dangerous. Morally gray. The kind of character who made you question your own ethics because his logic was too compelling to ignore.

He'd helped MC. Challenged her. Pushed her to confront the parts of herself she'd rather avoid.

And he'd done it all while maintaining absolute control over one of the most volatile regions in known space.

Sylus knew about EVER. Had to. Onychinus dealt in information, and a corporation as massive as EVER didn't operate without leaving traces.

If Eden wanted answers, Sylus was the most direct route.

But he was also the most dangerous.

Not because he'd kill her—though he might—but because he was perceptive. The kind of person who could look at you and see through every layer of pretense, every carefully constructed lie.

If anyone could figure out that Eden didn't belong in this world, it would be him.

Eden closed the file and set the datapad aside.

Three love interests. Three potential leads.

And all of them were entangled with the conspiracy she was trying to unravel.

This is a nightmare.

Chapter Text

The café was quiet at midday, tucked away on a side street where the lunch rush hadn't quite reached.

Zayne sat across from May-Celeste, a cup of black coffee cooling in front of him, and watched as she enthusiastically recounted her latest mission.

"—and then the Wanderer just exploded," MC said, her hands gesturing wildly. "Like, I've never seen anything like it. Tara said it was a resonance feedback loop, but honestly, I think Xavier just got lucky with his timing."

Zayne's lips quirked slightly, his trembling, he was happy for May, that she has found someone so trustworthy, he continued, trying his best to cover the tremble of jealousy in his voice "Luck is often just preparation meeting opportunity."

MC laughed. "You sound like a fortune cookie."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

The easy banter was familiar. Comfortable. They'd been doing this since MC had graduated—meeting for lunch when their schedules allowed, catching up on work and life and the mundane details that filled the spaces between missions.

Zayne valued these moments. They reminded him that beneath the Hunter uniform, MC was still the same person he'd known since childhood. Still bright, still determined, still prone to ordering dessert before finishing her actual meal.

But today, his mind kept drifting.

Back to his office. To the Hunter who'd sat across from his desk three days ago, trembling so badly she could barely hold still.

Eden.

"Zayne?"

He blinked. MC was watching him, her head tilted slightly, concern creasing her brow.

"Sorry," Zayne said. "I was—thinking about a patient."

MC's expression shifted. "Is everything okay? Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Medical confidentiality," Zayne reminded her gently.

"Right. Of course." MC picked at her sandwich, then glanced at him. "Can I ask... is it someone I know?"

Zayne hesitated.

He shouldn't.

Patient confidentiality extended beyond just medical details—it included identity.

But MC was also a Hunter. And if Eden was part of MC's cohort, there was no harm in asking general questions.

"Do you know a Hunter named Eden?" Zayne asked carefully.

MC's eyes widened slightly. "Eden? Yeah, we graduated together. Why?"

"I'm her attending physician for post-resonance monitoring," Zayne said. "And I'm... concerned."

MC set down her sandwich. "Concerned how?"

Zayne chose his words carefully, knowing he was breaking the rules for MC, but he needed answers. "She presented with elevated stress markers. Insomnia. Hypervigilance. Classic signs of acute psychological strain."

"That's not surprising," MC said slowly. "She resonated with Xavier during that Protofield incident, right? I heard it was intense."

"It was," Zayne confirmed. "But the physiological symptoms suggest something beyond standard resonance aftereffects." He paused. "What can you tell me about her? About Eden herself?"

MC leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful.

"Eden's... hard to read," she said finally. "We were in the same class for four years, and I don't think I ever really got to know her. She's quiet. Distant. Keeps to herself."

"But skilled?" Zayne prompted.

"Incredibly skilled," MC said. "Top marks in tactical assessment, combat efficiency, Evol control. She was second in our class—only behind me, and honestly, that might've just been because of the Anhaunsen classification giving me an edge." She frowned. "But she never celebrated. Never socialized. I tried to get close to her a few times—invited her to study groups, team dinners, that sort of thing—but she always declined."

Zayne absorbed this.

It aligned with what he'd observed—the rigid control, the walls, the way Eden had fled his office the moment vulnerability threatened to surface.

"Did she have any friends?" Zayne asked. "Anyone she was close to?"

MC shook her head. "Not that I know of. She was... alone. By choice, I think. Or maybe—" She hesitated. "Maybe not by choice. Maybe she just didn't know how to let people in."

Zayne's chest tightened slightly.

He understood that. Better than he cared to admit.

Zayne was quiet for a moment.

Eden. Quiet, distant, hardworking.

With a boyish haircut that made her easy to overlook and dull eyes that suggested she'd stopped expecting anything from the world.

But beneath that unassuming exterior was someone who'd graduated second in her class. Someone with an Anhaunsen classification and an Overclock Evol that could amplify another Hunter's power to devastating effect.

Someone who'd sat in his office, trembling, and told him medical settings made her nervous because of a "bad experience."

What kind of experience left someone that afraid?

"Zayne?"

He looked up.

MC was watching him with quiet concern. "You're worried about her."

It wasn't a question.

He was, and he needed answers.

.......

Later that evening, Zayne sat in his office, reviewing patient files.

Eden's was open on his screen.

Hunter ID: E-7749
Name: Eden
Age: 26
Classification: Anhaunsen
Evol: Overclock

The medical data was straightforward. Elevated cortisol. Chronic sleep deprivation. Heart rate variability consistent with prolonged stress.

But it was the notes section that held his attention.

He'd written: Patient exhibits signs of acute psychological distress. Hypervigilance. Defensive posturing. Possible trauma history—medical settings appear to be a trigger. Recommend psychiatric evaluation, but patient unlikely to comply.

Zayne stared at the words.

Then, after a long moment, he added another line:
Patient may benefit from consistent, non-invasive monitoring. Approach with caution. Build trust slowly.

He saved the file and leaned back in his chair.

Eden was a puzzle. And Zayne had never been good at leaving puzzles unsolved.

But this wasn't just professional curiosity.

There was something about the way she'd looked at him—just for a moment, before she'd fled—that had stayed with him.

Like she'd recognized him.

Not as her doctor.

As something else.

Zayne frowned.

He was probably reading too much into it. Resonance could create strange, lingering impressions. Emotional echoes that didn't mean anything.

But still.

He found himself wondering.

Wondering who Eden had been before the walls. Before the distance.

Wondering what had happened to make her so afraid.
And wondering—against his better judgment—if he could help her find her way back.

.......

Across the city, Eden sat in her apartment, staring at her datapad.

A notification had appeared an hour ago.

APPOINTMENT REMINDER
○Follow-up with Dr. Zayne - Scheduled for next week

Eden hadn't scheduled it.

Which meant Zayne had done it for her.

Her hands trembled slightly as she stared at the screen.
He's concerned.

She should cancel. Should find a different doctor. Should maintain distance the way she'd promised herself she would.

But she didn't.

Instead, she set the datapad aside and closed her eyes.

And tried not to think about the way Zayne's voice had softened when he was handling her, even when she was a prickly bitch.

Tried not to think about how much she'd wanted to let down her barriers, stare into his eyes and confess everything she was holding so deeply in her heart.

She stopped herself from experiencing these feelings, would not let her love for the pixelated version of him define how she feels about...the real him.

Even though she knew better.

Even though she knew that kindness, for someone like her, was the cruelest thing of all.

Chapter Text

The medical appointments had become routine.

Every three days, Eden reported to Akso Hospital for monitoring. Blood pressure, heart rate, Evol signature scans. The same tests, the same questions, the same sterile examination room.

And always, Dr. Zayne.

Eden had learned to endure it. Learned to school her expression into something neutral and professional. Learned to answer his questions with just enough detail to satisfy him without revealing the chaos beneath her skin.

How are you sleeping?

"Better."

Any recurring dreams or intrusive thoughts?

"Manageable."

Have you experienced any unusual Evol fluctuations?

"No."

Lies, mostly. Or at least, careful omissions.

But Zayne didn't push. He made his notes, ran his scans, and signed off on her clearance each time with the same measured professionalism.

Eden told herself it was easier this way. That distance was necessary.

That she could handle the checkups as long as she didn't let herself think too hard about the way Zayne's voice softened when he asked if she was taking care of herself, or the way his gaze lingered just a fraction too long when she avoided eye contact.

She could handle it.

She had to.

But the checkups weren't why she'd stayed in Linkon City for the past two weeks.

Her research had led her somewhere new. Somewhere dangerous.

Dr. Noah.

The name had surfaced in one of the heavily redacted Gaia files—just a fragment, a reference to a "consulting physician" who'd been involved in early Protocore Syndrome research.

Eden had remembered him from the game.

Dr. Noah. Zayne's former mentor. A brilliant but reclusive researcher who'd retreated to the Arctic after some unspecified falling out with the medical establishment.

In the game, he'd been the one to help MC understand her condition. The one who'd performed her surgery, guided by Zayne's hands.

And if anyone knew why Gaia had chosen to implant an Aether Core in Eden instead of MC—the reason why she had Protocore Syndrome at all—it would be him.

She'd submitted a leave request to Captain Jenna that morning.

"Personal matter," Eden had said, keeping her voice neutral. "Medical follow-up in the Arctic. Two weeks, maximum."

Jenna had studied her for a long moment, her sharp eyes assessing.

Then she'd nodded. "Approved. But Eden—" Her voice had dropped slightly. "Whatever you're looking for up there, be careful. The Arctic isn't forgiving."

Eden had thanked her and left before Jenna could ask more questions.

Now, standing on the platform of Linkon Central Station, Eden stared at the departure board and felt the familiar weight of frustration settle over her.

TRAIN 447 TO ARCTIC STATION - DELAYED. ESTIMATED DEPARTURE: 1800 HOURS.

Three hours.

Three more hours of waiting in a crowded station, surrounded by travelers and noise and the constant hum of anxiety that had become her baseline.

Eden adjusted the strap of her duffel bag and headed toward the station café.

Coffee. She needed coffee.

The café was small, tucked into a corner of the station, with a handful of tables and a counter staffed by a bored-looking barista. Eden ordered a black coffee—no sugar, no milk—and was turning toward an empty table when she saw him.

Zayne.

He sat near the window, a medical journal open on the table in front of him, a cup of tea steaming gently at his elbow.

Eden froze.

No.

No, no, no—

But it was too late. He'd been watching her already.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Zayne's expression shifted—surprise, then something softer. Recognition.

He closed the journal and stood.

"Eden," he said, his voice calm despite the obvious question in his eyes. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Eden's grip tightened on her coffee cup. "Dr. Zayne."

"Just Zayne is fine." He gestured to the empty chair across from him. "Would you like to sit?"

Every instinct screamed at her to refuse. To make an excuse and leave.

But she was stuck here for three more hours. And running away would only draw more attention.

"Fine," Eden said.

She sat, setting her coffee down with deliberate care, and folded her hands in her lap.

Zayne settled back into his seat, his gaze steady. "Are you traveling somewhere?"

Eden nodded. "The Arctic."

His eyebrows rose slightly. "The Arctic? That's quite a distance."

"I have my reasons," Eden said, her tone clipped.

Zayne was quiet for a moment. Then he said, carefully, "May I ask what those reasons are?"

Eden hesitated.

She could lie. Should lie.

But something in Zayne's expression—the quiet concern, the lack of judgment—made the lie stick in her throat.

"I'm looking for someone," she said finally. "A doctor. Dr. Noah."

Zayne went very still.

"Dr. Noah," he repeated slowly.

Eden met his gaze. "Do you know him?"

Zayne's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "He was my mentor. Years ago." He paused. "Why are you looking for him?"

Eden's fingers curled against her thighs.

Be honest. But, vague.

"I need insight," she said quietly. "About my condition. And how it came to be."

Zayne's expression shifted—concern deepening into something sharper. " Your Protocore Syndrome."

"Yes."

"Eden—" Zayne leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. "I understand wanting answers, but Dr. Noah is... difficult to reach. He doesn't see patients anymore. And the Arctic is dangerous, especially this time of year."

"I'm a Hunter," Eden said flatly. "I can handle dangerous."

"That's not what I—" Zayne broke off, exhaling slowly. "I'm not questioning your capability. I'm questioning whether this trip is necessary. You've been under enormous strain. The resonance, the insomnia, the elevated cortisol—your body needs rest, not a journey to one of the most inhospitable places on the planet."

Eden's jaw tightened. "With all due respect, Doctor, my health is my concern."

"And as your physician, it's mine," Zayne countered, his tone still gentle but unyielding. "I can't force you to stay. But I can tell you that pushing yourself like this—especially now—is unwise."

Silence stretched between them.

Eden stared at the table, her hands clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

Go home. Rest. Stop running.

She wanted to. God, she wanted to.

But she couldn't.

Because if she stopped moving, stopped searching, stopped…fighting—the thoughts would catch up to her.

The resonance. The loneliness. The thoughts of stealing someone's body she didn't deserve.

The way Zayne looked at her with concern made her heart fracture, it felt overwhelming.

The way she felt like she was drowning, and somehow he could see it.

"I have to go," Eden said quietly.

Zayne studied her for a long moment.

Then he sighed.

"I'm going to the Arctic as well," he said.

Eden's head snapped up. "What?"

"To see Dr. Noah." Zayne's gaze was steady, unflinching. "About your case, actually. I wanted to consult with him about your Protocore Syndrome—get his insight on the best course of treatment moving forward. I was the one who diagnosed you, after all."

Eden stared at him, her mind racing.

He's going because of me. To help me.

The thought made her chest tighten painfully.

"You don't have to—" she started.

"I know," Zayne interrupted gently. "But I'm going anyway." He paused. "Which means we'll be on the same train."

Eden looked away, her jaw tight.

Of course. Of course this is happening. This was one of Mc's routes.

She stolen this moment from her, robbed her of an experience with her childhood friend and possible lover.
She couldn't escape him. Couldn't maintain distance. Not anymore.

Because even when she tried to run, the universe kept pulling her back into orbit around the people she was supposed to avoid.

"You should go home," Zayne said quietly. "Let me handle this. I'll consult with Dr. Noah, get the information you need, and—"

"No."

Zayne blinked. "Eden—"

"No," she repeated, her voice firmer now. She met his gaze, and something in her expression must have convinced him, because he went quiet. "I'm going. I need to hear it from him directly. I need to understand what they did to me, and why."

Zayne regarded her for a long moment.

Then he nodded slowly. "Alright."

"Alright?" She breathed.

"If you're determined to go, I won't stop you." Zayne's voice was still gentle, but there was something resigned in it. "But at least let me travel with you. The Arctic is dangerous, and if something happens—"

"I can take care of myself," Eden said sharply.

"I know you can." Zayne's gaze didn't waver. "But you don't have to."

And there it was again.

That kindness. That softness.

The thing that made Eden want to run and stay in equal measure.

She looked away, her throat tight.

"Fine," she said quietly. "We'll travel together."

Zayne's expression softened. "Thank you."

Eden didn't respond.

She picked up her coffee and took a sip, even though it had gone lukewarm, and stared out the window at the bustling station platform.

Three hours until departure.

Three hours, and then she'd be trapped on a train with Zayne for eighteen hours straight.

This is a mistake.

But she'd already made it.

---

The train departed at 1803 hours.

Eden boarded first, finding a seat near the window in one of the quieter passenger cars. She stowed her duffel bag in the overhead compartment and settled in, pulling out her datapad to review her research notes.

Zayne boarded a few minutes later, carrying a single leather satchel and a thermos. He spotted her immediately and made his way down the aisle.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to the seat next to her

Eden nodded stiffly.

Zayne sat, setting his satchel beside him and his thermos on the small table between them. He looked composed, as always—perfectly pressed shirt, neatly styled hair, the faint scars on his hands visible as he adjusted his seat.

Eden tried not to stare at those scars.

Tried not to think about how she knew their origin. How she'd memorized every detail of his character profile in another life.

The train lurched forward, and the city began to slide past the window—lights and buildings giving way to open landscape as they left Linkon behind.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Eden kept her gaze on her datapad, pretending to read, while Zayne opened a medical journal and began skimming through it with the same methodical focus he brought to everything.

But the silence felt heavy. Charged.

Finally, Zayne set down his journal.

"Eden," he said quietly.

She looked up, reluctantly.

"I know you don't want to talk about this," Zayne continued, his voice careful. "But I need to ask. Why now? Why this sudden need to understand what happened to you as a child?"

Eden's jaw tightened.

Because I'm falling apart. Because the resonance broke something inside me. Because I can't keep pretending I'm fine when I'm not.

But she couldn't say any of that.

"Because I deserve answers," she said instead. "I've lived with this condition my entire life, and no one has ever explained why I have it.”

Zayne's expression softened. "That's fair. But Eden—" He hesitated. "Some answers don't bring peace. Sometimes they just bring more questions."

Eden looked away.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "But I'd rather have questions than ignorance."

Zayne was silent for a moment.

Then he said, his voice gentler than before, "Alright. But whatever we find out—whatever Dr. Noah tells us—you don't have to face it alone."

Eden's chest constricted.

And Eden, once again, didn't know how to accept it.

"I'm used to being alone," she said, and her voice came out more hollow than she intended.

Zayne's gaze sharpened. Not with judgment, but with concern.

"That doesn't mean you should be," he said quietly.

Eden turned back to the window, her throat tight.

Outside, the landscape was darkening. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the snow-covered plains.

And inside the train, sitting next to Zayne, Eden felt the walls she'd built around herself start to crack.

Just slightly.

Just enough to hurt.

"Get some rest," Zayne said after a moment. "It's a long journey. I'll wake you if anything happens."

Eden wanted to protest. Wanted to say she didn't need rest, didn't need him watching over her.

But she was so tired.

So endlessly, achingly tired.

"Fine," she murmured.

She leaned her head against the window, closed her eyes, and let the rhythm of the train lull her into something that wasn't quite sleep but wasn't quite wakefulness either.

And across from her, Zayne watched—silent, steady, and impossibly gentle.

The way he always was.

The way Eden couldn't let herself need him to be

Chapter Text

Zayne had seen Eden before she saw him.

He'd been reviewing a research paper on Protocore Syndrome complications—dry material, but necessary—when movement near the café counter caught his attention.

Eden.

She stood at the register, her posture rigid, shoulders squared in that military-straight way all Hunters seemed to carry. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, visible even from this distance. Her uniform was immaculate, but there was something about the way she held herself—wound too tight, like a spring compressed past its tolerance—that made Zayne's physician instincts prickle with concern.

She ordered, paid, and turned.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, Zayne saw something flicker across her face—surprise, then what looked almost like panic—before her expression smoothed into careful neutrality.

He stood, closing his journal. "Eden. I didn't expect to see you here."

Professional. Courteous. The same tone he'd use with any patient.

But as she approached and sat across from him, Zayne found his gaze lingering.

The bags under her eyes. The slight tremor in her hands as she set down her coffee cup. The way her jaw was clenched, like she was bracing against something only she could feel.

And beneath it all—that fierce, unyielding determination.

Even exhausted, even clearly struggling, she sat with her spine straight and her chin up. Refusing to bend.

It was... striking.

Zayne caught himself staring and looked away, a flicker of something uncomfortably close to guilt settling in his chest.

She's your patient.

More than that—

He thought of MC. Of the way she'd smiled at Xavier during training last week, bright and unguarded. The way Xavier had looked at her with such quiet devotion it had made Zayne's chest ache.

He'd known, of course. Had seen it coming for months now.

MC and Xavier were gravitating toward each other with an inevitability that felt almost written. And Zayne—

Zayne had stepped back.

Had told himself it was the right thing to do. That May-Celeste deserved happiness, deserved someone who could give her the kind of easy affection Xavier offered.

Someone who wasn't weighed down by duty and old scars and the memory of promises.

It hurt. Of course it hurt.

But if MC was happy, then that was enough.

It had to be.

He would live with the fact that he would never be able to thaw his cold heart for another.

So why, then, was he sitting here noticing the determined set of Eden's jaw? The way her voice, even strained and tight, carried a kind of strength that made him want to—

Stop.

Zayne forced his thoughts back to the present, back to the conversation.

"The Arctic?" he heard himself say. "That's quite a distance."

Eden's response was clipped, guarded. But when she mentioned Dr. Noah's name, something in Zayne's chest tightened with understanding.

She was looking for answers. About her condition. About what had been done to her.

And she was willing to travel to one of the most inhospitable places on the planet to get them.

Of course she was.

Zayne tried to dissuade her—gently, carefully. Told her about the dangers, about her need for rest.

But he saw it in her eyes. That unwavering determination.

She would go, with or without his approval.

So he made a different choice.

"I'm going to the Arctic as well," he said. "To see Dr. Noah. About your case, actually."

It was true. He'd been planning the trip for days, wanting to consult with his former mentor about Eden's unusual presentation of Protocore Syndrome.

But seeing her here, seeing the exhaustion and the determination warring in her expression—

He couldn't let her go alone.

.......

The train departed at 1803 hours.

Zayne settled into the seat next to Eden, acutely aware of the small table between them, the eighteen hours of travel ahead.

She'd pulled out her datapad immediately, a clear signal that she didn't want conversation.

Zayne respected that. Opened his own journal and began reading.

But he found his attention drifting.

Eden's profile, illuminated by the soft glow of her screen. The way she frowned slightly when she read something that troubled her. The tension in her shoulders that never quite released.

She was running herself into the ground.

As her physician, he should insist she rest. Should perhaps contact Captain Jenna and recommend she be pulled from active duty until her psychological state stabilized.

But as someone who'd spent his entire life carrying weight he couldn't share, who understood what it meant to need answers more than comfort—

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

Hours passed. The landscape outside shifted from city to plains to snow-covered wilderness.

Eden's head began to droop.

She fought it at first—straightening every time she started to slump, blinking hard, refocusing on her datapad.

But exhaustion eventually won.

Her head tipped forward, then sideways, coming to rest against Zayne's shoulder with a small, unconscious sigh.

Zayne went very still.

He could feel the warmth of her through his shirt. Could hear the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing.

Her face, in sleep, had lost its rigid control. The lines of tension had smoothed. She looked younger. Vulnerable.

Peaceful.

When was the last time she'd looked peaceful?

Zayne's chest constricted with something he couldn't quite name.

Carefully—so carefully—he shifted slightly, adjusting his position to better support her weight. She made a small sound, something between a mumble and a snore, and settled more firmly against him.

Zayne's breath caught.

He looked down at her sleeping face, at the dark lashes against pale cheeks, and felt his heart do something complicated and terrifying.

Don't.

But it was too late.

He already admired her. Had admired her from the moment he'd reviewed her file and seen her scores, her record, the sheer force of will it must have taken to become Anhaunsen class while managing a condition as severe as Protocore Syndrome.

Had admired the control she maintained over her Evol, even when the resonance with Xavier had clearly shaken her to her core.

Had admired the way she carried herself—stoic, distant, refusing to ask for help even when she desperately needed it.

She reminded him of himself, in ways that were both uncomfortable and strangely comforting.

And now, sitting here with her head on his shoulder, listening to her quiet snores—

Cute, his traitorous mind supplied. She's cute when she sleeps.

Zayne closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

This was dangerous.

She was his patient. His responsibility.

And he had no right to be noticing the softness of her hair, or the way her hand had curled loosely against his arm, or the tiny crease between her brows even in sleep, as if some part of her couldn't fully let go.

No right at all.

But he didn't move.

Didn't wake her.

Just sat there, perfectly still, and let her rest.

Because if there was one thing he could give her—one moment of peace in what was clearly a life of constant strain—then he would.

Even if it cost him his own carefully maintained distance.

Even if it meant acknowledging something he had no business acknowledging.

Outside, the snow-covered wilderness stretched endlessly, and the train carried them north into the cold.

And inside, Zayne sat with a sleeping woman on his shoulder, and tried very hard not to think about what it meant that his heart had finally, terrifyingly, started to thaw.

Chapter Text

Eden woke to gentle pressure on her shoulder.

"Eden."

Zayne's voice, low and careful.

She blinked, disoriented, and came to a stark realization-

One—she'd been asleep.

Two—her head had been resting on something warm and solid.

Three—that something was Zayne's shoulder.

She jerked upright, heat flooding her face.

"I—sorry, I didn't—"

"It's fine," Zayne said quickly, though there was something in his expression she couldn't quite read. "You needed the rest. We're approaching the station, But we seem to have a problem..." He nodded toward the window.

Eden forced herself to focus, following his gaze outside.

The landscape had transformed into an endless expanse of white—snow and ice stretching to the horizon under a pale gray sky. But it was the movement that caught her attention.

Dark shapes swarming across the snow. Dozens of them.

"Wanderers," she breathed.

And closer to the station, figures in Hunter Association uniforms engaged in combat, their weapons flashing as they fought to hold the line.

Eden was on her feet before she consciously decided to move.

"How many?" she asked sharply.

Zayne had pulled up a communications feed on his tablet. "Initial reports say thirty to forty Wanderers. Class-B and C, mostly, but there are reports of at least two Class-A among them."

The train was already slowing, the conductor's voice crackling over the intercom: "All passengers, please remain seated. We are experiencing a security situation. Hunter personnel, report to the rear car for deployment."

Eden grabbed her duffel bag from the overhead compartment and pulled out her wand, the weapon extending to full length with a satisfying click.

"I'm going," she said.

"I know." Zayne was already standing, his medical bag in hand. "I'm coming with you."

Eden stopped, turning to look at him.

"You're a doctor, not a—"

"I have an Evol," Zayne said calmly. "Ice manipulation. And if you need to resonate to amplify your abilities—" He paused, knowing the risk.... "I'm offering."

Eden's chest tightened.

Resonance. With Zayne.

After what had happened with Xavier—after feeling everything, the grief and longing and centuries of pain—

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Eden said quietly.

"The Hunters out there are dying," Zayne replied, his tone gentle but unyielding. "You can save them. We can save them. Together."

Eden looked out the window again.

She closed her eyes.

Damn it.

"Fine," she said. "But stay behind me. And if I say retreat, you retreat."

Zayne's lips quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Understood."

.......

The cold hit like a physical blow the moment Eden stepped off the train.

Arctic wind tore at her uniform, and snow whipped across the platform in blinding sheets. She could barely see three meters ahead. Eden's breath misted white, and her exposed skin immediately began to ache.

But she could hear the fighting. The clash of weapons, the shrieks of Wanderers, the shouted commands of Hunters trying to coordinate.

Three Hunters were already engaged with a cluster of Wanderers about fifty meters from the train tracks. Two more were providing cover fire from defensive positions near the station building.

And beyond them—more Wanderers emerging from the white, their twisted forms barely visible against the snow.

"ASSISTANCE REQUIRED!"

She turned.

A Hunter she didn't recognize—broad-shouldered, blood streaking down one side of his face—was waving her over.

"We need support on the east flank! Two Class-A Wanderers broke through—"

"Understood."

Eden moved without hesitation, her wand held ready, her Evol already humming beneath her skin.

Behind her, she heard Zayne coordinating with the other medical personnel, his voice calm and authoritative despite the chaos.

Focus.

And ran toward the chaos.

A Wanderer materialized in front of her—twisted, grotesque, its form flickering like a broken hologram. Eden didn't hesitate. She swung her wand in a wide arc, channeling energy through the weapon, and the creature disintegrated with a shriek. Two massive Wanderers—easily twice the size of the standard variants—were tearing through the Hunter defenses. One had already downed a Hunter, its clawed appendages raised to deliver a killing blow.

Eden moved.

Her wand spun in her hands, energy coalescing at the tip, and she fired—a concentrated blast that caught the Wanderer center-mass and sent it staggering back.

The downed Hunter scrambled away, bleeding but alive, Zayne by their side in a matter of seconds, only a few paces behind her.

The second Wanderer turned toward Eden, its form flickering and unstable. It lunged.

Eden sidestepped, bringing her wand around in a sweeping arc that connected with the creature's flank. The impact resonated through her arms, but the Wanderer barely slowed.

Stronger than normal.

She needed more power.

Needed—

"Eden!" Zayne's voice, behind her. "We can finish them off!"

Eden didn't have time to second-guess.

"Fine," Eden said tersely. "But brace yourself."

She reached out with her Evol, searching for Zayne's energy signature.

Their fingers brushed.

She found it immediately.

Ice. Cold and sharp and precise. Not the gentle warmth of Xavier's light, but something crystalline.

Controlled

Beautiful, in its own way.

Eden connected, and the resonance snapped into place like a lock clicking home.

Then she felt him.

And Eden gasped.

It wasn't like Xavier.

Xavier's consciousness had been heavy, layered with grief and exhaustion and centuries of longing.

Zayne's was controlled. Precise. Every thought measured, every emotion carefully contained.

But beneath that control—

Admiration.

For her.

Eden felt it like a shock to her system. The way he saw her—capable, strong, determined. The way he worried about her health but respected her choices. The way he'd sat with her while she slept, not moving, just letting her rest.

The way he'd thought, just for a moment—

Eden shoved the thought away.

Focus.

She channeled his Evol through her own, amplifying it, and ice erupted from the ground around them. Sharp, crystalline spears that impaled three Wanderers at once, freezing them solid before they shattered into fragments.

"Impressive," Zayne murmured, and Eden felt his surprise through the connection. And something else. Something he'd quickly buried, but not before she'd sensed it.

Attraction.

Eden's face burned despite the cold.

Her mind wondered…

To Zayne, whose voice had been her comfort in another life. Whose scenes she'd replayed until she could recite them from memory. Who represented everything she'd wanted and never thought she could have.
Eden's breath hitched.

No. No, he can't feel that. He can't—

But resonance went both ways.

And through the connection, she felt Zayne's consciousness shift. Felt his confusion, his concern, and then—

Understanding.

"Eden," he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made her chest constrict.

"Are you alright?" Zayne asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"Fine," Eden managed, but her voice came out too tight.

Because she'd felt his emotions for her—but he'd felt hers too.

So Eden severed the resonance.

The connection snapped like a broken wire, and she staggered, gasping, her wand dropping slightly in her grip.

But the Wanderers were still coming.

Eden forced herself to move, to fight, channeling her own Evol now without amplification. She took down two more Wanderers, then three, her movements mechanical and precise even as her mind spiraled.

He felt it. He felt everything. The longing, the love, the way she—

"Eden, behind you!"

Zayne's warning came a split second before she felt the attack—a Wanderer materializing out of the snow, its claws raised.

Ice erupted between them, a barrier of frozen crystal that absorbed the blow.

Zayne stood a few meters away, his hand extended, his Evol fully manifested now. He looked calm, focused, but his eyes—

His eyes were on her.

"Together," he said firmly. "We finish this together."

Eden swallowed hard.

Then nodded.

They fought side by side. Zayne created barriers and projectiles of ice, controlling the battlefield, while Eden amplified and directed the energy where it was needed most. They moved in sync, their abilities complementing each other perfectly.

And slowly, methodically, they turned the tide.

The last Wanderer fell twenty minutes later, its form disintegrating into nothing.

Silence settled over the battlefield, broken only by the wind and the labored breathing of the surviving Hunters.
Eden stood in the snow, her wand still raised, her body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline.

And embarrassment.

He'd felt what she thought of him.

The intensity of it. The depth.

God, what must he think of me now?

"We should check on the other Hunters," Eden said quickly, turning away before he could respond.

She couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see recognition or pity or—worse—understanding in his eyes.

Zayne was quiet for a moment.

Then: "Alright."

But his voice was gentler than before.

And Eden knew—knew—that something between them had shifted.

.......

The Hunters began checking in, accounting for injuries. Miraculously, no one had died.

The woman approached Eden and Zayne, her expression grateful. "You two saved our asses. That resonance—I've never seen ice manipulation amplified like that." She extended a hand. "Captain Rivera. Thanks for the assist."

Eden shook her hand stiffly. "Just doing our job."

Hunter Marcus arranged transportation for them—a sled attached to a large mechanical wolf, its metal body gleaming silver beneath a light dusting of snow.

"It's programmed for Arctic conditions," Marcus explained. "Just input your destination and it'll get you there. Safest way to travel in this weather."

Eden stowed her gear in the sled's storage compartment, acutely aware of Zayne settling into the seat beside her.

The mechanical wolf's engine hummed to life, and they began moving—gliding across the snow slowly with surprising smoothness.

Eden kept her gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Thank you," Zayne said.

Rivera waved them off and turned back to her team, already coordinating cleanup and medical triage.
Eden moved toward the sled mechanically, her mind still reeling.

Eden finally turned to look at him.

His expression was open. Honest. No pity. No judgment.

Just understanding.

And it was too much.

Zayne followed, his footsteps crunching in the snow.

They didn't speak.

Chapter Text

The mechanical wolf was surprisingly smooth, its movements fluid as it pulled the sled across the frozen landscape.

Eden sat in the front, her hands gripping the sides, while Zayne sat behind her.

The silence was suffocating.

Eden could feel his presence at her back, could remember the resonance, the way their consciousnesses had tangled together.

Enough to understand that her feelings for him weren't professional. Weren't appropriate.

Were far too intense for someone who was supposed to be keeping her distance.

But she couldn't.

Because how could she explain that she'd loved him before she ever met him? That his voice had been her lifeline in another world, another life? That seeing him here, real and solid and kind, was both everything she'd ever wanted and the cruelest thing she could imagine?

She couldn't.

So she said nothing.

The sled continued

.......

The mechanical wolf slowed, and Eden leaned forward, squinting.

A snow fox.

It was tiny, white with bright black eyes, and it sat perfectly still in the middle of their path.

"Is that—" Zayne started.

The fox yipped once, then stood and began trotting forward, glancing back as if to say follow me.

"Pie," Zayne said, and there was something almost fond in his voice. "Dr. Noah's guide."

Eden stared at the fox. Something familiar itching in her brain. "You know it?"

"I've been here before," Zayne said. "Years ago, when I was his student. Pie always meets visitors about a kilometer from the lab."

The mechanical wolf adjusted its course, following the fox.

Eden watched the small creature bound through the snow, light and unbothered by the cold.

And her mind began to spiral.

Pie. Dr. Noah's guide. In the game, Pie had led MC to Dr. Noah.

Not Eden.

MC.

Eden's stomach twisted.

In the game, this had been MC's journey. MC's scene with Zayne. MC's opportunity to grow closer to him, to deepen their bond.

But Eden was here instead.

And Zayne—

Zayne hadn't mentioned MC once since they'd boarded the train.

Hadn't thought about her during the resonance, as far as Eden could tell.

Had looked at Eden with concern and admiration and something else she was too afraid to name.

What have I done?

A butterfly effect.

A small change creating cascading consequences. A butterfly flapping its wings in one location causing a hurricane somewhere else.

By being here, by traveling with Zayne, by resonating with him—

Was she changing MC's story?

Was she stealing moments that were supposed to belong to MC, derailing the carefully orchestrated romance that Eden had played, had guided, had helped create in another life?

What if MC doesn't end up with Zayne because of me?

What if I'm ruining everything?

Eden's hands trembled.

She was supposed to stay away. Supposed to keep her distance from the love interests, to let MC's story unfold naturally.

But instead, she was here. With Zayne. And he was looking at her like she mattered.

Like she was more than just a glitch in the narrative.

And that terrified her more than any Wanderer ever could.

Ahead, through the swirling snow, the outline of a structure began to emerge. A home , built into the side of a glacier, all angular metal, wood and reinforced glass.

Dr. Noah's lab.

Pie yipped again and bounded toward the entrance.

The mechanical wolf slowed to a stop.

Zayne dismounted first, then offered Eden his hand.

She stared at it for a moment—at the scars she knew by heart, at the steady strength in his fingers.

Then she took it.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to step down from the sled.

And tried not to think about how much she wanted to hold on.

Zayne walked a few paces ahead, occasionally calling to Pie in a tone that suggested familiarity.

Eden maintained distance.

Pie barked again, and Eden looked up.

There, emerging from the white—a structure.

Not large. Not imposing. Just a decently sized home built into the side of a glacier, its walls reinforced against the cold, smoke rising from a chimney.

Dr. Noah's home.

Eden's pulse quickened.

Answers.

Finally.

Pie led them to the entrance and sat, its tail swishing as if pleased with itself.

Zayne knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing an older man with silver hair and sharp eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Zayne," Dr. Noah said, his voice gravelly but warm. "I was wondering when you'd arrive." His gaze shifted to Eden.

"And you must be the patient."

Eden nodded stiffly. "Eden."

"Come in, come in. Before you freeze." Dr. Noah stepped aside, gesturing them into warmth. "We have much to discuss."

Eden crossed the threshold, Zayne following behind her.

And as the door closed against the Arctic wind, she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever answers waited inside would change everything.

Again.

--ZAYNE--

The interior of Dr. Noah's facility was exactly as Zayne remembered—a curious blend of clinical precision and unexpected warmth. Medical equipment lined one wall of the main room, monitoring systems blinking softly in the dim light. But the other side held a well-worn leather sofa, bookshelves crammed with both medical journals and classic literature, and a fireplace where flames crackled cheerfully against the Arctic cold.

It was the home of a man who'd chosen isolation but hadn't forgotten how to live.

"Sit, sit," Dr. Noah urged, gesturing toward the sofa as Pie trotted past them to curl up on a cushion near the fire. "You both must be frozen. I'll make tea."

Zayne began to protest—"Let me help—" but Noah waved him off.

"You're a guest, Zayne. And you've had a long journey." His sharp eyes shifted to Eden, who stood near the doorway, still wearing her combat gear, her duffel bag clutched in one hand. "Both of you have."

Eden said nothing, but Zayne noticed the way her gaze swept the room—cataloging exits, assessing threats, never quite settling. Even here, in relative safety, she couldn't relax.

She's always on guard.

The thought from the resonance echoed in Zayne's mind, accompanied by the echo of her emotions—loneliness so profound it had felt like drowning, and beneath it, a desperate, aching need for connection she refused to acknowledge.

He'd felt all of it.

And she knew he had.

Zayne looked away, focusing on removing his coat. The resonance had revealed too much. Had shown him things Eden clearly never wanted anyone to see.

But it had also shown him something else.

The depth of her determination. The iron control she maintained over her Evol despite the strain it caused. The way she pushed herself past any reasonable limit because stopping meant confronting the things she was running from.

It was... admirable.

No. More than admirable.

Zayne caught himself, guilt flickering through his chest.

He had no business thinking of Eden that way. She was his patient. His responsibility.
And yet—

The image surfaced unbidden: Eden asleep on his shoulder, her face finally peaceful, soft snores escaping parted lips. The weight of her against him. The way his heart had stuttered when she'd unconsciously nestled closer.

He thought of MC. Of the promise he'd made to himself to step back, to let her find happiness with Xavier without interference from him.

Thinking of another woman—admiring another woman—felt like betrayal.

Even if MC had already moved on.

Even if Zayne had seen the way she smiled at Xavier during training, bright and unguarded in a way she'd never quite smiled at him.

It hurt. Of course it hurt.

But he'd made peace with it.

Hadn't he?

"Zayne?"

He blinked. Dr. Noah stood before him, holding out a steaming mug of tea.

"Sorry," Zayne said, accepting it. "Lost in thought."

Noah's eyes—still sharp despite his years—studied him with the kind of perception that had always made Zayne feel like a specimen under glass.

"I can see that," Noah said dryly. Then, louder: "Miss Eden? Coffee or tea?"

Eden had moved to stand near the window, her back to them, staring out at the endless white.

"Coffee," she said quietly. "Black. Thank you."

Noah nodded and returned to the small kitchen area.

Zayne took the opportunity to study Eden's profile.

She'd removed her outer jacket, revealing the sharp lines of her Hunter uniform beneath—black tactical gear that emphasized her lean, athletic build. Her short dark hair was slightly disheveled from the wind, and even in the firelight, he could see the tension in her shoulders.

She looked like she was bracing for battle.

Always on guard. Never resting.

Noah returned with Eden's coffee and his own tea, settling into an armchair across from the sofa with a satisfied sigh.

"Now then," he said. "Let's discuss why you're really here."

Eden turned, accepting the coffee with a nod of thanks, but remained standing near the window.
Always maintaining distance.

Noah's gaze moved between them, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Zayne wrote to me about your case, Miss Eden. Protocore Syndrome from an implanted Aether Core. Quite unusual."

"That's an understatement," Eden said, her voice flat.

"Indeed." Noah sipped his tea. "I've spent the last week reviewing everything I could find on the subject. Old research papers, classified documents I still have access to—" He paused meaningfully. "—and some information that perhaps I shouldn't have access to. But we'll keep that between us."

Zayne leaned forward. "What did you find?"

Noah set down his tea and reached for a datapad on the side table. "Let me start with the basics, for Miss Eden's benefit. Protocore Syndrome is a condition where the body's natural energy regulation system becomes unstable. In severe cases, it can be fatal. The standard treatment is a carefully monitored Evol suppression protocol."

"I'm aware," Eden said quietly.

"But you don't have standard Protocore Syndrome, do you?" Noah's gaze sharpened. "You have an Aether Core. Someone deliberately implanted it in you."

Eden's hands tightened around her coffee mug. "Yes."

"The question is why." Noah pulled up a file on his datapad. "Aether Cores are extraordinarily rare. They're typically only compatible with individuals who have a specific genetic marker—one that appears in less than 0.01% of the population."

Zayne knew this. Had explained it to Eden during their first consultation.

But watching her face as Noah spoke—seeing the way her jaw tightened, her eyes darkening with something that looked like dread—made him wonder what she already knew that she wasn't sharing.

"The Gaia Research Center," Noah continued, "was conducting experiments on Aether Core compatibility in the early 2030s. Trying to understand why some individuals could resonate with them while others rejected them. The research was classified, but—" He glanced at Zayne. "—your friends’ grandmother was part of that project, wasn't she?"

Zayne's chest tightened. "Yes. Josephine was on the Unicorn Team."

Eden's head snapped toward him, her expression unreadable.

Noah nodded slowly. "Josephine was brilliant. One of the best researchers they had. But she left the project before the 2034 Catastrophe. Or rather—she disappeared. The records are unclear. And then the terrible accident that happened months ago."

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the crackling fire.

Zayne found himself watching Eden, noting the way her breathing had become carefully controlled. Too controlled.

She knows something. Something she's not saying.

Noah scrolled through his notes. "Based on the medical scans Zayne provided, your Aether Core integration is remarkably stable, Miss Eden. Too stable to be a recent implant. Which suggests—"

"It was done when I was a child," Eden said, her voice tight. "I know that much. What I want to know is who was involved." She broke off abruptly.

“Unfortunately, I cannot answer that question." Noah finished gently.

Eden nodded, not meeting anyone's eyes.

Noah set down his datapad. " The Gaia records from that period are heavily redacted or missing entirely. What I can tell you is that the procedure you underwent was experimental. Dangerous. The survival rate for Aether Core implantation in children was less than thirty percent."

Zayne's stomach dropped.

"Thirty percent?" His voice came out sharper than intended. "You're saying there was a seventy percent chance she'd die?"

"Yes."

The word hung in the air like a blade.

Zayne looked at Eden, and for a moment, he saw past her careful control to the grief beneath.
They did this to her. Knowing she might die. And she survived anyway.

"That's why I need to know," Eden said quietly. "Why would they risk it? What was so important that they'd—" Her voice cracked slightly. "—that they'd do that to a child?"

Noah was quiet for a long moment.

Then he said, carefully: "I have a theory. But it's only a theory."

"Tell me."

"The Gaia Research Center wasn't just studying Aether Cores. They were studying resonance. Specifically, how Evol users with Aether Cores could amplifythe abilities of others." Noah's gaze fixed on Eden. "Your Evol—Overclock—is exactly the kind of ability they were trying to create."

Zayne's mind raced, connecting pieces he hadn't seen before.

"You're saying they engineered her Evol?" he asked.

"Not engineered. But possibly... selected for." Noah's expression was grim. "If Eden already had the genetic markers for both Aether Core compatibility and a resonance-based Evol, she would have been an ideal candidate for their experiments."

Eden set down her coffee mug with deliberate care, her hands shaking slightly.

"So I was just a test subject," she said flatly. "A convenient body for their research."

"I don't believe convenience had anything to do with it," Noah said gently. "The selection process would have been highly specific. You survived when most wouldn't have. That makes you extraordinary, Miss Eden. Not convenient."

But Zayne saw the way Eden's expression shuttered completely, saw the way she turned back toward the window, arms wrapped around herself.

She doesn't feel extraordinary. She feels used.

And beneath that—the question she'd almost asked.

Why me?

The resonance had shown him fragments of her thoughts—disjointed, fierce, tinged with guilt and grief.
But not enough to understand.

Noah seemed to sense the shift in the room's energy. He stood, gesturing toward a doorway at the far end of the room.

"You're both welcome to stay here while we continue investigating. I have two guest rooms prepared." He glanced at Eden. "I imagine you'd like to get comfortable. Perhaps change out of your combat gear."

Eden nodded stiffly. "Thank you."

Noah led them down a short hallway, showing Eden to the first room—small but tidy, with a narrow bed and a window overlooking the glacier.

"Bathroom is two doors down," Noah said. "Take your time. We'll continue this discussion over dinner."

Eden disappeared into the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.

Noah turned to Zayne, his expression knowing. "And you, my boy. You look like you haven't slept properly in days."

"I'm fine," Zayne said automatically.

"Hmm." Noah's skepticism was evident. "The second guest room is next door. I suggest you rest while you can. This conversation isn't finished, and Eden will need your support before it's over."

Zayne frowned. "What do you mean?"

Noah's expression softened. "The answers she's looking for aren't going to bring her peace, Zayne. They're going to bring more questions. More pain. And when that happens, she'll need someone who understands what it means to carry weight you never asked for."

Their eyes met, and Zayne understood.

Noah knew. Had always known what Zayne carried. What he'd lost.

"I'll be here," Zayne said quietly.

"I know you will." Noah patted his shoulder. "That's what concerns me."

An hour later, Zayne sat in his guest room, staring at his hands.

The scars were prominent in the low light—white lines across his palms and forearms, remnants of an accident he'd never fully explained to anyone.

Remnants of a promise he'd made and couldn't keep.

He thought of Eden. The way her loneliness had crashed over him like a wave. The way she'd felt his admiration for her—his concern, his determination to help—and recoiled from it as if it were a threat.

She doesn't trust kindness. Doesn't trust connection.

Because connection meant vulnerability.

And vulnerability meant pain.

Zayne understood that better than most.

He'd spent years building walls around himself, maintaining professional distance, refusing to let anyone too close.

And yet—

Eden had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Had trusted him, even unconsciously, to keep her safe while she rested.
That meant something.

Didn't it?

Zayne closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

This was dangerous territory. Getting emotionally invested in a patient—in Eden—was the kind of mistake that could compromise his judgment.

But every time he tried to step back, tried to maintain that professional distance—

He remembered the way she'd looked at him after the resonance. Vulnerable and terrified and real.

He remembered the determination in her eyes when she'd insisted on coming to the Arctic despite his concerns.
He remembered her face in sleep. Peaceful. Finally at rest.

And he wanted—

What? What do you want?

Zayne didn't have an answer.

Just the uncomfortable certainty that whatever was developing between him and Eden was more complicated than anything he'd prepared for.

Chapter Text

The tests began the morning after their arrival.

Eden sat on the examination table in Dr. Noah's makeshift lab—a converted section of the facility filled with monitoring equipment that hummed and beeped in steady rhythm—while electrodes mapped the energy patterns around her heart.

"Try to relax," Noah said, his eyes on the holographic display showing her Aether Core's signature. "Any tension will skew the readings."

Eden forced her shoulders to drop, her breathing to even out.

Relax. Right.

As if she could relax with Zayne standing three feet away, clipboard in hand, those hazel-green eyes watching her with clinical focus that somehow still felt too intimate.

The thought made her want to crawl out of her skin.

"Heart rate elevated," Noah noted, not looking up from his screen. "Eden, you need to calm down."

"I'm trying," she said through gritted teeth.

Zayne stepped closer, and Eden's pulse spiked further.

"Deep breaths," he said quietly. His voice had that same gentle quality it always had during examinations—professional, soothing. "In for four, hold for four, out for four."

Eden followed the instruction mechanically, focusing on the numbers instead of the way Zayne's presence made her hyperaware of every inch of her own skin.

The test continued for another twenty minutes before Noah declared it complete.

"We'll need to run more comprehensive scans tomorrow," he said, already making notes on his datapad. "Including stress tests to see how your Evol responds under pressure."

Eden nodded and fled the lab as quickly as dignity allowed.

By the third day, Eden had fallen into an uneasy routine.

Mornings were tests—blood work, energy scans, physical assessments. Noah was thorough to the point of being exhausting, and Zayne assisted with the kind of quiet competence that would have been comforting if Eden could let herself find anything about this situation comforting.

Afternoons were her own. She spent them outside when the weather allowed, trudging through snow with Pie as her only companion, or holed up in her guest room reviewing her research files.

Evenings meant dinner with Noah and Zayne—awkward affairs where Noah did most of the talking, discussing research findings and medical theories that made Eden's head spin.

Zayne was unfailingly polite. Professional. He never mentioned the resonance, never pushed her to talk about anything she didn't want to discuss.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because the remnants of what they'd shared were fading now, dimming like a dream upon waking. The sharp intensity of his emotions— the attraction—had dulled to background noise.

She should have been relieved.

Instead, she felt hollow.

As if losing that connection, however unwanted it had been, meant losing something irreplaceable.

‘You're being ridiculous.’

Eden pulled on her casual clothes—an oversized graphic t-shirt and comfortable pants—and padded barefoot to the common area where Noah and Zayne were reviewing test results.

Both men looked up as she entered.

Zayne's gaze lingered for just a moment too long—taking in her off-duty appearance, the way her short dark hair was slightly mussed from sleep—before he looked away.

Eden's chest tightened with something she refused to name.

"Eden," Noah said, gesturing her over. "Good timing. I wanted to discuss the next phase of testing."

She approached slowly, keeping the couch between herself and the two doctors.

"What kind of testing?"

Noah exchanged a glance with Zayne. "We've gathered extensive data on your baseline Aether Core function. But to truly understand how your Overclock Evol interacts with the core, we need to observe it in action."

Eden's stomach dropped. "You need me to resonate."

"With Zayne, yes." Noah's expression was matter-of-fact. "He's the most qualified person to monitor the process, and his Evol is stable enough to provide a controlled environment. We'll have full monitoring equipment in place to track every fluctuation in your Aether Core during the connection."

"No."

The word came out sharper than Eden intended.

Both men looked at her with varying degrees of surprise.

"Eden," Zayne started gently, "I understand this is uncomfortable—"

"You don't understand anything," Eden said, her voice tight. "You have no idea what resonance is like for me. What it—" She broke off, jaw clenched.

What it shows me. What it makes me feel.

Noah's expression softened slightly. "I know it's invasive. But Eden, this is the best chance we have to understand your condition. To figure out why you were given an Aether Core and what it's doing to your body long-term."

"I need to think about it," Eden said.

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked toward the exit.

The cold hit her like a wall when she stepped outside.

Eden hadn't bothered with a coat—was still wearing her casual clothes, the thin fabric offering no protection against the Arctic wind—but she didn't care.

She just needed to be away from them. Away from the expectation in their eyes, the clinical curiosity that felt too much like being dissected.

Away from Zayne's gentle concern that made her want to scream and cry in equal measure.

She walked until her fingers were numb, until her breath came in white clouds that the wind tore away.

You need to do this. You came here for answers.

But resonance meant vulnerability. Meant letting Zayne feel everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling.

And right now, her thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and longing and desperate, aching loneliness that she didn't know how to name.

What if he feels how much I want him to—

No.

She couldn't go there. Couldn't let herself want things from people who were never meant for her.

The door opened behind her.

Eden didn't turn, but she knew who it was before he spoke.

"You're going to freeze to death out here."

Zayne's voice was quiet. Careful.

"I'm fine," Eden said automatically.

"You're not wearing a coat."

"I said I'm fine."

Silence. Then footsteps crunching through snow, and warmth settled around her shoulders—Zayne's jacket, heavy and lined, smelling faintly of cedar and antiseptic.

Eden's hands curled into fists, but she didn't shrug off the jacket.

Zayne came to stand beside her, arms crossed against the cold in just his button-down shirt. He didn't speak, just stood there, staring out at the endless white expanse.

Finally, Eden said: "I can't control it."

"Control what?"

"My thoughts. During resonance." Her voice came out small. Defeated. "You felt it last time. The—" She swallowed hard. "I can't control what you'll feel if we do this again. And I can't—" Her throat closed. "I can't bear the idea of you knowing. Knowing how pathetic I am."

"You're not pathetic."

The words were immediate. Firm.

Eden's jaw tightened. "You don't know me."

"I know what I felt during the resonance," Zayne said quietly. "And none of it was pathetic. Strong. Determined. So fiercely controlled that it must be exhausting." He paused. "You carry everything alone because you think that's what strength looks like. But Eden—" His voice softened. "—that's not strength. That's just... suffering."

Eden's eyes burned.

"I don't know how to be any other way," she whispered.

Zayne was quiet for a long moment.

Then: "Maybe you don't have to know. Maybe you just have to... try."

Eden finally turned to look at him.

His hair was slightly disheveled from the wind, his shirt already dusted with snow. He looked cold—should have been shivering—but his expression was steady.

Open.

"Why do you care?" Eden asked, and hated how her voice cracked. "I'm just a patient. Just another case."

"You're not." The words came out too quickly, too honest. Zayne seemed to realize this, because he looked away, jaw tightening. "You're not just a patient to me. I—" He stopped himself.

Eden's heart hammered against her ribs.

He was going to say something. Something that would change everything.

But he didn't. Instead, he said, carefully: "As your doctor, I want to help you understand your condition. But as—" He hesitated. "As someone who understands what it's like to carry weight alone, I want to help you realize that you don't have to."

Eden stared at him, something painful and dangerous unfurling in her chest.

He cares.

Not just professionally. Not just clinically.

He actually cares.

And that was terrifying.

Because caring meant connection. And connection meant vulnerability. And vulnerability meant—

Pain. Eventually. Always.

"I don't want to hurt you," Eden said quietly.

Zayne's brow furrowed. "Hurt me?"

"During the resonance. I don't—" She looked away. "My emotions aren't... safe. They're too much. Too intense. I don't want you to feel that and—"

"Eden."

She didn't look at him.

"Eden, look at me."

Reluctantly, she turned.

Zayne's expression was so gentle it made her chest ache. "I felt your emotions during the battle. All of them. And I don't pity you. I—" He paused, something flickering across his face. "I admired you."

Eden's throat tightened. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Then help me understand." Zayne took a careful step closer. Not invading her space, but closing the distance just enough. "Help me understand why you're so afraid of being seen."

Because being seen meant being known. And being known meant being rejected.

Because everyone she'd ever cared about—in her old life, in this one—had chosen someone else. Something else.
Because she was always, always second.

But she couldn't say any of that.

So instead, she said: "I'll do the resonance test."

Zayne blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "You will?"

"Yes." Eden's voice was steady now, even if her hands weren't. "But on one condition."

"What condition?"

"Whatever you feel—whatever I feel—during the resonance, we don't talk about it afterward. We just... let it be data. Medical information. Nothing more."

Zayne was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, he nodded. "Alright. If that's what you need."

But something in his eyes suggested he didn't believe it would be that simple.

And Eden, despite herself, didn't either.

They returned inside together, Eden still wearing Zayne's jacket.

Dr. Noah looked up as they entered, his sharp eyes moving between them with an expression that was far too knowing.

"I take it we're proceeding with the resonance test?" he asked.

"Yes," Eden said. "Tomorrow morning. I need tonight to prepare."

"Of course." Noah nodded. "We'll set up the monitoring equipment tonight. Zayne, I'll need your help calibrating the sensors."

"Understood."

Eden retreated to her room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it.

Her heart was racing. Her hands were shaking.

Tomorrow, she would resonate with Zayne again.

Would feel his emotions—and let him feel hers—while Dr. Noah documented every fluctuation, every spike, every vulnerable moment.

This is a mistake.

But it was too late to back out now.

She'd agreed. Made a promise.

And Eden kept her promises.

Even the ones that terrified her.

Even the ones that might break her completely.

Chapter Text

The facility was quiet at 0600 hours.

Zayne stood in the small kitchen area, measuring flour with the kind of precision he brought to surgery, while the coffee maker gurgled softly in the background. Dr. Noah was still asleep—the older man had worked late into the night calibrating equipment—which left Zayne alone with his thoughts and the methodical comfort of cooking.

Pancakes.

He wasn't sure why he'd decided on pancakes. Perhaps because they were simple, familiar. Perhaps because the act of making them gave his hands something to do while his mind circled the same anxious thoughts it had been circling since yesterday.

Today we resonate again.

The door to Eden's room opened with a soft click.

Zayne looked up, and for a moment, forgot how to breathe.

Eden stood in the doorway, clearly just awakened. Her short dark hair was adorably disheveled, sticking up at odd angles in a way that made her look younger, softer than the composed Hunter he'd come to know. She wore an oversized black shirt that hung off one shoulder and pajama pants covered in tiny stars and rocket ships.

It was possibly the most endearing thing Zayne had ever seen.

She blinked at him slowly, eyes still heavy with sleep, and made her way toward the kitchen with the careful, deliberate steps of someone not quite fully conscious.

"Good morning," Zayne said, his voice coming out gentler than he'd intended.

Eden made a sound that might have been a greeting. Might have been a groan. It was hard to tell.

Zayne suppressed a smile and poured coffee into a mug—black, the way she always drank it—and added two sugar cubes. He'd noticed, over the past few days, the exact way she took her coffee. Had memorized it without meaning to.

He set the mug on the counter within her reach.

Eden wrapped both hands around it, inhaling the steam with an expression of such profound relief that Zayne had to look away to hide his amusement.

"Did you sleep?" he asked, turning back to the stove.

A pause. Then: "Some."

Which meant not much at all.

Zayne wanted to lecture her about the importance of rest, about how lack of sleep would affect the resonance test, about how she couldn't keep running herself into the ground like this—

But he'd learned, over the past few days, that Eden didn't respond well to lectures.

So instead, he asked: "What's your favorite sweet?"

Eden blinked at him, clearly confused by the non-sequitur. "What?"

"Sweet treat. Dessert." Zayne flipped a pancake with practiced ease. "What do you prefer?"

She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to determine whether this was some kind of trap.

"Macarons," she said finally. "Raspberry, if I have to pick a flavor."

"Noted."

"Why?"

"No particular reason." Zayne plated the first pancake and started another. "I like to know things about my patients."

It was a lie. Or rather, a carefully constructed half-truth.

He didn't want to know this information as her doctor. He wanted to know it as—

What? What are you to her?

Zayne pushed the thought away and focused on cooking.

They ate in silence.

Or rather, Zayne ate. Eden picked at her food, cutting it into small pieces but barely bringing any to her lips. Her gaze was distant, unfocused, and her hands trembled slightly whenever she set down her fork.

Nervous.

She was nervous.

Zayne watched her over the rim of his coffee cup, noting the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept glancing toward the lab door as if it might transform into something threatening.

As the coffee worked its way into her system, Eden began to wake more fully. Her movements became sharper, more purposeful. She ran a hand through her sleep-mussed hair, trying to smooth it down, and color flooded her cheeks when she seemed to realize what she was wearing.

"I should change," she muttered, standing abruptly.

"There's no rush," Zayne said. "We don't start for another hour."

But she was already retreating to her room, shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself smaller.

Zayne set down his coffee cup and stared at his hands.

'Who hurt you?'

The question had been circling his mind for days now. Had been there since the first resonance, when he'd felt the depth of her loneliness and recognized it as something learned, not inherent.

Someone—or something—had taught Eden that she wasn't worth taking care of. That she had to carry everything alone. That vulnerability was weakness.

And Zayne wanted—needed—to understand why.

So he could help her unlearn it.

Even if that meant crossing lines he'd promised himself he wouldn't cross.

An hour and a half later, they stood in Dr. Noah's lab.

Eden had changed into her casual clothes—the graphic t-shirt and comfortable pants that somehow made her look both more human and more vulnerable than her Hunter uniform. Her hair was properly styled now, but Zayne found himself missing the disheveled softness from earlier.

Dr. Noah was at the monitoring station, running final checks on the equipment. Holographic displays surrounded them, ready to capture every fluctuation in energy, every shift in their Aether Cores during resonance.

"We'll start slow," Noah said, his tone professionally detached in a way Zayne recognized as deliberately calming. "Establish the connection, maintain it for five minutes, then gradually increase intensity. I'll be monitoring Eden's Aether Core throughout. If anything looks dangerous, we stop immediately."

Eden nodded stiffly.

Noah's gaze shifted to Zayne. "And you? Any concerns?"

"No," Zayne said.

Liar.

He had dozens of concerns. Hundreds.

But none of them were medical.

Noah seemed to sense this, because something knowing flickered across his expression. But he said nothing, just gestured them toward the center of the room where sensors had been positioned.

"Whenever you're ready," Noah said.

Eden turned to Zayne, and he saw the fear in her eyes. Saw the way she was bracing herself, as if preparing for pain.

"I need physical contact to resonate properly," she said quietly. "Is that... acceptable?"

As if he might refuse. As if touching her was some kind of imposition rather than something he'd been thinking about—wanting—with an intensity that should have alarmed him.

"Of course," Zayne said.

He extended his hand, palm up. An offering.

Eden stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly, she reached out.

Her fingers touched his palm first—a whisper of contact, tentative and careful. Then her hand slid fully into his, and Zayne's breath caught.

So small.

Her hand was dwarfed by his, her fingers delicate against his scarred palm. But there was strength there too—calluses from weapon training, the lean power of a Hunter who'd fought and survived.

Zayne had performed countless surgeries. Had touched hundreds of patients with clinical precision.

But this—

This felt nothing like medicine.

Eden's eyes met his, dark and unguarded for just a moment, and Zayne felt the resonance begin.

It started as a shimmer—Eden's Evol manifesting as smoke-like energy that curled around their joined hands.

Then, as the connection deepened, the smoke transformed, crystallizing into delicate snowflakes that drifted through the air.

His Evol, copied and amplified by hers.

Beautiful.

But it was the internal connection that stole Zayne's breath.

The flood of sensation, emotion, thought—

Her mind opened to him like a book written in a language he was only beginning to understand.

The first thing he felt was the anxiety. It crashed over him in waves, relentless and exhausting. Not the sharp panic of immediate danger, but the chronic, grinding worry of someone who'd learned to expect catastrophe at every turn.

'What if I can't control it? What if he sees too much? What if—'

Beneath that, deeper, was the depression. Heavy and gray, like fog that never quite lifted. Not acute enough to be debilitating, but constant. A weight she carried every moment of every day without complaint because complaining meant acknowledging it, and acknowledging it meant—

'Weakness. Failure. Proof that I'm not strong enough.'

And threading through everything, suffocating and pervasive, was the imposter syndrome.

'I don't belong here. I'm not supposed to be here. Everyone will realize eventually that I'm just—'

'Just what?', The thought fractured before completing, but Zayne felt the emotion behind it. The bone-deep certainty that she was somehow less than she appeared. That her accomplishments were accidents, her strength a façade, her very existence a mistake that would eventually be corrected.

'How long have you been carrying this?'

But beneath the anxiety and depression, beneath the crushing weight of inadequacy—

There was something else.

A hunger. Fierce and desperate and achingly vulnerable.

'I want to be seen. Want someone to look at me and understand. Want to matter to someone, anyone, want to be—'

Cared for.

The realization hit Zayne like a physical blow.

Eden had never been taken care of. Had never had someone put her needs first, had never been allowed to be vulnerable without consequence.

She'd learned independence not as a strength but as a survival mechanism.

Because no one else would do it.

The loneliness he'd sensed during their first resonance wasn't the temporary isolation of a soldier between missions. It was fundamental. Foundational.

She had been alone for so long she'd forgotten what connection felt like.

And beneath even that, buried so deep she might not fully acknowledge it herself—

Love.

Profound, terrifying, impossible love.

For him.

Zayne's heart stopped.

He felt it like a truth written in her bones. Not the gentle affection of a patient for their doctor. Not even the simple attraction of two people drawn together.

But something deeper. Older. As if she'd known him far longer than the weeks they'd actually spent together.
As if she'd loved him before they'd ever met.

'How?'

But there was no time to process that, because Eden was feeling him too.

Zayne had always prided himself on his control.

On his ability to maintain professional distance, to separate his personal feelings from his medical responsibilities.

But control was a wall. And resonance tore down walls.

He felt Eden's awareness shift, felt her consciousness brush against his, and knew—with absolute certainty—that she was about to feel everything he'd been hiding.

'Don't—'

Too late.

His want for her unfurled like a flower blooming in fast-forward. Undeniable. All-consuming.

The way he noticed every detail about her—the precise shade of her eyes, the sound of her breath, the rare moments when her stoic mask slipped and he caught glimpses of the woman beneath.

The way his pulse quickened when she entered a room.

The way he'd memorized how she took her coffee without meaning to, had learned to read her silences, had started thinking of ways to make her smile even though he knew it was dangerous, knew he was crossing lines he'd drawn for very good reasons—

The way he wanted, with an intensity that bordered on hedonistic, to touch her. Not clinically, not professionally, but with the kind of intimacy he'd denied himself for years.

To trace the arch of her brow with his thumb. To feel the pulse in her wrist beneath his fingers. To map the hollow of her collarbone with his lips and hear what sound she'd make—

'Stop.'

But he couldn't.

Because the resonance was truth, and the truth was that Zayne wanted her with a desperation he'd been hiding behind medical terminology and professional courtesy.

And now she knew.

Their eyes locked.

Zayne watched, transfixed, as understanding dawned across Eden's face. Her pupils dilated. Her cheeks flushed that delicate pink that made her look impossibly young and impossibly beautiful. Her breath deepened, lips parting slightly.

And Zayne—

Zayne let her see it all.

Let her feel the weight of his desire, the careful restraint he'd been exercising, the way every interaction with her had become a test of his self-control.

Let her understand that he wasn't just professionally concerned.

He was invested. Deeply, dangerously invested.

In her recovery, yes. In her health, absolutely.

But also in her. In Eden herself—the woman who carried impossible weight alone, who hid profound tenderness beneath stoicism, who needed someone to see her and had never had that need met.

He wanted to be that person.

Wanted it with a fierceness that should have terrified him.

Their joined hands felt like a circuit—energy flowing between them, amplifying and reflecting until Zayne couldn't tell where his emotions ended and hers began.

He noticed, with the kind of clinical detachment his mind defaulted to when overwhelmed, every detail of her face.
The flecks of lighter brown in her dark irises, visible only this close. The way they shimmered slightly as her pupils adjusted to the intensity of the resonance.

The shape of her lips—fuller on the bottom, the cupid's bow precise and delicate.

The arch of her brows, expressive despite her attempts at stoicism.

The dip of her collarbone, visible above the neckline of her shirt, and the way her pulse fluttered rapidly in the hollow of her throat.

She was beautiful.

Had always been beautiful, but Zayne had forced himself not to notice.

Now, connected like this, he couldn't help but notice everything.

Eden's breath hitched. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, the flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck. She swayed slightly, as if the weight of what she was feeling—what they were both feeling—was too much to bear standing still.

Zayne's free hand moved instinctively, reaching to steady her—

"Scan complete."

Dr. Noah's voice cut through the connection like a scalpel.

She immediately broke the resonance.

Zayne and Eden jerked apart as if burned, the snowflakes dissipating into nothing, the smoke-like energy evaporating.

Silence filled the lab, broken only by the soft beeping of monitors and their ragged breathing.

Eden stared at him, her expression a mixture of shock and something that looked dangerously like hope.

Zayne stared back, his heart hammering, his carefully maintained professional distance in absolute ruins.

And Dr. Noah, standing at his monitoring station with a datapad in hand and an expression of profound satisfaction, said mildly:

"Well. That was illuminating."

Chapter Text

Eden's vision swam.

The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding together like watercolors left in the rain. Her stomach lurched violently, and a wave of nausea so intense it felt like drowning crashed over her.

Move. Now.

She stumbled backward, breaking eye contact with Zayne, her hand clutching at empty air where his had been moments before. The absence of the resonance felt like a wound—raw and gaping and wrong.

"Eden—" Zayne's voice, concerned and too close.

But she was already moving, her legs unsteady beneath her as she staggered toward the door. The bathroom. She needed—

Her shoulder hit the doorframe. She barely felt it.

The bathroom was blessedly close. Eden made it three steps inside before her knees buckled and she collapsed in front of the toilet, dry heaving over the basin with such violence her entire body convulsed.

Nothing came up. She hadn't eaten enough at breakfast.

But her body didn't care. It just kept trying to expel something—the resonance, the emotions, the overwhelming sensory overload of having someone else's consciousness tangled with hers for that long.

Too much. It was too much.

Footsteps behind her. Fast and purposeful.

"Eden."

Zayne's voice, and then his hands—one supporting her shoulder, the other pulling her hair back from her face with a gentleness that made her want to sob.

"Don't—" Eden tried to push him away, but her arms were shaking too badly to manage it. "I'm fine—"

"You're not fine." His voice was calm, clinical. Doctor mode. "This is a normal reaction to extended resonance. Your nervous system is overwhelmed."

Another heave, more violent than the last. Eden's vision went white at the edges.

Zayne's hand moved to the back of her neck, thumb pressing gently against the pressure point there. The nausea eased slightly—not gone, but manageable.

"Breathe," he said quietly. "Slow, deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Eden obeyed mechanically, her body too exhausted to do anything else.

The worst of the heaving subsided, leaving her trembling and clammy with cold sweat. She sagged forward, her forehead resting against her arm on the edge of the basin.

"I need to lay down," she managed, her voice hoarse.

"Can you stand?"

Eden tried. Her legs wobbled, gave out, and she would have collapsed completely if Zayne hadn't caught her.

"Alright," he said, and there was something different in his voice now. Not clinical. Not professional.

Gentle. Worried.

Before Eden could protest, Zayne slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with the kind of ease that suggested he'd done this countless times before.

Bridal style.

Eden's breath caught. "Zayne—"

"The sofa is closer than your room," he said, already moving. "Don't argue."

She didn't have the energy to argue.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, and she could feel his heartbeat through his shirt—steady, reassuring. Could smell the faint scent of coffee and antiseptic that clung to him.

The living room materialized around them, and then the softness of the sofa cushions beneath her as Zayne lowered her carefully.

He didn't immediately move away.

Instead, he knelt beside the sofa, one hand checking her pulse at her wrist, the other touching her forehead with clinical efficiency.

"Heart rate elevated but stabilizing," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Temperature slightly elevated. Pupils responsive."

"I'm fine," Eden whispered, but even she didn't believe it.

Zayne's jaw tightened. "You maintained resonance for nearly eight minutes. That's—" He broke off, something flickering across his face. "That's longer than most Evol users could manage without severe consequences. The Aether Core was working overtime to sustain the connection."

"Worth it," Eden said, and wasn't sure if she meant the medical data or something else entirely.

Zayne was quiet for a moment, his thumb still pressed against her wrist, feeling her pulse.

Then, quietly: "You felt it."

Not a question.

Eden closed her eyes. "Yes."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Eden knew she should say something. Should address what they'd both felt during the resonance—the want, the need, the impossible depth of emotion that had no place existing between a doctor and his patient.

But her head was spinning and her stomach was still churning and she was so, so tired.

"Rest," Zayne said finally, his voice impossibly gentle. "We'll talk when you're feeling better."

Eden wanted to protest. Wanted to tell him there was nothing to talk about, that what happened during resonance didn't mean anything, that they should both just forget—

But Zayne's hand was still on her wrist, warm and steady.

And for once, Eden let herself be cared for.

Let herself fall asleep on the sofa with Zayne watching over her.

Let herself, just for a moment, stop running.

.......

Eden woke to darkness and the weight of a blanket she didn't remember pulling over herself.

Her head felt clearer now, the nausea gone, leaving only a hollow exhaustion in its wake. She shifted slightly and felt the softness of a pillow beneath her head—someone had propped her up properly while she slept.

Memory surfaced in fragments.

Zayne carrying her. The sofa cushions beneath her. His hand on her wrist, checking her pulse.
And then—

Something else. A moment caught between waking and sleep, when consciousness had been gossamer-thin and sounds had filtered through like voices underwater.

"I can't lose another person I—"

Zayne's voice.

Rough with emotion she'd never heard from him before.

And then Dr. Noah's voice, farther away: "Zayne, she needs to rest. Come look at these results."

The memory of fingers brushing hair back from her forehead. Gentle. Tender.

Unprofessional.

Eden sat up slowly, the blanket falling away. The living room was empty now, lit only by the dying embers in the fireplace. Through the window, she could see stars scattered across the Arctic night sky.

How long had she been asleep?

Her datapad sat on the side table, screen dark. Eden picked it up, noting the time—2147 hours—and saw the notification waiting.

New file from Dr. Noah: MEDICAL REPORT - CONFIDENTIAL

Eden's stomach tightened.

She opened it.

The report was dense with medical terminology, charts showing energy fluctuations during the resonance, detailed breakdowns of her Aether Core's behavior.

But it was the summary at the end that made Eden's blood run cold.

FINDINGS:
'Patient's Aether Core demonstrates stable integration with cardiovascular system under baseline conditions. However, extended resonance (8+ minutes) triggers accelerated crystallization process.
Current status: 7% of cardiac tissue converted to Aether Core material.
Prognosis: Crystallization is irreversible. Each extended resonance accelerates the conversion process. Short-term resonance (≤20 seconds) appears safe. Prolonged resonance significantly increases crystallization rate.
Projected timeline at current progression: 18-24 months until critical cardiac function impairment. Symptoms will escalate: arrhythmia, chronic fatigue, respiratory distress. Terminal phase: coma followed by cardiac failure.
Recommendation: Avoid all extended resonance. Consider experimental suppression protocols. Patient should be informed immediately.'

Eden read it twice. Then a third time.

The words didn't change.

Eighteen to twenty-four months.

Less than two years.

And every time she used her Evol the way it was meant to be used—every time she resonated to save lives, to fight Wanderers, to do her job as a Hunter—she was killing herself.

Eden set down the datapad with deliberate care.

Then she stood, walked to her room, and closed the door behind her.

.......

The shower ran cold.

Eden stood under the spray until her skin went numb, until her fingers pruned and her teeth chattered. The physical discomfort was grounding. Real.

She was dying.

Not abstractly. Not "someday, eventually, like everyone."

'I am no stranger to death.'

The thought surfaced automatically—a defense mechanism, a way to distance herself from the fear.
She'd died once already, hadn't she? In her old life. That body had stopped working and she'd woken up here, in this world, in this body that was also failing.

What was one more death?

But this time—

This time, she knew what she was losing.

Knew there were people here. Zayne. Dr. Noah. Even Captain Jenna, in her gruff way. MC and Xavier and the other Hunters.

This time, she'd felt what it was like to matter to someone.

Had felt Zayne's emotions during the resonance—the depth of his want, his need, his careful restraint. Had felt him wanting to touch her, care for her, break through the walls she'd built.

Had felt, for the first time in either of her lives, what it was like to be seen.

And now she had eighteen months. Maybe two years if she was lucky.

Not enough time.

Never enough time.

Eden turned off the water and stood dripping on the tile, staring at her reflection in the fogged mirror.
She should feel something. Terror, maybe. Despair. Anger at the injustice of it all.

But she just felt... tired.

So endlessly tired.

She dried off mechanically, pulled on her bathrobe, and returned to her room.

The datapad sat on her bed where she'd left it, screen still displaying Dr. Noah's report.
Eden picked it up to close the file—

And felt it.

A sudden drop in temperature. Sharp and unnatural.

Frost was creeping across the wall she shared with Zayne's room, crystalline patterns spreading like cracks in glass.

Eden's breath misted white.

No.

She didn't think.

Didn't pause to consider propriety or boundaries or the fact that she was wearing nothing but a bathrobe.

She just moved.

The datapad hit the bed as Eden threw open her door and rushed into the hallway. Zayne's door was closed, but even from here she could see the frost seeping beneath it, could feel the cold radiating through the wood.

She didn't knock.

Just turned the handle—ice-cold beneath her palm—and shoved the door open.

"Zayne—"

The room was a winter nightmare.

Everything was coated in ice. The walls, the furniture, the window so thoroughly frosted it was opaque. And in the center of it all—

Zayne.

He sat on the edge of his bed, hunched forward, hands gripping his hair. His arms and neck were covered in spreading frost, his fingertips almost blue with cold. The air around him shimmered with crystalline energy gone wild.

"Don't—" His voice was strained, barely controlled. "Eden, don't come closer. I can't—I can't stop it—"

She ignored him.

Crossed the frozen room in three strides and dropped to her knees in front of him, grabbing his wrists.

"Eden, no—"

"Shut up," she said tersely, eyes burning.

Her Evol flared to life instinctively—not the sharp, focused energy of combat, but something softer. Smoke-like wisps that curled around her hands, warming them, protecting her from the ice spreading across Zayne's skin.

She didn't resonate. Didn't pull his power into herself.

Just... stabilized it.

Used her Evol to create a buffer, a temperature gradient that his ice could settle into instead of spiraling out of control.

"Breathe," Eden said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Match my breathing. In for four—"

"I know how to breathe," Zayne bit out, but he was already following her rhythm.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

The frost slowed its spread. The temperature in the room began to rise incrementally.

Eden held his wrists, her Evol maintaining the barrier between his ice and his skin, and watched his face as control gradually returned.

It took five minutes.

When the last of the wild energy finally dissipated, Zayne sagged forward, his forehead nearly touching hers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry—"

"For what?"

"For losing control. For—" His voice cracked. "For failing you."

Eden's chest tightened. "Zayne—"

"I read the report." His eyes were still closed, his breath warm against her face. "Seven percent. You have a chance of dying, Eden. And I can't—I don't know how to fix it."

Silence fell between them, broken only by their breathing.

Then Eden said quietly: "It's not your job to fix me."

Zayne's eyes opened. They were red-rimmed, raw with emotion she'd never seen him show.

"You're my patient," he said hoarsely.

"I know."

"I'm supposed to help you. Heal you. That's what I do—what I've always done. And I can't—" His hands—still cold, still trembling slightly—moved to cup her face. "I can't lose you."

Eden's breath caught, thoughts and memories from another lifetime filters over her eyes.

'Is this really happening?'

His thumbs brushed across her cheekbones, gentle despite the intensity in his gaze.

"I know I shouldn't feel this way," Zayne continued, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. "I know every rule I'm breaking. But Eden—when I felt your emotions during the resonance, when I realized you were dying and there was nothing I could do—"

He broke off, jaw clenching.

Eden stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Say it. Please say it.

"Please," Zayne whispered, and the word held so much—desperation, need, a question he couldn't quite articulate.
Please let me care about you. Please don't push me away. Please give me permission to feel what I'm feeling.

Eden's hands, still resting on his wrists, tightened slightly.

She should say no. Should remind him about professional boundaries, about the fact that she was his patient, about how dangerous it was to let this—whatever this was—continue.

But she was alone.

And she was so tired of being alone.

"Okay," she breathed.

Zayne moved.

Not dramatically. Not with the passionate intensity of romance novels.

Just... closed the distance between them, his forehead against hers, his hands still cupping her face, his eyes closed.

"I can't cross certain lines," he said quietly. "Not while you're my patient. Not while there's a power imbalance. It wouldn't be right."

Eden's throat tightened. "I know."

"But I need you to understand—" His thumbs moved again, tracing the line of her jaw with devastating gentleness. "—that I want to. God, Eden, I want to."

She could feel it. The restraint. The way his muscles were tensed with the effort of holding back.

"After," Eden whispered.

"After?"

"After we return to Linkon. After—" She swallowed hard. "After you're not my doctor anymore. We can—"

She didn't finish the sentence.

Didn't know how to finish it.

hope, as fickle as it was bloomed in her cold heart.

'We can see if this is real. We can explore what this feeling is. We can have whatever time I have left.'

Zayne's eyes opened, and the look in them was so tender it hurt.

"After," he agreed. "But Eden—I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"No more extended resonance. Not unless it's life or death. I don't care about the data, don't care about understanding your condition better if it means—" His voice broke. "If it means losing you faster."

Eden's chest ached.

She should argue. Should remind him that she was a Hunter, that resonance was part of her job, that she couldn't just stop using her Evol because it was dangerous.

But the look in his eyes stopped her.

"I promise," she said quietly. "Twenty seconds or less. Unless there's no other choice."

"Thank you."

They stayed like that for a long moment—foreheads pressed together, his hands on her face, hers on his wrists. Not kissing. Not crossing the line Zayne had drawn.

But close.

So impossibly close their breaths melded together.

Finally, reluctantly, Zayne pulled back. His hands lingered on her face for a heartbeat longer before dropping away entirely.

"You should get some rest," he said, and his voice had that professional tone again. But softer now. Gentler. "Your body needs to recover from the resonance."

Eden nodded and stood, her bathrobe falling back into place properly.

She made it to the door before turning back.

Zayne was watching her, still sitting on the edge of his bed, looking exhausted and raw and heartbreakingly human.

"Zayne?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For—" She gestured vaguely. "For caring. Even though you probably shouldn't."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I don't think I have a choice."

Eden smiled back—small and tentative and real.

Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

.......

Back in her own room, Eden sat on her bed and stared at the datapad.

Eighteen to twenty-four months.

Less than two years.

That was the time limit to try and stop the remnants of Gaia from thriving.

But for the first time since waking up in this world fourteen years ago—

She wasn't facing it alone.

Zayne knew. Understood. And he was going to help her through it, whatever "it" looked like.

That should have been terrifying.

Should have made her want to run, to push him away, to protect herself from the inevitable pain of connection.
But instead, Eden felt something she hadn't felt in either of her lives.

Hope.

Small and fragile and probably foolish.

But hope nonetheless.

She lay back on her bed, pulling the blankets around herself, and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow, they would figure out next steps. Would research experimental treatments, would talk to Dr. Noah about suppression protocols.

Tomorrow, she would be practical and strategic and realistic about her prognosis.

But tonight—

Tonight, she let herself remember the feel of Zayne's hands on her face. The tenderness in his eyes. The promise implicit in that single word:

After.

And for the first time in fourteen years, Eden fell asleep without feeling completely alone.

Chapter Text

The Arctic morning arrived with the kind of pale, translucent light that made the world feel suspended between night and day. Eden stood in the doorway of Dr. Noah's study, watching him work—his fingers moving across holographic displays with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd spent decades decoding the mysteries of the human body.

She'd been standing there for three minutes before he acknowledged her presence.

"Come in, Eden." His voice was gravel-rough but not unkind. "I imagine you're here to say goodbye."

Eden stepped inside, her boots silent on the worn floor. The study smelled like old books and coffee—familiar, grounding scents that reminded her of libraries from her old life.

"Yes," she said, then paused, searching for words that felt adequate. "And to thank you."

Noah finally turned, removing his reading glasses with deliberate care. His sharp eyes—the kind that saw through pretense and polite deflection—studied her with the same intensity he'd brought to every examination over the past week.

"You understand your prognosis now," he said. Not a question. "The limitations."

Eden's hand moved unconsciously to her chest, feeling the steady thrum of her heartbeat beneath her palm. Eighteen to twenty-four months. That's what the report had said. That's what the crystallization timeline projected.

Less than two years of heartbeats left.

"I understand," she said, and was proud when her voice didn't waver. "Eighteen to twenty-four months. No extended resonance beyond twenty seconds unless it's life or death."

"And you'll follow those guidelines?"

The question hung in the air between them.

Eden wanted to lie. Wanted to give him the easy answer—yes, of course, I'll be careful, I'll prioritize my health above all else.

But she'd learned, over fourteen years in this world, that lies to medical professionals only hurt yourself in the end.

"As much as I'm able," she said quietly.

Noah's expression shifted—not quite disappointment, but something close to resignation. He stood, his joints creaking slightly with the movement, and crossed to a metal shelf lined with equipment Eden didn't recognize.

He retrieved something small from a locked drawer.

"This," he said, holding up a device no larger than a watch, "is a medical monitor. Experimental design, not yet approved for mass production." He turned it over in his weathered hands, and Eden saw the faint glow of circuitry beneath its transparent casing. "It tracks your Aether Core's crystallization rate in real-time. Measures fluctuations in cardiac tissue conversion. If the rate spikes above safe parameters, it transmits an immediate alert to your attending physician."

Eden took it, feeling the weight of it—heavier than it looked, solid and real in a way that made her stomach tighten.

"You're giving me a leash," she said, and there was no bitterness in it. Just observation.

Noah's mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "I'm giving you a lifeline. There's a difference." He gestured to her wrist. "Wear it. Always. Even when you shower, even when you sleep. The casing is waterproof, impact-resistant, and the battery will last six months between charges."

Eden fastened it around her left wrist—the one without her Hunter Association comms device. The monitor activated with a soft hum, its display flashing through a calibration sequence before settling on a steady green indicator.

Crystallization Rate: 7.2%
Status: STABLE

She stared at the numbers. Seven point two percent of her heart had already been converted to crystal. Seven point two percent of her was already more Aether Core than human.

"Thank you, Dr. Noah." The words felt inadequate. "For seeing me. For helping me understand."

Noah was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant in a way that suggested he was seeing something—or someone—else.

"Take care of yourself, Eden." His tone shifted, becoming almost paternal—the voice of a man who'd lost students before and carried those losses like stones in his pockets. "And let others take care of you too. That young man of yours is determined to keep you alive, whether you cooperate or not."

Heat crept up Eden's neck, flooding her face with warmth that had nothing to do with the room's temperature.

"He's not—we're not—" She stumbled over the words, uncharacteristically flustered.

"Hmm." Noah's knowing smile said he didn't believe her for a second. "Of course not. My mistake."

Eden fled before he could say anything else.

.......

Dr. Noah found Zayne in the main room twenty minutes later.

The younger doctor was packing medical supplies with the kind of methodical precision that Noah had always admired—every item checked twice, every container sealed properly, every piece of equipment accounted for.

It was the behavior of someone who understood that details mattered. That carelessness in preparation led to catastrophe in execution.

"A word, Zayne."

Zayne looked up immediately, and Noah saw the shift in his expression—the way his shoulders straightened, the way his hands stilled. He knew that look. Had seen it countless times over the years they'd worked together.

Zayne knew what this conversation would be about.

He set down the supply kit and followed Noah to the study without protest.

Noah closed the door with a soft click that felt unnaturally loud in the silence.

"What you're planning," Noah said, not bothering with preamble, "pursuing a relationship with Eden—is dangerous."

Zayne's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I know."

"Do you?" Noah's voice sharpened with the edge of frustrated concern. "She has eighteen months, Zayne. Possibly less if she continues using her Evol the way Hunters do. Every emotional bond you forge, every moment of connection—you're setting yourself up for devastation when she's gone."

"I know," Zayne repeated, but his stance was steady. Unmovable.

Noah felt something painful twist in his chest. He'd seen this before. Not in Zayne specifically, but in the pattern of it—the way certain people loved like it was an act of defiance against inevitability.

"You lost—" Noah stopped himself, the unspoken name hanging between them like smoke.

Zayne's hands clenched at his sides, the scars on his palms visible even from across the room.

"You barely survived that loss," Noah continued, gentler now. "I watched you shut down for months afterward. Years, really. You threw yourself into your work, into your studies, became the youngest cardiothoracic surgeon in Akso Hospital's history—" He paused. "But I also watched you stop living. Stop letting anyone close. And now you're choosing to walk into the same pain again?"

"It's not the same." Zayne's voice was low, controlled, but something raw edged beneath it.

"How is it not the same?"

"Because Eden is still here." The words came faster now, breaking through his usual measured composure. "Still fighting. Still alive. And I can help her. Maybe not cure her—not yet—but I can make the time she has less lonely. Less painful." He met Noah's eyes, and the older man saw something fierce there.

Desperate.

"I have to try."

Noah studied his former student—this man he'd watched grow from an uncertain medical student into one of the finest surgeons he'd ever trained.
And he saw, with terrible clarity, that there was no argument he could make that would change Zayne's mind.

"You're going to pursue this regardless of what I say," Noah said. Not a question.

"Yes."

The word was simple. Final.

Noah sighed, feeling every one of his sixty-eight years settle into his bones. "Then at least promise me you'll protect yourself. Set boundaries. Don't lose yourself completely in trying to save her."

"I promise," Zayne said.

They both knew it was a lie.

Noah had seen that look before—the desperate determination of a man who would burn himself to ashes if it meant keeping someone else warm for just a little longer.

"Be careful, Zayne." Noah's voice softened into something almost pleading. "Love and medicine make poor partners. I've seen it destroy good doctors. I don't want to see it destroy you."

"I know." Zayne's composure had returned, settling over him like a familiar coat. "But some things are worth the risk."

Noah had no response to that.

.......

Through the window, Zayne saw her.

Eden knelt in the snow a few meters from the facility's entrance, and Pie sat before her—small and white and patient.

The fox yipped softly, its black eyes bright with intelligence, and Eden reached out to scratch behind its ears. Her movements were gentle, careful, as if afraid she might hurt something so small.

Her expression—usually so carefully controlled, so determinedly neutral—had softened into something that made Zayne's chest ache.

She looked peaceful. Young. Like the weight she carried had been set down, just for a moment.

"You're a good guide," Eden murmured, and though Zayne couldn't hear her through the glass, he could read the words on her lips. "Take care of Dr. Noah, okay?"

Pie tilted its head, considering, then pressed its cold nose against her palm.

Eden smiled.

A real smile. Small and fleeting, but genuine.

Zayne felt something dangerous unfold in his chest.

Eighteen months.

The thought echoed with brutal clarity, a countdown timer he couldn't silence.

Not enough time. Never enough time.

But even as the reality of it threatened to crush him, another thought rose to meet it: Make it count. Make every moment matter.

He watched Eden stand, brushing snow from her pants, her smile fading back into the careful neutrality she wore like armor.

Noah's warning rang in his mind: Dangerous. Devastating.

He knew.

And he was doing it anyway.

........

The mechanical wolf carried them back across the frozen expanse in silence.

The journey that had taken them to Dr. Noah's facility—full of uncertainty and unspoken tension—now felt different. The landscape was the same: endless white punctuated by jagged ice formations, the pale sky pressing down like a held breath.

But everything had changed.

Eden sat in the front of the sled, her posture rigid despite the hours of travel, her gaze fixed on the horizon with the kind of intensity that suggested she was cataloging threats, calculating distances, preparing for dangers that might never materialize.

Always on guard. Never resting.

Zayne sat behind her, close enough to feel the occasional shift of her weight when the sled turned, close enough to notice the way her shoulders tensed against the cold wind.

He wanted to reach out. To offer comfort, contact, warmth—to close the small distance between them and let her know she wasn't alone.
But the line they'd drawn held him back.

After, they'd agreed. After we return to Linkon. After I'm not your doctor anymore.

That time was coming.

Zayne found himself both dreading and desperately anticipating it.

The mechanical wolf's steady pace ate up kilometers, and the white landscape gradually shifted—ice giving way to tundra, tundra giving way to the first signs of civilization.

By the time they reached the train station, the sun had begun its descent, painting the snow in shades of amber and rose.

.......

Linkon City welcomed them with noise and light and the overwhelming press of humanity.

After a week in the Arctic's silence, the transit station felt like sensory assault—announcements crackling over speakers, the rumble of arriving trains, hundreds of voices layered over each other in an incomprehensible wash of sound.

Eden stood on the platform, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and looked slightly overwhelmed.

Zayne understood. He felt it too—the disorientation of returning to normal life after existing in a space where time moved differently.

"I'll need to transfer your care," he said, and hated how clinical the words sounded. How distant. "To avoid conflict of interest."

Eden nodded slowly. She'd known this was coming—they'd discussed it, agreed to it—but he saw the flicker of something in her expression. Disappointment, maybe. Or fear.

"Who?" she asked.

"Dr. Grayson. He's one of the best cardiologists at Akso Hospital—specializes in complex cases, has experience with Evol-related complications." Zayne pulled out his datapad, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. "I'll brief him personally. Make sure he understands the unique aspects of your case, the monitoring protocols, the restrictions on resonance."

"And you?" Eden's voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant. "Will you still be involved?"

Zayne looked up from his datapad, and their eyes met.

For a moment, the noise of the station faded into background static.

"I'll always be involved, Eden." His voice was low, meant only for her. "Just... not as your doctor."

The implication hung between them, heavy with unspoken promise.

Eden's breath caught—he saw it in the slight rise of her shoulders, the way her pupils dilated slightly.

"I'll contact you," Zayne continued, forcing himself to look back at his datapad before he did something inappropriate like reaching for a lone strand that brushed her cheek, "once the transfer is complete. We can—" He hesitated, the words foreign on his tongue. "We can meet. If you'd like."

"I'd like that," Eden said, and she meant it with an intensity that made Zayne's carefully maintained composure feel fragile.

They stood there for another moment, neither quite willing to leave, until a train announcement shattered the bubble of space they'd created.

"I should go," Eden said. "Report in. Get back to normal."

"Normal," Zayne echoed, and almost smiled. "Is anything about this normal?"

"No." Eden's lips quirked slightly. "But we can pretend."

Chapter Text

Two days later, Eden stood in the Hunter Association's main briefing room, watching Captain Jenna review her reassignment orders with the kind of careful neutrality that suggested she'd anticipated resistance.

"Support role," Jenna said, her finger tapping against the holographic display that showed Eden's new classification. "You'll remain with Team Seven under Senior Hunter Tara's command, but your field deployment parameters have been adjusted."

Eden's jaw tightened. "Adjusted how?"

"No frontline engagement unless absolutely necessary. You'll provide tactical analysis, coordinate backup units, and serve as reserve resonance support—twenty seconds maximum, as per Dr. Noah's recommendations." Jenna's gaze sharpened. "Your medical monitoring device will track compliance. Any violations get flagged directly to me and Dr. Grayson."

So the leash was tighter than Eden had realized.

"This is because of the Arctic mission," Eden said flatly. "The extended resonance."

"This is because you have a medical condition that requires management." Jenna's voice softened slightly—not quite sympathy, but something close. "You're still Anhaunsen class, Eden. Still invaluable to this organization. But you're no good to us dead."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Eighteen months. Maybe less.

"Understood, Captain," Eden said, her voice carefully empty of emotion.

"Good. Dismissed. Team Seven has afternoon briefing at 1300 hours."

.......

The training grounds were busier than usual—the lunch hour rush of Hunters cycling through combat drills and equipment checks. Eden made her way through the crowd with practiced efficiency, her presence parting people like water around stone.

She found Xavier near the sparring mats, reviewing something on his datapad while a group of junior Hunters practiced hand-to-hand techniques nearby.

He looked up as she approached, and something in his expression shifted—professional assessment giving way to something warmer.

"Eden." He straightened, tucking the datapad under his arm. "Welcome back."

"Xavier." She nodded, maintaining the same professional distance she always had with him. "I'm officially reassigned to support. Still on Team Seven."

"I heard." Xavier's blue eyes studied her face with the kind of careful attention that suggested he was cataloging changes. "Your trip did you well. You look rested."

Eden blinked, caught off-guard by the observation.

Rested.

She'd spent the last week undergoing medical tests, discovering she was dying, and having her consciousness tangled with Zayne's during resonance—

But Xavier wasn't wrong.

Despite everything, she did feel different. Less like she was running on fumes and adrenaline. More like she'd found something stable to stand on, even if that stability was temporary.

"The Arctic was... clarifying," Eden said carefully.

Xavier's lips quirked into something that might have been a smile. "That's one way to describe fighting Class-A Wanderers in a blizzard."

"You heard about that?"

"The report came through yesterday. You and Dr. Zayne held off forty Wanderers using amplified ice manipulation." Xavier's expression was genuinely impressed. "That's not standard procedure for a medical consultation."

"Nothing about my medical situation is standard," Eden replied, and left it at that.

They fell into easy silence—the kind that came from working together, from understanding that some things didn't need to be spoken aloud.

Around them, the training grounds hummed with activity. Hunters sparred and drilled, their movements sharp with practiced precision. Equipment clanged. Commands were shouted. The organized chaos of a military facility at work.

Eden had missed this. The structure. The purpose.

Even if her role in it had changed.

"Lunch?" Xavier asked, already moving toward the cafeteria entrance. "I'm meeting MC. You're welcome to join."
Eden's stomach tightened reflexively.

MC. Right.

She should decline. Should maintain distance, avoid complicating the narrative that was supposed to be MC's story, not hers—

But Xavier was already walking, and refusing would draw more attention than accepting.

"Fine," Eden said.

.......

The cafeteria was at peak capacity—long tables filled with Hunters in various states of post-training exhaustion, the air thick with the smell of protein rations and synthetic coffee.

Xavier led them to a table near the windows where the light was better, less oppressive. He set down his tray—some kind of grain bowl that looked far more appetizing than Eden's standard protein bar and black coffee—and pulled out his comm device to send a quick message.

Eden sat across from him, unwrapping her protein bar with mechanical precision.

"You should eat actual food," Xavier observed mildly.

"This is efficient."

"This is sad."

Before Eden could respond, a familiar voice cut through the cafeteria noise.

"Xavier! Sorry I'm late—Captain Jenna kept me for an extra debrief and—oh."

May-Celeste stopped beside their table, her bright smile faltering slightly when she saw Eden. "Eden. Hi. I didn't know you were back."

"Just returned yesterday," Eden said, her voice carefully neutral.

MC set down her tray—a much more balanced meal than either Eden's protein bar or Xavier's grain bowl—and sat beside Xavier with the kind of easy familiarity that spoke to months of shared missions and inside jokes.

They looked good together, Eden noted with the same clinical detachment she brought to tactical analysis. MC's brightness complementing Xavier's quiet warmth. The way they orbited each other with unconscious synchronicity.

This is right. This is how it's supposed to be.

"So," MC said, her natural curiosity overriding any awkwardness, "where did you go? Xavier mentioned you requested leave, but he didn't say where."

"The Arctic," Eden replied. "Medical consultation."

"The Arctic?" MC's eyes widened. "That's—wow. That's quite a trip for a consultation."

"It was necessary."

Before MC could ask more questions—questions Eden definitely didn't want to answer—a voice from the table across from them cut in.

"Hey, you're Eden, right?" A Hunter Eden vaguely recognized from cross-training exercises leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Heard about your assist in the Arctic. The report said you and some doctor took down forty Wanderers with amplified resonance. That's insane."

Eden's shoulders tensed slightly. "It was a coordinated defensive action. Nothing unusual."

"Nothing unusual?" The Hunter laughed. "Come on, that's phenomenal work. The Captain said if you two hadn't been there, the entire station would've been overrun."

Another Hunter at the same table—a woman with cropped red hair—snorted, and said under her breath, but loud enough to hear. "Phenomenal work, sure. But have you ever actually talked to her? She's got the personality of the Arctic itself. Stone-cold ice queen."

The words landed like a physical blow.

Eden's expression didn't change—she'd perfected the art of not reacting years ago—but something cold settled in her chest.

Ice queen. Cold. Unfeeling.

She'd heard variations of this before. Had learned to expect it. Had built her armor specifically so these kinds of comments would bounce off without leaving marks.

But today, after a week of being seen by Zayne, after allowing herself the dangerous vulnerability of hope—

Today, it hurt more than it should.

"That's not fair."

MC's voice cut through the cafeteria noise, sharp with unexpected anger.

Everyone at both tables turned to look at her.

MC set down her fork with deliberate care, her expression fierce in a way that reminded Eden exactly why she'd made this character the protagonist. "You don't know her. You don't know what she's been through or why she is the way she is. And making judgments about someone's personality based on how they perform in professional settings is shallow and lazy."

The red-haired Hunter blinked, clearly not expecting pushback. "I was just—"

"Just being rude," MC interrupted. "Eden saved lives in the Arctic. She's saved lives on dozens of missions. The fact that she doesn't perform friendliness while doing it doesn't make her cold. It makes her professional."

Silence fell across the immediate area.

Eden stared at MC, something complicated and painful twisting in her chest.

She defended me.

No one had ever defended her before. Not like this. Not with such immediate, fierce certainty.

"Thank you," Eden said quietly, and the words felt inadequate. "You didn't have to do that."

MC turned to her, and her expression softened into something warm. Genuine. "Of course I did. We're colleagues. Teammates." She paused, then added with a slight smile, "And besides, anyone who can hold off forty Wanderers deserves basic respect."

Xavier was watching Eden with quiet curiosity, his blue eyes thoughtful.

Eden felt exposed. Seen in a way that made her want to retreat—but MC's defense had been so unexpected, so undeserved, that she couldn't quite bring herself to shut down completely.

"The Arctic was cold," Eden offered, attempting something that might pass for humor. "But I prefer it to crowds."

MC laughed—bright and genuine, the sound cutting through the tension like sunlight. "I can understand that. Sometimes I think the only peace I get is on solo recon missions."

"You? On solo missions?" Xavier's tone was gently teasing. "You adopted a cat last month because you said your apartment was too quiet."

"That's different!" MC protested, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Cats are excellent company. They're quiet but present. Unlike people, who are loud and exhausting."

"You love people," Xavier said, and there was such fondness in his voice that Eden had to look away.
This is their moment. Their dynamic. I'm not supposed to be here.

But MC was already pulling her back in, redirecting the conversation with practiced ease. "So Eden, what's the medical situation? If you don't mind me asking. Xavier mentioned you're on support duty now."

Eden's hand moved unconsciously to her wrist, where the monitoring device sat cool and present against her skin.
"Medical restriction," she said carefully. "Nothing serious. Just requires monitoring."

It was a lie by omission—the kind Eden had perfected over fourteen years.

MC seemed to sense there was more to the story, but she didn't push. Just nodded and said, "Well, if you ever need backup on support missions, I'm happy to coordinate. We're both Anhaunsen class—might as well use that to our advantage."

"I'll keep that in mind," Eden said.

And meant it, despite herself.

They ate in relative silence after that, the earlier tension dissipating into something almost comfortable. MC asked Xavier about a training exercise. Xavier complained about paperwork. Eden listened, contributed occasional observations, and tried to ignore how much this felt like belonging.

Like friendship.

Like something she'd never quite managed to achieve in either of her lives.

When lunch ended and they stood to leave, MC touched Eden's shoulder briefly—a fleeting contact that Eden only barely managed not to flinch away from.

"I meant what I said," MC told her quietly. "You're not cold. You're careful. There's a difference."

Eden didn't know how to respond to that.

So she just nodded, her throat tight, and watched MC walk away with Xavier—their heads bent together, already discussing their afternoon mission briefing.

And Eden stood alone in the cafeteria, surrounded by the noise and movement of dozens of Hunters, feeling the weight of MC's defense settle into something warm and fragile in her chest.

Maybe, she thought, maybe I'm not as alone as I think.

The monitoring device on her wrist pulsed once—a gentle reminder that she was alive, that her heart was still beating, still crystal but still working.

Eden looked down at the green indicator.

Crystallization Rate: 7.2%
Status: STABLE

Eighteen months.

But maybe those eighteen months didn't have to be as lonely as the fourteen years that came before.

Chapter Text

The day dragged with the particular kind of slowness that came from anticipation.

Eden sat through Team Seven's afternoon briefing—Tara outlining new patrol rotations, discussing Wanderer activity patterns in the outer sectors, assigning support coordination tasks that would keep Eden safely behind the frontlines. She took notes with mechanical precision, responded when addressed, and tried not to check her datapad every five minutes.

At 1645 hours, the message finally came.

Zayne: The transfer is complete. Dr. Grayson has your files and monitoring access. Are you free this evening?

Eden stared at the words, her heart doing something complicated and entirely unprofessional things in her chest.

Eden: Yes. What did you have in mind?

The response was immediate, as if he'd been waiting.

Zayne: There's a coffee shop I'd like to show you. I'll pick you up at 1800?
Eden: Okay.

She sent it before she could overthink, then spent the next three seconds regretting how short and inadequate the response felt. Should she have added more? Been warmer? Less formal?

You're going on a date, not filing a mission report.

The thought was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

.......

Eden left the training facility at 1715 hours, giving herself exactly forty-five minutes to return to her apartment, shower, and attempt to look like someone who knew how to exist outside of combat gear.

The problem was, she didn't.

Her closet was a study in utilitarianism: Hunter Association uniforms, tactical clothing suitable for quick deployment, workout gear. Everything black or dark gray, everything designed for function rather than aesthetics.

Nothing remotely appropriate for a date.

Is this a date? He didn't call it a date. Maybe it's just coffee. Colleagues having coffee.

But she knew better.

The way Zayne had looked at her in the Arctic. The way his voice had dropped when he'd said after. The careful distance he'd maintained as her doctor—and the promise implicit in transferring her care.

This was a date.

Eden pulled out a pair of dark jeans—the only non-tactical pants she owned—and a simple charcoal sweater that she'd bought two years ago and never worn. It was soft, expensive fabric that she'd justified as "interview clothing" even though Hunters didn't have interviews.

She showered quickly, the hot water doing nothing to calm her racing thoughts.

What do people talk about on dates? What if I say something wrong? What if I default to tactical analysis and he realizes I'm completely inadequate at normal human interaction?

The spiral of anxiety was familiar, well-worn. Eden forced herself to breathe through it.

Zayne knows you. He's seen you at your worst—exhausted, vulnerable, dying. If he wanted someone polished and easy, he wouldn't have asked you out.

The thought helped. Slightly.

She dried off, dressed, and stared at her reflection in the small bathroom mirror.

The woman looking back was almost unrecognizable from the one who'd stood in Dr. Noah's lab a week ago. Same face, same body, but something in her expression had shifted. Less haunted. Less like she was bracing for impact.

Eden ran a hand through her short dark hair, attempting to style it into something that didn't scream "just rolled out of bed." Her hair had other ideas, sticking up at odd angles that suggested active resistance to any form of order.

"Good enough," she muttered, frustrated with the cowlick tickling her cheek.

The knock came at exactly 1800 hours.

Of course it did. Zayne was nothing if not punctual.

Eden took three steadying breaths, then opened the door.

And forgot how to breathe entirely.

Zayne stood in her hallway, and he looked—

Different wasn't the right word. He was still Zayne—tall and broad-shouldered, his posture carrying that same careful composure she'd come to recognize. But gone was the clinical professionalism of Dr. Li, and in its place was something softer.

He wore dark slacks and a charcoal sweater that matched hers almost exactly—she filed away that observation for later panic—and his hair was slightly less precisely styled than usual, as if he'd run his fingers through it a few too many times.

He looked nervous.

The realization was strangely grounding.

He's nervous too.

"Hi," Zayne said, and his voice held a warmth that made Eden's chest constrict.

"Hi." She stepped back, suddenly hyperaware of her apartment's sparse inadequacy. "Come in. I just need to grab my jacket."

Zayne entered, his gaze sweeping the space with the same polite curiosity he'd shown before. This time, Eden noticed what he noticed: the single bookshelf with its mix of tactical manuals and—tucked away on the bottom shelf where she'd thought no one would look—three slim volumes of poetry. The small kitchen table with two chairs that had never hosted a guest.

"Ready?" Eden asked quickly, before he could comment.

"Actually—" Zayne reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bakery box. "I brought something. For later. When we get back."

Eden took the box, recognizing the logo from one of Linkon's upscale bakeries. "Zayne, you didn't have to—"

"Raspberry macarons," he said simply. "You mentioned they were your favorite."

The careful remembering of small details. The thoughtfulness. The way he looked at her like she was someone worth remembering things about.

Eden set the box on the counter with trembling hands.

"Thank you," she managed.

"Ready?" Zayne asked gently.

Eden nodded, grabbed her jacket, and followed him out.

.......

They walked.

Zayne had offered to call a car, but Eden had declined—she preferred walking, preferred the gradual transition from one space to another rather than the jarring immediacy of transit.

The evening air was cool, autumn settling into Linkon City with the smell of rain and turning leaves. The streets were busy with the post-work rush, people streaming past in currents of conversation and hurried footsteps.

Eden found herself acutely aware of Zayne beside her—the way he matched his stride to hers without comment, the way his shoulder occasionally brushed against hers when the sidewalk narrowed.

"The coffee shop isn't far," Zayne said. "About fifteen minutes on foot. I hope you don't mind the walk."

"I prefer it," Eden replied. Then, attempting something that might pass for casual conversation: "I walk a lot. Usually at night."

"Oh?" Zayne glanced at her, curious.

"It helps." Eden searched for words to explain something she'd never tried to articulate. "The quiet. The way the city feels different after dark—less rushed, more honest. I like watching people. Trying to understand how they move through the world so effortlessly."

"People-watching," Zayne said thoughtfully. "You're studying them."

"I suppose." Eden's hands found her jacket pockets. "I didn't have a normal childhood. Bounced from foster home to foster home until I aged out at sixteen and entered the Hunter Academy's preparatory program." The words came easier than expected, maybe because she'd said them before at lunch, or maybe because Zayne's presence made vulnerability feel less dangerous. "I learned discipline and tactics, combat efficiency and mission planning. But not—" She paused. "Not how to connect with people. Not how to just... be."

Zayne was quiet for a moment, processing.

"That sounds lonely," he said finally.

"It was." Eden surprised herself with the admission. "It is. I'm working on it. Learning. But it's slow."

"Learning doesn't have to be fast to be meaningful," Zayne replied. Then, after a pause: "I understand that feeling. In a different way."

"How so?"

Zayne's expression shifted, becoming distant in a way that suggested he was looking at memories rather than the street ahead. "I was pushed into the best medical schools from a young age. My parents had—" He chose his words carefully. "—expectations. Very specific expectations about who I would become."

"Pressure," Eden observed.

"Immense pressure." Zayne's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Medical school at seventeen. Surgical residency at twenty. Dr. Noah took me under his wing during my university years, which helped. Having someone who cared about my development as a person rather than just my academic achievements." He paused. "That's why we have such a strong friendship. He's been more of a mentor—more of a father figure, really—than my actual parents ever were."

Eden felt something painful twist in her chest.

We're both carrying weight we never asked for.

"Do you regret it?" she asked quietly. "Becoming a doctor?"

"No." The answer was immediate, certain. "I love what I do. Love the precision of it, the way a successful surgery feels like solving an impossible puzzle. I love being able to help people, to fix things that are broken." His voice softened. "But I do regret how single-minded I was about it. How I let it consume everything else. Relationships, hobbies, any kind of personal life—all secondary to the work."

"Do you have hobbies now?" Eden asked.

Zayne's lips quirked into something almost shy. "I read mystery novels. The kind with elaborate locked-room murders that require impossibly clever solutions. And I—" He hesitated, as if embarrassed. "I have a collection of vintage medical equipment. Antique surgical tools, old diagnostic devices. I restore them."

Eden stared at him. "That's incredibly specific."

"It's relaxing," Zayne defended. "Understanding how medicine used to be practiced, how far we've come. And there's something satisfying about taking broken things and making them work again."

Like me, Eden thought, then immediately pushed the thought away.

They turned onto a quieter street, the noise of traffic fading into background hum.

"What about you?" Zayne asked. "Besides walking and people-watching. What do you do when you're not being a Hunter?"

Eden's mind went blank.

What did she do?

"I—" She floundered. "I read. Tactical manuals, mostly. Mission reports. Intelligence briefings."

"For work."

"Yes."

"What about for pleasure?"

The question felt impossibly foreign.

"I don't know," Eden admitted. "I haven't thought about it."

Zayne stopped walking, turning to face her. They stood on the sidewalk, people flowing around them, and his expression was so gentle it hurt.

"Then we'll figure it out," he said simply. The promise in those words made Eden's throat tight.

They continued walking.

The coffee shop appeared around the corner like something from a dream.

Eden saw it and stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.

No.

Brick walls softened by climbing ivy. Large windows glowing with warm light. A hand-painted sign that read "Destiny Café" in elegant script. Small tables visible through the glass, each with a single vase holding fresh flowers.

No, this can't be—

But it was.

This was the coffee shop. The one from Zayne's route. The one where MC would meet him for their dates, where they'd have long conversations over coffee, where some of the most pivotal relationship moments would unfold.

Eden had seen this place dozens of times. Hundreds, maybe. On her phone screen, in another life, when she'd replayed Zayne's scenes until she'd memorized every line of dialogue, every background detail.

And now she was here.

Standing in front of it.

About to go inside.

With Zayne.

The world tilted slightly.

"Eden?" Zayne's voice cut through the sudden dissociation. His hand touched her elbow—gentle, grounding. "Are you alright?"

"I—" Her voice came out strangled. "Yes. Sorry. I just—"

'I've been here before. Not physically, but I know this place. I know what drinks you order, which table you prefer, the way the afternoon light comes through the west window.'

'I know you in ways you can't possibly understand, and it's terrifying and beautiful and I don't know how to exist in this moment without falling apart.'

"It's beautiful," she managed instead.

Zayne's expression softened. "It is. I found this place during my residency—needed somewhere quiet to study, somewhere that wasn't the hospital or my apartment. It became a refuge."

'I know. In the game, you told MC the same thing.'

But Eden couldn't say that.

Could never say that.

So she just nodded and let Zayne guide her inside.

The interior was exactly as she remembered—warm wood floors, mismatched vintage furniture that somehow worked together perfectly, walls lined with bookshelves and local artwork. The smell of coffee and fresh pastries wrapped around her like a familiar blanket.

The barista behind the counter looked up and smiled with genuine warmth. "Dr. Li! Haven't seen you in a while."

"I've been traveling," Zayne replied easily. "Sarah, this is Eden. Eden, Sarah owns this place."

"Any friend of Dr. Li's is welcome here," Sarah said, already pulling out mugs. "Your usual?"

"Please. And—" Zayne glanced at Eden.

"Black coffee," Eden said automatically.

Sarah raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "Coming right up."

They took a table near the window—the one Eden knew Zayne preferred, tucked into a corner where you could see the street but still feel private.

Eden sat down and tried to reconcile the cognitive dissonance of being in a place she knew so intimately but had never physically visited.

"You look overwhelmed," Zayne observed gently.

"Just—taking it in." Eden forced herself to meet his eyes. "It's lovely. Thank you for bringing me here."

Sarah delivered their coffee—Zayne's was practically syrup with the amount of sugar he'd requested, while Eden's was bitter and dark.

"You really don't add anything to your coffee?" Zayne asked, a hint of amusement coloring his voice.

"Says the man who turns his into liquid candy," Eden shot back.

"I have a refined palate."

"You have a sugar addiction."

Zayne's laugh was soft but genuine, and Eden felt something warm unfold in her chest.

'This is real. This is happening. I'm actually here with him, and he's laughing, and this isn't a game anymore.'

"Tell me about your walks," Zayne said, settling into his chair. "You said you go at night. Where do you go?"

Eden wrapped her hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her palms. "Nowhere specific. Sometimes the commercial district when it's closed—I like how the lights look when there's no one around. Sometimes the park near the Hunter facility. Once or twice I've walked all the way to the outer sectors where the city meets the N109 Zone."

"That's dangerous," Zayne said, concern flickering across his face.

"I'm a Hunter. I can handle dangerous."

"Even Hunters need to be careful."

"I'm always careful." Eden took a sip of her coffee, using the moment to gather her thoughts. "The walking helps me think. Process things. When I watch people during the day, I'm trying to understand how they interact—the social dynamics, the unspoken rules. But at night, when I'm alone, I can just... exist. Without having to perform."

"Perform," Zayne repeated thoughtfully.

"Normalcy. Humanity." Eden's voice dropped. "It doesn't come naturally to me. I have to work at it," she felt like the words could not stop tumbling from her mouth.

"I don't think you give yourself enough credit," Zayne said quietly. "You're more human than you realize."

Eden looked away, uncomfortable with the kindness in his voice.

They talked for two hours.

Zayne asked questions—real questions, the kind that required thought and vulnerability to answer. About her favorite memories from the foster homes (few, but there was one woman who'd taught her to make tea properly). About what she'd wanted to be as a child (she couldn't remember; that life felt too distant). About whether she'd made any friends at the Academy (no, but she'd had competent teammates).

In return, Eden asked about his medical training, his residency horror stories, the surgeries that had gone impossibly right and impossibly wrong. She learned that he'd wanted to be a pianist as a child, that his parents had forbidden it as impractical, that he still played sometimes late at night when he couldn't sleep.

She learned that his favorite mystery author was a woman who'd written locked-room murders in the 2020s, that he'd read each of her seventeen novels at least three times.

She learned that he took his coffee with obscene amounts of sugar because his first attending during residency had done the same, and it had become a comfort habit during twenty-hour shifts.

Small things. Personal things.

The building blocks of intimacy.

"Do you like music?" Zayne asked at one point.

"Instrumental," Eden replied. "Nothing with lyrics—the words are too distracting. I listen to it when I can't sleep, which is most nights."

"Insomnia?"

"Chronic." She didn't mention the nightmares, the way she'd wake up disoriented and scrambling for weapons that weren't there. "You?"

"Same. Occupational hazard of being a surgeon—you learn to function on minimal sleep, and then you can't remember how to sleep properly." He paused. "I've been sleeping better lately, though."

"Oh?"

Zayne's gaze met hers, and something in his expression made her breath catch. "Since the Arctic. Since—" He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to.

Since you.

The unspoken words hung between them like a promise.

.......

They left when the coffee shop began its closing routine, Sarah shooing them out with good-natured fondness and an instruction for Zayne to "bring your lovely friend back anytime."

The walk back to Eden's apartment felt different from the walk there—less nervous, more settled. Their conversation had established something, created a foundation that made the silence comfortable rather than awkward.

They talked about smaller things now. Zayne pointed out a bookstore he liked, mentioned that they had an excellent mystery section. Eden noted a training equipment shop she'd been meaning to visit.

Normal things. Easy things.

Before Eden quite registered the passage of time, they were standing outside her apartment building, the evening having deepened into full night.

"Thank you," Eden said, and was surprised by how much she meant it. "For tonight. For being patient with me."

"Eden." Zayne's voice was soft. "You don't have to thank me for wanting to spend time with you."

He reached into his coat pocket, and Eden watched as he pulled off one glove.

His hand—scarred and strong and impossibly elegant—extended palm-up between them.

Ice began to form.

Not wild, not the uncontrolled manifestation from his room in the Arctic. This was deliberate, precise. Beautiful.

The ice crystallized into a flower—delicate petals unfurling with mathematical perfection, each curve and angle calculated for maximum elegance. It was a lily, this one would never wilt.

Never die.

Eternal.

Zayne offered it to her with both hands, his expression soft.

"For you," he said simply.

Eden took it with trembling fingers.

The ice was cold against her palms but warming quickly to match her body temperature. The craftsmanship was extraordinary—each petal distinct, the center detailed with stamens and pistil, the whole thing catching the streetlight and refracting it into tiny rainbows.

"Zayne—" Her voice broke. "This is—I don't—"

"You don't have to say anything," he said gently. "I just wanted you to have something that would last."

Unlike me, Eden thought with sudden, vicious clarity.

But Zayne's expression held no pity. Just warmth. Just care.

Just the quiet promise of while you're here, you matter.

"Thank you," Eden whispered.

"Goodnight, Eden."

"Goodnight, Zayne."

He turned to leave, then paused, looking back. "Same time next week?"

"Yes," Eden said immediately. "Yes, I'd like that."

Zayne smiled—small and genuine and devastating—and walked away.

Eden watched until he disappeared around the corner, then went inside.

........

Her apartment felt different now.

Less empty. Less like a temporary holding space and more like somewhere she actually lived.

Eden set the ice lily on her nightstand with gentleness she didn't know she had.

She changed into sleep clothes, made tea she didn't drink, and tried to process the evening.

That was a date. An actual date.

And it had been—

Good. Better than good.

Normal, in the best possible way.

Eden picked up her datapad to set her alarm and noticed the notification waiting.

PRIORITY ASSIGNMENT - HUNTER ASSOCIATION : INTELLIGENCE SECTOR

Her stomach dropped.

She opened it.

CLASSIFIED MISSION BRIEFING Hunter ID: E-7749 Classification: SOLO RECONNAISSANCE Location: N109 Zone, Sector 7 Objective: Investigate black market Protocore trafficking. Gather intelligence on supply chains, key players, and distribution networks. DO NOT ENGAGE. Observation only. Deployment: 0600 hours, three days from now Duration: 48-72 hours Handler: Captain Jenna (direct comm only)

Eden read it twice.

The N109 Zone.

The most dangerous, lawless region in Deepspace. Where Onychinus operated. Where Sylus controlled everything from the shadows.

Where, if the game's plot held true, she was likely to encounter things—people—that would change everything.

Solo reconnaissance. No backup. Deep in criminal territory.

Her hand moved to the monitoring device on her wrist.

Crystallization Rate: 7.2% Status: STABLE

Eighteen months.

And she was about to walk straight into the viper's nest.

Eden looked at the ice lily on her nightstand—perfect, eternal, impossible.

Then she pulled up the mission files and began to prepare.

Chapter Text

Eden stared at her datapad, the empty message draft glowing accusingly in the dim light of her apartment.

To: Zayne

The cursor blinked. Waiting.

What do I say?

She'd typed and deleted four different versions already. Each one felt wrong—too casual, too formal, too revealing, too distant.

Eden: I'll be out of the city for about a week. Reconnaissance mission. I'll contact you when I'm back.

She read it three times, her thumb hovering over the send button.

Too cold. Too abrupt.

Delete.

Eden: I have a mission that will take me out of the city for a week. Can we reschedule our next coffee date when I return?

Better. But it still felt inadequate—like she was reducing what they'd shared to a calendar appointment.

Eden set down the datapad and pressed her palms against her eyes.

Why is this so hard?

She'd faced Wanderers without hesitation. Had resonated with Zayne knowing it would expose her most vulnerable thoughts. Had accepted a terminal diagnosis with stoic composure.

But sending a simple text message to tell him she'd be gone felt impossibly difficult.

Because it mattered.

Because he mattered.

And the thought of him worrying—or worse, thinking she was pulling away—made her chest ache in ways that had nothing to do with crystallization.

She picked up the datapad again.

Eden: I'll be out of the city for about a week on a reconnaissance mission. I can't give details (confidentiality), but I wanted you to know. Can we reschedule our coffee date when I return? I really enjoyed the other night.

She hit send before she could overthink it further.

The response came within minutes.

Zayne: Be safe. I'll be here when you get back. And Eden—I enjoyed it too.

Something warm and painful bloomed in her chest.

She set the datapad aside and pulled up the mission briefing again, forcing herself to focus.

The N109 Zone. Deep cover. High-stakes intelligence gathering.

She had three days to prepare.

.......

The shopping district was an exercise in sensory overload.

Eden stood outside a boutique that catered to Linkon's elite, staring at the window display with the kind of trepidation most people reserved for combat situations.

You've infiltrated hostile territory dozens of times. You can handle buying clothes.

The problem was, infiltration usually involved tactical gear and weapons. Not... this.

The mannequin in the window wore a dress that looked like it cost more than Eden's monthly salary—midnight blue with subtle shimmer, elegant and understated in a way that screamed wealth.

Eden checked her mission parameters again.

Cover Identity: Eclipse. High-end Protocore appraiser and private buyer. Background: Independent consultant specializing in rare and volatile Protocore assessment. Known in underground circles for discretion and expertise.

The Hunter Association had provided documents, a falsified work history, even planted references in various black-market databases.

What they hadn't provided was a wardrobe.

You need to look the part.

Eden took a breath and entered the boutique.

The interior was all soft lighting and expensive fabric, the kind of place where everything whispered luxury without needing to shout. A sales associate approached immediately—perfectly coiffed, wearing a smile that was professional and assessing in equal measure.

"Welcome. How can I help you today?"

"I need—" Eden forced herself to maintain composure. "Several outfits. High-quality. Professional but elegant. I'll be attending some exclusive events."

The associate's smile widened. "Of course. Are we thinking day wear, evening wear, or both?"

"Both."

Over the next two hours, Eden was subjected to what felt like a tactical operation disguised as shopping.

The associate—whose name was Michelle—pulled pieces with practiced efficiency, assembling outfits that somehow managed to be both understated and striking. She explained fabric compositions, cut theories, the subtle language of high-end fashion that Eden had never learned.

"This," Michelle said, holding up a tailored blazer in charcoal gray, "reads as serious but approachable. Paired with these trousers and this silk blouse, you project competence and refinement."

Eden tried it on, staring at her reflection with a mixture of discomfort and surprise.

She looked... different.

Not like a Hunter. Like someone who belonged in boardrooms and private auctions. Someone who moved through elite circles with confidence.

Someone who wasn't her.

"Perfect," Michelle declared. "Now, for evening events—"

She pulled out the dress from the window display.

Eden's stomach dropped. "That's—that's too much."

"You said exclusive events," Michelle countered gently. "If you're attending high-end auctions in the N109 Zone—" She paused, her expression knowing. "And don't worry, I'm discreet. Half my clients are Hunters on undercover assignments. If you're going into those circles, you need to look like you belong. This dress says 'I have money, taste, and I'm not impressed by your attempts to intimidate me.'"

Eden touched the fabric—soft, almost liquid in texture, with tiny crystals embedded throughout that caught the light when she moved.

"Try it on," Michelle urged.

The dress fit like it had been made for her.

Eden stared at her reflection and barely recognized herself.

The neckline was elegant without being revealing, the fabric draping in ways that suggested sophistication. The crystals caught the boutique's lighting, creating subtle shimmer that made her look like she belonged in an entirely different world.

Her short dark hair—usually a practical choice for combat—somehow worked with the dress, giving her an edge that balanced the gown's elegance.

"The necklace," Michelle said, fastening a piece around Eden's neck before she could protest—pearls and dark stones arranged in an intricate pattern that drew the eye without overwhelming.

Eden looked expensive. Dangerous. Like someone who could walk into the N109 Zone's darkest corners and emerge unscathed.

Eclipse, she thought. This is Eclipse.

"I'll take it," Eden heard herself say.

By the time she left the boutique, Eden had spent more money than she'd ever spent on non-essential items in her life.

Three complete outfits. The evening gown. Accessories. Shoes that cost more than her entire existing wardrobe combined.

The Hunter Association would reimburse her—mission expenses—but the act of spending itself had felt transgressive. Wrong.

This is necessary. This is tactical. You're building a cover.

She returned to her apartment and spread the purchases across her bed, staring at them like tactical equipment she needed to master.

The primary outfit was a floor-length gown in midnight blue—almost black in certain light—with long sleeves and a neckline that was elegant without being revealing. The fabric had a subtle shimmer that caught light when she moved, and the cut was designed to allow mobility while maintaining the illusion of delicate femininity.

The clothes were tools. The identity was armor.

Eclipse. Remember. You're Eclipse.

That was the name on her false identification. Eclipse Voss, art collector and Protocore investment specialist from the outer colonies. Wealthy, cultured, connected—the kind of person who could move through criminal circles without raising suspicion.

The kind of person Eden absolutely was not.

But she'd played roles before. Had learned to mirror, adapt, become whatever the mission required.
This would be no different.

Except you're walking into Sylus's territory. And if he's half as perceptive as the game suggested—

Eden pushed the thought away.

One problem at a time.

Eden memorized Protocore classification systems she already knew, refreshed her knowledge on black-market valuations, studied the documented players in the N109 Zone's underground economy.

And she researched Onychinus.

The organization was a shadow—powerful, far-reaching, and led by a man whose very name was spoken in fear and awe.

Sylus.

Eden pulled up everything the Hunter Association had on him, which wasn't much.

Name : ( Unknown*) Age: Estimated late twenties Height: 6'2" Distinguishing features: White hair, red eyes, extensive Evol capabilities (exact nature classified) Known associates: (twin operatives, identities obscured) Organization: Onychinus (criminal syndicate controlling approximately 60% of N109 Zone territory) Threat Level: EXTREME

The file included grainy surveillance photos—Sylus at a distance, his features partially obscured, but even in low-quality images his presence was commanding.

Eden stared at the photos and felt something complicated twist in her chest.

'I know you.'

'I've played your route. I know you're dangerous, that you'll challenge everything I think I know about right and wrong.'

'I know you saved MC. Protected her. Cared for her in your own way.'

But this wasn't the game.

This was real.

And Eden wasn't MC.

She closed the file and focused on the mission parameters.

Objective: Gather intelligence on Protocore trafficking. Identify key players. Document supply chains. DO NOT ENGAGE.

Simple. Straightforward.

Just observation. In and out. No complications.

.......

The transport to the N109 Zone departed at 0600 hours.

Eden boarded wearing one of her new outfits—the tailored blazer and trousers, professional and expensive. Her hair was styled slightly differently, her makeup applied with more care than usual. She wore the pearl necklace, carried a designer bag that concealed her Hunter-issued weapons.

She looked like Eclipse.

The journey took six hours, the landscape outside the transport window gradually shifting from Linkon's ordered cityscape to the wild, lawless sprawl of the N109 Zone.

Buildings here were a mixture of gleaming high-rises funded by criminal money and decaying infrastructure the authorities had abandoned decades ago. Neon signs advertised everything from legitimate businesses to services that existed in legal gray areas.

The N109 Zone existed in a strange liminal space—technically part of Deepspace's inhabited territories, but functionally autonomous.

The Hunter Association had minimal presence there. Local law enforcement was either bought off or nonexistent. Trade routes ran through it because going around would take weeks, but everyone who traveled through paid tribute to Onychinus in one form or another.

It was dangerous, lawless, and absolutely essential to understanding EVER's operations.

Because if illegal Protocore trafficking was happening anywhere, it was happening here.

Eden closed her eyes and practiced the breathing exercises Zayne had taught her.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Eden's transport dropped her at the Zone's edge—a sprawling settlement that looked like it had grown organically from scrap metal and desperation. Buildings leaned against each other for support, neon signs flickered in languages Eden didn't recognize, and the air smelled like ozone and questionable street food.

The Zone had its own rules. Its own hierarchy.

And Eden was walking straight into its heart.

.......

The next evening, Eden stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized herself.

The midnight blue gown fit perfectly, the fabric moving with her like liquid shadow. The necklace drew attention to her collarbones, the earrings caught light when she turned her head.

Her makeup was subtle but sophisticated—enough to suggest wealth and taste without looking overdone.

Her short dark hair had been styled with precision, each strand deliberately placed.

She looked elegant. Dangerous in a different way than her Hunter uniform suggested.

She looked like Eclipse.

Unlike Linkon City with its clean lines and organized districts, the N109 Zone was chaos given form. Buildings stacked on buildings, neon signs in languages Eden only half-recognized, the visible evidence of legal gray areas and complete lawlessness existing side-by-side.

No Hunter Association presence. No formal government oversight.

The auction house was hidden in plain sight—a renovated theater in the Zone's entertainment district, its exterior suggesting nothing more than a venue for high-end performances.

The space was larger than it appeared from outside, with multiple rooms flowing into each other.

Eden presented her credentials—Eclipse's credentials—to the security at the entrance.

They scanned her invitation, checked her background, and waved her through without comment.

So far, so good.

The interior was surprisingly elegant—velvet seating, crystal chandeliers, a stage set up for auction displays. Approximately forty guests mingled in the lobby, their conversations hushed and careful.

Eden recognized the type immediately. Collectors, dealers, those who operated in spaces where legality was flexible.

Eden accepted a glass of wine—red, expensive—and began to move through the crowd.

Servers moved through the space with trays of wine and small plates of food that looked more like art than sustenance.

A string quartet played in one corner, the music barely audible over the low hum of conversation.

Her Hunter training made her hyperaware of everything: exits, security positions, the way certain guests clustered together in groups that suggested alliances or business relationships.

She noted faces, catalogued details, and listened.

"—heard the Lemurian artifacts are authentic this time—"

"—ridiculous prices, but the Protocore are worth it if you need that kind of power—"

And in the corner, partially obscured by a pillar—

Rafayel.

Eden's breath caught.

He looked exactly as she remembered from the game—tall and slender, purple hair catching the light, his movements graceful and feline. He was dressed in an outfit that somehow managed to be both casual and expensive, talking to someone Eden recognized as a known dealer in Lemurian artifacts.

'Of course he's here. This is exactly where he'd be—tracking artifacts, trying to recover pieces of his culture.'

She watched as Rafayel examined something the dealer showed him, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes sharp with assessment.

Eden forced herself to look away.

Not your concern. Not your mission.

She moved through the crowd, playing her role—examining the preview displays, making notes, projecting the confident competence of someone who knew exactly what she was looking at.

The main auction began promptly.

Eden took a seat in the back, watching as items were presented and sold—Protocore of various classifications, some legitimate, most decidedly not.

Rafayel bid on and won three Lemurian artifacts, his expression never changing even as the prices climbed.

He's protecting his people's history, Eden thought. Buying back what was stolen.

The main auction concluded after ninety minutes.

Eden was preparing to leave—had gathered enough intelligence for a preliminary report—when a staff member approached.

"Miss Eclipse?" The woman's smile was professional. "You've been invited to a private viewing. Exclusive items, limited attendance. If you'll follow me?"

Eden's instincts screamed warning.

But this was exactly the kind of opportunity her mission required.

"Of course," she said smoothly.

.......

The private viewing was held in a room beneath the main auction house—accessible only by a secured elevator that required biometric verification.

Eden counted seven other attendees as she entered, all of them radiating the particular tension of people engaging in highly illegal activity.

The room itself was small, intimate, with items displayed on individual pedestals under focused lighting.

Protocores.

High-grade, rare, and—Eden's stomach dropped—at least two that radiated the particular energy signature of Aether Core fragments.

This is it. This is what I came for.

She moved through the room slowly, examining each piece with Eclipse's professional assessment while her Hunter training cataloged every detail.

The other attendees kept their distance, everyone maintaining careful personal space.

Except—

Eden felt it before she saw it.

A presence. Watching from the shadows at the room's edge.

She didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge it. But, she felt it.

Every instinct she had was screaming danger.

To run, hide. At that moment, she felt like prey in the territory of a predator.

'Not too far off.'

The private auction began.

Items were presented, bids placed with subtle gestures rather than called amounts. Everything about this screamed high-stakes, highly illegal.

The fourth item made Eden's blood run cold.

A Aether Core fragment—unstable, flickering with energy that suggested imminent collapse. Incomplete.

This is the one from the game. The one that creates the Protofield.

The auctioneer described it in careful terms, emphasizing its "unique properties" and "research potential."

Eden knew better.

This thing was a disaster waiting to happen. If it destabilized in a populated area—

She had to contain it.

Had to bid on it and get it into proper containment.

"Opening bid: 500,000 credits," the auctioneer announced.

Eden raised her hand. "Five hundred thousand."

A pause. Then a voice from the back—smooth, dark, carrying an undercurrent of amusement that made Eden's skin prickle.

"One million."

Oh.

The presence she'd felt in the shadows had a voice.

Eden turned slightly, trying to see—

White hair. Red eyes visible even in the dim lighting. A presence that filled the room despite his relaxed posture.

Him.

Sylus.

He was watching her with undisguised interest, a slight smile playing at his lips.

"One point five million," Eden said, keeping Eclipse's composure even as her heart raced.

"Two million," a new voice cut in—a woman in expensive business attire wearing a secret-not-so-secret EVER Group corporate pin.

EVER.

Eden's jaw tightened.

'They can't have it. Not if they're doing what I think they're doing.'

"Three million," she said.

"Four million," Sylus countered, still watching her with that unsettling smile.

The bidding escalated rapidly—Eden, Sylus, and the EVER representative trading increasingly absurd amounts.

Until—

"Ten million," the EVER woman said flatly. "Final offer."

Silence fell.

Eden's mind raced. She didn't have authorization for that amount. Couldn't justify it in her mission expenses.

And Sylus—

He was leaning back in his chair, no longer bidding, his attention still fixed on Eden with an intensity that suggested he knew exactly what she was.

"Sold," the auctioneer announced. "To Lady Zhuang."

No.

The EVER representative stood, moving to claim her purchase, and Eden's tactical mind started calculating containment protocols, evacuation procedures—

The woman was speaking to someone on her comm device, her voice carrying just enough for

Eden to hear.

"—yes, the fragment. Perfect for Project Atei continuation. With this, we can finally replicate Gaia's research. The Fountain of Atei will—"

She stopped abruptly, noticing Eden listening.

But it was too late.

Eden had heard enough.

Project Atei. Gaia's research. They're continuing the experiments.

Eden could barely control her Evol, like smoke, grey, foggy, from seeping from her hands.

The room had gone cold. Not metaphorically—actually cold, the temperature dropping so rapidly that Eden's breath misted.

Eden stood up.

And at the back of the room, Two men materialized from the shadows.

Twin operatives in matching masks, their body language suggesting barely contained chaos.

"Well, well," Luke said, his voice bright with mischief. "Looks like we have a little Hunter playing dress-up."

"Think Boss wants us to say hello?" Kieran added, tilting his head.

Eden's hand moved instinctively toward her concealed weapon.

"I'm leaving," she said evenly. "I have no quarrel with Onychinus."

"Oh, but we have a quarrel with you," Luke replied, stepping into her path. "Boss's orders. No one leaves until he says so."

Behind them, the Aether Core fragment began to pulse.

The energy signature spiked—unstable, dangerous, building toward critical mass.

No. No, not now—

"Everyone out!" Eden shouted, dropping Eclipse's careful composure. "That core is destabilizing—if it collapses—"

The fragment exploded with a burst of corrupted energy. Leaving her dazed for a second before her training kicked in.

Reality fractured.

A Protofield bloomed in the center of the room—space warping, folding in on itself, and in the heart of the distortion—

A dragon.

Massive, crystalline, formed entirely of corrupted Aether Core energy. Its eyes blazed with unnatural light, its form flickering between solid and ethereal.

The room erupted into chaos.

People screamed, scrambling for the exit. The dragon roared—a sound that resonated in Eden's bones—and swiped at the nearest person.

Eden moved.

Her hands found her Hunter-issued weapons—twin black Protocore Plasma pistols that had been concealed in her designer bag. The elegant dress tore as she dropped into combat stance, a long seam revealing a leg, fabric ripping to allow free movement.

"Captain," she said into her concealed comm. "Protofield formation. Civilian casualties imminent. Requesting permission to engage."

Static. Then Jenna's voice, sharp with concern: "Negative, Eden. Your cover—"

"There are innocent people here," Eden cut her off. "I'm engaging."

She fired.

The first shot caught the dragon in its shoulder, destabilizing part of its crystalline form. It roared and turned toward her, eyes blazing with rage.

Good. Focus on me. Let them escape.

Eden moved like water—rolling, dodging, firing calculated shots designed to keep the creature's attention while herding it away from the fleeing guests.

Her dress was shredded now, the elegant gown reduced to tatters, pantyhose torn.. Her carefully styled hair had come loose, falling into her eyes. The expensive necklace—

She tore it off, not wanting to risk it catching on something.

This is what you're trained for. Just another Wanderer. Just another mission.

Except it wasn't.

This thing was Aether Core-powered. Stronger than standard Wanderers. And fighting it in an enclosed space with no backup—

The dragon's tail swept toward her. Eden dodged, but not quite fast enough. The impact sent her flying into a wall, her shoulder exploding with pain.

Get up. Keep moving.

She forced herself upright, firing again, but the dragon was adapting—learning her patterns, anticipating her movements.

From the shadows at the room's edge, Sylus watched.

He was leaning against the wall with infuriating casualness, his red eyes tracking her every move with the kind of analytical interest usually reserved for scientific specimens.

"Are you going to help?" Eden shouted, frustration bleeding through her composure. "Or just watch?"

Sylus's smile widened. "I could help. For a price."

"People are dying!"

"Then I suggest you work faster."

She should not have expected more from him.

The dragon lunged. Eden barely managed to evade, her movements slowing as exhaustion set in.

She'd been fighting for eight minutes straight—longer than any engagement should last—and her body was screaming in protest.

The monitoring device on her wrist pulsed—a warning she didn't have time to check.

Just a little longer. Just need to contain it—

The dragon's claw caught her across the ribs.

Pain exploded through her chest. Eden stumbled, her weapons clattering from nerveless fingers, and realized with terrible clarity that she was losing.

Then Sylus was there.

His hand slid over her shoulder—warm, solid, undeniable. Eden felt his Evol surge, felt him reaching for resonance.

She slammed her walls shut instinctively.

No. Not with him. I don't know him, don't trust him—

"Stubborn little Hunter," Sylus murmured, his voice a dark purr against her ear. "People will die if you don't accept my help. Can you live with that?"

Guilt trip. He's guilt-tripping me.

But he wasn't wrong.

The dragon was recovering, preparing another attack. The remaining guests were trapped by falling debris. If she didn't stop this now—

Damn it.

Eden dropped her walls.

The resonance hit like a tidal wave.

Sylus's consciousness flooded through hers—complex, layered, simultaneously amused and curious. His Evol was unlike anything she'd experienced—not Xavier's warm light or Zayne's precise ice, but something darker. More primal.

Energy manipulation. Raw, unfiltered power.

And Eden's Overclock grabbed it, amplified it, made it something impossibly stronger.

She felt Sylus's surprise through the connection—genuine shock that she could handle this much power, that her Evol could copy and amplify his abilities as if they were her own.

Together, they moved.

Eden's hands lifted, and energy—red-black and crackling with power she'd never wielded before—manifested around them. Sylus guided it, shaped it, and Eden amplified and directed it with Hunter precision.

The dragon didn't stand a chance.

The combined assault hit it center-mass, tearing through its crystalline form, destabilizing the Aether Core fragment at its heart.

The creature shrieked once—a sound of rage and pain—and shattered into fragments that dissolved into nothing.

The Protofield collapsed.

Reality reasserted itself with a nauseating lurch.

And Eden—

Eden's vision swam. The world tilted sideways, her legs giving out—

Sylus caught her.

One arm around her waist, effortlessly supporting her full weight as if she weighed nothing.

"Let go," Eden managed, trying to push away.

But her limbs felt distant, disconnected. The crystallization warning on her wrist was flashing red—critical levels, dangerous resonance duration.

Too long. We resonated for too long.

"Fascinating," Sylus murmured, and through the fading resonance connection Eden felt his genuine intrigue. "Your Evol shouldn't be able to amplify mine to that degree. What are you, little Hunter?"

"None of your business," Eden bit out, still struggling despite the fact that her body had stopped obeying her commands.

Sylus's smile was infuriating. "You're exhausted. Possibly injured. And you think you can just walk away?"

"Watch me."

She tried to take a step.

Her legs buckled completely.

Sylus shifted his grip, scooping her up with his other arm—bridal style, as if she weighed no more than a child.

"Put me down," Eden demanded, but her voice was fading, consciousness slipping through her fingers like water.

"No."

The last thing Eden registered was Sylus's face above hers—striking features, red eyes filled with dark amusement and something that might have been concern—and the sensation of movement as he carried her somewhere.

Then darkness claimed her completely.

Chapter Text

Consciousness returned in fragments.

First, pain—dull and pervasive, radiating from her ribs where the dragon's claws had connected. Then sensation—soft sheets beneath her, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the steady beep of medical equipment.

Eden's eyes snapped open.

White ceiling. Medical equipment arranged with clinical precision. IV stands beside the bed, tube connected to her arm. Monitoring devices tracking her vitals with steady, rhythmic beeps.

A medical bay.

The realization hit like ice water.

White walls. Monitoring equipment. Sterile environment. Restrained—

Eden's gaze shot to her wrists—no restraints, but the IV felt like one, tethering her to the bed, keeping her vulnerable—

'Gaia. I'm back at Gaia. They found me, they're going to—'

Her breathing accelerated. Shallow, rapid. The monitoring equipment registered the spike—beeping faster, louder.

'No. No no no—'

The room felt too small. The walls were closing in. The medical equipment wasn't monitoring—it was measuring, cataloging, preparing her for the next experiment—

'Get out. Have to get out—'

Movement at the door.

A man stepped in, his mask in place but his body language casual. "Oh good, you're awake. Boss said to let him know when—"

Eden moved on pure instinct.

She launched herself from the bed—pain exploding through her ribs, ignored—and her fist connected with the crow masked man's jaw with all the force of fourteen years of combat training and absolute panic.

Luke staggered back with a surprised yelp.

"What the—"

Eden tore the IV from her arm—didn't register the sting, the blood—and stumbled toward the door. Her legs were unsteady, weak from whatever sedatives they'd given her, but adrenaline and terror made up for it.

'Out. Need to get out—'

Her vision tunneled. The walls were too white, too clean, too much like—

She reached the door, her hands fumbling with the handle—

It opened.

And Sylus was there.

He stood in the doorway, tall and solid and utterly immovable. His red eyes widened slightly as Eden crashed into him, her momentum carrying her forward.

He caught her reflexively—one arm around her waist, the other steadying her shoulder.

"Well," Sylus said, and his voice carried dark amusement, "someone's eager. I appreciate enthusiasm, sweetie, but perhaps we should wait until you're not bleeding all over my floor."

The endearment hit Eden like a slap.

Sweetie.

Something in her snapped.

That was meant for MC, not her.

"Don't call me that," she snarled, shoving against his chest. "Don't touch me. Don't come closer—let me go—"

Her hands pushed, struck, tried to break free, but Sylus's grip was unyielding. Not painful—he wasn't hurting her—but absolutely firm.

"Easy," he said, still with that infuriating calm.

"You're going to hurt yourself."

"I don't care!" Eden's voice cracked. "Let me GO—"

Behind them, Luke had recovered enough to speak. "Boss, she just—"

"Everyone out," Sylus said quietly.

The amusement had vanished from his voice. What remained was something darker.

Commanding.

Luke, who she realised was the masked man, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then retreated. The door closed with a soft click.

And Eden was alone with Sylus.

She was still struggling—weaker now, her body betraying her, the sedatives and blood loss catching up—but she couldn't stop.

Couldn't let herself stop because stopping meant being vulnerable and vulnerable meant—

Sylus moved.

He backed her up—not roughly, but inexorably—until her legs hit the medical bed and she had nowhere left to go. His frame blocked her view of the door, of escape, and Eden's breathing spiraled further into panic.

"Please," she heard herself whisper. "Please don't—"

She tried to punch him.

Her fist came up in a desperate strike aimed at his face, but Sylus caught it easily. His fingers wrapped around hers—not crushing, just holding—and then he did something that made Eden's breath stop entirely.

He laced their fingers together.

Palm to palm. Fingers interlocked.

And pushed for resonance.

"No—" Eden tried to resist, tried to slam her walls back up, but she was too weak. The pain medication made her Evol control sluggish, and her panic had shattered her usual discipline.

Her walls crumbled like sand.

Energy exploded between them—black and maroon, swirling and crackling with power that made the air itself feel charged.

The resonance hit like drowning.

Sylus's consciousness flooded through hers with overwhelming intensity. Not gentle like Zayne, not warm like Xavier. This was raw, primal, utterly unfiltered.

And through it, Eden felt him reading her.

Felt him sifting through the chaos of her thoughts—the panic, the terror, the memories of Gaia that she couldn't articulate but that lived in her body as pure fear.

But deeper than that, beneath the panic—

'I can't be here. My presence changes things. I'm not supposed to exist in this narrative. I'm the glitch, the imposter, the thing that doesn't belong—'

'If I interact too much, if I change too much, then MC's story gets derailed and everything I know becomes useless and I lose the only advantage I have—'

What does she mean by that, Sylus thought as he dug deeper.

'I don't belong here. Never belonged. Not in my old world, not in this one. Just a consciousness that stole someone else's body, someone else's life—'

Sylus's presence in the resonance shifted.

The predatory curiosity gave way to something else. Something that felt almost like—

Understanding.

And then Eden felt him.

Sylus's

The resonance was unlike anything Sylus had experienced.

And he'd experienced considerable variety over the years—had resonated with dozens of Evol users, had learned to read the unique signature of each person's power, had mastered the art of controlling and directing resonance to his advantage.

But this—

Eden's Evol was extraordinary. Not just in its ability to amplify and copy—though that alone was remarkable—but in its depth.

Her power wrapped around his like water finding every crack, every crevice, amplifying his abilities to levels that should have been impossible. He could feel his own Evol responding, growing stronger, more precise, as if Eden's very presence unlocked potential he hadn't known existed.

Fascinating.

But it was what lay beneath the power that caught his attention.

Her Aether Core.

Sylus had felt Aether Cores before—had studied them, trafficked in them, understood their energy signatures better than most. His own Core pulsed in his eyes, stable and powerful after years of integration.

But Eden's—

Eden's Core was wrong.

Not damaged, exactly. But incomplete.

Fractured.

Like a piece broken off from something larger.
And as the resonance deepened, as their consciousnesses tangled together with increasing intimacy, Sylus felt the truth of it with shocking clarity:

‘Her Aether Core is a fragment of mine.’

The realization hit him like a physical blow.
Somehow—through whatever experiments Gaia had performed, whatever procedure had given Eden her Core—they'd used a piece of his.

Fountain of the Atei.

The experiments.

'They took part of my Core and implanted it in her.'

But Aether Cores weren't meant to be divided. They were singular, complete, meant to integrate with a single host.

Fragmenting one should have been impossible. Should have killed both the donor and the recipient.

And yet here Eden was—alive, functional, wielding power that amplified his own because they were, on a fundamental level, connected.

Two parts of a whole.

Through the resonance, Sylus felt the crystallization happening in her heart. Felt the way the incomplete Core was slowly converting her cardiac tissue, killing her by degrees.

Seven point two percent converted.

Accelerating with each extended resonance.
Terminal. Unless—

The thought formed with crystalline clarity.

Unless the fragment is reunited with the whole.

As if sensing his realization, the resonance shifted.

Their Aether Cores—his complete, hers fragmented—began to synchronize. Energy flowed between them, not copying or amplifying but harmonizing.

Sylus felt it like a key turning in a lock.

The fragment in Eden's chest pulsed in time with his own Core, and the crystallization process—

Slowed.

Then reversed.

He watched through the resonance as the percentage ticked downward. 7.2%... 6.8%... 6.3%... 5.9%...

Until it stabilized at 5.4%.

A treatment. Possibly a cure.

If they maintain regular resonance, if the fragment stays synchronized with the complete Core, the crystallization will continue to reverse.

The implications crashed over him.

Eden needed him. Not just for protection or resources or any of the usual currencies of power.

She needed him to survive.

And Sylus—

Sylus had spent years being needed for the wrong reasons. His power, his influence, his willingness to operate outside the law. People came to him wanting something, always something.

But this was different.

This was biological. Fundamental.

Unavoidable.

She could hate him, fear him, fight him at every turn—

And she would still need him.

The thought should have felt like triumph. Like leverage.

Instead, it felt like responsibility.

Through the resonance, Sylus felt Eden's consciousness fragmenting further. The panic was still there, barely contained, and the sedatives were pulling her toward unconsciousness.

But beneath all of it—

'She's so young. So afraid. So utterly convinced she doesn't deserve to exist.'

Something in Sylus's chest tightened painfully.

He'd done terrible things. Had built an empire on violence and manipulation and the careful application of force. Had learned to view people as assets, problems, or entertainment.

But this woman—barely conscious, bleeding, fragile in ways that had nothing to do with physical strength—

She made him want to be something other than what he was.

Dangerous thoughts.

Sylus pulled back from the resonance slightly, maintaining the connection but giving Eden space to breathe.

Her hazel eyes were wide, unfocused, her breathing still too fast.

"Easy, sweetie," he murmured, and his voice was gentler than he'd intended. "You're safe. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Liar," Eden whispered, but there was no heat in it. Just exhaustion.

"I'm many things," Sylus agreed. "But right now, I'm the only thing keeping you alive. Your Aether Core is a fragment of mine. When we resonate, the crystallization slows. Reverses, even."

Through the connection, he felt her mind struggling to process that information.

"Five point four percent," he continued quietly.

"Down from seven point two. Your crystallization rate just dropped nearly two full percentage points in the span of one resonance."

"That's—" Eden's voice was fading. "That's impossible—"

"Apparently not." Sylus's thumb moved unconsciously against her palm, a gesture of comfort he hadn't consciously decided to make. "Sleep, Eden. We'll discuss the implications when you're not bleeding and sedated."

"Don't trust you," she managed.

"Smart." Sylus smiled, but it held no cruelty.

"But you don't have much choice."
Her eyes slipped closed.

Through the resonance—still connected, still synchronized—Sylus felt the exact moment she surrendered to unconsciousness.

And he stood there, in his own medical bay, holding the hand of a woman who was fundamentally connected to him in ways neither of them had chosen.

Well, Sylus thought. This complicates things considerably.

Behind him, the door opened tentatively.

"Boss?" Kieran's voice, cautious. "Is she—"

"Fine," Sylus said, not turning around. "She's fine. Get Dr. Merrill. I want a full medical workup—scan her Aether Core, document the crystallization rate, compare it to her previous readings."

"Should we—secure her?" Luke asked. "She's a Hunter. When she wakes up—"

"When she wakes up," Sylus interrupted, his voice carrying an edge that made both twins go silent, "she's going to be terrified. Do not restrain her. Do not corner her. And if either of you calls her anything diminutive, I will personally ensure you regret it."

A pause. Then Kieran, carefully: "Understood, Boss."

Sylus finally turned to look at them, and his expression must have conveyed something significant because both twins actually took a step back.

"She's under my protection," Sylus said quietly. "That means Onychinus's protection. No one touches her. No one threatens her. And absolutely no one mentions her connection to me outside this mansion. Clear?"

"Crystal," Luke said.

"Good. Now get out. And send Mephisto to watch her room. If she wakes up and panics again, I want to know immediately."

The twins retreated.

Sylus looked down at Eden—small and unconscious and achingly vulnerable in the medical bay's harsh lighting.

Her hand was still in his.

He should let go. Should establish distance, maintain the boundaries that made sense for someone in his position.

But instead, he found himself brushing a strand of dark hair from her face with his free hand.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" he murmured.

Eden, unconscious, had no answer.

But through their still-connected Aether Cores, Sylus felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Slower now. Stable.

Five point four percent.

We're connected. Bound together by biology and circumstance.

And she has no idea what that means yet.

Sylus finally released her hand, stepping back to let the medical staff work.

But his mind was already calculating.

Eden was a Hunter. She'd report back to her organization eventually. Would tell them about Onychinus, about him, about everything she'd witnessed.

Unless—

Unless he convinced her not to.

Unless he gave her reasons to stay. To keep their connection—and by extension, her treatment—a secret.

Time to be charming, Sylus thought. Time to make myself indispensable.

Because if Eden's survival depended on regular resonance with him—

Then she wasn't going anywhere.

Chapter Text

The second time Eden woke, it was different.

Consciousness returned slowly, gently—no sudden panic, no immediate threat assessment. Just the gradual awareness of warmth, softness, and a dull ache in her ribs that suggested recent injury but proper care.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment, cataloging sensations.

Soft sheets. High thread count, expensive. A pillow that actually supported her neck properly. The faint smell of—not antiseptic, but something cleaner. Cedar, maybe. And underneath that, the subtle scent of night-blooming flowers from somewhere nearby.

Not the medical bay.

The realization should have triggered alarm, but Eden found herself too exhausted to muster the energy for panic.

She opened her eyes.

Dim lighting—not the harsh fluorescents of medical facilities, but soft, ambient light that suggested evening or carefully controlled illumination. A bedroom, she realized. Large, elegant, decorated in dark wood and deep colors that managed to be both luxurious and understated.

Definitely not a cell. Definitely not a medical bay.

Where—

A soft caw interrupted her thoughts.

Eden's gaze shifted to the window—large, open, allowing night air to drift through with the scent of the city below—and perched on the sill was a mechanical crow.

It was beautiful in an unsettling way. Black metal feathers that caught the low light, red optical sensors that glowed with obvious intelligence, movements too fluid to be mere machinery.

The crow tilted its head, regarding her with what Eden could only describe as curiosity.

The crow cawed again—a sound that held surprising variety, almost like actual communication.

"Pretty bird," Eden added, because her brain was still foggy and the compliments seemed to be landing well.

The crow hopped from the windowsill to the bedside table, then—with surprising boldness—onto the bed itself, landing just beside Eden's hip.

It leaned forward, red eyes bright, and made a softer sound. Almost pleased.

Mephisto, Eden's game knowledge supplied. Sylus's crow. Surveillance, messenger, probably armed with god-knows-what.

But the knowledge felt distant, less important than the fact that this mechanical creature was acting almost... affectionate.

Eden lifted one hand carefully—her arm was bandaged, she noted, clean white gauze wrapped professionally around the IV site—and reached toward Mephisto.

The crow didn't retreat. Just tilted its head further, as if considering whether to allow the contact.

Eden's fingers touched metal feathers, and they were surprisingly warm. Not cold machinery, but something that had absorbed ambient heat, making the crow feel almost alive.

"Good bird," Eden said softly, running her fingers over Mephisto's head in an approximation of petting.

Mephisto made a sound that could only be described as a mechanical purr.

They stayed like that for a moment—Eden, exhausted and bandaged in a criminal overlord's guest room, petting a surveillance crow and finding it oddly comforting.

Then Mephisto hopped away, spread his wings—impressive span, Eden noted—and flew out the open window with one final caw that sounded almost like goodbye.

Eden watched him disappear into the night, then forced herself to take stock of her situation.

She was bandaged—ribs wrapped carefully, suggesting someone with medical knowledge had treated her wounds. The IV was gone, but the site was properly dressed. Her arm had additional bandaging where the dragon's claws had caught her.

She was wearing—Eden looked down—a soft shirt that definitely wasn't hers. Too large, too expensive, carrying a faint scent that her brain unhelpfully identified as masculine and oddly compelling.

Sylus's shirt. I'm wearing Sylus's shirt.

Heat crept up her neck.

Her shredded evening gown was gone. The tactical gear she'd hidden beneath it, gone. Her weapons—

Panic flickered before Eden forced it down.

Assess. Don't react.

She was in Onychinus's stronghold. In Sylus's mansion, based on the décor and the fact that his mechanical crow had been watching her. Disarmed, injured, and completely at his mercy.

The smart move would be to escape immediately. Find her gear, get out, report back to Captain Jenna.

But Eden's body had other ideas. Moving sent sharp pain through her ribs, and when she tried to swing her legs off the bed, dizziness crashed over her in waves.

Still sedated. Or just exhausted. Probably both.

A knock at the door.

Three measured raps—polite, giving her time to prepare.

"Come in," Eden said, because pretending to be asleep seemed pointless.

The door opened.

Sylus entered carrying a tray, and Eden's first coherent thought was that he looked different in his own space.

Still tall, still commanding, still wearing that dark elegance like armor. But more relaxed. His white hair was slightly disheveled, his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose forearms marked with scars that suggested violence survived. He moved with the easy confidence of someone in their own territory.

He set the tray on the bedside table—she caught a glimpse of actual food, not protein rations, smelling impossibly good—and settled into the chair near the bed with fluid grace.

"Awake," he observed. "And calmer this time. I appreciate that. Luke's jaw is still bruised."

Eden's expression remained neutral. "He shouldn't have startled me."

"Noted." Sylus's lips quirked. "How are you feeling, kitten?"

The endearment hit differently this time.

Not threatening. Not mocking. Just... affectionate. Teasing.

Heat flooded Eden's cheeks before she could stop it.

Don't blush. Don't react. Maintain composure—

But her face betrayed her, warmth spreading across her skin in a way that was absolutely visible.

Sylus noticed immediately.

His expression shifted—something calculating flickering behind those red eyes. He filed that information away with obvious interest, but his voice remained gentle when he spoke.

"The food is for you," he said, gesturing to the tray. "Real food, not hospital rations. You need to eat."

Eden's stomach chose that moment to remind her she hadn't eaten since before the auction. The smell—roasted vegetables, some kind of protein, bread that was definitely fresh—made her mouth water despite her wariness.

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

"Why what?"

"Why bring me food? Why treat my injuries? Why—" Eden gestured at the room. "—all of this? What do you want?"

Sylus leaned back in his chair, studying her with that unsettling intensity.

"You have steel walls, sweetie," he said quietly. "Impressive ones. But I felt what's beneath them during the resonance. Someone who carries guilt that isn't hers to carry."

Eden's jaw tightened. "That's not an answer."

"You're right." Sylus's expression grew more serious. "I'm treating you well because you're not my enemy. Because you were caught up in circumstances neither of us controlled. And because—" He paused. "—you're a byproduct of my creation."

Eden's breath caught. "What?"

"Gaia. The Fountain of Atei experiments." Sylus's voice was level, but something dark flickered in his eyes. "EVER Group took my Aether Core—or rather, a fragment of it—and implanted it in subjects they deemed suitable. You were one of those subjects."

The words settled over Eden like ice water.

Sylus obviously did not mention May-Celeste and her core. But he too was there, an experiment.

A byproduct. A creation. Something made rather than born.

She'd known, remembered, that Gaia had experimented on her. But hearing it stated so plainly—

"I didn't ask for this," Eden said quietly.

"I know." Sylus's voice held unexpected gentleness. "Neither did I. But here we are, connected by biology and circumstance."

He pulled out a datapad, tapped through several screens, then turned it toward Eden.

Medical scans. Her Aether Core, rendered in holographic detail, with notation marking crystallization percentages.

Previous Reading (72 hours ago): 7.2% Current Reading: 5.4%

Eden stared at the numbers.

Nearly two full percentage points. Gone.

Reversed.

"The resonance," she breathed.

"The resonance," Sylus confirmed. "Your Aether Core is a fragment of mine. Incomplete. That incompleteness is what's causing the crystallization—your Aether Core is rejecting, happening now more often most likely due to the fact that you’re an active Hunter.. But when we resonate, when our Cores synchronize—" He gestured to the data. "—the fragment stabilizes. Recognizes itself as part of a whole. And the crystallization reverses."

Eden's mind raced.

A treatment. Possibly a cure.

If I maintain regular resonance with Sylus—

If I—

Zayne's face surfaced in her thoughts. The way he'd looked at her during their coffee date. The ice lily on her nightstand. The promise of after.

Through his own core, Sylus felt it.

"You're thinking of someone," he observed quietly. "Someone important." His right eye flashed in the low light.

Eden didn't confirm or deny.

But Sylus felt the hope blooming in her mind—fragile and desperate and beautiful in its intensity.

"There's always a price," Eden said, forcing herself back to tactical thinking.

"Nothing is free. What do you want in exchange for regular resonance? For the treatment?"

Sylus was quiet for a long moment.

Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to eye level.

"Information," he said simply. "About EVER Group. About their current projects, their facilities, their key personnel. You're a Hunter—you have access to intelligence I need. And in return, I'll provide resonance therapy. Regular sessions, carefully monitored, to keep your crystallization rate declining."

"That's all?" Eden's voice was skeptical.

"That's all." Sylus's smile was slight. "I'm not asking for your loyalty, kitten. Not asking you to betray your organization or compromise your principles. Just information on a mutual enemy. EVER Group hurt both of us. I'd like to see them pay for it."

Eden studied him, trying to read past the careful composure.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then your crystallization continues at its current rate, and you have eighteen months left. Maybe less." Sylus's tone was matter-of-fact. "But I don't think you'll refuse. Because you're a survivor, Eden. You've been surviving your entire life. You won't stop now."

He was right.

And they both knew it.

"I need time," Eden said finally. "To think. To—process."

"Take the time you need." Sylus stood, moving toward the door. "But understand that every day you wait, your crystallization progresses. And I'm the only one who can reverse it."

He paused at the threshold, looking back.

"Eat. Rest. Your clothes have been cleaned and repaired—they're in the closet. Your weapons are secured in the armory. When you're ready to talk business, Mephisto will find me."

"My Hunter organization—" Eden started.

"Thinks you're deep undercover, maintaining your Eclipse identity," Sylus interrupted smoothly. "I had Luke send a message through appropriate channels. You have a week before they expect contact."

A week. He's giving me a week.

Eden didn't know if that was generous or calculated.

Probably both.

"Why Mephisto?" she asked suddenly. "Why send your surveillance crow to watch me?"

Sylus's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Because he's less threatening than Luke or Kieran. Because he's clever enough to alert me if you panic again. And because—" He paused. "—I thought you might like the company."

Before Eden could respond, he was gone, the door closing with a soft click.

Eden stared at the closed door for a long moment.

Then she looked at the food tray.

Then at her bandaged arms.

Then at the medical scan data still displayed on the datapad Sylus had left behind.

Current Crystallization Rate: 5.4%

Hope.

Fragile, dangerous, terrifying hope.

Eden picked up a piece of bread with trembling hands and took a bite.

It was the best thing she'd tasted in years.

And that, somehow, made her want to cry.

Chapter Text

She'd been here for three days.

Three days of thinking. Processing. Calculating.

Three days of monitoring the device on her wrist that displayed steady green: Crystallization Rate: 5.4% - STABLE

She often found herself in Sylus's library thinking these thought.

Three stories of floor-to-ceiling shelves, organized with the kind of meticulous care that suggested someone—probably not Sylus himself—maintained it religiously. The collection was eclectic: medical texts beside classic literature, strategic warfare manuals next to poetry collections, technical documents on Evol manipulation shelved alongside philosophical treatises.

Eden had claimed a corner on the second floor, tucked behind a massive globe that depicted not just Earth but the entire mapped Deepspace territories. The reading nook had a window overlooking the N109 Zone's sprawling cityscape—neon and shadow stretching to the horizon like a living organism.

But she could not stop thinking about it.

The resonance with Sylus had done that. Had reversed nearly two full percentage points of cardiac tissue conversion in the span of a single extended connection.

It was miraculous.

It was terrifying.

It bound her to him in ways she was still trying to comprehend.

Eden stared at the book in her lap—a historical account of the Chronorift Catastrophe of 2034—but the words blurred together. Her mind kept circling back to the same impossible equation:
Problem: She was dying.
Solution: Regular resonance with Sylus reverses the crystallization.
Cost: Binding herself to a criminal overlord, operating in his territory, potentially derailing MC's story even further.
Alternative: Return to Linkon, decline treatment, maintain distance, and die within eighteen months.

When framed that way, there wasn't really a choice at all.

Was there?

Eden closed the book with more force than necessary and pressed her palms against her eyes.

Zayne.

His face surfaced unbidden—the gentle concern in his hazel-green eyes, the careful way he'd touched her face in the Arctic, the ice lily sitting on her nightstand back in Linkon.

"After," he'd said. "After you're not my patient anymore."

After implied a future.

Implied time they would have together.

But if she walked away from Sylus's offer, there would be no after. Just a slow decline, accelerating crystallization, and an ending she'd have to watch approach with full awareness.

She couldn't do that to Zayne.

Couldn't let him invest in something—in her—knowing it was temporary. Knowing she'd chosen to die rather than accept help because of pride or fear or her desperate need to not disrupt a narrative that had already changed beyond recognition.

'I have to accept.'

The thought settled with cold finality.

'I have to stay here.' Maintain the Eclipse cover. Work with Sylus. Gather intelligence on EVER Group while he provides treatment.

'And somehow navigate the fact that he's one of MC's love interests and I'm inserting myself directly into his orbit.'

Eden stood abruptly, the book sliding from her lap to the floor with a soft thud.

She needed to move. Needed to not think for a few hours.

Maybe the mansion had a training room.

.......

Eden discovered quickly that Sylus's mansion was a labyrinth.

Hallways branched in unexpected directions. Staircases led to levels that didn't seem architecturally possible. Rooms appeared and disappeared depending on which corridor you took to reach them.

It was disorienting by design, Eden realized. A defensive measure. Anyone who didn't know the layout intimately would be hopelessly lost.

She'd been trying to find the exit to the courtyard—she'd glimpsed it from her bedroom window, a surprisingly beautiful garden space that seemed incongruous with the mansion's dark elegance—when she rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone.

"Whoa!"

Eden stumbled back, her hand instinctively moving toward a weapon she wasn't carrying—

And found herself face-to-face with Luke.

Or possibly Kieran.

The twins were identical in every way that mattered: same height, same build, same mischievous energy barely contained behind matching masks. The only way to tell them apart was their masks—one crow, one... different crow. Eden still couldn't remember which was which.

"Easy there, Hunter," the twin said, raising both hands in mock surrender. "Just me. Luke. The handsome one."

"You're both wearing masks," Eden pointed out flatly.

"Exactly. So you'll have to take my word for it." Luke's grin was audible even through the mask.

"What're you doing wandering the halls? Boss said you were holed up in the library like some kind of scholarly hermit."

"I'm looking for the training room," Eden said, her tone carefully neutral. "Or the courtyard. Whichever I find first."

"Training room's two floors down, east wing." Luke tilted his head, studying her. "You sure you're up for that? You were pretty banged up a few days ago."

Eden's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, you look fine." Luke's voice carried something between awe and wariness. "Kieran said your ribs were practically shattered. Now you're walking around like nothing happened. Boss's resonance therapy is something else, huh?"

The observation was casual, but Eden felt the weight of assessment beneath it.

They're trying to figure out what I am. What I'm capable of.

"The resonance was effective," Eden said carefully. "I heal quickly."

"Really quickly." Another voice—Kieran, materializing from a side corridor with the silent grace of someone trained in infiltration. "Luke's right. Three days ago you could barely stand. Now you're looking for the training room. That's not normal healing speed, even for an Evol user."

The twins flanked her—not threateningly, but with the kind of coordinated movement that suggested years of working in perfect sync.

Eden forced herself not to step back. Not to show any sign of discomfort.

"Is there a point to this observation?" she asked coolly.

"Just curious," Luke said. "Boss doesn't usually bring people back here. And when he does, they're usually..." He paused, searching for the right word. "...assets. Investments. People he needs for specific purposes."

"But you," Kieran continued, "he's treating differently. Letting you wander. Giving you access to the library, his personal spaces. He even told us not to 'corner' you or call you anything 'diminutive.'" The twin's voice carried obvious amusement. "That's new."

Eden's pulse spiked, but she kept her expression blank. "I'm a mutually beneficial arrangement. He wants intelligence on EVER Group. I want to not die. Simple transaction."

"Simple," Luke echoed, and laughed. "Right. Because Boss totally treats all his 'simple transactions' like they're made of glass."

Before Eden could respond, a third voice cut through the conversation—low, dark, carrying unmistakable authority.

"Are you two harassing my guest?"

All three of them turned.

Sylus stood at the end of the hallway, and Eden's breath caught despite herself.

He was shirtless.

Of course he is.

The man seemed to have an aversion to wearing proper clothing in his own home. Eden had encountered him like this twice already—once emerging from what she assumed was a personal gym, once walking past the library entrance at some ungodly hour of the morning.

Each time, she'd forced herself to look away, to not catalog the scars that marked his torso, the lean muscle that suggested both power and discipline, the way he moved with predatory grace even in casual moments.

Now, he leaned against the wall with infuriating casualness, arms crossed, white hair slightly damp as if he'd just showered. His red eyes tracked between the twins and Eden with sharp assessment.

"Not harassing," Luke said quickly. "Just... conversing."

"Conversing," Sylus repeated, his tone utterly flat. "How thoughtful. And here I thought I gave you both assignments."

"We finished early!" Kieran protested.

"Then find more work." Sylus's voice dropped into something that wasn't quite a threat but carried clear dismissal. "Go."

The twins exchanged glances, then retreated with impressive speed.

Leaving Eden alone in the hallway with a shirtless Sylus.

Silence stretched between them.

Eden forced herself to maintain eye contact. To not let her gaze drop to the scars she'd glimpsed during their resonance—evidence of a violent past she understood in fragments but not in full.

"They weren't bothering me," she said finally.

"They were assessing you." Sylus pushed off from the wall, moving closer with that liquid grace.

"Trying to figure out what you are. What threat you pose."

"And what did they conclude?"

"That you're dangerous." His lips quirked into something that might have been a smile. "Fast healing, combat training, an Evol that can amplify mine to terrifying levels. You make them nervous, kitten."

The endearment made heat crawl up Eden's neck.

She hated how her body reacted—the flush, the increased pulse, the way her breath quickened just slightly when he used diminutives that were clearly meant for—

For MC. Not for you.

"Don't call me that," Eden said, her voice sharper than intended.

Sylus's expression shifted—curiosity flickering across his features. "Kitten? Or sweetie? I'm trying to determine which one makes you blush more."

"Neither," Eden bit out.

"Hmm." Sylus was close now, just inside her personal space, and Eden's training screamed at her to step back, to maintain distance. "Liar. Your face is doing that thing where you pretend to be stoic."

"I'm not—"

"You're wearing my shirt again," Sylus interrupted, his voice dropping into something almost intimate. "Third day in a row. Should I be flattered or concerned about your laundry habits?"

Eden looked down.

She was wearing one of his shirts—soft, oversized, carrying that faint scent of cedar and something darker. Her own clothes had been cleaned and returned to her room yesterday, but she'd kept gravitating toward his shirts without consciously deciding to.

They were comfortable. That was all.

That was all.

"My clothes are fine," Eden managed. "I just—these are more comfortable for reading."

"For reading," Sylus echoed, amusement clear in his voice. "Of course. Very practical. Has nothing to do with the fact that they smell like me."

Eden's face burned. "That's—I don't—"

"Relax, sweetie." Sylus's hand came up, and Eden tensed—but he just tugged gently at the collar of the shirt, adjusting it where it had slipped off her shoulder. The touch was brief, almost casual, but it sent electricity skittering across her skin. "I don't mind."

Then he stepped back, the moment breaking, his expression shifting into something cooler. More distant.

"The training room is two floors down, east wing," he said, his tone now businesslike. "Luke will show you if you get lost. I have meetings this afternoon. Don't wander into the west wing—that's private quarters and armory. Mephisto will find you if I need you."

He turned to leave.

Eden's voice stopped him. "Sylus." Her heart stuttered in her chest, but she had to be brave, had to take the risk.

He glanced back, one eyebrow raised.

"I've made my decision," Eden said quietly. "About your offer."

Sylus went very still. "And?"

"I accept." The words came out steadier than she felt. "I'll maintain my Eclipse cover. Gather intelligence on EVER Group. Provide you with information in exchange for regular resonance therapy."

Something flickered across Sylus's face—satisfaction, maybe, or something more complicated.

"Smart choice," he said. Then, after a pause: "This doesn't make you Onychinus, Eden. You're still a Hunter. Still autonomous. You work with me, not for me. Clear?"

Eden nodded, throat tight.

"Good." Sylus's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "We'll establish a schedule. Resonance sessions twice weekly, monitored by my medical staff. You report intelligence as you gather it, and I provide resources and protection while you're in the Zone."

"And when I need to return to Linkon?" Eden asked.

"You return. Maintain your cover with the Hunter Association. I'm not keeping you prisoner, kitten." He paused. "Though you're welcome to stay here between assignments if you prefer. The library is yours. The training room. The courtyard. Consider the mansion neutral ground."

It was more generous than Eden had expected.

More trust than she'd thought he'd offer.

"Why?" The question escaped before she could stop it. "Why be this accommodating?"

Sylus was quiet for a long moment, his red eyes studying her with that unsettling intensity.

"Because I know what it's like," he said finally, "to be an experiment. A weapon someone else created. To wake up one day and realize your body isn't entirely your own."

The words hit harder than they should have.

He understands.

Not completely—not the reincarnation, not the meta-knowledge, not the specific horror of Eden's situation.

But the fundamental alienation. The sense of being a thing rather than a person.

He understood that.

"Thank you," Eden said quietly.

Sylus's smile was slight, genuine. "Don't thank me yet, sweetie. Working with me comes with its own complications."

Then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway with that silent grace, leaving Eden standing alone in the corridor wearing his shirt and feeling the weight of the choice she'd just made settle over her shoulders like a physical thing.

I'm staying. Working with Sylus. Accepting treatment that binds me to him.

And somehow, I have to navigate this without losing myself—or derailing MC's story beyond repair.

Eden touched the monitoring device on her wrist.

Crystallization Rate: 5.4% - STABLE

Five point four percent.

Down from 7.2%.

She had time now.

Not endless time. Not guaranteed time.

But time.

Time to figure out EVER Group's conspiracy. Time to understand what Project Atei meant.

Time to exist in this world as more than a glitch.

Eden took a breath, squared her shoulders, and headed toward the training room.

.......

The training room was exactly what Eden expected from someone like Sylus.

State-of-the-art equipment lined one wall—weights, resistance machines, holographic combat simulators.

Reinforced mats covered the floor, designed to absorb impact from Evol-enhanced sparring. The space was large enough to accommodate multiple fighters, with clear sight lines and strategic positioning that suggested defensive design even here, in what should have been a safe space.

Eden stood in the center of the room, barefoot, wearing fitted training gear she'd found waiting in her room that morning. Black, practical, allowing full range of movement. Someone—probably Sylus—had anticipated her needs.

She moved through warm-up forms with practiced precision. Stretches first, isolating each muscle group. Then footwork drills—pivoting, advancing, retreating, the kind of movement patterns that became instinct after years of repetition.

Her body felt different now.

Stronger. More responsive.

The resonance with Sylus had done more than reverse her crystallization. It had enhanced her somehow, as if synchronizing their Aether Cores had optimized her physical capabilities.

Eden tested it with a simple exercise—drop into a fighting stance, explode forward, execute a combination strike against the practice dummy.

The impact resonated through the room with satisfying force. The dummy—designed to withstand Evol-enhanced blows—actually shifted backward.

"Impressive."

Eden spun.

Sylus leaned against the doorframe, dressed in training gear that somehow looked more dangerous than casual clothing. Dark pants, a fitted compression shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the lean muscle beneath, bare feet that suggested he intended to join her.

At least he wasn't shirtless.

His red eyes tracked her movements with predatory interest.

"How long have you been watching?" Eden asked, forcing her voice to remain level.

"Long enough to see that your form is excellent." Sylus pushed off from the doorframe, moving into the training space with that liquid grace. "Hunter Academy training?"

"And before." Eden shifted her weight, already calculating. "Foster care teaches you to fight early. Academy just refined it."

"Hmm." Sylus circled her slowly, assessing. Not threatening, but definitely evaluating. "Want a sparring partner? I promise to go easy on you."

Eden's jaw tightened at the condescension. "I don't need you to go easy on me."

"Bold." Sylus's smile was sharp. "But sweetie, you're five-seven. I'm six-two. The physics alone—"

Eden moved.

She closed the distance in a heartbeat, dropping low—always stay low against taller opponents—and swept his legs with a movement that used his own height against him.

Sylus stumbled but didn't fall, his reflexes impressive. He recovered in a blink, and suddenly they were engaged.

No Evol. Just hand-to-hand combat.

Pure physicality.

Eden fought like water—fluid, adaptive, using momentum and positioning rather than trying to match strength she didn't have. She stayed low to the ground, her center of gravity beneath his, making him work to reach her while she targeted joints, pressure points, weak spots that size couldn't protect.

Her style was grappling-based but fast. She'd slip inside his guard, execute a throw or lock, then disengage before he could counter. Strike and fade. Never let him establish control.

Sylus adapted quickly—of course he did—shifting from powerful strikes to something more technical. He was trained, she realized. Properly trained, not just street-fighting experience. Military, maybe, or something similar.

They moved across the mat in a dangerous dance.

Eden caught his wrist, used his momentum to pull him forward, attempted a hip throw—

Sylus twisted mid-motion, reversing the leverage, and suddenly Eden was the one off-balance.

She hit the mat hard, Sylus's weight pinning her, one hand controlling both her wrists above her head while his other hand braced beside her shoulder.

They froze.

Both breathing hard. Sweat dampening their skin. Sylus's face inches from hers, his red eyes intense and searching.

Eden's pulse hammered against her ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with exertion.

"You're good," Sylus said, his voice rough. "Better than I expected."

"You're heavier than you look," Eden countered, trying to ignore how very aware she was of his body against hers.

"All muscle, kitten." Sylus's lips quirked. "And you're strong. Stronger than someone your size should be. The resonance helped you."

He was right. Eden could feel it—the way her muscles responded with more power, more endurance. The Aether Core synchronization had optimized her physical capabilities somehow.

"Are you going to let me up?" Eden asked.

"Depends." Sylus shifted slightly, redistributing his weight but not releasing her. "Are you going to try to throw me again the moment I do?"

"Probably."

He laughed—genuine, surprised. "Honest. I appreciate that."

But he released her, standing and offering a hand.

Eden took it, letting him pull her upright, and tried to ignore the warmth of his palm against hers.

They sparred for another thirty minutes.

Eden lost more than she won—physics and experience eventually trumped technique—but she held her own. Made him work for every victory. Landed enough strikes that he'd have bruises tomorrow.

By the time they called it, both were exhausted in the way that felt earned.

They sat against the wall, water bottles in hand, comfortable silence stretching between them.

"Not many female Hunters favor frontline combat like you do," Sylus observed, his tone casual but curious.

Eden's shoulders tensed slightly. "No. Most don't."

"Why is that?"

She was quiet for a moment, deciding how much to share.

"The female population has decreased exponentially over the past hundred years," Eden said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "Conflict, Wanderer attacks, the Chronorift Catastrophe—women died in disproportionate numbers. Now there's political pressure to protect the remaining female population. Keep them in 'safer' positions in society."

Sylus's expression darkened. "Breeding stock logic."

"They don't call it that." Eden's jaw tightened. "They call it 'population stabilization programs' and 'protective social policies.' But yes. That's what it amounts to. Many politicians have been introducing programs to help 'rebuild society.' Incentivizing childbirth, limiting women's participation in dangerous occupations, creating social structures that funnel women toward domestic roles."

"Gaia Research Center," Sylus said quietly.

Eden's breath caught.

"Gaia was one of those programs," Sylus continued, his voice hard. "Officially, they were researching Evol enhancement and Protocore integration. But the Fountain of Atei project—what they did to us—that was about creating optimized breeding stock. Aether Core users who could produce powerful offspring. Near Immortal beings"

He was referring to himself then.

The words hit like a physical blow.

Eden had known—had suspected—but hearing it stated so plainly made her stomach churn.

"They experimented on children," she said, and her voice came out hollow. "Took children and turned them into... resources."

"Assets," Sylus corrected bitterly. "That's what they called us in the files. 'High-value genetic assets.' They didn't see us as people. Just biological material to be optimized and utilized."

Eden's hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against her thighs, willing them to still.

"I don't remember most of it," she admitted quietly. "The experiments. Just fragments. Lights. Pain. The feeling of something fundamental changing inside me."

"That's your mind protecting you," Sylus said. His voice had gentled. "Trauma memory works that way. Stores things in pieces so you can function."

"How much do you remember?"

"Too much." Sylus's expression was distant now, looking at something only he could see. "I was older when they took me. Fourteen. Old enough to understand what was happening. Old enough to fight back." His jaw tightened.

"Not that fighting back did any good."

Silence fell between them—heavy, shared, full of things neither of them had words for.

Eden felt something cracking inside her chest. The walls she maintained so carefully, fracturing under the weight of this conversation.

He understands. He actually understands what it feels like to be unmade and remade into someone else's weapon.

"I need to stop talking about this," Eden said abruptly, standing. Her voice was too tight, too close to breaking. "I—I can't—"

She was moving toward the door before Sylus could respond.

"Eden—"

"Thank you for the sparring session," she said without turning around. "I should prepare for my return to Linkon. Captain Jenna will want a full debrief."

She fled.

Not literally running—Eden never ran—but moving with enough speed that it was clearly retreat.

Behind her, Sylus remained sitting against the wall, staring at the space she'd occupied.

His hand curled into a fist against his thigh.

Guilt, he recognized. 'I'm feeling guilty for what Gaia did to her. For my role in it, however indirect.'

And beneath that—something more complicated.

The strength in her small frame. The absolute refusal to yield even when outmatched.

Dangerous, inappropriate attraction.

'Get it together. She's not a conquest.'

Sylus stood, grabbed his water bottle, and headed for a cold shower.

A very cold shower.

He was a man too after all.

Chapter Text

Eden packed methodically in her borrowed room.

Her original clothes—the Eclipse persona outfit, now cleaned and repaired with impressive skill—went into a garment bag. Her Hunter Association gear, returned to her that morning, was checked and secured. Weapons accounted for. Datapad encrypted and ready.

The monitoring device on her wrist pulsed softly: Crystallization Rate: 5.4% - STABLE

She'd need to return for resonance therapy within two weeks, according to the medical parameters Sylus's doctor had established. Any longer and the crystallization would begin progressing again.

Two weeks.

She could work with that.

Eden changed into comfortable travel clothes—her own this time, not Sylus's shirt—and was double-checking her pack when a soft caw drew her attention.

Mephisto sat on the windowsill, red optical sensors bright in the evening light.

The mechanical crow hopped down, landing on her bed, and extended one leg.

A small message capsule was attached.

Eden approached slowly, half-expecting this to be some kind of test or trick. But Mephisto remained perfectly still, patient, as she carefully removed the capsule.

Inside was a handwritten note on expensive paper:
'Two weeks. Don't be late.'

Schedule attached—resonance therapy sessions, secured communication protocols, emergency contact procedures.

'The Eclipse cover is active. I've established your reputation in the appropriate circles. You're expected at several auctions over the next month.

Don't get yourself killed, kitten. It would be inconvenient.
- S'

Despite everything, Eden's lips quirked into something almost like a smile.

"Inconvenient." Right.

She tucked the note into her jacket pocket and scratched Mephisto's head gently. "Tell him I'll be back in two weeks. And that I'm sorry about earlier."

Mephisto made a soft, approving sound, then spread his wings and flew out the window.

Eden watched him disappear into the N109 Zone's neon-lit darkness, then shouldered her pack.

Time to go home.

Time to face Captain Jenna's debriefing, Xavier's concern, and—

Zayne.

Her chest tightened.

She'd been gone a week. A week of silence beyond automated status updates. He would have noticed the crystallization decrease.

Would have questions she couldn't fully answer.

I'll figure it out. I always do.

One crisis at a time.

Eden took one last look at the room that had been her sanctuary—the books she'd borrowed from the library stacked neatly on the nightstand, the view of the cityscape through the window, the faint scent of cedar that permeated everything.

Then she left, closing the door softly behind her.

Luke and Kieran were waiting in the main foyer.

"Boss wanted us to escort you to the transit station," Luke said. "Make sure you get there safely."

"I'm a Hunter," Eden pointed out. "I can handle—"

"Yeah, yeah, you're very capable." Kieran waved dismissively. "Humor us. Boss was very specific about making sure nothing happens to you between here and Linkon."

Eden wanted to argue, but exhaustion won over pride.

"Fine."

The journey through the N109 Zone at night was surreal.

The streets were alive with activity—vendors calling out in multiple languages, neon signs advertising everything from legitimate businesses to obviously illegal services, the constant hum of hover vehicles and foot traffic creating a wall of sound.

But people moved out of their way.

Not obviously. Not with fear.

But there was recognition in how the crowd parted slightly, how certain individuals nodded respectfully at Luke and Kieran.

Onychinus's reputation precedes them.

They reached the transit station without incident. Luke handed Eden a small device—no bigger than a coin.
"Emergency beacon," he explained. "If you need extraction from anywhere in Deepspace, press this and we'll come get you. Boss's orders."

Eden stared at the device, something complicated twisting in her chest.

He's protecting me. Even when I'm not here.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Don't mention it." Kieran's tone was lighter than his brother's. "Seriously, don't mention it. Boss would be annoyed if he knew we were being sentimental."

"Your secret's safe with me." a breath of a smile touched the corners of her lips.

The transit to Linkon departed in fifteen minutes.

Eden boarded, found a seat near the window, and watched as Luke and Kieran disappeared back into the N109 Zone's neon chaos.

The transport lifted off smoothly, and the Zone fell away beneath her—a sprawling labyrinth of light and shadow, danger and possibility.

I'll be back in two weeks.

Back to Sylus. Back to resonance therapy. Back to a criminal empire I'm now tangentially part of.

But first—

First, I need to face everything I left behind in Linkon.

Eden leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes.

The monitoring device pulsed against her wrist—steady, green, stable.

Crystallization Rate: 5.4%

I have time.

I have hope.

Now I just need to figure out how to keep both without losing myself in the process.

.......

The Hunter Association headquarters looked exactly the same

Eden stood on the steps leading to the main entrance, staring at the building's familiar angular architecture, and felt the dissonance settle over her like a ill-fitting coat.

She'd been gone a week.

Just seven days.

But somehow, everything felt different. She felt different.

The monitoring device on her wrist displayed steady green: Crystallization Rate: 5.4% - STABLE

The same reading it had shown for the past four days. No improvement, but no deterioration either.

Stable.

It should have been reassuring.

Instead, it felt like a ticking clock. A reminder that her next resonance session with Sylus was scheduled for three days from now, and if she missed it—

Don't think about that. One problem at a time.

Eden adjusted the strap of her gear bag—standard Hunter issue, containing her uniform, weapons, and the carefully sanitized mission report she'd spent two hours composing last night—and climbed the steps.

Time to lie to people she respected.

Time to maintain operational security at the cost of honesty.

Strategic omission, Sylus had called it.

Eden called it what it was: survival.

........

Captain Jenna's office was on the fourth floor, tucked into a corner that suggested both authority and deliberate isolation from casual foot traffic.

Eden knocked precisely three times.

"Enter."

The office was exactly as Eden remembered—efficient, organized, decorated with commendations and tactical maps rather than personal items. Jenna sat behind her desk, reviewing something on her datapad, and didn't look up immediately.

"Eden." Jenna's voice was neutral. "Welcome back. Sit."

Eden sat, her posture military-straight, hands folded in her lap.

Jenna set down the datapad and studied Eden with sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"You look well," Jenna observed. "Better than I expected, given the circumstances."

"The mission went smoothly, Captain."

"Did it?" Jenna's tone suggested skepticism. "You were deep cover in the N109 Zone for a week. Attended at least one high-stakes auction that resulted in a Protofield formation and multiple civilian casualties. Your last communication before going dark mentioned a 'complication.' So let's try that again—how did the mission actually go?"

Eden had prepared for this.

Had rehearsed the sanitized version until it sounded natural rather than scripted.

"I successfully maintained my Eclipse cover," Eden began, her voice steady. "Attended three underground auctions, gathered intelligence on Protocore trafficking networks, identified key players in the black market supply chain.

The incident at the third auction was unavoidable—an unstable Aether Core fragment destabilized, creating the Protofield. I engaged to protect civilians and contain the threat."

"Alone?"

The question was sharp.

Eden's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "I received... assistance. From Onychinus operatives who were present."

Jenna's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "Onychinus. Sylus's organization."

"Yes, Captain."

"And they just... helped you? Out of the goodness of their criminal hearts?"

"They had a vested interest in containing the Protofield," Eden said carefully. "The auction was in their territory. Civilian casualties would have drawn Hunter Association attention they didn't want."

It was plausible. Logical.

Also a complete oversimplification of what had actually happened.

Jenna was quiet for a long moment, her gaze boring into Eden with uncomfortable intensity.

"Your monitoring device shows your crystallization rate decreased," Jenna said finally. "From seven point two percent to five point four. That's a significant improvement. How?"

Eden's pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Extended resonance during the Protofield engagement," she said. "The Onychinus operative I resonated with had a compatible Evol signature. The synchronization had an unexpected therapeutic effect."

All true.

Strategically incomplete, but true.

"Compatible enough to reverse crystallization," Jenna repeated slowly. "That's... remarkable. Did you document the operative's Evol signature? Their identity?"

"No, Captain. The situation was chaotic. My priority was containment and civilian protection."

Another lie.

Eden was getting disturbingly good at this.

Jenna leaned back in her chair, studying Eden with an expression that suggested she knew there were gaps in the story but was choosing—for now—not to press.

"You maintained your cover identity throughout?" Jenna asked.

"Yes, Captain. As far as anyone in the N109 Zone knows, I'm Eclipse Voss, independent Protocore appraiser. My Hunter affiliation remains classified."

"Good." Jenna pulled up something on her datapad. "Your intelligence report on the trafficking networks is thorough. Excellent work. This gives us actionable leads on EVER Group's black market operations."

Something in Jenna's voice when she said EVER Group made Eden look up sharply.

"Captain?"

"EVER Group has been increasingly active in the N109 Zone," Jenna said, her tone carefully neutral. "Acquisition of rare Protocores, recruitment of high-grade Evol users, research projects that skirt ethical boundaries. Your report confirms patterns we've been tracking." She paused. "I'm assigning you to continue operating as Eclipse. Maintain your cover, develop connections in the underground networks, and report any EVER Group activity you encounter."

Eden's stomach tightened. "Long-term deep cover, Captain?"

"Yes. You'll maintain your support role with Team Seven for appearances, but your primary assignment is intelligence gathering in the N109 Zone. Report directly to me—no one else needs to know about your secondary role. Understood?"

"Understood, Captain."

It was perfect, really.

Permission to maintain her Eclipse identity. Authorization to operate in Sylus's territory. Official sanction for the exact arrangement she'd already agreed to.

Too perfect.

"Captain," Eden said carefully, "may I ask—why me? Surely there are Hunters with more experience in deep cover operations."

Jenna's expression was unreadable. "Because you have something they don't. Your Overclock Evol makes you uniquely valuable in situations requiring rapid adaptation. Your medical condition—" She paused. "—gives you motivation to maintain connections with anyone who might provide treatment, including Onychinus operatives. And frankly, Eden, you're expendable in ways our more prominent Hunters aren't."

The blunt honesty was almost refreshing.

"I see," Eden said quietly.

"I don't mean that cruelly," Jenna continued, her voice softening slightly. "But you're an asset I can risk in hostile territory without creating political complications. You have no family, no high-profile connections, and your classification makes you powerful enough to survive situations that would kill standard operatives. You're perfect for this role."

Expendable.

The word settled into Eden's chest with cold familiarity.

She'd been expendable her entire life. In foster care, in the Academy, in every system that had processed her like a resource rather than a person.

Why should the Hunter Association be any different?

"I understand, Captain," Eden said. "When do I deploy again?"

"Two weeks. That gives you time to recover, maintain appearances with Team Seven, and prepare your next Eclipse operation." Jenna's gaze sharpened. "And Eden? Be careful in the N109 Zone. Onychinus is dangerous. Their Leader is dangerous. Don't mistake temporary alliance for actual protection."

"I won't, Captain."

Another lie.

But what else could she say?

Jenna dismissed her with a nod, already returning attention to her datapad.

Eden stood, saluted, and left the office with the weight of omission pressing against her ribs.

.......

The next morning, Eden reported to Team Seven's briefing room at 0800 hours sharp.

Senior Hunter Tara was already there, reviewing mission parameters on the holographic display. She looked up as

Eden entered, and something complicated flickered across her face.

"Eden. Welcome back."

"Tara." Eden nodded, taking her usual seat near the back.

"Heard your N109 Zone assignment went... eventfully." Tara's tone was carefully neutral. "Protofield containment. Impressive work."

"Just doing my job."

"Right." Tara studied her for a moment. "You're still on support rotation. Medical restrictions haven't changed. That acceptable?"

Eden had expected this.

Had known that Captain Jenna's public assignment wouldn't change—she was still classified as medically restricted, still assigned to support rather than frontline combat.

It was fine.

Actually, it was ideal. Support roles meant less scrutiny, more flexibility, easier to slip away for her secondary intelligence assignments.

"Acceptable," Eden confirmed.

The briefing proceeded normally after that. Tara outlined the week's patrol rotations, discussed Wanderer activity in the outer sectors, assigned coordination tasks that kept Eden safely behind tactical lines.

Everything was routine.

Professional.

Normal.

Except—

Eden noticed it about thirty minutes into the briefing.

The way Tara's gaze kept flickering to the doorway. The tension in her shoulders. The slight edge to her voice when discussing intelligence coordination.

And when Eden left the briefing room, heading toward the training facilities—

She felt it.

Eyes on her.

Not casual observation. Deliberate surveillance.

Eden's Hunter training made her hyperaware of such things. She didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the attention, just continued walking with measured casualness while cataloging details in her peripheral vision.

Two operatives. Intelligence Division, based on their uniforms.

Following her at a distance that was supposed to be subtle but wasn't.

What's going on?

The Intelligence Division didn't typically surveil active Hunters unless there was suspicion of—

Compromise. They think I might be compromised.

Eden's jaw tightened.

It made sense, logically. She'd spent a week in hostile territory, been exposed to criminal organizations, and returned with suspiciously improved medical readings.

Of course they'd be watching her.

The question was: how closely? And for how long?

Eden maintained her routine as if unaware. Headed to the training facilities, changed into workout gear, and spent two hours running combat drills with methodical precision.

Her body still felt different. Stronger. More responsive.

The resonance with Sylus had enhanced her physical capabilities in ways that went beyond simple healing. Her reaction time was faster, her strikes more powerful, her endurance significantly improved.

It was noticeable.

If anyone paid close enough attention, they'd realize she was performing above her documented baseline.

Have to be careful. Can't draw more suspicion.

Eden moderated her performance, deliberately holding back, making sure her capabilities stayed within plausible range of her documented abilities.

Eden channeled the distraction into physical exertion, spending every available hour in the training facilities.

Running combat scenarios until her muscles screamed. Sparring with anyone willing to step onto the mats with her.

And winning.

Consistently.

Too consistently.

The thought nagged at her as she executed a throw against Lucian—one of Team Seven's support operatives, competent but not exceptional—and watched him hit the mat with more force than she'd intended.

"Damn," Lucian wheezed, staring up at her with a mixture of respect and wariness. "You've been holding back on us, Eden."

"Just motivated," Eden replied, offering him a hand up.

But it wasn't motivation. Not really.

It was the resonance with Sylus.

Her body had been fundamentally enhanced by their Aether Core synchronization. Faster reflexes, greater strength, improved endurance. The changes were subtle enough that casual observers might miss them, but anyone paying close attention—

Like the Intelligence Division operatives who'd been shadowing her all week—

Would notice the discrepancy between her documented baseline and her current performance.

Eden had been trying to moderate her capabilities, to stay within plausible range of her pre-N109 Zone abilities.
But the more she trained, the harder that became.

Her body wanted to move at its enhanced capacity. Wanted to utilize the full extent of what the resonance had unlocked.

Holding back felt like trying to run underwater—possible, but exhausting in ways that had nothing to do with physical exertion.

"Next," Eden called, scanning the training area for another partner.

Xavier stepped forward.

He'd been watching from the sidelines for the past twenty minutes, his expression carefully neutral in that way that meant he was actually feeling something complicated.

"My turn," Xavier said quietly.

They took positions on the mat, and Eden felt the shift immediately.

This wasn't going to be a friendly spar.

Xavier's body language was tense, his blue eyes sharp with something that looked uncomfortably close to anger.

"Ready?" Eden asked.

Xavier didn't answer. Just moved.

He was fast—faster than Eden had seen him move before, his attacks precise and aggressive in ways that suggested he wasn't just sparring for practice.

He was making a point.

Eden adapted, falling into defensive patterns that used his momentum against him, staying low and mobile like she had with Sylus—

Don't think about Sylus. Focus.

But the comparison was already there, and it highlighted just how different this felt.

Sparring with Sylus had been intense but playful. A test of skill laced with flirtation and mutual assessment.

Sparring with Xavier felt like combat.

Eden caught his wrist mid-strike, twisted to redirect his energy, attempted a throw—

Xavier broke the hold with surprising strength and countered, sweeping her legs.

Eden hit the mat, rolled, came up in a crouch.

They circled each other, both breathing hard.

"Something on your mind?" Eden asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"You've been avoiding us," Xavier said bluntly.

There it is.

"I haven't been avoiding anyone," Eden replied. "I've been focused on my assignments."

Xavier moved forward, executing a combination that forced Eden to defend rather than counter. Xavier's next strike came harder than necessary. Eden blocked, but the impact resonated through her arms. "We all try to connect. And you just—you pushed us away. Why?"

Because I'm not supposed to be part of your story. Because every connection I make with is another variable that could derail the narrative I need to avoid. Because I'm already changing too much, disrupting too much, and I don't know how to stop without disappearing entirely.

But she couldn't say any of that.

"My reasons are my own," Eden said tersely.

"That's not good enough." Xavier's control was slipping now, his movements becoming more aggressive. He lunged, and Eden reacted on instinct.

She sidestepped, caught his extended arm, used his momentum to execute a throw that sent him to the mat with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell across the training area.

Everyone was watching now—Lucian, Ymir, several other Hunters who'd paused their own drills to observe.

Eden stood over Xavier, breathing hard, and realized with cold clarity that she'd just revealed exactly how much stronger she'd become.

That throw shouldn't have been possible. Not with Xavier's size advantage, not with his training, not with the documented limitations of Eden's pre-mission capabilities.

But she'd done it.

Easily.

Damn it.

Xavier stared up at her, and something flickered across his face—surprise, reassessment, and underneath that, concern.

"You're different," he said quietly. Meant for her ears only, but the training area was too quiet now. Too many people listening. "Since you came back from the N109 Zone. Something changed."

Eden extended a hand, helping him up. "I'm the same person I've always been."

"Are you?"

Their eyes met, and Eden saw the question beneath the question.

'What happened to you out there? What did they do to you?'

"I'm fine," Eden said firmly. Then, louder, addressing the room: "Training session's over. I have reports to file."
She left before anyone could stop her.

Behind her, she felt Xavier's gaze—confused, worried, suspicious—following her out.

.......

The physical assessment came at 1400 hours.

Eden reported to the medical bay—not Zayne's hospital, thank god, but the Hunter Association's in-house facility—and submitted to the battery of tests with practiced patience.

Blood pressure. Heart rate. Evol signature scan. Reaction time assessment. Grip strength measurement. Endurance evaluation.

The same tests, administered by the same bored medic, producing the same results.

Physical Capabilities: Within normal range for documented baseline

Evol Signature: Stable, no anomalies detected

Medical Status: Cleared for continued support duty

Eden watched the medic record the data, saw the slight frown that suggested dissatisfaction with those perfectly normal results, and understood.

They were looking for proof of enhancement. Evidence that she'd been compromised, altered, modified by her time in Onychinus territory.

But the readings showed nothing.

Because Eden had figured out, through careful experimentation, how to suppress the enhanced capabilities during testing.

It wasn't true suppression—she couldn't actually reduce her strength or slow her reflexes. But she could hold back during the tests, perform at exactly her documented baseline, make it look like nothing had changed.

It was exhausting.

Required constant control and precise calibration.

But it kept the Intelligence Division frustrated and Eden out of deeper investigation.

"You're cleared," the medic said, not quite hiding his disappointment. "Report back in forty-eight hours for follow-up."

"Understood."

Eden left the medical bay and headed for the briefing wing, her mind churning.

Why are they so determined to find evidence of compromise?

Standard protocol would involve observation, yes. Monitoring after deep cover assignments was normal procedure.

But this felt different.

More targeted. More urgent.

As if they weren't just concerned about potential Onychinus influence—

As if they were looking for something specific.

Eden rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone.

"Sorry, I—"

She stopped.

The woman she'd nearly run into wore Intelligence Division insignia, her expression sharp and assessing. Late thirties, dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, carrying herself with the kind of authority that suggested senior rank.

And on her collar—

A small pin. Corporate design. Subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice or recognize it.

But Eden had spent the past week studying EVER Group's organizational structure and personnel markers.

She recognized that pin.

EVER Group.

The woman smiled—cold, professional. "Hunter Eden. Apologies. I wasn't paying attention."

"No harm done," Eden replied automatically.

But her mind was racing.

EVER Group. In the Hunter Association. In Intelligence Division.

The woman walked past, disappearing down the corridor, and Eden stood frozen.

Her thoughts spiraled into connections, implications, conspiracy theories that felt simultaneously insane and terrifyingly plausible.

Are there EVER Group agents embedded in the Hunter Association?

It would explain so much.

The intensity of the surveillance. The determination to find evidence of her enhancement. The way Intelligence Division seemed specifically focused on her physical capabilities rather than potential loyalty concerns.

If EVER Group has people in Intelligence Division, and they know about the Aether Core experiments, they'd want to know if the implantation created any viable enhanced subjects.

They'd want to know if I'm one of their successful experiments.

They'd want to reclaim their asset.

Eden's blood ran cold.

She forced herself to keep walking, to maintain composure, while internally her tactical mind calculated rapidly.

I can't report this. Not through official channels. If EVER Group has infiltrated Intelligence Division, any report I file will go straight to them.

I can't tell Captain Jenna—not without evidence, and even then, how do I know who I can trust?

I can't tell Team Seven—they're good people, but this is beyond their operational scope.

Who could she tell?

Who would have the resources and connections to investigate EVER Group infiltration without alerting the very
people she was investigating?

The answer came with uncomfortable clarity.

Sylus.
Onychinus operated outside official channels. Had intelligence networks that paralleled and sometimes surpassed Hunter Association capabilities.

And Sylus already knew about EVER Group's experiments. Had his own reasons to want them exposed.

My next resonance session is in two days.

Eden had been trying not to think about it—about returning to the N109 Zone, to Sylus's mansion, to the complicated dynamic they were developing.

But now it felt like necessity rather than just medical treatment.

She needed intelligence support. Needed someone who could operate in shadows without triggering official alerts.

Needed Onychinus.

This is getting so complicated.

Eden made it to her apartment without incident, closed the door, and leaned against it with her eyes shut.

The weight of everything—the lies, the surveillance, the enhanced capabilities she had to constantly suppress, the potential EVER Group infiltration, her relationship with Zayne, her arrangement with Sylus—pressed down on her like a physical thing.

And underneath all of it, the knowledge that she was changing the narrative.

That MC's story was supposed to lead her to investigate Caleb and Josephine's connection to Gaia. That investigation would eventually take her to the N109 Zone, where she'd encounter Onychinus, meet Sylus, develop whatever relationship the game's plot had outlined.

But now—

Now Eden was already embedded with Onychinus. Already had a complex relationship with Sylus. Already maintained an Eclipse persona that operated in the same circles MC would eventually need to navigate.

When MC comes to the N109 Zone, she's going to encounter Eclipse. She's going to cross paths with my cover identity. And if Sylus recognizes the connection—if he realizes MC is investigating the same conspiracy that created both of us—

Eden couldn't predict what would happen.

Couldn't control the narrative anymore, because she'd already disrupted it beyond recognition.

Her datapad buzzed.

Eden pulled it out, saw Zayne's name, and felt something warm cut through the anxiety.

Zayne: Dinner tonight? Miss your company.

The offer was so normal. So wonderfully, impossibly normal.

Eden: Yes. What time?

Zayne: 19h00

Eden: See you then.

Eden set down the datapad and allowed herself a moment of weakness.

Let herself imagine an evening that wasn't about conspiracies or cover identities or the weight of knowledge she couldn't share.

Just dinner. With someone who cared about her.

Someone who made her feel like she was more than a collection of tactical problems and survival instincts.

I can have this. I can have one normal evening.

And tomorrow I'll go back to managing the impossible.

One day at a time.

That's all I can do.

Chapter Text

The door to Eden's apartment building felt heavier than usual as she climbed the steps at 1855hours.

Seven days in the N109 Zone had left her with a deeper understanding of Sylus's operations, a growing list of EVER Group intelligence, and an exhaustion that went beyond physical. Her gear bag hung from one shoulder, the weight familiar and grounding. The monitoring device on her wrist pulsed its steady green rhythm.

Crystallization Rate: 5.4% - STABLE

Still stable.

But something had shifted during those seven days—something fundamental in how she saw herself, her purpose, the intricate web of lies and truths she was weaving between organizations and identities.

Eden reached her floor and stopped.

Zayne stood outside her door.

He wasn't leaning casually against the wall or checking his datapad. He was just there, standing with military precision, hands clenched at his sides, his usually immaculate appearance slightly disheveled. His coat hung open. His hair—always perfectly styled—had that tousled quality that suggested he'd run his hands through it multiple times.

And his eyes.

Those hazel-green eyes that were usually so controlled, so carefully neutral, now burned with something raw and barely contained.

"Zayne—" Eden started, her voice catching.

He moved.

Not the careful, measured movements she'd come to expect from him. This was something primal—three strides that closed the distance between them, his hands reaching for her with desperate precision.

"You're safe," he breathed, and the words sounded like a prayer. "You're actually safe."

Eden's breath hitched as his hands found her shoulders, gripping just tight enough to ground them both. The contact sent electricity racing down her spine—not her Evol, just pure awareness of him.

"I'm fine," she said automatically, the lie practiced and smooth. "The mission went—"

"I don't care about the mission."

The words cut through her practiced deflection like ice through flesh. Zayne's composure—that careful, clinical distance he'd maintained so perfectly—shattered.

"Do you have any idea—" His voice cracked. "Seven days, Eden. Seven days of minimal communication. Seven days of knowing you were in the most dangerous zone in Deepspace."

His hands slid from her shoulders to cup her face with trembling reverence, tilting her head up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Seven days," he repeated, softer now, devastated. "And all I could think about was how your crystallization rate could spike. How you might need emergency care and I wouldn't be there. How I might never—"

He stopped himself, jaw clenching.

Eden's heart hammered against her ribs. "Zayne, I—"

"Inside," he said roughly.

'I need to know you're real. I need to confirm you're not another victim I failed to save.'

The unspoken words hung between them, visible in the desperate intensity of his expression.

Eden's hands shook as she retrieved her key card, swiping it with far less grace than usual. The lock clicked. The door opened.

Zayne followed her inside and the door closed behind them with quiet finality.

The apartment was exactly as she'd left it a week ago—sparse, utilitarian, containing nothing that spoke of permanence or personality except for one thing:

The ice lily Zayne had created for her after their first date, still perfect and eternal on her nightstand.

Zayne saw it immediately. Something in his expression softened, then broke completely.

"You kept it," he whispered.

"Of course I kept it." Eden set down her gear bag with more force than necessary, needing something to do with her hands. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because—" Zayne's composure fractured further. "Because I thought... when you left, when you went to the N109 Zone with barely a goodbye, I thought maybe you'd changed your mind. About us. About whatever this is."

The vulnerability in his voice made Eden's chest constrict painfully.

"I told you I'd be back," she said, her own voice rough. "I sent you a message—"

"A single message." Zayne's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his Evol responding to his emotional state. The temperature in the apartment dropped several degrees. Frost began creeping across the window. "One message in seven days, Eden. One message that told me nothing except that you were alive. Not where you were. Not if you were safe. Not if you needed help."

His control was slipping. Eden could see it in the way ice crystallized on his fingertips, the way his breath misted white, the desperate hunger in his eyes.

"I couldn't give you details," Eden said, stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at her to maintain distance. "The mission was classified. Deep cover. If I'd contacted you more, if anyone had traced those communications—"

"I know." Zayne's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Logically, rationally, I know that. But logic and rationality have nothing to do with what I've been feeling."

He closed the remaining distance between them in one fluid movement, and suddenly his hands were in her hair, tilting her face up, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone with aching gentleness.

"I've been going insane," he confessed, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. "Checking my datapad every five minutes. Monitoring your crystallization rate remotely and panicking every time the readings fluctuated. Imagining every possible worst-case scenario."

Eden's eyes burned. "Zayne—"

"And the worst part?" His hands trembled against her face. "The worst part was realizing that somewhere in the last few weeks, you stopped being just my patient. You stopped being someone I was professionally obligated to care about. You became—"

He broke off, sucking in a shuddering breath.

"Someone I can't lose," he finished roughly.

The confession hung between them, raw and honest and completely devastating.

Eden's hands moved of their own accord, reaching up to grip his wrists—not to pull away, but to anchor them both.

"I came back," she whispered. "I told you I would, and I did."

"You came back different." Zayne's thumb brushed just beneath her eye, and Eden realized with shock that she was crying. When had she started crying? "I can see it. Something changed in the N109 Zone."

He's right.

Something had changed. Eden could feel it in the way she held herself, in the purpose that had crystallized during those seven days of playing Eclipse, of gathering intelligence, of realizing she had agency in this narrative.

She wasn't just a character in someone else's story anymore. She was building something—a network, a purpose, a reason to survive beyond just surviving.

And she'd found pieces of herself in the shadows of the N109 Zone that she hadn't known existed.

"Yes," she admitted quietly. "Something changed."

Zayne's expression flickered—concern, fear, desperate need to understand.

"Tell me," he breathed. "Please, Eden. Let me in. Just this once, let me past those walls you've built."

It would be so easy to deflect. To give him the sanitized version she'd given Captain Jenna. To maintain operational security and emotional distance and all the careful controls she'd spent two lifetimes perfecting.

But looking into Zayne's eyes—seeing the yearning there, the fear, the bone-deep need to know her—Eden felt something inside her chest crack open.

"I found purpose," she said finally. "In the N109 Zone... I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was doing something. Building something. And for the first time in my live, I felt like I had a reason to fight beyond just... existing until I didn't."

Zayne's expression transformed—understanding dawning, warmth flooding his features.

"Good," he said fiercely. "Good. You should have purpose. You should have reasons to fight. You should have—"

His voice caught.

"You should have someone who sees all of that and thinks you're extraordinary."

Eden's breath stuttered. "Zayne—"

"I know I shouldn't," he continued, the words tumbling out now like a dam breaking. "I know every ethical guideline I'm violating. I know I transferred your care specifically so I could have this conversation without compromising my professional integrity. But Eden, I have to tell you—"

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes fully, his hands still cradling her face with devastating tenderness.
"I'm falling for you. And it terrifies me because I've spent my entire life keeping distance, never letting anyone close enough to hurt me. But you—"

His thumb traced her cheekbone again, reverent.

"You walked into my life with your walls and your desperate, beautiful determination to survive, and you completely destroyed every defense I had."

The apartment was silent except for their breathing—uneven, desperate, synchronized.

Eden stared at him, her heart doing complicated, impossible things in her chest.

He's falling for me.

Zayne—the character she'd loved from pixels and voice lines—is falling for her.

It should feel like victory. Like wish fulfillment. Like everything she'd wanted when she'd first woken up in this world.

Instead, it felt terrifying.

Because this wasn't a game anymore. This wasn't a story she could replay until she got the right ending. This was real—his hands on her face, his heart in his voice, his fear of losing her written in every line of his body.

And she was not dying anymore.

No matter how stable her crystallization rate stayed, no matter how many resonance sessions with Sylus she completed, she was still on borrowed time.

The thought should have made her pull away. Should have made her rebuild those walls, push him back, protect him from the inevitable grief.

But Eden found she was tired of walls.

Tired of being alone.

So instead of pulling away, she surged forward—closing the last inch of distance between them and pressing her lips to his with desperate, aching need.

Zayne made a sound—something between a gasp and a groan—and then he was kissing her back with seven days' worth of fear and longing and barely contained hunger.

His hands left her face to wrap around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and Eden's world narrowed to the taste of him, the warmth of him, the solid reality of his body against hers.

This. This is real.

The kiss deepened, Zayne's careful control shattering completely as he backed her toward the wall. Eden's hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more—more contact, more warmth, more of this feeling that made her forget who she was and remember only that she was alive.

When they finally broke apart—both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together—Zayne's eyes were molten with emotion.

"Your heart," he whispered, one hand pressing against her chest where her crystallized heart beat its steady rhythm.

"Eden, your heart—"

"Is healing," she whispered.

Zayne went completely still. "What?"

"My crystallization rate." Eden's hands moved to his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath her palms. "It's reversing. Five point four percent now, down from seven point two. And it's continuing to decline with each—" She hesitated. "—with each resonance session."

Something complicated flickered across Zayne's face. Hope warred with disbelief, professional curiosity battled with personal desperation.

"That's not possible," he said, but his voice carried no conviction. "Protocore Syndrome crystallization doesn't reverse. The damage is cumulative, irreversible—"

"Unless the resonance partner has a compatible Aether Core signature," Eden interrupted gently. "Unless the person you're resonating with has the exact energy pattern needed to stabilize your core instead of just amplifying it."

Zayne's breath caught. "The operative in the N109 Zone. The one you mentioned in your report. They had—" Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Eden. Who were you resonating with?"

This was it. The moment of truth.

Eden could lie. Could give him the sanitized version she'd given Captain Jenna. Could protect him from the complicated reality of Sylus and Onychinus and the dangerous arrangement she'd agreed to.

But she was tired of lying to him.

Tired of walls.

"Sylus," she said quietly. "The leader of Onychinus. My Aether Core is—" She swallowed hard. "It's a fragment of his. EVER Group used his core during the Gaia experiments. When we resonate, the fragment recognizes itself as part of a whole, and the crystallization reverses."

Zayne stared at her, processing. She felt his hands tighten on her waist—not painfully, just... grounding himself.

"You're connected to him," Zayne said slowly. "Biologically connected to one of the most dangerous criminals in Deepspace."

"Yes."

"And he's been treating you. Healing you."

"Yes."

Zayne's jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. Eden felt the temperature in the apartment drop several degrees as his Evol responded to his emotional turmoil. Frost began forming on the window behind them.

"Zayne—"

"You should have told me." His voice was strained, barely controlled. "You should have contacted me immediately. This is a massive medical development. The implications alone—"

"I know," Eden interrupted. "But I also know what the Hunter Association would do if they found out I had a biological connection to Sylus. They'd either try to weaponize it or eliminate me as a security risk."

The brutal honesty made Zayne flinch.

Because she was right, and they both knew it.

"So you kept it secret," Zayne said. "Maintained regular resonance sessions with him. Allowed him access to your mind, your emotions, your—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching harder. "Eden, he's dangerous."

"I know."

"He's a criminal. He's hurt people. Killed people."

"I know that too." Eden's hands moved up to cup Zayne's face, forcing him to look at her. "But he's also the only reason I'm not dying anymore. The only reason I have a future instead of just eighteen months. The only reason I can stand here and have this conversation with you instead of preparing for my own death."

Zayne's expression crumbled. "I hate this," he whispered. "I hate that I have to be grateful to a man I've never met for keeping you alive when that should be my job."

The raw vulnerability in his voice made Eden's chest ache.

"It's not a competition," she said softly. "What Sylus does for me—it's medical. Biological necessity. But what you do—" Her thumbs brushed across his cheekbones. "What you do is give me a reason to want to survive. To fight for those extra years instead of just accepting the inevitable."

Zayne's hands moved from her waist to cover hers where they cupped his face.

"Can I show you," she said hoarsely. "Understand what's happening to me through resonance instead of just medical scans and second-hand reports, you'll feel everything. You'll see my memories of the N109 Zone, of Sylus, of—"

"I don't care." His eyes burned with desperate need. "I need to understand. I need to know you're really healing. Please, Eden. Please let me in."

"It might increase my crystallization rate," Eden said quietly. "Resonating with you instead of Sylus. We don't have the same biological compatibility. It could—"

"Then we'll be careful." Zayne's voice was fierce. "Short duration. Controlled connection. I won't risk your health—" His forehead dropped to rest against hers.

Then she made her decision.

"Okay," she whispered. "But not here. Not standing. If my crystallization spikes, I need to be somewhere safe when it hits."

Understanding flickered in Zayne's eyes. He nodded, stepping back just enough to let her move.

Eden led him to the couch—small, utilitarian, barely used since she'd moved in. She sat down, then hesitated, her hands trembling slightly.

How do we—?

But Zayne understood before she had to ask.

He sat beside her, leaving barely an inch of space between them. "However you're comfortable," he said softly. "However you need this to be."

Eden looked at him—at this man who'd offered her tenderness when she'd never known how to accept it, who'd maintained careful distance out of respect for her boundaries, who was now offering to risk his own emotional equilibrium just to understand what she was going through.

'I love you,' she thought.' I've loved you across two lifetimes, and I'm terrified of what that means.'

She shifted, moving with more confidence than she felt, and straddled his lap.

Zayne's breath hitched, his hands moving automatically to her waist to steady her. The new position put them at eye level, close enough that Eden could see the gold flecks in his hazel-green irises, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against her lips.

"Okay?" she asked quietly.

Zayne swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Yes. More than okay."

Eden reached up, her fingers finding the back of his neck, threading through his hair. "The resonance initiates through touch," she explained, her voice steadier than she felt. Babbling to try and calm herself, things he probably already knew "Skin contact. But it also requires—" She hesitated. "—emotional openness. You have to want the connection. Have to be willing to let your walls down."

"I want this," Zayne said immediately. His hands slid from her waist to her lower back, pulling her incrementally closer. "I want to see you. All of you. Everything you've been carrying alone."

Eden's eyes burned. "It's not pretty, Zayne. What you'll see. The things I've been hiding—"

"I don't care." His voice was fierce. "Show me anyway."

So Eden leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and pressed her forehead to his.

Her hands moved from his neck to his jaw, then lower—one palm resting over his heart, feeling it race beneath her touch.

Zayne mirrored the gesture, his hand pressing against her sternum where her crystallized heart beat its steady rhythm.

"Ready?" Eden whispered.

"Ready."

Eden's fingers moved lower, brushing against the dip of his chest through his shirt—the most intimate point of contact, the place where Evol energy concentrated during resonance.

And she pushed.

.......

The connection snapped into place like a circuit completing.

For one suspended moment, there was nothing but sensation—the awareness of other, the sudden vertigo of consciousness expanding beyond the boundaries of self.

Then the flood began.

Eden felt Zayne first:

Seven days. Seven days of checking his datapad compulsively, monitoring her vitals remotely, imagining every possible worst-case scenario. Seven days of forcing himself to maintain professionalism when all he wanted was to storm into the N109 Zone and bring her back himself.

The way he'd stood outside her apartment for twenty minutes before she'd arrived, trying to compose himself, trying to remember he was a doctor and not just a man desperate to confirm the woman he was falling for hadn't been killed in hostile territory.

The terror that had gripped him when her crystallization readings had spiked during her mission—the brief, horrifying moment when he'd thought he'd lost her before he'd even had the chance to tell her how he felt.

The guilt. Oh god, the guilt. The constant refrain of '-should have gone with her, should have protected her, should have been better, stronger, should have—'

And beneath it all, the yearning. The desperate, bone-deep need to touch her, hold her, convince himself she was real and safe and his.

Eden gasped at the intensity of it.

Then Zayne felt her:

The memories hit him like a physical blow.

The N109 Zone. Dark, dangerous, pulsing with criminal energy and threat.

An underground auction. Protocores displayed like art, and Eden—no, Eclipse—moving through the crowd with practiced elegance, every movement calculated, every word a performance.

The Protofield formation. Chaos and terror. A dragon of crystalline energy and malice.

And Sylus.

Zayne felt Eden's first impression of him—tall, commanding, moving through danger like he owned it. White hair catching light, red eyes assessing everything with predatory intelligence.

The forced resonance in the medical bay. Eden's panic, her terror, the way her walls had shattered under the weight of sedatives and fear. A way for him to get into her mind and calm her down, Sylus knew she felt different, he just didn't know why just yet.

Sylus's consciousness flooding through hers—complex and layered and utterly overwhelming. Not cruel, but so powerful it made her feel small and vulnerable in ways she hated.

Then the stabilization. Her crystallization reversing. The impossible hope that maybe—maybe—she wasn't dying after all.
Zayne felt the arrangement Eden had made. Information in exchange for healing. Professional distance maintained despite the biological intimacy of resonance.

He felt Eden's wariness of Sylus. The way she kept her emotional walls reinforced even when their Aether Cores synchronized. The careful control she maintained to keep him out of the parts of herself that mattered.

But he also felt something else.

Hidden beneath the tactical assessment and professional caution, there were moments that made Zayne's chest constrict with complicated emotions:

Sylus adjusting the collar of his shirt on Eden's shoulder—casual, almost tender.

The amusement in his voice when he'd called her "kitten," and the way something in Eden had responded to the nickname despite her irritation.

The way Sylus had looked at her during their second resonance—like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve, a mystery that genuinely interested him beyond her tactical value.

His offer of protection. "You're under my protection now. That means Onychinus's protection."

The training room. The courtyard. "Consider the mansion neutral ground."

Sylus's hand catching her wrist, steadying her when she'd stumbled. The brief moment of skin-on-skin contact that had sent unexpected warmth through her before she'd pulled away.

And worse—far worse—buried in the deepest part of Eden's consciousness where she'd tried to hide it even from herself:

The way she'd thought of Zayne constantly during her time in the N109 Zone. Using thoughts of him as an anchor, a reminder of what she had to return to. His face superimposed over every moment of darkness, every instance of fear.

The way her mind would conjure Zayne whenever Sylus got too close—a defense mechanism, a way to maintain emotional distance by filling the space with someone else.

But also:

A fleeting thought she'd had during her third resonance with Sylus, when his consciousness had brushed against hers with unexpected gentleness:

What if—

Just—what if—

Both?

The thought was barely formed. Immediately suppressed. Buried under layers of guilt and improbability and '-this is insane, why am I even thinking this?

But it was there.

And Zayne felt it.

The resonance shattered.

Both of them gasped, falling back into their separate selves with jarring abruptness.

Eden's hands were shaking where they gripped Zayne's shoulders. Her crystallization monitor pulsed yellow—elevated, but not critical.

Crystallization Rate: 5.8%

Slight increase. Manageable.

But Eden barely registered the numbers.

Because Zayne was staring at her with an expression she couldn't read—shock and understanding and something that looked almost like... anxiety?

"Zayne—" she started.

"You thought about him that way," Zayne said, his voice strained. "About Sylus. You had a thought about—about both of us—"

"It was barely a thought!" Eden's face burned with humiliation. "I dismissed it immediately. It doesn't mean—"

"You thought about what it would be like," Zayne continued, talking over her. "To have both of us. To not have to choose."

'Oh god. Kill me now.'

Eden wanted to crawl out of her own skin. "Zayne, please—"

"And you thought about me constantly when you were with him," Zayne said, and now there was something different in his voice. Something darker, "Used me as an anchor. As protection against—against whatever you were feeling."

"Yes." Eden's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes, because you're what matters. You're who I want. Whatever fleeting thought I had about Sylus was just—confusion. Proximity. The biological connection making me think things I don't actually feel—"

"Eden." Zayne's hands tightened on her waist, cutting off her spiral. "Stop."

She stopped, her breath coming in short gasps.

Zayne took a long, steadying breath. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer—still strained, but more controlled.
"I saw him through your eyes," Zayne said slowly. "Felt what you felt during your time in the N109 Zone. And what I saw—" He paused. "He cares about you, Eden. Maybe not the way I do, maybe not with the same intensity, but there's genuine care there. Genuine concern."

"He sees me as a resource," Eden protested. "Someone useful for his operations against EVER Group—"

"That's what you tell yourself." Zayne's thumb brushed across her lower back, exactly where he'd initiated the resonance.

"But I felt your confusion. The way you couldn't quite categorize what he was to you. Not enemy, not friend, not—"

He stopped himself, jaw clenching.

"He's dangerous," Eden said desperately. "He's a criminal. Everything I represent as a Hunter is antithetical to everything he is. Whatever I felt during resonance was just—biological compatibility creating false intimacy—"

"Maybe," Zayne said quietly. "Or maybe it's more complicated than that."

Eden stared at him, her heart racing. "You're not—Zayne, you can't possibly be okay with—"

"I'm not okay with it," Zayne interrupted, and there was heat in his voice now. "I hate that there's someone else who can help you in ways I can't. I hate that he's the reason you're healing. I hate that you have to return to the N109 Zone twice weekly for resonance sessions with a man who—" He stopped himself, breathing hard. "But I also saw something else during the resonance."

"What?" Eden whispered.

"You came back to me," Zayne said softly. "Despite everything happening in the N109 Zone, despite whatever connection you have with Sylus, despite the danger and the complicated feelings and the biological necessity—you came back. Because this—" His hand pressed over her heart. "This is where you want to be."

Eden's eyes burned. "Yes," she said hoarsely.

Zayne pulled her closer, eliminating the last inch of space between them. "Then we'll figure out the rest," he said against her hair. "Whatever your arrangement with Sylus is, whatever biological connection exists between you, whatever complicated feelings arise from twice-weekly resonance sessions—we'll figure it out."

"How?" Eden's voice cracked. "How do we figure out something this impossible?"

"The same way we've figured out everything else." Zayne pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Together. With honesty instead of walls. With trust instead of fear."

Eden searched his face, looking for disgust or judgment or anger.
Instead, she found only determination.

And beneath that, something that looked almost like... acceptance?

"You're not—" Eden hesitated. "You're not telling me to stop seeing him? To find another way to manage my crystallization?"

"I would be an arrogant hypocrite if I did," Zayne said quietly. "I'm not naïve enough to think there's an alternative treatment right now. And I'm not selfish enough to demand you risk your life just to make me feel more secure." He paused. "But Eden—"

His hands moved to cup her face with devastating gentleness.

"If this arrangement with Sylus ever becomes dangerous—if he ever hurts you, manipulates you, or uses your connection for anything beyond medical treatment—you tell me immediately. Promise me."

"I promise," Eden whispered.

"And if you ever develop real feelings for him," Zayne continued, his voice rougher now, "feelings beyond confusion or proximity or biological compatibility—you tell me that too. Because I need to know where I stand. I need honesty, even if the truth is complicated. Even if—"

His voice broke slightly.

"Even if it means sharing you with someone else."

The words hung between them, heavy with implication and impossible possibility.

Eden's breath caught. "Zayne—"

"I don't know if I can do it," Zayne admitted, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. "I don't know if I'm capable of that kind of—of acceptance. But I know I can't lose you. And if keeping you means accepting that there's someone else who matters to you—someone who's keeping you alive—then I'll find a way to live with it."

The vulnerability in his voice broke something open in Eden's chest. Why was he so willing to just accept a fleeting lustful fantasy she had?

"Why?," she whispered.

"I'm terrified, of loosing you too." Zayne corrected. "And jealous. And so far out of my depth."

"Me too," Eden admitted.

They stayed like that for a long moment—foreheads pressed together, breathing synchronized, hearts beating in complicated rhythm.

Then Zayne kissed her.

Soft at first. Gentle. A promise and a question and an anchor all at once.

Eden kissed him back with desperate gratitude, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, Zayne's eyes were molten.

"Stay with me tonight," she said quietly. "Not—" She hesitated. "Not like that. But just—stay.."

Eden's heart did something complicated in her chest.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I'll stay."

And for the first time in either of her lives, Eden let herself be held without walls or fear or the constant anticipation of loss.

Just held.

Just safe.

Chapter Text

The N109 Zone never slept.

From his office on the top floor of Onychinus headquarters, Sylus could see the pulse of his empire—neon bleeding into darkness, deals being made in shadow-soaked alleys, power shifting hands with the subtlety of a knife between ribs.

Beautiful. Brutal. His.

He'd built this. Clawed his way up from EVER Group's discarded experiment to the man who controlled sixty percent of the Zone's criminal infrastructure. Every street, every auction house, every black-market dealer answered to him either through loyalty or fear.

Preferably both.

The holographic display before him flickered with operational reports—shipment manifests, intelligence briefs, personnel updates. Luke and Kieran had forwarded the evening's summaries: three successful Protocore acquisitions, two rival syndicates negotiating for territorial access, one failed assassination attempt on one of his mid-level operators.

The assassin's body had been dealt with. The operator was being promoted for surviving with such style.

Sylus processed the information with mechanical efficiency, his mind already calculating next moves, counter-strategies, the elaborate chess game that was maintaining control in a place where control was the only currency that mattered.
His datapad chimed.

Mephisto's feed.

Sylus's fingers stilled on the holographic display.

He pulled up the visual stream, and his office filled with the image Mephisto was currently transmitting from Linkon City—

Eden's apartment. Specifically, the view through her window.

The feed was high-quality despite the distance—Mephisto's surveillance capabilities were among the best modifications Sylus had ever commissioned. The angle showed Eden's small living room, utilitarian and sparse.

Not sparse anymore.

There was a man with her.

Sylus's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he watched the doctor—because of course it was the doctor, the one whose name had surfaced in Eden's thoughts during their resonances like a prayer she couldn't stop saying—pull Eden into his arms with desperate intensity.

Dr. Zayne. Cardiac surgeon. Akso Hospital. Eden's former physician before the ethical complications of wanting to fuck your patient made him transfer her care to a colleague.

How noble.

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral even though no one was there to witness it. He watched as Zayne's hands gripped Eden's shoulders, as he spoke with clear emotional distress, as Eden responded with the same careful vulnerability she'd shown in Sylus's Training Room.

Different, though.

With Zayne, her walls came down faster. Her guard dropped with less resistance.

With Zayne, she looked like she wanted to be saved instead of just tolerated.

The observation should have been clinically interesting. Tactically relevant. Eden was his investment—the fragment of his Aether Core that had been stolen and implanted into her body connected them in ways that made her survival valuable to his operations.

She gathered intelligence on EVER Group. Maintained useful connections within the Hunter Association. Served as an unwitting bridge between Onychinus and legitimate Deepspace operations.

Useful.

That's what she was supposed to be.

So why did watching her with the doctor make something dark and possessive coil in Sylus's chest like smoke?

On screen, Eden led Zayne to her couch. The angle shifted as they sat—too close, their body language screaming intimacy even before they touched.

Sylus's right eye flickered, energy crackling around his iris as his Evol responded to his emotional state.

He forced it down with practiced control.

Control. That's what separated him from the desperate, clawing criminals who thought power meant violence. True power was control—over yourself, over your organization, over every piece on the board.

He controlled the N109 Zone through calculated displays of force and strategic mercy. Protected every person under Onychinus's banner because loyalty earned through protection lasted longer than loyalty earned through fear.

His empire. His people. His.

And Eden—

Eden was his by biological right. His Aether Core fragment. His resonance partner. His investment.

Except she wasn't supposed to matter beyond that.

On screen, Eden straddled Zayne's lap.

Sylus's fingers tightened on the armrest of his chair.

The movement was subtle—most people wouldn't notice the slight creak of expensive leather under pressure. But Sylus noticed everything about himself. Every micro-expression, every physiological response, every deviation from perfect control.

And right now, his control was showing hairline fractures.

Territorial jealousy. That's what this was.

Sylus recognized the feeling because he'd felt it before—when rival syndicates tried to poach his operatives, when EVER Group had attempted to reclaim assets that belonged to Onychinus, when anyone dared to touch what was his.
But those were business concerns. Strategic calculations.

This was different.

This was watching someone else touch a woman he'd—

What? What have I done?

Healed her. Provided sanctuary. Offered protection and resources and twice-weekly resonance sessions that were reversing her crystallization.

Kept her alive.

That created obligation.

Investment.

The kind of bond that made sense in his world—she owed him her survival, and in return, she provided value.

Transactional. Clean. Controlled.

Except somewhere in the past week, the transaction had become complicated.

He'd noticed it during their second resonance session—the way her consciousness felt when it tangled with his. Sharp and determined and so fucking stubborn it was almost entertaining. She fought him even when surrendering to the resonance, maintained walls even when her biology demanded openness.

He'd noticed it in the library when she'd worn his shirt without asking permission, curled up in the window seat like she belonged there. The way she'd absently petted Mephisto, treating his surveillance crow like a companion instead of a threat.

He'd noticed it when she'd accepted his offer—the careful calculation in her eyes, the way she'd weighed survival against principle and chosen to live.

Smart girl.

And now he was noticing the way she looked at Zayne with something that might have been love if Eden knew how to let herself feel anything that vulnerable.

On screen, Eden leaned forward. Her hands moved to Zayne's neck, threading through his hair.

Sylus should look away. Should close the feed and return to the operational reports that actually mattered.
Instead, he watched as Eden initiated the resonance.

He felt it through his Aether Core—a distant echo of connection, like sympathetic vibration in an instrument he wasn't currently playing. The fragment of his core inside Eden's chest activated, responded to her Evol, synchronized with—

With someone else.

With Zayne.

The doctor's ice Evol wasn't compatible the way Sylus's energy manipulation was. The resonance would be shorter, less stable. But it was still resonance. Still intimacy of the most profound kind. Still—

The jealousy flared hotter, and this time Sylus didn't bother suppressing it.

His Evol manifested without conscious direction—dark tendrils of energy crackling around his right hand, the air in his office dropping several degrees. Documents on his desk rustled from the pressure differential.

'Mine.'

The thought was primal. Irrational. Completely beneath someone of his position and power.

And absolutely undeniable.

Eden was his. His experiment. His creation—or rather, the creation of people who'd stolen from him. His responsibility.

His asset.

And watching her share resonance with someone else felt like watching part of his own power being touched by foreign hands.

No.

Not just his power.

Watching her share that intimacy with someone else felt like—

Like loss.

Sylus's breath escaped in something that might have been a laugh if it wasn't so sharp.

'You absolute fool. You've become attached.'

The realization settled over him with uncomfortable weight.

He'd built an empire on emotional distance. Had learned in EVER Group's laboratories that attachment was weakness, that caring about anything beyond your own survival was a liability someone would eventually exploit.

He protected his people, yes. But protection was strategy. Loyalty maintenance. The kind of calculated investment that made his organization stronger.

This—

This wasn't calculation.

This was watching a woman he'd known for less than a month choose someone else for comfort, and feeling like something sharp was being twisted between his ribs.

Territorial. Possessive. Mine.

The words echoed in his mind with the same rhythm as his heartbeat.

On screen, the resonance broke. Eden and Zayne separated, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. Zayne's hands moved to cup Eden's face with devastating gentleness.

And Sylus watched as Eden's expression transformed—walls crumbling, vulnerability bleeding through, the woman she kept hidden behind tactical assessment and emotional distance finally showing herself to someone who wasn't him.
The jealousy crystallized into something colder.

He gets her softness. I get her walls.

Not entirely true. Sylus had seen glimpses of who Eden was beneath the armor—during resonance, in the library, in the careful way she'd accepted his offer.

But those had been moments stolen between necessity and survival.

Zayne got her by choice.

The distinction mattered.

Sylus closed the feed with more force than necessary.

His office returned to normal lighting—just him, the operational reports, and the sprawling map of his empire spread across holographic displays.

This was what mattered. This was his purpose.

Not some complicated Hunter with a fragment of his Aether Core and walls that rivaled his own.

Not the way her consciousness felt during resonance—sharp and determined and achingly lonely in ways that echoed his own isolation.

Not the fact that she was healing because of him, that her survival depended on regular sessions that brought her back to his territory twice weekly.

'Twice weekly...'

The thought settled with dark satisfaction.

Whatever was developing between Eden and her doctor, it didn't change the fundamental reality: she needed Sylus to survive. Her crystallization would resume without regular resonance, and he was the only one who could provide it.

She would keep coming back.

Would keep returning to the N109 Zone, to his mansion, to the resonance sessions that synchronized their consciousness in ways no one else could replicate.

The doctor could have her softness. Her vulnerability. Her choice.

Sylus had her necessity.

And in his experience, necessity lasted longer than love.

The jealousy should have dissipated with that logic. Should have been manageable now that he'd categorized it, understood it, reduced it to tactical reality.

Instead, it simmered.

Because Sylus knew himself well enough to recognize when he was lying.

This wasn't about tactics or necessity or maintaining a valuable asset.

This was about wanting Eden in ways that had nothing to do with her intelligence value and everything to do with the way she looked at him during resonance—not with fear, but with understanding. Like she saw the parts of him that had been broken by EVER Group and didn't flinch away.

Like she recognized darkness because she carried her own.

Kindred.

That's what they were.

Both products of experiments they'd never consented to. Both survivors of systems that had tried to break them. Both maintaining careful control because losing control meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant death.
Eden understood that in ways the doctor never could.

And maybe—maybe—that understanding mattered more than Sylus wanted to admit.

His datapad chimed again.

Luke's signature.

Luke: Boss, the midnight shipment arrived. Three Aether Core fragments, Class-A designation. Secure storage?

Sylus typed his response with mechanical efficiency.

Sylus: Yes. Inventory and catalog. Schedule resonance analysis for 0600.

Luke: Understood. Also—Kieran wanted me to ask if you're coming to the east sector negotiations tomorrow. The Vultures are pushing for better terms.

Sylus: I'll handle it. Tell them I'm feeling generous. Should make them nervous.

Luke: 😈 Will do, Boss.

Sylus set down the datapad and leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the window where the N109 Zone sprawled beneath him like a living thing.

His empire. His responsibility. His crown.

Heavy, blood-soaked, bought with control and violence and the kind of ruthless calculation that kept weaker men awake at night.

He'd built this alone. Survived alone. Thrived alone.

And he'd convinced himself that alone was strength.

But watching Eden choose someone else—even partially, even while still being biologically bound to Sylus—made him wonder if maybe alone was just another word for empty.

Careful, he told himself. Attachment is weakness. Caring is liability.

But the warning felt hollow.

Because for the first time in years, Sylus found himself wanting something beyond power and control and the satisfaction of watching his enemies break.

He wanted to be the one Eden chose.

Not out of necessity.

Not because her survival depended on him.

But because she wanted him the way she clearly wanted the doctor—with softness and vulnerability and the kind of desperate need that made people stupid.

Idiotic. Sentimental. Beneath you.

All true.

And yet.

Sylus pulled up Mephisto's interface and keyed in a new surveillance protocol.

Monitor E. Primary focus: safety and medical status. Secondary focus: interpersonal connections and behavioral patterns. Alert for distress, danger, or crystallization spikes. Intervene only on direct threat to asset survival.

The protocol uploaded, and somewhere in Linkon City, Mephisto adjusted his position to better monitor Eden's apartment without being intrusive.

Asset survival. That's what this was.

Strategic investment management.

Nothing more.

Sylus almost believed it.

The N109 Zone pulsed below him—deals being made, power shifting, his empire continuing its endless consumption of the weak and elevation of the strong.

And Sylus sat in his office, alone with his control and his crown and the uncomfortable realization that maybe—maybe—he'd prefer to be less controlled if it meant having someone look at him the way Eden looked at her doctor.

Pathetic.

Yes.

But also honest.

And Sylus had built his empire on many things, but never on lies to himself.

So he acknowledged the jealousy. Accepted the possessiveness. Recognized that Eden had become something beyond an asset.

Something complicated. Something dangerous.

Something that might actually matter.

And then he returned to his operational reports, because empires didn't run themselves and sentimentality didn't pay the bills.

But in the back of his mind—in the place where he kept the broken pieces EVER Group had created—Sylus made a decision.

Eden would keep coming back to the N109 Zone for resonance.

And when she did, he would ensure she saw him.

Not just the criminal overlord. Not just the man who could keep her alive.

But the person beneath the control and the crown and the carefully maintained distance.

The person who understood darkness because he'd been forged in it.

The person who protected his people with territorial intensity because he knew what it meant to have no one.

The person who might—possibly, hypothetically, if the circumstances aligned—be capable of caring about someone beyond strategic value.

Let the doctor have her softness, Sylus thought with dark satisfaction. I'll take everything else.

And in his experience, everything else usually won.

Meanwhile, in Linkon City

Mephisto perched on the railing outside Eden's apartment, his red optical sensors tracking the interior through the window.

The doctor was holding Eden now—gentle, protective, everything a romantic interest should be.

Mephisto tilted his head, processing.

His programming contained clear directives: protect Eden, monitor threats, report medical status.

But his learning algorithms had evolved beyond simple surveillance.

He'd watched Eden in the library, seen the way she looked less guarded there. He'd observed her interactions with Sylus—the careful distance, the walls, but also the moments when those walls cracked.

And now he was watching her with someone else.

Someone who made her smile.

Mephisto's processors ran probability calculations.

Threat Assessment: Doctor Zayne - 0.02% probability of physical danger
Emotional Impact: Positive. Subject Eden displays reduced stress markers, elevated oxytocin indicators
Recommendation: Continued monitoring. No intervention required unless medical crisis occurs.

But beneath the programming, in the spaces where his learning algorithms processed data, Mephisto registered something that might have been curiosity if mechanical crows could be curious.

His boss was jealous.

Not threatened. Not strategically concerned.

Jealous.

Mephisto filed the observation under "Behavioral Anomalies - Requires Further Study" and continued his watch.
Inside the apartment, Eden kissed Zayne again—soft, grateful, safe.

And in the N109 Zone, Sylus sat alone in his office, building strategies and accepting complications and trying to convince himself that control was enough.

It wasn't.

But he'd learned patience in EVER Group's laboratories.

He could wait.

And when Eden returned for her next resonance session—and she would return—he would ensure she understood exactly what kind of man she was tied to.

Not just a criminal.

Not just a means to survival.

But someone who saw her completely and wanted her anyway.

Territorial. Possessive. Mine.

The words echoed in the darkness.

And Sylus smiled—sharp and dangerous and entirely too satisfied.

Let the game begin.

Interlude: End of Fragment Arc.