She was still crying.

  Not in loud sobs, not in tearing screams — no. More like a steady, silent leak, like a cracked faucet. Her shoulders shook, her hands were clenched in on themselves, her gaze fixed on the ground.

  Neither Kael nor Lucanis had sheathed their weapons.

  Althéa stepped forward anyway. Straight-backed, calm, almost gentle.

  She knelt in front of the girl without a word, arms resting on her thighs, back straight despite the cold.

  "Come. You’re going to freeze out here," she said simply.

  She gestured toward the fire with a tilt of her head.

  No order. No forced pity. Just an invitation.

  The girl lifted her eyes—two swollen marbles of tears rimmed with dirt. A young face, filthy, hollowed out by fear and lack of sleep. She didn’t answer. She gave a faint nod instead, as if speaking would cost her too much.

  Althéa rose slowly and helped her to her feet.

  Kael and Lucanis exchanged a brief look.

  What is she doing? Lucanis’s gaze seemed to ask.

  Kael, for his part, lowered his eyes to the girl, then to the fire. He sat back down without a word, prodding a half-dead ember with the tip of a stick, thoughtful.

  How did she survive out here? Alone? With Class-S in the area?

  The thought brushed his mind like an alert. He pushed it aside—for now.

  He stayed near the fire.

  Lucanis, on the other hand, never took his eyes off the girl. He stepped back slowly and sat down as well… but tense, almost animal. One hand resting on the hilt of his weapon. One blink too fast and he’d be on his feet.

  Althéa invited the girl to sit.

  "Are you alone? Have you seen anyone else?" she asked, crouching down beside her again.

  The girl sniffed. Dark mud had dried along her cheek.

  "No… I was sent here. That’s all they told me… They just said… ‘you have to go there.’ They didn’t explain. I… I followed the corridor. Then… the light. And then nothing."

  She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. A soft whimper slipped out. Always that way of speaking like a child, caught between trembling and exhaustion.

  Lucanis said nothing. He watched.

  Kael, still by the fire, gently toyed with the glowing stick, tracing lines in the ash, ears wide open.

  "Have you eaten recently?" Althéa asked.

  A shake of the head. No.

  "How long has it been?"

  "I dunno. Two days? Three? Maybe more. I fell asleep… a few times."

  Althéa nodded slowly.

  She stood up, took from a satchel what remained of the roasted meat — a piece of wing from the small bird killed earlier. She held it out without a word.

  The girl grabbed it with both hands… and lunged at it.

  She ate like a starving animal: no pauses, no chewing, no glancing at anyone. Just teeth, juice, and wet sounds.

  Kael raised an eyebrow.

  "Interesting. When I eat like that, I get called a pig. But here, strangely enough, everyone finds it endearing."

  Althéa didn’t answer. But the corner of her mouth twitched.

  Lucanis didn’t smile. He was still staring at the girl, every muscle in his face ready to spring at the slightest inconsistency.

  The girl briefly lifted her head, mouth full, fingers greasy.

  "Thank you…"

  Her voice was sincere. And small.

  Then she dove back into her meal, barely slowing down.

  The fire crackled softly.

  The sky was still strewn with stars, stretching above the peaks. Around them, the shadows cast by the fire over the rocks lengthened slowly, like weary specters.

  A strange calm. But not a restful one.

  Lucanis eventually broke the silence.

  "If she’s lying, we’ll know soon enough."

  But when their eyes met, Lucanis slipped in a message clearer than words:

  Stay focused. Stay alert.

  Kael nodded almost imperceptibly. Got it.

  But for now… they let her eat.

  The girl kept eating as if nothing were wrong.

  Then she spoke.

  At first in a low voice. Then louder.

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  Things without importance.

  The wind. The light in the stone corridor. The shadows that move at night. The strange sounds the rocks make.

  And then she kept going.

  Again. And again.

  The tears were gone.

  In their place, two lively eyes, almost sparkling, and a voice that never seemed to run out of breath.

  She strung together disjointed anecdotes with the same energy — a child discovering a strange world and wanting to tell everything.

  Althéa listened.

  And that was perhaps the strangest thing of all.

  She nodded along.

  Sometimes prompting with another question.

  Sometimes letting the girl wander into clumsy sentences, then gently guiding her back, almost tenderly.

  A soft Althéa. Talkative. Patient.

  Kael, for his part, had moved a little farther away.

  He was working the fur, cutting it down to fashion a portable cloak with a simple fastening. He wanted his arms free, more mobility. He focused on the task.

  But he was still listening. Always.

  Lucanis hadn’t moved.

  Not for a second did he take his eyes off the girl.

  Althéa asked again.

  "How did you get here, exactly?"

  The girl hesitated. Then repeated, word for word:

  "They just said… ‘you have to go there.’ They didn’t explain. I… I followed the corridor. Then… the light. And then nothing."

  Althéa nodded slowly.

  "I understand why you’re so shaken."

  And that was when Kael saw the sign.

  Tiny.

  But clear.

  Lucanis was tapping his own fingernail. A mechanical gesture, rhythmic, with no visible nervousness.

  Kael frowned.

  A nervous tic?

  No.

  Lucanis wasn’t the type to have tics.

  Especially not in a tense situation.

  He understood it wasn’t a tic.

  Lucanis kept tapping. Without moving the rest of his body. His gaze still locked on the girl.

  Kael looked at him, then slowly shifted his attention to the newcomer.

  First, her hands.

  Long nails. Too long.

  Not claws. Not abnormal. Just… far too long.

  Three days in the canyon?

  Impossible.

  Knowing they had left the Institute three days ago, her nails should have been relatively short at that time.

  He examined her more closely.

  Her complexion.

  The way she held her head.

  Her voice—more assured than before.

  Her rhythm, too steady.

  She survived without eating? Without water?

  She claimed to have slept anywhere, to have gotten lost… yet her gaze was clear, her legs strong, her jaw firm.

  And above all… how did she manage to find us?

  They were perched on a high plateau, invisible from the canyon floor.

  Even a trained eye would have struggled to spot them.

  Kael felt tension slide along the back of his neck.

  He looked at Althéa.

  Still talking. Too gentle. Too relaxed.

  Then the girl.

  Still smiling, talkative, animated by an almost cheerful energy.

  He went silent.

  Stared a little longer.

  Let a blank settle in his mind, like a necessary step back.

  Something was wrong.

  And he felt it.

  Kael frowned slightly.

  Something was wrong.

  The phrase echoed inside him, like a pulse too strong, too precise.

  Something is wrong.

  His gaze shifted to Althéa, then back to the girl, and his thoughts returned—sharp, like a freshly carved memory.

  If this is true, he thought, then they already know…

  that we can climb, hunt, make fire.

  They know we see poorly in the dark.

  They know the smell of blood revolts us, that fear can drive us to turn on each other…

  At that thought, his eyes rested on Althéa for a brief instant.

  She looked away immediately, stiff, jaw clenched.

  A shiver passed through the air.

  The discomfort hung there—bare, almost tangible.

  And above all, they know that seeing a human corpse paralyzes us.

  So let me ask you…

  what are they going to be capable of doing with that?

  His mind locked onto that final sentence, like a hand clinging to a grip too smooth.

  His breath caught.

  He lifted his eyes.

  The girl was still talking — the same gentle words, the same light tone, the same calm gestures.

  Nothing abnormal, at first glance.

  But her nails…

  They weren’t the same anymore.

  Kael felt his throat tighten.

  Where, moments earlier, he had seen long nails — too long, broken — there were now only fingers with short nails, dirty, chipped.

  As if reality had corrected a detail that was too precise.

  Or as if it had corrected itself.

  He blinked.

  Nothing had moved.

  And yet, everything felt wrong.

  A glance toward Lucanis.

  Just brief enough not to draw attention.

  Lucanis’s eyes were wide.

  Fixed on the same thing.

  The message passed without a word.

  A silent flash, a shared certainty:

  They had seen the same thing.

  Kael straightened slowly.

  Without a word, he draped his new cloak over his shoulders.

  The black fur fell elegantly: covering his left shoulder, passing under his right arm, cascading down to his calves.

  An asymmetrical cut — rough, but stylish.

  It swayed lightly in the wind, giving him the look of a strider from another world.

  "Even with whatever I have on hand, I can still make something nice," he murmured with a half-smile.

  Then, without changing his tone:

  "I’m gonna take a piss."

  He turned casually, took a few steps.

  Passed right next to the girl.

  And there, discreetly, he tilted his head just a fraction and breathed in.

  A controlled inhale. Short. Focused.

  What he sensed made his stomach twist.

  Earlier, she had stunk.

  That damp smell — old sweat, wet dog… logical after days outside.

  But now…

  She smelled good.

  Too good.

  A faint, floral, almost sweet scent.

  A manufactured smell — impossible to carry after days without washing, without soap, without any source of water.

  Kael slowed slightly, his back turned.

  Then he partially turned back, adopting a nonchalant posture.

  His eyes met the girl’s.

  She was smiling again, but… too stiff.

  Too perfect.

  He swept one side of his cloak aside with a broad gesture and said, in a neutral tone:

  "Tell me…

  That smell. The one on the cloak.

  Does it remind you of anything?"

  The question slipped out naturally.

  But the effect was immediate.

  Silence.

  A brittle silence.

  The girl stopped talking.

  No words.

  No expression.

  Lucanis tensed further, hands still resting, but ready.

  Kael didn’t move.

  And finally, the girl answered, in a very soft voice:

  "No."

  But her gaze had changed.

  She was looking at Kael as if she wanted to tear him apart.

  No fear.

  No confusion.

  Just… that dark, hard, cutting glint:

  Barely restrained hatred.

  Kael shrugged.

  "Oh? Really?" he said, feigning surprise.

  "Well, my mistake."

  His cloak swayed behind him, wide and black.

  "For your information," he added, deliberately exposing the fur with the back of his hand,

  "we had to kill a repulsive beast to get this little marvel."

  He locked eyes with the girl, speaking as if it were a trivial anecdote.

  "Some kind of big dog," he sneered.

  "Ugly as hell. Stinking."

  "But luckily for us, just as stupid as it was weak.

  I skewered it without even dirtying my boots."

  He finished with a crooked smile, irony dripping, his cloak displayed like a trophy.

  Lucanis hadn’t moved an inch.

  But his gaze was no longer human.

  Cold. Focused.

  A predator’s stare.

  He was waiting.

  Just that: a mistake.

  Althéa, meanwhile, remained still.

  As if frozen.

  Kael went on, in an almost thoughtful tone, as if speaking to himself:

  "It’s strange, really…

  A lone girl. Fragile.

  Surviving without water, without food, without protection…

  Not even a run-in with an Overdrawn."

  "Nothing at all."

  He looked at her again, straight in the eyes.

  "Really strange, isn’t it?"

  Silence fell.

  Brutal.

  Thick.

  Kael shot a quick glance at Lucanis.

  That was enough.

  Lucanis rose in a single motion, as sharp as a cleaver.

  His sword burst from its scabbard with a metallic hiss.

  Kael drew as well.

  The Needle-Blade — a thin blade, almost invisible, hidden in the lining of his cloak — sprang into his hand.

  And in the same second, he lunged.

  But she did too.

  The girl needed only a blink.

  Her hand snapped out like a whip.

  Her fingers seized Althéa’s long white hair.

  And before Kael or Lucanis could reach their target, she had yanked her against her.

  An invisible blade pressed to a noble throat.

  Althéa stifled a cry.

  Her arm tried to break free — too late.

  The girl was no longer crying.

  She was no longer smiling.

  She was baring her teeth.