The summit welcomed them without a word.

  No fanfare. No triumphant light.

  Just the wind—sharper than below—and a mineral plateau beaten by silence.

  They set up camp roughly, wedged between two rocky outcrops. Lucanis and Althéa had gone hunting. And Kael was left alone.

  The fire crackled softly. Red embers glowed between flat stones. Kael held his hands over the flames, but barely felt the heat anymore. His fingers were numb, the knuckles red and split from the climb. He studied them for a long moment. Dark streaks ran across the skin—dust, dried blood, torn flesh.

  He moved his fingers slowly. One by one.

  He hadn’t let go.

  Not once.

  His gaze drifted into the flames. He saw the cliff again—the treacherous holds, the saving grooves. And most of all, he saw Althéa, who hadn’t stopped. Not a complaint. Not a cry. Just silence—and effort.

  He breathed out through his nose, almost a laugh.

  “She’s changed,” he murmured to himself.

  He lifted his head slightly. No… they all had.

  They were no longer three students stranded here by accident, forced to cooperate.

  Something had taken shape there, on the stone, between the wind’s cries and the void beneath their feet.

  A core.

  Not a team—but a form of unity.

  They hadn’t merely survived together.

  They had chosen to continue together.

  Footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

  Lucanis appeared first, two birds of prey hanging from his hand by the legs. Good size. Black-and-white plumage. Althéa followed, her bow slung over her shoulder, her gaze a shade darker than usual.

  Kael straightened.

  “What are those things?” he asked.

  Lucanis shrugged.

  “No idea. But they’re plump—that’s all that matters.”

  Althéa didn’t answer. She knelt by the fire, took Lucanis’s knife, and grabbed one bird by the wings. She drove the blade into its flank and began pulling at the feathers, methodical.

  After a few clumsy motions, she stopped and frowned.

  “Show me,” she said to Lucanis. “I don’t want to ruin the meat.”

  He smiled, stepped closer, and crouched beside her.

  “It’s simple. Pull in the direction of the down, not against it. Otherwise you’ll tear everything halfway.”

  Kael watched the scene in silence.

  They weren’t talking much.

  They didn’t need to anymore. They acted.

  Together.

  The birds were skewered onto split branches, angled slightly toward the flames. The smell rose quickly—rich, fatty, wood-smoked. The skin crackled softly, grease dripping in thin drops onto the embers, making the fire hiss. Kael didn’t say a word, but his eyes followed every movement of the juices sliding over the browned feathers.

  Lucanis turned one of the spits.

  “Ten more minutes.”

  Kael grunted.

  He glanced at Althéa.

  She was staring into the fire, impassive as always. But her nostrils flared ever so slightly. And her fingers, clenched on her knee, betrayed a hunger she refused to admit.

  Kael smirked.

  “Even you, huh?” he muttered.

  Althéa slowly turned her head toward him, without a word.

  He raised his hands, mock-apologetic.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  When the meat was finally ready, they dug in without ceremony.

  Kael sank his teeth into the flesh immediately—no waiting, no restraint. He tore at the meat with the vigor of a starving wolf, fingers slick with grease, lips shining.

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  Lucanis watched him, one eyebrow raised.

  “You know, there are civilized people who manage to eat without making animal noises.”

  Kael shrugged, mouth full.

  “It’s good, isn’t it? You’re not about to give me a table-manners lecture now.”

  Lucanis just laughed.

  Even Althéa was eating. Silently, as always—but with an efficiency that didn’t lie. Not a crumb wasted, not a portion discarded. Every bite measured, but necessary.

  Silence settled after the meal—nothing but the crackle of the fire and a few satisfied exhales.

  Lucanis was the one who finally broke it.

  “Tomorrow morning, we’ll scout the area. We’re higher up now. With a bit of luck, we might spot human traces—a path, a structure, anything.”

  He paused, then continued, more serious.

  “We have four days left. Four. Not one more. After that… I don’t know what the Institute has planned. Or if they even know we’re still alive.”

  Kael watched him closely.

  Lucanis tapped ash away with the tip of a stick.

  “And don’t forget… we’re being hunted.”

  Kael frowned.

  “Yeah. I’d almost forgotten.”

  “The lycaon we saw in the basement of the cabin… it was waiting for us. It had set a trap.”

  He looked up.

  “That wasn’t a wild animal. It was a hunter. A tactician.”

  He looked at Kael, then at Althéa.

  “They’re smarter than we thought,” he said.

  “More patient, too.

  We won’t hear them. Not until it’s too late.”

  Lucanis shook his head, his gaze lost in the night.

  “The lycaon in the basement… it didn’t resemble the ones Kael and I saw in the canyon.”

  He tossed a fragment of bone into the fire, the gesture sharp, restless.

  “Maybe it was a fourth one. But I doubt it. The three we encountered were moving together. Coordinated. Organized. A real pack. And what we saw down there… that was something else.”

  A brief silence followed.

  Kael could still feel the heaviness of the meal in his stomach, but tension was already creeping up the back of his neck.

  Lucanis straightened, his tone hardening. He raised a finger, as if to anchor what he was about to say.

  “It’s evolving in response to us.”

  Kael frowned. Althéa froze, her hands still on the last piece of bird.

  Lucanis went on, slower now, weighing each word carefully.

  “They’re capable of adapting. Physically. Not just changing tactics. Look—when Kael and I met them in the canyon, their skin was reddish. Bare. Emaciated. They moved in open ground.”

  “But the one in the basement?”

  “No sound. Stealthy. Blended into the shadows. And its fur…”

  He paused.

  “It had thick black fur. Perfect for darkness.”

  Kael swallowed.

  “You think it mutated for that?”

  Lucanis didn’t answer right away. He turned the charred skewer slowly between his fingers.

  “At this point… it’s only a hypothesis,” he admitted.

  “But if it’s true… then we’re dealing with something far more dangerous than we anticipated.”

  Althéa lifted her head. Her voice, calm, cut through the silence.

  “That would mean they learn.”

  Lucanis nodded slowly.

  “And they change based on what they learn. Based on us.”

  A cold draft made Kael shiver. The fire no longer felt sufficient.

  He stared into the darkness beyond the circle of light.

  “Then tomorrow… we can’t just look for a way out.”

  Lucanis understood before he finished.

  “No. We have to anticipate what’s waiting for us outside.”

  He hesitated, eyes fixed on the embers.

  “If what you’re saying is true…”

  He stopped for a moment.

  “Then the danger can come from nowhere. Not just because we’re careless—but because those things are learning to hide where we’re not looking.”

  He paced again, faster this time. Althéa watched him from the corner of her eye.

  “Do you remember, Lucanis?” he said.

  “When we took shelter in the crevasse. The lycaon—the one that came up behind us. It didn’t attack head-on like the others. They understood we were sensitive to sound, that we’d retreat into a place like that.”

  “I even threw a stone at the entrance. And one of the Overdrawn lunged straight at it—just as expected.”

  He stopped again, his eyes gleaming with an anxious light.

  “They reacted to our reactions. They’re learning.”

  Kael turned in place, his hands moving restlessly.

  “If that’s true, then they already know…”

  “That we can climb. That we can hunt. That we can make fire.”

  “They know we see poorly in the dark.”

  “They know the smell of blood repulses us—that fear can push us to turn on each other…”

  His gaze flicked briefly toward Althéa at those words. She looked away, stiff, but said nothing. The discomfort was palpable—bare, exposed in the silence.

  “And most of all,” he went on more quietly, “they know that seeing a human corpse paralyzes us.”

  “So I’m asking you—what are they going to be capable of doing with that?”

  He inhaled slowly, as if he barely dared to say what came next.

  “Because now it’s certain. They’re watching us.”

  “In silence.”

  “And they’re learning.”

  His fists clenched.

  “With every passing minute.”

  The silence stretched—until Althéa finally spoke.

  Her voice was calm. Sharp.

  “I may have been mistaken when I said they were lycaons.”

  Kael and Lucanis looked at her at the same time.

  “In fact… I may have been right, in a way. They have the appearance of lycaons, yes. But that may not be what they truly are.”

  She leaned slightly toward the fire, as if searching for her words in the flames.

  “Perhaps their last adaptation—just before you encountered them—pushed them into that form. That would explain everything. And for a Class-Three, it’s still theoretically possible”

  Kael frowned.

  Lucanis, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes, wary.

  “Go on,” he said simply.

  “What I mean,” Althéa continued, “is that their capacity for imitation is too advanced.”

  “A Class-Three can’t adapt that many times, that quickly.”

  “Normally, they react to a situation. Here…”

  “They anticipate.”

  “They set traps. They change behavior. Tactics.”

  She lifted her eyes. Her gaze was serious—icy.

  “I’m starting to believe…” she said,

  “that we were wrong about their classification.”

  Lucanis sprang to his feet.

  Not violently. But sharply.

  He looked tense—almost panicked—yet his voice stayed under control.

  “No, Althéa. That’s impossible.”

  “An Overdrawn of that class can’t approach a human zone without being detected.”

  “It would be neutralized long before that. That’s why the protocol exists.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  His voice cracked through the night.

  Kael remained silent. He could feel his own heartbeat quickening.

  Althéa stood as well. She met Lucanis’s stare without flinching.

  “No,” she said. “It stays close to human enclaves because it made itself undetectable.”

  “It learned that getting too close meant death. So it copied a weaker form.”

  “A known animal. A tolerated one.”

  “A lycaon.”

  “It hid in plain sight. In daylight. And no one saw anything.”

  She paused—then added, coldly:

  “That alone proves we’re close to a human zone.”

  Lucanis stood frozen.

  The mask of certainty on his face was beginning to crack.

  Althéa took a slow breath. Then, in a dry voice—final, undeniable—

  “This is not a Class-Three.”

  A beat of silence.

  “It’s a Class-S.”