Three Years After Urbano's Death

  The Lustful Oasis still stood.

  Neon sign still flickering against the Inside's perpetual twilight. Same building, same block, same cracked pavement out front. But no overlord's men came anymore. No enforcers. No VIPs with appetites that left women hollowed out.

  The Stygian warriors rotated through the perimeter in silence. They didn't need to say anything. Their presence was the message.

  Inside, the women had built something.

  Not the performative solidarity that survival sometimes demanded—actual connection. Forged through shared trauma and whatever came after trauma when you were finally allowed to stop moving. They watched out for each other with a fierceness that had nothing to do with courtesy.

  Runaway girls found shelter here. Women fleeing things too dark to name learned that someone would listen. No judgment. No debt.

  Marceline ran it now—not as madam managing inventory, but as elder sister keeping things moving. Profits split evenly. Boundaries held absolutely. Any client who crossed a line found himself explaining his choices to Stygian warriors, and that conversation never ended the way he'd hoped.

  Above the bar, where Urbano used to sit counting money and making bad decisions, hung a photograph: him and Bella at some forgotten celebration, both smiling despite everything. Fresh flowers appeared beneath it every morning—roses from the garden she'd grown in the backyard, still blooming three years after her hands had last touched them.

  The girls said her spirit kept them alive.

  Maybe they were right.

  Maybe the Inside hadn't consumed everything beautiful after all.

  Meanwhile, in Xing Long District

  Three years changed people in ways both visible and subtle.

  Farrah stood at the window, looking past Xing Long district's neon sprawl toward the horizon where the Inside theoretically ended and the Outside theoretically began.

  She could leave. Had enough gold saved from hunting Chimerasylphs, enough connections to secure passage beyond the walls. The road to Musha Continent was open. Had been for a while now.

  But the thought of actually going clung to her like guilt given physical form. Weighted her feet. Tangled her thoughts. Made every step toward the door feel like abandonment.

  She wasn't just a friend anymore. Not just T'Jadaka's mother, not just another person the Inside had spat out and left standing. She'd become the stable center—the one people orbited around, the one they looked to when decisions needed making, when conflicts needed resolving, when the world pressed in too hard.

  Even Castor, grizzled as he was, deferred to her judgment on things that mattered. The shift had happened slowly, without anyone naming it, but it had become absolute.

  When did I become responsible for all of them?

  The apartment complex sprawled behind her—six floors of converted wreckage they'd claimed through squatter's rights and defensive violence. It had been gutted when they found it: rusted pipes, floors sagging under their own weight, walls coated in mold that suggested the building had been breathing wrong for years.

  But it had bones. Structure.

  With help from older residents—refugees and outcasts who knew their way around toolboxes and load-bearing walls—they'd made it livable. Bunk beds stacked to the ceiling. Communal kitchen with appliances that mostly worked. A training room where the younger ones learned to throw punches before life could throw worse.

  That last part had been non-negotiable. Farrah had insisted.

  This city won't hesitate to chew you up. So don't give it the chance.

  The transformation had taken months. Bruised knuckles and arguments and hours of labor that left everyone too tired to fight. But now it was theirs. Claimed. Defended. Made sacred through the kind of collective effort that didn't have a cleaner word for it than home.

  In the kitchen, T'Jadaka stood at the counter, knife moving through vegetables with practiced ease that suggested either natural talent or obsessive repetition. Probably both. Chop, chop, chop—carrots reduced to uniform pieces, celery to precise strips.

  Fifteen years old now. Taller than Farrah by several inches, broader through the shoulders, three years of relentless training visible in the way he moved. The five-thousand-kilogram leg weights had become permanent fixtures—on every morning, off only for sleep.

  His star-shaped pupils tracked the vegetables with the same focus he brought to everything.

  Marla stirred a pot beside him, steam curling around her face.

  "Thank you so much, Jadaka. You're always so helpful."

  He shrugged, flashing a quick grin that made him look younger than his years. "You did kinda bring me into the world. Least I can do is not let you starve."

  Marla raised a brow. "Wow. You sure you haven't been sneaking off to culinary school?"

  His cheeks colored—pink rising from neck to ears, the particular blush of someone genuinely flustered. He kept dicing. Said nothing. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  Footsteps in the corridor. Light, careful, the particular padding of someone whose feet were partially feline.

  "What's up, Vitaliya?" T'Jadaka called without looking up.

  She stepped into the kitchen—lynx ears twitching forward in greeting, fur-lined tail curling in a lazy S. Russian features, high cheekbones, eyes that shifted between blue and gold depending on the light.

  "It's Castor. He needs help getting up again."

  Her accent clung to the words like velvet over steel. The request was routine now—daily accommodation that everyone had learned to handle without making it worse through excessive attention.

  Marla set down her spoon immediately, hands already working the apron strings.

  "I'll go check—"

  T'Jadaka raised an arm. The gesture carried more authority than he probably realized.

  "I got it. If you go, he'll think you're babying him."

  When did I start talking like him?

  Marla studied his expression, read something unspoken in it. Nodded. Returned to her pot.

  T'Jadaka dried his hands on a dish towel, methodical. Motioned to Vitaliya with a tilt of his head.

  "Let's go see how the old man's doing."

  They walked through corridors smelling of cooking food and old building materials. T'Jadaka kept his tone light. "So—is he just being dramatic again?"

  Hoping for yes.

  Vitaliya's ears flattened slightly. "No. It's worse." A pause. "His organs are failing in sequence. Kidneys barely functioning, liver shot, heart struggling. Decades of hard labor catching up—the slavery before you freed us, his body pushed past tolerances for years and never allowed to recover." She said it plainly, without softening it. "The doctors are surprised he's still alive."

  T'Jadaka let out a short, dark laugh. "Probably 'cause his old ass kept telling death to go fuck itself."

  She cracked a small smile. Nudged his shoulder. The contact came easy, comfortable—three years of proximity had made it that way.

  "You always say things like that."

  "Because he hates pity." T'Jadaka's voice carried the certainty of someone who'd been paying attention. "You really think he wants us crying over him every day? Nah. If anything, he'd prefer we act like he's immortal. Treat the whole thing like a temporary inconvenience."

  They reached the door. The smell hit first—illness, sweat, something worse beneath it. T'Jadaka didn't flinch. Three years had calibrated his reactions. Acknowledging decline through visible disgust would cost Castor something he couldn't afford to lose.

  He pushed the door open.

  "There you are, you little brat." Castor's voice from the bed—croaked more than spoken. "Come give me a damn hand."

  T'Jadaka stepped in with performative confidence. "Alright, you old fart. Vitaliya, take the left. I got the right."

  They positioned themselves on either side. Castor's body had shrunk over three years—muscle gone, weight dropped, skin hanging loose over bones that seemed more prominent every week. His eyes, though, remained sharp. Assessing. Not surrendering.

  They lifted. Castor groaned—pain transforming mid-sound into something closer to frustration at needing the help at all. The corners of his mouth twitched.

  "You've gone soft, Jakaka. Need a girl to help lift me now?"

  T'Jadaka adjusted his grip as they moved toward the door. "If I lifted you alone, your crusty skeleton would turn to dust. I'm protecting you from yourself."

  "Protecting me. Listen to this kid." But the smile widened fractionally.

  They made slow progress through the corridors, Castor leaning heavy on T'Jadaka, each step spending strength he couldn't replace. His breathing wheezed, lungs laboring over something that should have been simple.

  Farrah looked up from her book as they came in. Afternoon light painted her profile, the cybernetic arm catching it differently than the biological one.

  "You're looking lively," she said—thick with sarcasm, eyes soft with relief that he was vertical, that he'd made it through another night.

  Castor gave her a sideways glare, settling into his usual chair with a grunt that contained both pain and satisfaction. "As lively as time allows. Maybe next time try meaning it, smartass."

  Farrah scoffed. Didn't argue. The affection behind her expression said enough—they'd developed their own language over three years. Insults and eye-rolls and the careful attention they all pretended not to pay each other.

  T'Jadaka handed Castor the remote. Scanned his face quickly, checking for signs that the transfer had cost too much.

  Castor's grip tightened around it. "Yeah. I'm all good."

  He clicked on the TV. Breaking news, the Inside's constant stream.

  "Another Kaiju sighting in Cyber Stand district. The eighteenth this week. Officials recommend avoiding the eastern sectors until containment—"

  "Cool." T'Jadaka waved lazily. "I'm just gonna hit my room. Read or whatever."

  He turned for the door. The TV cast long shadows behind him, stretching his silhouette across the floor.

  Farrah's eyes tracked him from her chair—sharp attention wearing casual disinterest, the way she always watched when she thought he wasn't looking.

  His footsteps echoed down the corridor. Then—

  "You following me?"

  Without turning around.

  Vitaliya padded behind him, lynx ears twitching forward, tail swishing with the particular rhythm of nervousness performing confidence.

  "Well..." Unusually quiet. Almost shy. "The others found a little hot spring. In the forest, outside the district walls. We thought it'd be nice to get away for a bit. You wanna come?"

  "We've got hot tubs here."

  His pace quickened slightly. Subtle tell.

  Her ears drooped, tail flicking. "It's not the same. It's about getting out. About..." She searched for the word. "Freedom."

  T'Jadaka reached his door. Hand on the knob. "We're in a lawless city. What's more free than that?"

  She fell into step beside him, forcing direct acknowledgment. "The water's natural. The forest is quiet. It's peaceful, T'Jadaka. Not recycled city water full of rust, not four walls that smell like old concrete. Just—"

  Hope looks good on her.

  He registered the thought before he could stop it. Moved on quickly.

  "Yeah, well, I just don't get the—"

  "It'll be me, Matilda, and Lila." Voice shifting to honey. Timing impeccable. "In swimsuits."

  He stopped.

  Hand frozen inches from the doorknob.

  "Swimsuits?"

  Flat. Carefully neutral. But something had definitely shifted—spine straightening, breathing changed, ears already beginning to redden at the edges.

  Vitaliya pressed her advantage. "The kind that cover the important bits but still show just enough to be interesting." She leaned in, voice dropping. Breath warm against his ear. "It's gonna be so much fun. And we'll all be getting nice and wet."

  The silence that followed had a specific texture.

  T'Jadaka's ears went from pink to full crimson, heat spreading visibly across his face.

  "Knew that would work," she purred. "You've got all that willpower, Jakaka. All that discipline and training and self-control. But you're still a fifteen-year-old boy, and your hormones have exactly zero respect for any of that."

  "When are you all going?"

  His voice cracked. He'd tried to prevent it. It happened anyway.

  "Tomorrow. Dawn, before the city blinks. While the Chimerasylphs are sleeping off their night hunts."

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He went into his room. The door closed with slightly more force than necessary.

  Inside, he dropped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling.

  I'm not actually going. It's just a hot spring. Natural water isn't that different from a hot tub. This is completely ridiculous.

  The mental slideshow that followed had no interest in his argument. Forest. Soft morning light. Steam rising off still water. Laughter in a space untouched by whatever the Inside usually smelled like.

  And yes. Fine. Swimsuits.

  Yeah. I'm going.

  Not just for the swimsuits—though he wasn't going to pretend they were irrelevant. But for that feeling. That rare thing where something existed purely to be enjoyed.

  Outside, Vitaliya leaned against the wall, arms crossed, grin spreading.

  Three... two... one...

  The door opened.

  T'Jadaka stood in the frame, ears still red, eyes slightly too wide.

  "Okay. I'll go. But only because the natural hot spring experience is— it's educational. Geology. Thermal vents. That kind of thing."

  "Mmhm." Her smirk could've powered a small district. "See you tomorrow. Don't be late."

  She sauntered away, tail swishing with a little extra emphasis—performance delivered for an audience of one who was absolutely watching.

  T'Jadaka closed the door. Pressed his face into his pillow hard enough to compress foam.

  "Damn you, puberty. Damn you straight to hell."

  But beneath the embarrassment, something else: genuine anticipation. Not for training. Not for fighting. Not for surviving another day in the Inside's machinery.

  For something purely, simply enjoyable.

  Which, somehow, felt more dangerous than anything else.

  The Night Before

  Inside their shared room, the three lay on their beds, dim lamplight casting long shadows across walls covered in salvaged posters and makeshift curtains. The space smelled of cheap soap and cheaper perfume—three people existing in close quarters long enough to stop noticing the overlap.

  "Wait— he actually said yes?!"

  Lila's voice went up a full octave. Her deer ears stood on end, twitching with excitement that made her look younger than eighteen, more innocent than three years in the Inside should've allowed.

  "I might've used a little persuasion." Vitaliya's tail flicked with satisfaction behind her—lazy, feline, the motion of someone who'd known exactly which buttons to push and had enjoyed every second of it.

  Matilda rolled her eyes, her smirk showing slightly too many teeth. "Geez. You two really like him, huh?"

  The observation landed like an accusation wrapped in amusement. Silence stretched—two seconds, three—before Lila's face went crimson from neck to ear-tips.

  "He's just... strong. And kind. Sweet in his own way." Defensive, rushed. "He did save us, after all."

  "And he's got that spark," Matilda added, tone shifting to something more honest. "That kind of energy that makes you feel safe and a little terrified at the same time. Like standing too close to a fire. You know it might burn but you can't help leaning in."

  "And he's tall," Lila added, holding up her hand for dramatic emphasis. "I'm 4'11". Matilda's 5'2", you're 5'0", Vitaliya. And T'Jadaka is fifteen and already six feet. That's—that's sky-touching levels of tall."

  Her enthusiasm had the particular pitch of someone who had spent considerable time thinking about height differences specifically.

  Matilda's smile didn't quite fade. "You're all obsessed. Can't we just enjoy the hot spring without turning it into a rom-com?"

  "Oh please," Vitaliya said, propping herself up on one elbow. "You've got your boyfriend coming. Plus Ruy and Remigio. You're not exactly innocent."

  Matilda's grin flickered. "Whatever. At least I won. I actually got the guy I wanted instead of pining from a distance like some tragic heroine."

  "You wanna go there?" Vitaliya's voice dropped to a purr. She'd been saving this. "C-cup."

  Lila gasped behind both hands, eyes going wide.

  "How do you even know that?!" Matilda's face went beet red, hands crossing over her chest like she could retroactively protect her privacy.

  "We share a room." Vitaliya cupped her own chest with theatrical ceremony. "You think I wouldn't notice? These double D's don't lie~"

  The declaration came with such confidence it bordered on parody—body positivity weaponized for friendly warfare.

  Matilda squinted, expression caught between genuine annoyance and reluctant amusement. "Yeah, well, cow tits can keep their back pain. I'm good with my balance, thanks."

  The room exploded. Genuine laughter, unrestrained, the kind that made ribs ache. Three years of shared trauma transforming into this—the ability to joke about bodies, about desire, about the small vanities that meant they were still human, still capable of caring about things beyond getting through the day.

  Lila looked down, cupping her own modest situation with a mixture of curiosity and insecurity. "I wish I had something to brag about..."

  Beat of silence. Then more laughter—warmer, wrapping around her.

  "Oh, but you do have something." Matilda elbowed her. "You're bigger than me, smaller than Vitaliya. Solid B territory. That's respectable."

  Vitaliya nodded with mock seriousness. "Give it time. You'll blossom, Bambi. Late bloomers always surprise everyone."

  "But who needs a big chest when you have—"

  She started—

  Both she and Matilda reached out simultaneously and gave Lila's butt a firm, deliberate squeeze through her pajama pants.

  "—an ass like that!" In perfect unison. Timing too precise to be accidental.

  Lila flailed. Arms windmilling, voice shooting into registers usually reserved for genuine emergencies. "Girls, stop! This is getting completely out of hand!"

  She squealed it, face redder than a fire hydrant, hands swatting at theirs with theatrical outrage rather than actual anger. Their laughter bounced off the walls and filled the room with warmth that pushed back against everything the city outside was made of.

  "I'm getting some water."

  Lila slid into her bunny slippers—ridiculous pink things with floppy ears she'd found in an abandoned apartment and claimed immediately—and hopped off the bed, still flushed, still giggling, attempting to reconstruct whatever dignity had just been thoroughly demolished.

  "You two stay here and keep bickering like old ladies."

  She swung the door open—

  And stopped.

  T'Jadaka stood in the hallway, soda in hand, face the exact same shade of red as hers, mouth hanging open like he'd walked into a crime scene his brain absolutely was not equipped to process.

  "T— T'Jadaka?!"

  "I... uh... I grabbed a soda and then I heard—"

  "How much."

  Flat. Already knowing. Praying to any god listening that it was just the laughter, that maybe he'd arrived late, that maybe—

  "Just the boob sizes. Which— I didn't know you were a—"

  The pillow hit him square in the face. Direct impact. He hadn't seen it coming.

  "Hey! I didn't mean to—mmph—"

  She kept hitting him, each smack accompanied by the wordless sounds of a teenager whose private conversation had been overheard by the exact wrong person at the exact wrong moment.

  From somewhere down the hall, the laughter followed him like a verdict.

  Farrah stirred in her sleep. Smiled without waking. Recognized the sounds of her makeshift family being young and stupid and alive.

  And turned over, and let it go on without her.

  Early Next Morning

  The air bit cold and crisp at the edge of Xing Long district where concrete ended and forest began. Paved road giving way to dirt path, neon signs fading into natural darkness, the Inside's mechanical hum traded for wind through leaves.

  Ruy—mostly human except for dagger-sharp dog ears and a tail that never stopped moving—leaned against a flickering lamppost, arms crossed, his signature smirk firmly in place. Seventeen years old and operating under the assumption that the universe existed for his personal amusement.

  Remigio, the half-bull with horns that curved like weapons and shoulders built for breaking things, cycled rounds into his rifle with a practiced click. Dawn preparation ritual. Old habit.

  Kichirō—raccoon markings around his eyes, fur that made him look permanently mischievous—packed the picnic basket with careful precision, sneaking in two extra pastries when he thought no one was watching.

  "Aw hell yeah, boys!"

  Ruy's tail wagged with enthusiasm he had no interest in hiding.

  "We're going out with three—technically two—hot chicks." He let that land. "Hot. Chicks."

  "Finally." Remigio's voice came out like gravel. "Alone time with Lila. No T'Jadaka standing there making me look like an afterthought every time I try to talk to her."

  Kichirō slung the basket over his shoulder. "His rizz is genuinely insane. Back when we were kids, girls were throwing themselves at him without him even trying. Just standing there being all mysterious and competent."

  "What rizz!? He wasn't doing anything!"

  "That's literally what rizz is," Ruy said.

  "I don't care what it is." Remigio's tail swished. "Lila and Vitaliya still follow him around like puppies. He saved us once—that doesn't mean he gets eternal dibs on female attention."

  "Chill. Jadaka saved our asses multiple times. He's practically our brother." Ruy rolled his eyes. "As long as he's not here, it doesn't matter."

  Remigio huffed. His fingers tightened around the rifle.

  "The guy's got that quiet-hero thing," Kichirō mused. "Those eyes—like he's storing galaxies behind them. Very protagonist energy."

  "If he were here, one of us would definitely get cucked," Ruy added. "Probably all of us, knowing our luck."

  "Hey boys~"

  Vitaliya stepped from the alley's shadow, smirk radiant, hips adding emphasis to each step. She'd been listening. The gleam in her eyes confirmed it.

  "Ready for our little nature retreat?"

  The boys went quiet as the girls emerged one by one—all wearing oversized T-shirts that reached their thighs, swimsuits hidden beneath fabric that somehow made everything more interesting by hiding the details.

  Ruy squinted. "Damn. They're covering up the good parts."

  Kichirō stepped up to Matilda and stole a kiss that made her blush despite three years. "Had to tease us, huh babe?"

  "Paws to yourself, Kichirō," she warned with mock sternness before giggling. "Or you're staying home."

  Then Ruy's eyes narrowed. Something in the shirts nagged at him.

  "...Wait. Why are all of you wearing T'Jadaka's shirts?"

  The girls exchanged glances—a whole conversation in two seconds.

  "They're comfy," Vitaliya answered with a wink. "He's two feet taller than you guys. Perfect length. Practical clothing choice."

  T'Jadaka's shirts practically drowned them—sleeves past the elbow, hems at mid-thigh. The boys' minds, unhelpfully, filled in everything the fabric was hiding.

  "This guy's not even here," Kichirō groaned, "and he's still winning."

  Matilda's brow arched. Slow. Dangerous.

  "Wait. Did you all think we slept with T'Jadaka?"

  Silence.

  "Pfft—what!? No, we just—wanted to know where the shirts came from. Right, fellas?"

  Ruy's voice pitched half an octave too high. Remigio and Kichirō nodded with the synchronized energy of three people absolutely lying. The flush on all three faces did the rest.

  "Just curious," Remigio muttered. His tail had its own opinion.

  Lila glanced around. "Where is T'Jadaka? We said early."

  Vitaliya shrugged, her lynx eyes glinting. "Guess he bailed. Too bad."

  Dramatic pout. Zero sincerity. That sparkle in her gaze was doing something else entirely.

  "Well. We can't stand around waiting for Mr. Mysterious. Let's have fun without him~"

  She turned on her heel and led them toward the trees, the city's neon fading behind them.

  Ruy and Remigio exchanged a fist-pump.

  Kichirō lingered a beat. Something felt off. But their laughter was already pulling him forward, concrete giving way to earth, artificial light surrendering to dawn filtering through the canopy.

  "Thank God he didn't come," Remigio murmured to Ruy as sunlight began threading through the leaves. "We don't have muscles like him. Comparisons would be rough."

  "Speak for yourself," Ruy said, flexing just enough to suggest his very slightly defined abs. His tail wagged at its own joke.

  Remigio drifted casually—not desperately—closer to Lila. "So how'd you girls find this place?"

  "Vitaliya had a map." Lila's cheeks were pink. "She borrowed it from T'Jadaka's room when she was getting the shirts. Just in case he didn't come."

  Remigio processed this. "That's bold. Borderline breaking and entering."

  "What, you think I'm stupid?" Vitaliya called back without turning. "He'd lose it if I touched anything else. I know where the line is."

  They arrived.

  Steam curled off the surface of the spring in slow, lazy spirals, crystalline water nestled in a clearing where the world seemed to take a breath. Wildflowers heavy in the air. Somewhere beyond the trees, the sound of a waterfall.

  "Holy shit."

  Kichirō set down the basket. Contents rattled.

  "T'Jadaka knew about this and didn't tell us?"

  "Figures," Lila said softly. "He's always kept his hideaways private. Probably trains here."

  Matilda stepped forward, smirk already in place.

  "Time to take off the shirts."

  She pulled hers over her head first—red bikini, wolf tail wagging with the satisfaction of someone who knew exactly what she looked like and had no interest in pretending otherwise.

  Kichirō let out a low whistle. "Damn, babe."

  "You gonna stand there or get in?"

  He was already stripping, lean frame lightly furred, swim trunks just slightly betraying the enthusiasm of a teenage boy with limited control over certain biological responses. He cannon-balled in after her without ceremony.

  Vitaliya followed in a black bikini—simple, elegant, doing a lot with very little. She stretched first: deliberate, unhurried, the kind of motion that belonged to someone trained as either a dancer or a predator. Then slid into the water with a sigh that suggested genuine relief.

  "Now," she said, eyes sweeping Ruy and Remigio like a dessert menu, "who's sitting with me~?"

  Ruy didn't wait to be asked twice.

  Which left Lila and Remigio at the edge of the spring, three feet of space between them growing thicker by the second.

  "I'm guessing you're embarrassed to take off the shirt?"

  He tried for teasing. It came out softer.

  "Maybe a little," she murmured, looking at the grass.

  "You can just get in with it on. No pressure."

  "Yeah, but..." She tugged at the hem. "White fabric. Water. It'll go see-through."

  How do I do this right?

  He wanted her to feel safe. Wanted her to feel wanted without feeling pressured. The gap between those two things was harder to navigate than anything he trained for.

  Then—

  SPLASH.

  A figure emerged from the far side of the spring, steam rising around him in slow curls. Water sheeting off shoulders. Muscles that looked engineered rather than grown. Star-shaped pupils sweeping the group with casual, unhurried confidence.

  "About time you guys showed up."

  T'Jadaka's voice crossed the clearing like it owned the distance.

  The girls stared.

  Just—stared.

  "Damn, boy." Vitaliya's voice came out hushed, reverent. "Can you grind meat on those abs?"

  "Bro," Kichirō said. Genuine awe. "You've been holding out on us."

  "I was training at the better spring," T'Jadaka said flatly. "Temperature variation. Good for cellular function."

  Remigio's jaw set. Lila had gone very still beside him, eyes tracking a water droplet down T'Jadaka's forearm with an expression that made Remigio's stomach sink somewhere toward his feet.

  No. Not again.

  "Guess I'll head back then," T'Jadaka said, reading the room, already stepping back. "Don't want to crowd you guys."

  "Wait!"

  Lila blurted it. Voice cracking slightly. Embarrassment losing to something more urgent.

  "I—I don't mind if you sit with me."

  Remigio's face did several things in rapid succession.

  T'Jadaka blinked. Gave her a quiet nod. "Sure. Better mineral content on that side anyway."

  Lila's arms found his without apparent decision-making. Soft. Subtle. The body language of someone staking a claim.

  Vitaliya noticed, rose from the water like she had all the time in the world, wet fur catching the light.

  "If the other spring's better, I'm curious." She placed a hand on T'Jadaka's other arm. Casual. Familiar. "Mind sharing?"

  Lila's grip tightened.

  Ruy and Remigio watched their entire morning dissolve in real time.

  "We need to cock block," they said. Simultaneously. Flat.

  They moved.

  Behind them, Kichirō and Matilda watched with the comfortable amusement of people whose romantic situations were already resolved.

  "I kind of want to watch them fail," Kichirō said.

  "This is our romantic time," Matilda replied.

  Her eyes drifted toward the other spring anyway.

  Steam drifted in lazy spirals above the water, softening laughter, blurring the edges of whatever was happening just beyond the treeline.

  In the dense foliage, something shifted.

  A glint — too steady to be reflected sunlight. Too focused to be random.

  Breath — too controlled for an animal. Too silent for anything human.

  Its eyes didn't blink. Biological adaptation. Stillness as camouflage.

  Its hunger didn't waver. Patient, constant, the particular focus of a predator that had learned decades ago that haste was just another word for dying.

  It watched them. The soft, laughing, distracted creatures splashing in warm water, weapons set aside, attention turned entirely inward.

  Its teeth showed.

  Not a smile. A fact.

  The muscles beneath its scaled skin coiled slowly — no urgency, no rush. It wouldn't move for several minutes yet. Patience was the first skill. Everything else came after.

  These prey were already dead.

  They just hadn't been told.