Before lll

"Also you didn't answer my question" He leaned against the railing beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.

"What question?"

"The unspoken one." At that I rolled my eyes. "Are you okay?" He asked.

I frowned. "What is it with people and that question? Do you think if I wasn't, I'd admit it here, to you, on this godforsaken pier?"

He tilted his head, considering me. "Maybe not. But you might deflect with some overly verbose critique of the human condition, which is close enough."

I didn't respond. The words felt too sharp, too precise, like he'd reached inside me and plucked them out before I'd even had a chance to name them myself.

The wind picked up, and I tucked my hands into my pockets, turning away from him. "If you're going to psychoanalyze me, at least buy me a drink first."

He grinned. "I'll consider it. But only if you promise not to use the word 'ontological' in conversation again. It's exhausting."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"I'm a hypocrite. It's part of my charm."

The wind slid through the gaps in the pier, curling around loose nails, testing the planks underfoot like it wanted them to give. The sea beneath was all noise, all hunger—waves rising, collapsing, foaming at the edges like something rabid. Leocade's jacket was too heavy on my shoulders, or maybe just unfamiliar. I didn't take it off. I didn't move at all, really. Neither of us did. We stood there like we were waiting for something, like we expected the tide to change us or erase us or spit us back out exactly the same.

He broke the silence first. "Do you ever think about what's we'll do next?"

His voice was steady, like he wasn't just saying it to fill the space. Like he really wanted an answer. I didn't look at him. "Next?"

"After this," he said. His hand lifted slightly, vague, like he was gesturing to everything at once. The city behind us, the storm overhead, the parts of our lives that didn't quite fit anymore. "After all of it. The running, the waiting. The fear. Do you ever think about what's supposed to come next?"

I let the question sit. It had weight to it, like a stone in the mouth. Heavy. Unavoidable.

"You make it sound like there's a story to follow," I said. "Like it's all leading somewhere.

"Isn't it?"

I exhaled. My breath disappeared into the cold. "It just is. You keep moving. That's all."

He turned his head slightly, looking at me the way he did when he thought I was lying. "That's bleak way to live D"

"It's realistic."

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Maybe. But it doesn't have to be."

It was the way he said it. Not like an argument. Not like he wanted to prove a point. Just a reminder. Like I'd already known that once, but had forgotten.

I looked out at the water. It was still moving, still doing what it was supposed to. There was a story I half-remembered—something about wolves. One that feeds on fear, one that feeds on something softer. The one that wins is just the one you feed.

Leocade shifted, leaned in slightly. "You know," he said, his voice almost light, "I used to think you were invincible."

I laughed. Small, brittle. "Clearly, you didn't know me very well."

"Maybe not," he said. "But I do now." Something about the certainty in his voice made my throat go tight.

"I don't need saving," I said.

"I know." His gaze didn't waver. "But that doesn't mean I'm leaving,we'll face them together when we go back."I flinched.

The wind picked up. The water kept moving. And somewhere, the wolves waited. But the silence was short lived.

The first crack of the gunshot was distant, swallowed by the wind, indistinct as a branch snapping in the dark. For a moment, I thought I'd imagined it. But then came another, louder, sharper, cutting through the night like teeth through flesh.

Leocade stiffened beside me, his gaze sharpening, nostrils flaring as if his wolf was scenting blood on the wind. He turned toward the sound, his posture shifting—not fear, not hesitation, but something colder, something prepared.

"What was that?" I asked in a steely tone,had we been followed?

He didn't answer immediately, already moving, his muscles coiled like a predator on the verge of pursuit. "Stay here," he said, his tone carrying the finality of an order.

"Leocade—"

"Just stay here, D." He glanced back at me then, and his eyes—usually lit with mischief, with the easy arrogance of someone who always had a plan—were dark, serious in a way that made my stomach clench.

And then he was gone, his silhouette vanishing into the ink of the night, swallowed whole by the shifting landscape.

The wind howled, the sea churned, and somewhere beyond the dunes, something primal stirred. I gripped the railing, knuckles white, breath uneven. My wolf started pacing .The pier suddenly felt too open, too exposed—like I'd been left behind in the clearing while the rest of the pack ran for cover.

Another gunshot. Closer

A shiver ran down my spine, a sharp, animal instinct clawing its way up from my gut. My body knew before my mind could catch up: Run. Follow. Do not be left behind.Fight.

I couldn't just stand there.

Ignoring his command, I followed the path he had taken, each step driven by something feral, something primal that I couldn't contain. The wooden planks beneath me were slick with sea spray, and the wind clawed at my skin as though it were alive, urging me to stop, to turn back. But I didn't stop. I couldn't.

**********************************

When I reached the beach, they were already there—three figures etched in silhouette against the silver shimmer of the waves. The moon hung low and full, painting the scene in a ghostly light. Leocade stood in the middle, his stance sharp and grounded, like a wolf caught between fight and flight. His shoulders were squared, his hands raised—not in surrender, but in calculated restraint.

I couldn't hear their words over the roar of the ocean, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the taut line of his body. Then, the glint of metal.

A gun.

"Leocade!" The name tore from my throat, jagged and raw, swept away almost instantly by the howling wind.

He turned sharply, his expression flashing from surprise to something sharper—fear, anger, maybe even despair. And then his gaze locked onto mine, something unspoken passing between us.

"Davina, go back!" he shouted, his voice like a whip crack against the chaos.

But I was already moving forward, the sand giving way beneath my feet. My breath came in ragged bursts, each step heavier than the last. I felt it then, deep inside—a tremor beneath my skin, a prickle along my spine. My form shifted almost imperceptibly. My fingers curled into claws, nails sharpening like daggers. My senses sharpened, too, the salt tang of the sea and the acrid scent of metal filling my nostrils.

The man with the gun turned toward me, his face impassive, a hollow puppet strung together by something distant, mechanical. The faint hum of the telepathy drones became clear as I drew closer, their slick, sinewy limbs moving unnaturally, controlled by someone far from here.

Leocade moved first. He lunged at the nearest drone, his body a blur of precision and instinct, his fist colliding with the side of its head. The drone staggered but did not falter, its limbs moving with eerie fluidity as it retaliated.

The gun fired.

Time fractured. I leapt forward, my body twisting mid-air, but I was a second too late.

The first shot struck Leocade square in the chest, and he jolted as if yanked by an invisible string. The Phantom Shard Dart struck with an almost anticlimactic thud, embedding deep and then,the shards fragmented. Leocade dropped to his knees, his body convulsing violently as black veins spread beneath his skin like cracks in glass. The nanobots worked quickly, dismantling him from the inside out. His arms flailed, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and then he collapsed fully, the light in his eyes dimming with each passing second.

I saw the horror of it unfold—the sudden convulsions as needle-like fragments burrowed into his muscles, ripping through him from within. His head snapped back, veins bulging grotesquely as the neurotoxin worked its way through his system.

"Leocade!" My voice wasn't human anymore, a guttural growl spilling from my throat. I lunged at the nearest drone, claws slicing through its synthetic flesh. The arm detached cleanly, a sludge-like substance leaking from the wound as the limb twitched on the ground. But it wasn't enough. They were machines, unfeeling, unrelenting. The remaining two melted into the shadows, their movements smooth and deliberate.

The second shot came before I could reach him. A Neural Erosion Round. It embedded with a sickening finality, its effects immediate.

I reached him then, dropping to my knees beside him. "Stay with me,' I begged, my hands trembling as I pressed them against the wound. Blood—warm and viscous coated my fingers, slipping through the cracks like sand.

Leocade's body shuddered, his breath shallow and uneven. "You... didn't listen," he rasped, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course I didn't," I choked out, tears streaking my face. "You knew I wouldn't''

His trembling hand lifted, brushing weakly against my cheek. "You're everything," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"Don't you dare," I snapped, shaking my head violently. "Don't you dare say that and leave me. Don't you dare."

But the toxins had done their work, and the nanobots had stolen what little time we had left. His hand fell from my face, lifeless. His breath hitched one last time, then stilled.

The world collapsed around me. The waves roared, the wind howled, but it all felt distant, muted. I pressed my forehead to his, my tears mingling with the blood and sand.

"I love you," I whispered, over and over, a desperate mantra to a god that wasn't listening. "Wake up."

But he didn't.

But I waited, Ofcourse I did