Chapter 85
Pain courses through me as my body twists and contorts, the familiar wrenching of my muscles pulling me back and forth between forms. One second, I feel my legs—my human legs—and the next, the cool sensation of scales spreading over my skin. My fingers twitch uncontrollably as translucent webbing flickers in and out between them, and I let out a strangled sob. I can’t stop it.
“Wake!” I gasp, panic lacing every syllable. “I can’t—I can’t control it!”
Wake’s eyes flash with desperation as he pulls me close, his grip firm but gentle. He scans the area, his jaw clenched tight. “I know. Just hold on.”
I try to hold on. I try so hard. But my body has other plans. Another wave of agony rolls through me, and I can feel my bones breaking apart, reforming and then breaking again. It’s as if my very cells are tearing themselves apart, unable to decide which form to take.
“There’s no time,” Wake mutters, his voice tense with frustration. His gaze flickers to something on the ground—a forgotten tranq dart. He glances at me, pain and regret flooding his eyes. “Forgive me, Phoebe.”
Before I can ask what he means, he plunges the dart into my arm. I barely feel the prick of the needle before a wave of numbness washes over me, dulling the pain, slowing the chaos inside me. My body stops shifting, but it doesn’t return fully to human, either. Instead, I’m left in some horrible in-between state. My legs remain human, but patches of shimmering scales are scattered over my skin, and long, ribbon-like fins trail from my forearms.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. I can feel Wake’s arms around me, lifting me effortlessly, but I’m a prisoner in my own body, paralyzed by the tranq. My mind screams, but no sound escapes my lips.
Wake is moving fast now, his breathing heavy and labored as he darts through narrow streets and alleys. I hear the sounds of people shouting in the distance—authorities. The police have arrived and it's only a matter of time before we're found.
Wake’s grip tightens around me as he ducks into a narrow alleyway. I can feel the tension in his body—he’s alert, every muscle ready to strike if necessary. But he knows what I told him earlier. He can’t afford to fight here, not like this. Not when we’re so exposed.
We round a corner, and I see a small restaurant just ahead. There’s no time to think, no time to plan. Wake kicks open the door and barges inside, startling the elderly couple working behind the counter. The woman gasps, dropping a pot she’s holding as Wake strides in, my limp body cradled in his arms.
“Please,” Wake pleads in Japanese, his voice raw with desperation. “Help us.”
The elderly man behind the counter steps forward, his eyes wide with shock as he takes in my strange, half-human appearance. His wife stands frozen, staring at me with her hand over her mouth, clearly torn between fear and disbelief.
“Please,” Wake says again, his tone more urgent now. “They’re coming.”
The woman hesitates for only a second longer before she nods, her expression softening with concern. “This way,” she says, her voice trembling. She leads us through a narrow hallway and down into the basement, her husband following closely behind.
The basement is dimly lit, filled with stacks of boxes and crates, but it’s quiet. Safe, for now.
Wake lowers me gently to the floor, pulling me into his lap as he sits down. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, as if his touch alone could protect me from everything that’s happening. I feel his chest rise and fall beneath me, his breath steadying as the danger momentarily recedes.
He hums softly, an Enkian lullaby that I recognize, though I’m not sure how. It’s a haunting melody, the kind that makes the sea feel endless, like it’s calling you home. My eyes flutter closed, and for a brief moment, the pain, the confusion—all of it fades away. There’s only Wake’s voice, low and soothing, vibrating through my bones.
We wait. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, the silence of the basement pressing down on us. Every now and then, we hear footsteps above, voices, but they never come close enough to find us. The couple who helped us remain upstairs, no doubt trying to keep the authorities at bay.
Finally, the basement door creaks open, and I stiffen instinctively. But the voice that follows is one I know.
“Let’s get you two home.”
Hiro steps into the room, his familiar easy grin tempered with a touch of concern. He nods to the couple behind him, thanking them before turning his attention to us.
Wake stands, cradling me in his arms as he faces Hiro, who assesses the situation with a quick glance. He looks at me—my half-human, half-Enkian form—and his brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Not now.
“Come on,” Hiro says, his voice quiet but firm. “We’ve got to move before they come back.”
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