Calvin led us to a shelf stocked with a few medical supplies—gauze, bandages, and a bunch of random pills arranged in neat rows. My limbs trembled slightly, adrenaline ebbing away to reveal the true extent of my injuries. The nipper bites, though small, stung like hell.

  "Here's your physical reward for a job well done," Calvin said and handed Ness what looked like a plastic tube.

  The husky unrolled the tube and pulled out a tank top. "Woo! More clothes!"

  "I'll leave you to patch yourselves up," Calvin said, tipping his tinfoil hat before retreating to his office.

  As his footsteps faded, I slumped against the shelf, wincing as my weight shifted onto my injured leg. Blood had soaked through my cargo pants, leaving dark stains that spread like spilled ink.

  Ness immediately pulled off her oversized, dirt and blood-splattered, sliced t-shirt and put on the tank top without even turning around. I tried not to stare, but saw everything once again.

  Was she doing this on purpose? She had to, right?

  "Let me see," Nessy said, her voice extra soft as she knelt before me. Her eyes, startling blue pools that seemed to reflect an entirely different world, held genuine concern.

  "I'm fine," I muttered, the lie automatic.

  I'd grown used to tending my own wounds—both physical and emotional—for as long as I could remember. My parents had always been too busy fawning over my brother to notice my scraped knees or broken hearts.

  "Shush," she replied, but there was no bite to her words. "You're not fine. These nips need cleaning."

  Before I could protest further, she rolled up my pant leg, revealing the angry puncture wounds left by the nippers' teeth. Without hesitation, she leaned forward and—to my absolute shock—began licking the wounds.

  "What are you doing?" I tried to pull away.

  She held my ankle firmly, her strength once again catching me off guard. "My saliva contains enzymes that kill bacteria," she explained between licks. "A natural antiseptic.”

  “Isn't there some alcohol here or something?” I groaned.

  She eyed the shelf with the bandages and resumed her licking. “Nope.”

  "Argh. That's—" I sputtered, shuddering as her tongue moved over my skin. The sensation was bizarre—warm and gentle, oddly soothing despite the weirdness.

  "Relax," she said, pausing to look up at me. "I've been doing this since I was a pup. My mom used to lick my scrapes all the time."

  "That doesn't make it better," I pointed out, then winced at how that sounded. “Is there any of that… entropic shit in the wound?”

  “No,” she replied with a sniff and resuming licking. “Nothing. Those things were conceptually weak and their matter dissolved when it was disconnected.”

  I fell silent.

  When she finished, Nessy reached for the bandages and began wrapping my injuries, clawed fingers working with practiced precision. She hummed softly as she worked.

  “

  Deeper than the nippers' teeth

  Let me in, let me in

  I promise I won't leave…

  You built your walls so carefully

  To keep the world at bay

  But I can smell your history

  The scars you try to hide away…”

  "Where did you learn to do this?" I asked after about a minute of listening to her song about us climbing trees, childhood sleepovers, ice skating and her current dedication to 'guarding me while I'm sleeping'.

  “What?”

  “Singing so well. Coming up with songs on the fly?”

  “I dunno. Maybe you're just really good inspiration? I did spend four years trying to hopelessly build up the courage to impress you, to self improve my songery. Singery? Improvised singing! But then again, this rhymes is pretty swank. Stats?"

  Her stats didn't come up. She looked at me.

  "Stats," I said.

  Silver text loading bars flickered into existence above our right wrists.

  | Name: Alec Benoit Foster

  | Age: 23

  | Species & Subtype: Human (Reconstituted)

  | Core Affinity: Reconstitution

  | Level: 1

  | Health: 91/100 | Reconstitution: 0/100

  | Strength: 12

  | Agility: 2

  | Dexterity: 10

  | Vitality: 29

  | Charisma: 7

  | Foresight: 0

  | Intelligence: 35

  | Wisdom: 28

  | Skills: Reconstitution (Inactive), Pack Leader

  | Packmate: Nessy Rex Whitepaw

  | Name: Nessy Rex Whitepaw

  | Species & Subtype: Pradavarian - Husky

  | Core Affinity: Scrutiosmia

  | Level: 1

  | Health: 78/100 | Scrutiosmia: 26/100

  | Strength: 21

  | Agility: 27

  | Dexterity: 23

  | Vitality: 12

  | Charisma: 16

  | Foresight: 28

  | Intelligence: 1

  | Wisdom: 1

  | Skills: Scrutiosmia, Riffweld

  | Packmate: Alec Benoit Foster

  Two new windows appeared with silver lines connected to both of our stats.

  | Pack XP: 42/100

  | Pack Quests:

  | Of Calvin the Mini-Mart Archmage : [Make it bloom!]

  | Grow a tree from your first basic reward item.

  "Riffweld?" Nessy giggled, tail wagging excitedly. "That sounds musical! Rrrriffff..." She bark-growled. "Heh, like guitar riffs! And weld... like welding metal! I think I got a music skill for singing to you!"

  "And I got 'Pack Leader,' hrmm," I observed, somewhat surprised to see our connection officially recognized by the System.

  "See?" Nessy's tail wagged even harder, her eyes bright with excitement. "I told you we're a pack! The System agrees!"

  "Uh-huh," I pondered this implication. "So Riffweld helps you write music faster?"

  "Seems like it. Yeh. It's like... a tune begins to form in my head with chords and beats and all as soon as I think about composing music. Usually it takes way longer."

  "And Pack Leader..." I began.

  "Helps you summon our mutual stats!"

  "That seems inconvenient for you and rather generic for me," I said.

  "It prolly' makes you better at bossing me around too!" Her tail-wagging intensified.

  "How would that even..."

  "We should experiment!"

  "Riiiiight,” I said, trying to redirect the conversation away from inexplicable skill gains and the implications of 'bossing' Ness harder. “So, where'd you learn bandaging?”

  "Told you—mom was a nurse," she replied. "I was always getting banged up as a pup. Too much energy, not enough common sense."

  She finished securing the bandage on my ankle and moved to examine the bite on my shoulder, her nose twitching as she assessed the damage.

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  "I used to climb everything—trees, fences, rooftops. Drove my parents crazy," she continued. "Cut myself on all sorts of things. Remember that abandoned house we broke into on 771 Glotchester Street?"

  I did, of course recall exploring it by myself, but didn't say anything.

  "You freaked out so much when I fell through that rotted floor!" She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "My leg got sliced up pretty bad on some rusty nails and pointy wood bits. There was blood everywhere, and you were convinced I was gonna die of tetanus right there."

  She licked the bite on my shoulder.

  "But dogs heal faster than people," she added proudly. "Our skin is thicker and more elastic. Mom patched me up, and I was climbing again within days. You were so mad at me for that!"

  She tore off a strip of medical tape with her teeth, the motion so natural it was clear she'd done this countless times before.

  "Plus, mechanics get hurt all the time. You learn to patch people up when you work with heavy machinery and knobs who think safety procedures are just suggestions."

  She moved to other wounds on my arms next, repeating the process—lick, clean, bandage. I found myself studying her face as she worked, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, how her ears pivoted subtly toward any small sound outside.

  "All done," she announced, patting my newly bandaged limbs. "How's it feeling?"

  "Better," I admitted. "Thanks."

  Several bites marred her own fur, dark patches of crimson staining the black and white. She twisted like a pretzel to lick a particularly nasty bite on her thigh.

  Then she thrust the bandage into my hand. “Bandage.”

  I looked at her.

  “I can bandage myself, yes,” she said. “But this builds pack trust and you need practice for any future injuries since outside is a friggin' death trap now.”

  “Fine,” I relented, feeling a bit awkward as she submitted her thigh to me, her body too close for comfort.

  As I finished bandaging the thigh, Nessy turned suddenly, her face inches from mine. Before I could react, she leaned forward and licked my cheek—a long, slow stroke from jaw to temple.

  "Erm. What was that for?" I asked, fighting the urge to wipe my face.

  "For being brave," she grinned, her tail wagging with renewed vigor. "You were amazing out there with those nippers. The way you sliced through that alpha? Pure pack-leader material!"

  Her enthusiasm radiated from her in waves. She crowded closer, pressing her forehead against mine in what I was beginning to recognize as a distinctly canine gesture of affection.

  "We make a great team," she continued, voice trembling. "You and me against the world, just like it should be!"

  I pulled back slightly, uncomfortable with her intensity. It wasn't that her affection felt wrong—it was that it felt unearned. Undeserved.

  "I got lucky with that hit," I said, breaking eye contact. "And you did most of the work with that concrete glove thing."

  "Ehh, I didn't really damage it permanently, got bogged down, distracted by the process of the fight itself. Also, you gotta stop that," she frowned, tilting her head. "Why do you keep doing that?"

  "Doing what?"

  "Being negative. Deflecting. Dismissing yourself." Her ears flattened slightly. "Every time I try to get close, you pull away."

  I sighed, suddenly exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with our recent battle. "Look, Nessy, I appreciate your... Affectionate enthusiasm. But we've known each other for a day and a half."

  "That's not—"

  "It is true," I interrupted. "For me, at least. And I'm sorry, but I'm not the Alec you knew. I'm not your pack leader or your childhood friend or whatever else you remember."

  "The System says you're my pack leader." Her eyes narrowed, something flashing behind them that might have been hurt or anger or both. "And you smell like him. You look like him. You even fight like him—all calculation and last-minute recklessness."

  "But I'm not him," I insisted. "And what happens if—when—you find your actual Alec? The one who knows all your shared history, who remembers the promises you made?"

  She flinched as if I'd struck her. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that I don't want to be your temporary replacement Alec," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "Your consolation prize until the real thing comes along."

  "That's not what you are to me."

  "Isn't it? Because from where I'm standing, you've spent every moment since we met trying to force me into someone else's shoes, basing affection and pre-existing trust on things I never did.”

  The silence that followed was deafening. Nessy's tail had gone completely still, her ears flattening.

  "I don't understand," she finally said with a whine. "What am I doing wrong?"

  I recognized her expression, the desperate need for validation, for connection—it mirrored how I felt when my parents had chosen my brother over me.

  "You didn't do anything wrong," I sighed, rubbing my temples. "It's not about you, Ness. It's about me not being able to trust people in general. I never had anyone in my life who didn't fuck me over in the end.”

  Nessy's dire look softened.

  "I don't know if I can be what you need," I continued. "I don't know if I can be an alpha, a pack leader, a protector. For one, I never considered myself as a leader or a follower. I've been keeping mostly to myself in school and university. None of my relationships worked out. Every girl I dated peaced out after like a week or two.”

  “I might have maybe worded things a bit wrong,” she said, tilting her head. “A syn-pack isn't a thing where you just boss me as an alpha leader, it's a partnership between man and dog. It's about trust and understanding and cooperation.”

  I sighed wearily.

  “Relax, you're still learning,” She reached out slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. "I'm not expecting absolute perfection from you," she said softly, pawing at my face softly. "We can figure it out… together."

  I wanted to believe her. Wanted to surrender to the comfort she offered so freely. But years of disappointment and abandonment had built walls around my heart that couldn't be dismantled in a day, even by someone as persistent as Nessy.

  “I'd never betray you,” she reached out and hugged me, nuzzling against my face. “Never ever. You know that… right?”

  “And if we encounter another Alec in this... interdimensional patchwork world? One that remembers your life together, one that's better than me at everything. What then, Miss doggo?”

  Nessy's eyes widened at my question, her pupils dilating slightly. The husky-girl's pointed ears flattened again, and I watched something shift in her expression–a ripple of confusion, then hurt quickly followed by fierce determination. Her grip on me tightened.

  “There was only one path for me to follow via Scrutiosmia,” she growled. “Just one. Towards you. Not infinity paths, not two diverging roads, or ten. I did sniff things that were sort of you-ish, but not exactly right, different. If there was another Alec out there, I would know. There isn’t.”

  “But what if one appears in the future?” I pressed on.

  “Aleeeec,” she whined. “I’m a simple doggo. Stop tormenting me with these ridiculous philosophical questions. Right now I’m imprinted on you and I’m not bloody going anywhere. If another Alec twin or your clone appears from thin air, I’d obviously choose you because I can smell myself all over you. I’ve already made my choice and I’m sticking with it and will stand by your side as your dog until I’m dead.”

  The paranoid part of my brain immediately started to dig for any cracks in her argument, any weakness in her loyalty that might prove me right, trying to sabotage this connection before it had a chance to disappoint me, just as everyone else had. Every fleeting relationship I had—they'd all taught me the same lesson: attachment leads to abandonment and a stabbing in the back.

  "I'm not worthy of your devotion," I muttered, not finding a solid enough argument. "You barely know me. I barely know you.”

  "Okay, fine, maybe I don't know everything about you yet," she fired back, "but I saw how you fought for me against those damned nippers when you could have run. I saw that ‘breathe into a bag’ system message too, you know. I know you smell like kindness beneath all that fear and doubt. You showed me care when you washed entropic dirt off me and bandaged my wounds, even when you're pretending not to care like a knob now.”

  I squinted at her.

  Yeah I’ve got nothing. Way too tired to argue.

  “This is fine,” she added, licking and quickly binding the rest of her smaller wounds. “I’ll whine a bit, but I'll accept your dumb reservations. I'll simply work extra-hard on earning your trust the hard way, grind you down like a river assaulting a mountain till you submit to my doggored powers. As long as I can be by your side, I’m happy.”

  Damn you, persistent, fluffy creature.

  "All bandaged up? We should plant that sandwich," I commented. "Before the concrete expires."

  “Yeah, yeah,” she huffed, gave me another quick lick on the cheek and then let go of me, swatting me with her fluffy tail.

  Humming another tune under her breath, she retrieved the bucket of concrete from where we'd left it by the door.

  “Do you have a living lamp or is there a quest-in-the-quest for us to find one?” I asked Calvin who was lounging in an unfolded camping chair in front of the door and sketching out eyes on his yellow sticky note pad.

  “You know where the living lamps are,” he said. “You got stung by em.”

  “So you want us to catch… bulbees?”

  “Yep.”

  “By walking all the way back across that whacked out mall full of insane growing shit that might come alive at anytime and eat us?”

  “Nah. Grab a glass jar from aisle 3. You don't need to go anywhere when you know what the bulbees want.”

  “What do they want?” I asked.

  “The bulbees are attracted to flowers on electric screens that radiate bright positive vibes.”

  “Vibes?” I stared at the tinfoil-hatted man. “Seriously?”

  “Hey I don’t make the rules,” the System-tagged Archmage of the Mini-Mart shrugged. “I just… see and hear things when I walk around the area.”

  "Where do we find these... flowers?" I demanded.

  "Be creative," he said, waving us off.

  I continued to stare at Calvin, frustration mounting. Cryptic advice was beginning to feel like this guru's specialty. I rotated and headed to the aisle in question.

  "Glass jars," I muttered. "At least that part was straightforward."

  Nessy followed me, her claws clicking softly against the linoleum. The shelves in aisle 3 were mostly bare, but a few mason jars remained, their glass surfaces collecting dust. I grabbed the largest one, turning it in my hands.