The interior of the CampShip felt less like a sanctuary and more like a triage unit. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp scent of ozone. Around the central table, the group nursed their battered bodies, silence stretching between them like a taut wire.

  Angelo looked the worst of them all. His face was a swollen map of violence—bruises blooming across his jaw, a nasty gash above his eyebrow still weeping sluggishly. He moved with the stiff, jerky motions of a man whose adrenaline had long since evaporated, leaving only raw nerve endings behind.

  Sol held the small glass vial up to the light, swirling the last few drops of blue liquid. His expression was grim.

  "This is it," Sol murmured, his voice raspy. "The last of the Regenwater. We're running on fumes."

  Neiva and Angelo didn't respond; the energy required to speak felt like a luxury they couldn't afford.

  "Think about the statistical absurdity of this," Sol continued, his frustration bleeding into the quiet. "First, Dray returns from the grave with a vendetta—fine, he had a tracker, I’ll grant the universe a pass on that one. But then?"

  Angelo hissed through his teeth as he slid a roll of bandages across the table to Neiva. She took them with a silent nod, her hands trembling slightly as she began to wrap his shredded forearm.

  "Then," Sol’s voice rose, "we get ambushed by an energy-eating vampire and his mechanical pet monster? In the same twenty-four-hour window?"

  "We're alive," Neiva whispered, her eyes focused on binding Angelo's wound. "Someone stepped in. We got lucky."

  Sol let out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Lucky? You think relying on mysterious saviors is 'lucky'?"

  "It’s better than being dead," she countered softly.

  "Is it?" Sol leaned forward, wincing as his own ribs protested. "Use your head, Neiva. What are the chances of twoseparate, high-level threats converging on us, followed immediately by a third party of powerful Aurons intervening? In a forest that isn't even on most maps?"

  Neiva paused, the bandage going slack in her hand. "When you put it like that... it does seem—"

  "Impossible," Sol finished for her. He started ticking points off on his fingers. "First, there was the bald one. 'Two,' whatever they called him. He knew Hugo. He admitted to killing him. And then he came hunting for us."

  The memory of Clay’s polite malice surfaced in Sol's mind. He turned his gaze to Angelo. "He said they were 'dying to meet you.' They weren't just wandering the woods, Angelo. They were headhunting."

  Angelo let out a long, ragged sigh that rattled in his chest. "Story of my life. Universe decides it needs a punching bag, and I'm the only one in line."

  "The question is," Sol pressed, ignoring Angelo's deflection, "who were they actually looking for? Angelo Ashworth... or the Angel of Death?"

  "I told you," Angelo said, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. "I've never seen them before. I don't know them."

  A thoughtful silence descended. Neiva finished tying off the bandage and sat back. "Wait. They mentioned a name. Dr. T? Does that ring any bells?"

  Angelo shook his head slowly, not opening his eyes. "No."

  "Doctor..." Sol tapped his chin, his detective instincts fighting through the pain fog. "Those implants were advanced. Beyond anything I've seen. Do you think they were... experiments? Maybe this Dr. T tinkered with them?"

  Angelo shifted, gritting his teeth as his bruises flared. "Maybe Albert knows him."

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  Sol snapped his fingers, the sound sharp in the small room. "Right! Albert Goldstein. If anyone knows about rogue scientists building super-soldiers, it's him. Call him."

  Angelo cracked one eye open, fixing Sol with a flat stare. "It's the middle of the night. The old man is probably asleep, and I'm not waking him up to ask about a name we barely heard."

  Sol’s hand dropped. "Right. Good point. Maybe morning."

  "I have a theory," Neiva said, her brow furrowed in concentration.

  "Let's hear it," Sol encouraged.

  "What if... what if Angelo isn't the primary target?" She looked between them. "What if this Dr. T has a grudge against Albert? Professional jealousy? And he's targeting Angelo because he knows you're connected to him?"

  Sol rubbed his stubble, impressed. "That... actually tracks. It explains why they'd send specific counters to your abilities. If they read Albert's research on you..."

  "It makes sense," Angelo admitted, the pieces clicking together in his tired mind. "It explains why everything felt so... calculated."

  "You felt it too?" Sol asked.

  "Yeah." Angelo sat up straighter, ignoring the protest of his muscles. "You guys might not have caught it in the chaos, but they were pulling their punches."

  "Pulling their punches?" Neiva looked incredulous. "Angelo, look at us. We're hamburger meat."

  "We're walking," Angelo corrected darkly. "With the power that robot had? He could have taken our heads off in the first ten seconds. He avoided vital organs. He threw us around, sure, but he didn't finish the job when he had the chance."

  "You're right," Sol murmured, eyes widening. "The only time he actually tried to kill was at the end, when you went for his pal. Before that? It was a sparring match to them."

  "The fuck!?"

  Red’s voice erupted in their shared mental space, loud enough to make Angelo wince physically.

  "Interesting, very interesting." Blue added, his mental tone cool and contemplative.

  "What now?" Angelo thought back, too tired to deal with them.

  "Hey, genius," Red demanded. "Is it possible for other Aurons to use Remote Energy Manipulation?"

  "Theoretically, yes," Blue interjected. "Though the skill curve is steep."

  "Why do you ask?" Angelo queried, dreading the answer.

  "Because while you idiots were playing detective, I decided to check on our new 'friends'—the sand and wind duo," Red said, his mental voice dripping with suspicion. "I sent a marble over to their tent to snoop."

  "...And?" Angelo braced himself.

  "The tent ATE it!" Red screamed mentally. "It didn't just block it; the sand swallowed my construct whole! He knew I was there!"

  "Maybe he just values his privacy," Angelo dismissed, rubbing his temples. "Besides, you're the empath. Can't you just read his intentions?"

  "That is NOT how it works, you moron!" Red snapped. "Look, just let me recharge. I'll go over there personally and see what's what."

  "No," Angelo said aloud, the word cutting through the quiet room. "Not tonight. I'm done."

  "Oh, come on!" Red’s rage spiked, a hot needle in Angelo's brain. "This whole arrangement is a joke! I'm trapped in here because you're too tired?!"

  "Why can't you be CONSIDERATE for ONCE in your existence?!" Angelo roared, slamming his hands on the table.

  Sol and Neiva jumped, staring at him in shock. Angelo wasn't speaking to them; his eyes were unfocused, looking inward.

  "LOOK AT ME!" Angelo shouted at the air, gesturing to his broken body. "I can barely stand!"

  "You're locking me up!" Red shouted back, his voice a mental thunderclap. "For what? Thirty minutes of aura time? Boo-hoo, poor Angelo!"

  "Gentlemen, please, this conflict is unproductive and—" Blue tried to interject.

  "SHUT UP!" Red and Angelo screamed in unison—one internally, one externally.

  Sol cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh... Angelo? Everything okay in there?"

  Angelo blinked, the room snapping back into focus. He saw Neiva’s wide eyes and Sol’s concern. He slumped, the fight draining out of him.

  "Yeah," he muttered, turning away. "I'm fine. Just... internal disagreements. Don't worry about it."

  But Red wasn't finished. The connection vibrated with his cold fury.

  "Fine. You want to play the victim? Do it alone. Don't EVER ask me for help again. No Trinergy. No Trinergy Mode. No Energy Fusion. Nothing. You're on your own."

  "Red, you are escalating this unnecessarily," Blue warned.

  "Shut your mouth, Blueberry! Nobody asked you! Fuck off!"

  The mental link fell silent, leaving only a heavy, toxic pressure in Angelo's skull.

  Angelo stood up, swaying slightly as the room spun. "I'm going to bed."

  "You look like shit, man," Sol said gently.

  "I know," Angelo mumbled, shuffling toward his cabin door. "Going to wake up feeling like it, too."

  "If the shoe fits," Red’s final mental jab was a whisper of venom.

  Angelo ignored it, stepping into his room and slamming the door with more force than necessary.

  Sol and Neiva sat in the dim light of the main cabin, exchanging a look of shared unease.

  "We should probably follow his shoes," Sol said quietly, reaching up to click off the main light.

  Darkness swallowed the room, but it offered no comfort. As they lay in the silence, nursing their wounds, the unspoken fear hung heavy in the air: they had survived the monsters outside, but the monsters inside might be the ones that finally tore them apart.