Savannah woke up with a gasp. She reached forward, her green eyes still hazy as she scanned her surroundings. She quickly realized she was breathing too fast and began to cough, the dryness in her throat making each breath feel like sandpaper. As she steadied herself, she straightened up and worked to control her breathing. Her muscles felt like soup and rock—numb yet aching, heavy but fragile.
She recognized the room.
The Echo-9 Medical Wing was cold and sterile, but not in a cruel way. It was utilitarian—walls a pale steel-gray with faint blue circuitry patterns pulsing like veins across the surface. Clean, sharp light emanated from thin panels above, humming faintly with a synthetic buzz. A few other beds lined the walls, each one separated by thin holographic curtains that flickered slightly when touched by airflow. Diagnostic screens floated beside every bed, reading vitals in soft, blinking green. The scent was a mixture of antiseptic and scorched ozone.
She sighed.
She was alive.
But then it all came crashing back.
The screams. The deaths. The flames licking the sky. The creature.
Her head pounded like a drumbeat against her skull, and she buried it in her hands. Her fingers curled through her damp hair as if trying to claw the memories out. But they wouldn’t leave.
She laid back in the bed, her head sinking into the too-flat pillow. “Oi oi…” she muttered under her breath, voice raspy with disuse and irritation. She sighed again, longer this time.
“That vacation was supposed to be a vacation,” she grumbled. “Not the end of the freaking world.”
The cool of the sheets helped ease the knot coiled in her stomach, but even that relief was short-lived. Just the act of lying down made her wince. Pain pulsed through her body in rhythmic waves—like she’d run a marathon, climbed a mountain, and fought a kaiju all in one day. Every tendon felt inflamed, every nerve bruised. It wasn’t just soreness; it was backlash.
Desire backlash.
She closed her eyes and reached inward, peeling her consciousness back like layers of silk until she touched the stream of her Mani.
What met her wasn’t a river.
It was a whirlpool.
Her Mani spiraled erratically, threads of energy tangled and disjointed, flickering like broken circuitry. It still pulsed with life—barely—but its flow was jagged and disrupted, leaking tiny flares of heat and unstable flickers. Normally it ran like a current under her skin—smooth, constant, vibrant. Now it felt like ice trying to remember how to be water.
It wasn’t destroyed. Not yet. But if she pushed it again anytime soon…
She sighed. Deeply. “No Manifestation for a while. Great.”
Her eyes flicked around the room, careful not to move her head or expel even a drop of aura. She could still observe—still think—but that was about it. The limitation gnawed at her. She hated feeling helpless.
“Aw! Look who’s awake.”
That voice.
If rolling her eyes didn’t make her want to cry, she would’ve done it without hesitation. Of course—he had to show up. The one person she really didn’t want to see right now.
Her eyes flicked sideways, slow and deliberate, and landed on a nurse. One she didn’t recognize. Which was weird, considering she had a whole history of meeting Echo-9 nurses on a first-name basis. This one had neat cornrows and a lavender badge labeled TAY, moving around with that mix of professionalism and just enough gentleness to not set Savannah off.
But standing beside her—unmistakably and regrettably—was Lucenzo Mota.
Italian first name, Dominican last name. Trouble in every language.
He was a couple years older than her, probably thought that made him wiser. It didn’t. He stood out in the worst way—out of uniform, wearing a deep red hoodie with a stylized skull print on the chest, sleeves pushed up to reveal a mess of intricate tattoos. Roses. Stars. Lettering in languages she didn’t speak. His long, chestnut brown hair was tied back in a half ponytail, loose strands framing his face with that too-effortless kind of cool.
And those grey eyes.
They looked at her like she was both a miracle and a tragedy. Pity and admiration mixed in a way that made her skin crawl. Of course, Savannah only paid attention to the pity part. She hated that look.
“Vitals are holding,” Nurse Tay muttered, brushing a device near Savannah’s temple. “Saturation’s stable. How’s the pain, 1 to 10?”
Savannah croaked out, “Seven. But if he doesn’t stop staring, it’s gonna hit ten real quick.”
Lucenzo chuckled under his breath.
Tay smirked without looking up. “Love that attitude. Means you’re a lot better than expected.”
Savannah leaned her head back with a sigh. “Unfortunately.”
The nurse ran a few more tests—light scans over her ribs, reflex checks, energy readings. Savannah answered what she could, weakly and with her usual spice diluted to a simmer.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Lucenzo, shockingly, said nothing.
He just stood there. Arms crossed, leaning against the wall like a graffiti statue. No smug smirk. No dumb joke about her appearance. No sarcastic jab to rile her up.
That wasn’t like him.
Normally, he’d already have cracked a line about her looking like she fought a dragon and lost—or won, depending on his mood. But not today. Not while she was laid out like this. Not with bruises still dark on her collarbone and bandages visible beneath her medical gown.
Seeing her like this wasn’t fun for him. Savannah never went down easy. She was the kind of girl who laughed mid-fight and called it therapy. If she ended up here like this… then whatever she’d faced had to be something fierce.
He had questions—a lot of questions—but even he knew better than to bombard her while the nurse was still around.
Savannah could feel the tension radiating off him like secondhand smoke. She almost hoped Nurse Tay would stick around a little longer, run just one more scan.
When the final check beeped complete, Tay straightened up.
“Oi?” Savannah croaked, eyes still half-lidded. “You sure there ain’t more tests you can do? Blood draw? Head trauma? Wanna check if I still got a soul?”
The nurse chuckled, shaking her head as she slid the scanner back onto the tray. “Someone will be with you shortly. You’ll live. And you’re mostly healed, just be careful with movement.”
Then she left.
Just like that, it was quiet.
Just the hum of machines. The faint buzz of overhead lights. And him.
Savannah sighed and frowned, staring up at the ceiling like it had answers. “Great,” she muttered. “Just what I needed.”
Lucenzo didn’t say anything at first.
Just stood there, arms still crossed, foot tapping lightly against the floor. Watching her. Measuring the moment.
It was unnerving.
After a minute of unbearable silence, Savannah groaned, eyes still locked on the ceiling.
“Spit it out already.”
He chuckled, low and smooth. That classic Lucenzo charm laced with something heavier.
“How you doing, bella?”
She blinked slowly. Still didn’t look at him.
“…Really?”
He nodded and pushed off the wall. “Yeah, okay. That was dumb. I literally just watched a nurse run diagnostics on your kidneys. My bad.”
There was a pause, then his voice dropped to a more serious note. “How many Supreme Skills did you stack on the Desire?”
Her lip twitched. “Two.”
He blinked. “Two? You stacked two?” He whistled and shook his head. “That’s insane, Savannah.”
Silence.
Then, softly—
“What about the monster?” he asked. “How the hell did your class get wiped out like that?”
She turned her head slightly, just enough to glare at him from the pillow. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
His brows rose. “…So you did care about them?”
“Yes,” she snapped, voice trembling. “I lost friends, Lucenzo.”
He scoffed, almost bitterly. “Normal people don’t become friends with Veytharis. It’s not in their—”
“Oi!” she barked. “Shut the hell up!”
The monitors around her flared to life with sharp beeping, red indicators flashing as her heart rate spiked.
Lucenzo’s eyes widened, hands up immediately like she had a gun pointed at him. “Okay! Okay, sorry! Chill, alright? I didn’t mean it like that—seriously. Breathe, Sav. Breathe for me.”
She turned away from him, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched as she fought to rein it in. Her chest rose and fell in jagged waves.
Lucenzo took a careful step closer but kept his voice low. “…Tell me about the creature.”
Savannah’s voice cut like a blade. “Is it dead?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You heard me,” she said, sharper now. “Is. It. Dead?”
Lucenzo looked away. “…I don’t know.”
Savannah shut her eyes.
“Then you can leave.”
He froze.
“I’m not talking about it. Not with anyone who can’t answer that.”
Lucenzo stood there for a beat longer, the grin wiped clean from his face. No comeback. No apology. No charm. Just quiet.
“So it wasn’t a Demurge then?” Lucenzo asked, voice softer now.
Savannah didn’t answer.
Didn’t even flinch.
She was done talking to him.
“Bella, come on…”
Her voice was flat and final. “Leave me alone, Lucenzo.”
He hesitated, and she continued, not even looking at him. “I really rather be alone. But now that they know I’m up, I know they’ll start crowding me. So just… let me have these last few quiet moments to myself.”
He sighed. That hit deeper than he wanted to admit. He wasn’t just here for intel—he was here because he gave a damn. She was his teammate. Hell, she was his—well, not officially, but in a way he’d never say out loud.
“Fine, Bella. I’ll leave you alone.” His voice was tight. “Want me to tell the others the same?”
She gave a single, tired nod. No venom, just exhaustion. She didn’t care to see the team. Didn’t want their concern. Their pity. Their fake optimism. She didn’t want anything right now.
Lucenzo turned, hoodie ruffling as he headed for the door—
“Wait!”
He stopped mid-step and looked back.
Savannah’s eyes were open now, wide with a flicker of something that looked almost like fear. “Is Zoey okay?”
Lucenzo’s expression shifted. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Oi?! Are you just useless?” she snapped, a flash of fire finally breaking through her deadened tone.
He chuckled, “Now you better watch yourself, bella.”
She scowled at him but said nothing.
Lucenzo leaned against the doorframe. “But I do know this—Arrow-13 received a Veythari around the same time the incident went down. Could be coincidence. Probably not.”
Savannah’s lips parted slightly. “…How long have I been out?”
He looked at her, serious again. “Three weeks.”
The room went still. Three weeks.
“Damnit! Damnit!” Savannah growled, slamming her fist weakly against the mattress—just enough to sting without setting off the monitors again.
Lucenzo stepped forward, quietly. He placed a hand on hers, warm and steady.
She stared at it… then at him.
He let go. “I can tell you what happened,” he offered, voice soft.
“It’s fine,” she cut in sharply. “They’ll let me know during the debrief. Can I get a damn minute to myself?”
He stepped back, jaw tight, then exhaled. “I’m glad you’re alive, Savannah.”
He turned to leave.
Then paused in the doorway. Looked back at her with something deeper behind those grey eyes. “Do you hate me, Bella?”
“I hate when you call me that,” she muttered.
He smirked faintly. “I’m serious.”
But before she could say anything—
“Well now, look who survived hell and crawled back.”
Standing in the doorway was White-Bullseye, dressed in her signature white duster coat and ivory-stitched boots. Her amber-orange eyes scanned the room with practiced ease, her blonde braids swinging lightly as she cocked her head with a half-smile. Her hands were gloved and relaxed at her sides, though the weight of her presence made the entire room feel like it was holding its breath.
Lucenzo straightened. “Captain.”
Bullseye didn’t answer right away, before giving him a nod. She then fixed her eyes on Savannah. “Glad to see you breathin’ again, sugar. Wasn’t lookin’ to lose one o’ my sharpest.” She looked between them. “Ain’t this a picture. Was I interruptin’ somethin’?”
Savannah blinked up at her. “You’re not interrupting anything. He was just leaving.”
Lucenzo gave one last look—lingering, a little too long—then nodded. Walking past Bullseye out the door.
Bullseye stepped in fully, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. She tilted her hat back with one finger, then let her sharp eyes settle on Savannah.
“You sure I didn’t step on somethin’ raw?” she asked.
Savannah chuckled—but the sound quickly turned into a wince, pain blooming across her chest as she grabbed her side.
Bullseye stepped forward, pulling a chair beside her bed. “Easy now. Don’t go bustin’ more ribs on account of me.” She tipped her hat back. “But let’s talk, Red. What the hell happen out there.”