Day three arrived without warning.

No alarms.
No screams.
Just a hollow quiet that pressed against the walls of the lab like a held breath.

The group sat where they had slept—if you could call it sleeping. Stiff limbs, sore backs, eyes burning from staying half-open all night. The smell of antiseptic mixed with old blood and something faintly rotten drifting in through the vents.

No one spoke at first.

Maya was awake before anyone else. She always was now.

She sat cross-legged on the counter, knife resting loosely in her palm, eyes fixed on the reinforced window. Outside, the world looked wrong—too still, too broken. Smoke rose in the distance, curling into the grey sky like a bad omen.

Dragons had been seen again at dawn.

Big ones.

Too close.

Johan leaned against a cabinet, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Maya once. Not since yesterday.

“You’re pacing,” he said flatly.

Maya didn’t look at him. “No, I’m thinking.”

“That’s worse.”

She finally turned, green eyes sharp. “You don’t get to comment on how I cope.”

Rin, sitting on the floor with their back to the wall, sighed softly. “Please don’t start. Not today.”

Leo watched the exchange silently, fingers drumming against his knee. Elliott stayed near the door, as usual—close enough to react, far enough to disappear if needed.

And then—

A shadow passed over the window.

Not fast.
Not violent.

Just… there.

Maya froze.

Everyone did.

The air changed. Heavy. Charged. Like the moment before a storm breaks.

Outside, massive wings folded slowly as a dragon landed on the cracked pavement below. Its scales shimmered—soft gold threaded with pale blue light. Its movements were cautious, almost restrained, like it knew how fragile everything around it was.

The dragon lifted its head.

And looked straight at Maya.

Her breath caught.

Something pulled—low in her chest, warm and aching. Not fear. Not exactly. It felt like standing too close to a fire you didn’t mean to approach.

Johan swore under his breath. “No. Absolutely not.”

The dragon didn’t growl. Didn’t bare its teeth.

It lowered its head.

Submission.

Rin whispered, barely audible, “This is it… this is what I meant.”

Maya slid off the counter slowly, knife forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

Rin’s voice shook. “Worlds colliding. Ours and theirs. Not by war—but by choice.”

The dragon let out a soft, resonant sound—not a roar. A call.

Maya took one step forward.

Johan grabbed her wrist. “Don’t. You have no idea what it wants.”

Maya looked at him—and for the first time, there was something distant in her gaze. Like she was already somewhere else. “I think I do.”

She pulled free.

The lab door creaked open as she stepped outside, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The dragon waited, unmoving, watching her with eyes too intelligent to be mistaken for instinct.

“Luma,” Maya breathed, the name forming without thought.

The dragon stilled.

Then leaned down—forehead touching hers.

Light flared.

Not blinding. Not violent.

Just real.

Inside the lab, Elliott staggered back as something rippled through the air—heat, magic, connection. His chest tightened painfully, like something he hadn’t even known he was waiting for had just… slipped further away.

Leo whispered, “She bonded.”

Johan’s hands clenched into fists. “Already?”

Rin watched the glowing bond outside, eyes wet. “The first bridge is always the hardest… and the most dangerous.”

Maya stepped back moments later—changed. Not visibly. But everyone could feel it.

Behind her, Luma spread her wings protectively.

The dragon looked at the humans.

Not as prey.

Not as allies.

But as a test.

Elliott swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet that gaze.

Somewhere out there—beyond the ruined city, beyond the fear and fire—his dragon existed.

And he wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

The hallway outside the lab smelled wrong. Not rot exactly, but something old and damp, like rain that never dried. The five of them sat where they had slept, backs against metal counters, limbs stiff, eyes too tired to close again.

No one spoke.

Maya sat apart from the others.

Not because they told her to—because space had formed there naturally, like water pulling away from a stone.

And just beyond the shattered lab door, half-hidden behind a toppled cabinet, Luma watched.

She didn’t step inside.

Her body was low to the ground, wings tucked tight, tail curled around her own legs. Pale-gold scales caught what little light there was, soft instead of sharp. Her eyes—too big, too bright—never left Maya.

Johan noticed first.

“…It’s still there,” he muttered.

Leo shifted, slow and careful. “Don’t point. Just—don’t.”

Maya hadn’t turned around. She knew. She could feel it—like a pressure behind her ribs, like being looked at through fog.

Rin whispered, half to himself, “It hasn’t attacked us. That matters.”

“That’s what it wants you to think,” Johan snapped back, louder than he meant to.

Luma flinched.

The sound hit her like a thrown stone.

Her head jerked up, wings twitching open just a fraction. A low, broken sound slipped from her throat—not a growl, not a roar. Something uncertain.

Maya turned sharply. “Johan—stop.”

Her voice wasn’t loud.

That was worse.

Luma’s eyes locked onto her.

Fear poured through the bond, sudden and sharp. Not Maya’s—Luma’s. It hit Maya in the chest so hard she gasped, fingers digging into her jacket.

Leo noticed. “Maya?”

“I—I’m fine,” she said quickly, though her hands were shaking. “Just—don’t yell. Please.”

Johan stared. “You’re defending it.”

“I’m not,” Maya snapped, then stopped, breath hitching. “…I don’t think.”

Luma took one cautious step forward.

Metal scraped softly under her claws.

Every weapon came up at once.

A pipe. A broken chair leg. A knife.

Luma froze.

Her pupils blew wide. Her wings snapped open fully now—not aggressive, just instinct, trying to make herself look bigger in a space that suddenly felt too small.

She smelled fear.

Too much fear.

Too many directions.

Maya stood without thinking. “No—don’t—”

She moved toward Luma.

From the outside, it looked like madness.

From Luma’s view, the one human who felt familiar was walking closer while the others bared their teeth and raised claws.

Conflict.

Danger.

Protect or flee.

Luma chose wrong.

She lunged—not at a person, but at the space between them, slamming her body down hard enough to crack tile, wings flaring, a warning cry tearing from her throat. Not a roar.

A plea.

Everyone screamed.

Rin stumbled backward, crashing into a table. Johan swung his pipe on reflex, the metal clanging against Luma’s shoulder.

She shrieked.

The sound ripped through Maya’s skull. She dropped to her knees, hands over her ears, choking on air that wouldn’t come.

“STOP!” Maya screamed. “STOP—YOU’RE HURTING HER—”

Luma recoiled instantly.

She didn’t understand the words—but she understood that.

Pain. From Maya. Because of her.

She backed away fast, claws skidding, wings folding in tight as if trying to disappear. Her eyes never left Maya’s face.

Then she turned and ran.

Down the hallway. Around the corner. Gone.

Silence slammed down after her.

Maya stayed on the floor, shaking.

No one moved to help her at first.

Johan finally whispered, “…What the hell just happened?”

Rin swallowed hard. “I think,” he said slowly, “we just taught it we’re enemies.”

Leo looked at the empty doorway.

And for the first time since the sky split open, Elliott—who had been quiet the entire time—felt something cold and heavy settle in his chest.

Not fear of the dragon.

Fear of what would happen when one of them stopped running.