The silence stretched, taut as wire.
Lance stayed hunched in the corner, a human coil of breath and nerves, his hands buried in Dario's fur as if afraid they might betray him the moment he let go. His body had gone still in the way prey sometimes does when the shadow of the predator moves past—hoping stillness might be mistaken for survival.
Dani watched him.
Not out of kindness.
Out of necessity.
She didn't move immediately. The briefcase sat at her feet, the lunchbox sealed again at her side. Her weapons were at the ready, her stance loose—but her eyes didn't stray from Lance.
He didn't notice at first.
That she'd dropped into a crouch, halfway across the room, as silently as a shadow.
That she'd pulled something small from her pocket—a worn metallic disk no larger than a watch face.
She rolled it between her fingers as she watched him breathe.
His pupils were clouded again. Not milky. Veiled.
Not full infection, she thought. Not yet.
But it was leaking through.
She activated the disk.
A soft vibration hummed in the air—low, almost imperceptible.
Lance flinched.
Dani narrowed her eyes.
Not from the sound. From something deeper. A reflex. A symbiote reaction.
Her jaw tightened. She pocketed the disk and stood.
"Hey," she said, voice casual, like they were still sitting in a diner booth deciding on pancakes.
Lance looked up slowly, his gaze lagging behind the movement of his head by a beat too long.
His eyes refocused. Sluggish.
He didn't respond.
Dani approached—measured steps, not too slow, not too sudden. She crouched next to Dario first, scratched under his chin like this was any other quiet evening after any other world-ending situation.
The dog didn't move. He just pressed harder into Lance's chest.
"Your pupils aren't responding," Dani said, not unkindly. "That's usually a fun one."
Lance blinked hard. "What?"
She leaned in a fraction, her gaze meeting his. "They've been cloudy since you came back. Thought it was blood loss. It's not."
He shifted uneasily. "So what is it?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small, flat disk and offered it to him with one hand. "Here."
"What is it?"
"Filter glyph," she said. "For your eye. One eye. If you see anything weird, don't scream. It won't help."
"I'm not putting cursed origami into my eyeball."
"It's not cursed. It's experimental. Completely different branch of paranoia."
Lance hesitated... then took it.
He pressed it gently to his left eye.
The moment it made contact, he gasped.
Not because of pain.
Because something tugged.
Not physical.
Like a window opening somewhere behind his own retina.
He saw the room—concrete, dim, unchanged.
And then he saw something else.
A strand.
Thin as hair.
Trailing off the back of his skull into a corner of the room—vanishing into a seam in the wall that hadn't been there a second ago.
His hands began to shake.
The glyph fell from his face.
"What—what was that?" he whispered.
Dani's expression barely shifted. "A tether."
"Tether to what?"
She exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. "If I knew, we'd be somewhere brighter and less haunted."
He stared at her. "You're monitoring me," he said. "That's why you brought me here. Not to protect me. Not to save me. You're studying me."
Dani leaned against the wall, her arms crossing like a shrug drawn in posture. "You make it sound so personal."
"You said they swapped the milk. At the store. While I was distracted. But you were there, Dani. You distracted me."
Her jaw tensed—but she didn't deny it.
"You think I did this to you?"
"I don't know what to think," Lance muttered. "And I think that's the point."
She tilted her head. "If I wanted to do this to you, you'd have been drinking demon yogurt in a padded room three days ago."
That silenced him.
For a moment.
"I'm scared," he admitted.
She didn't scoff. She didn't soften—at least not in her voice. But her eyes flicked away.
She just nodded once. "Good. It means the right you's still steering."
"Then why do I feel like I'm watching someone else wear my face?"
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. She crouched again, scratching Dario behind the ears, letting the dog nudge her hand closer to Lance's knee as if guiding her.
"That," she said, "is usually the part where people run into traffic or join a cult. You're ahead of the curve."
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, cracked audio recorder. Turned it over in her hand twice, thumb lingering on the play button before she finally held it out.
"Play this when I say. Not before."
"What's on it?"
Her jaw tensed. She didn't look at him—just kept her eyes on Dario, whose tail had slowed to a cautious sway.
"I don't know anymore," she said quietly. "But I recorded it for someone who was starting to feel like you do."
"Did it help?"
This time, when she smiled, it wasn't cruel—it was tired, like she was remembering something that had already taken too much out of her.
"He didn't… get better," she admitted, voice almost lost to the hum of the station. "But he didn't have to go through it alone."
Lance took the recorder with both hands, holding it like a bomb with a heartbeat.
She stood.
"I'll set perimeter glyphs. Don't press the button unless you're ready to ruin your night."
Then she turned, leaving him there with the weight of her words, the humming red light on the recorder, and Dario's soft breath steady in his lap.
He sat in silence.
Still himself.
But slipping.
And maybe she knew exactly how far he could fall.
Lance didn't repeat the question. He just stared.
"Subject," he said again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just empty.
Dani slid the flat remote back into her jacket without looking at him. "It's a classification term. Chill."
"Right," Lance muttered, rubbing his temples. "Like 'printer jam' or 'overdue password reset.' Completely normal."
She didn't crack a smile.
Instead, she paced the room with slow, deliberate steps—checking the walls, tapping lightly at corners. One hand hovered near her lunchbox, fingers always aware of where her weapons were.
Dario lay curled up next to Lance, eyes alert but calm. Lance's hand rested on the dog's back, drawing in a little stability from that simple connection.
"Dani," Lance said, voice raw. "I'm not dumb. I know something's changing. You knew the glyph would show it."
"I don't know," she said flatly, not meeting his eyes. "I prepare for the worst and hope for the best."
He shifted uncomfortably. "That's not everything, though."
She stopped pacing and finally looked at him. Her expression was unreadable—no softness, no pity, just that sharp focus of someone sizing up a problem like it was a math test she wasn't entirely thrilled about.
"I've seen this before," she said.
"The cow? The reality-eating nightmare?"
She gave a half-shrug, smirking just a little. "Nope. You. The way you're slipping."
Lance swallowed hard. "Slipping. Yeah, that sounds about right."
She nodded once. "You're still human enough to recognize the world. Mostly. But there's a leak—a tether. Something out there, grabbing at you like you owe it money."
"Claimed me," Lance whispered.
"Optimistic way to put it," she replied with a dry smile.
"And the alternative?"
She didn't blink. "You're a ghost with a borrowed body. Kind of poetic, huh?"
The words hit like a stone. Dario growled low, warning sharp.
Dani crouched beside him, scratching behind Dario's ear, her tone softening. "But I don't actually buy that. You're scared, angry, and yeah, you're even cracking jokes. All signs of a brain that's still very much alive."
Lance exhaled, exhausted. "So... not dead yet. That's something, I guess."
She smirked, eyes glinting. "Hey, if you're going down, at least go down with a punchline."
Lance looked at her, disbelief tangled with relief.
"Why me?" he asked, voice low.
Dani's eyes flickered for a moment, but she didn't answer.
Instead, she pulled a small audio recorder from her coat and handed it to him. "Play this when I say. Not before."
"Why not?"
"Because some truths hit better when you're ready—cold and steady."
Lance gripped the device like it was a lifeline.
"I'm trying to help you," Dani said, voice steady but with a hint of something softer beneath the surface. "Even if it doesn't always feel that way."
He searched her face—looking for trust, maybe, or something close—but found only the faintest flicker behind her guarded eyes.
She turned away, already slipping back into mission mode. "I'll set perimeter glyphs. Don't push that button unless you want your world to tip sideways."
Lance sank back, Dario warm at his side, the quiet hum of uncertainty closing in around him.
Still himself.
But just barely.
The air was still. For once.
Dani shifted herself, paused, then reached into the interior pocket. A small vibration pulsed from within.
Lance didn't notice. He was too busy trying not to throw up.
She turned her back to him and pressed the earpiece in.
Static. Then a broken voice. Fragmented. Male.
"I'm… sorry."
A harsh wheeze. "Dani, I… I'm—"
A wet sound. Then silence.
She didn't move. Not for a long time.
When Lance finally looked up, her eyes were dry, but red. Her jaw locked so tight the muscle twitched.
"We keep moving," she said.
And that was all.