15. Jillian
JILLIAN
The world doesn’t go quiet after the sting tail dies.
It holds its breath.
The silence after the battle is thicker than the noise that came before it. My ears ring from the sound of my own blood rushing. The dead sting tail lies twisted, grotesque, its black blood eating into the dirt in sizzling patches. I can still smell it—burnt copper, ozone, something sour and wrong.
But I don’t look at it.
I look at him.
The thing that saved me.
The someone.
He stands there like the idea of a nightmare made real—towering, broad-shouldered, all dark hair and shadows and blood-streaked arms. Not a human silhouette, not exactly. His spine curves like a predator’s, but he moves with purpose, not instinct. Like he’s thinking. Choosing.
And those eyes.
God, those eyes.
They glow. Not with malice, not even with the gleam of a wild animal. But with something ancient. Something almost… familiar. Like staring into fire and recognizing the warmth before it burns.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do I.
My throat is too dry, too thick with everything I should be feeling—terror, shock, confusion. But none of it comes.
What rises instead is… awe.
That’s the only word for it.
He’s not a monster. He should be. Everything in my training, every protocol we’ve ever written for this planet, every panic-drilled emergency plan says that this is the moment to scream, to run, to hit the ground and beg for rescue.
But I don’t feel that.
Not when I look at him.
Not when he looks at me.
He’s covered in blood—some of it his, some of it the sting tail’s—but his chest rises with the same tight breath I’m holding. And when his golden eyes land on mine, there’s something in them that splits me open.
Grief. Maybe.
Or longing.
Or… fear?
I don’t know what possesses me. I’m not even aware I’m moving until my hand lifts, slow and instinctual. My fingers shake—not from fear, but from the unbearable tension of this moment.
“Wait,” I whisper.
That single word breaks whatever invisible thread we’ve been suspended on.
He flinches.
Not a jerk. Not like I’ve struck him.
But like I’ve touched something raw inside him. Something exposed.
His head snaps slightly to the side, and I see the way his hands curl, those long claws drawing against his palms like they’re trying to keep him grounded. He takes a step back. Then another.
And then he’s gone.
He doesn’t run. Doesn’t bolt.
He just… disappears.
One moment, he’s there, filling the space between us like a living storm. The next, the shadows swallow him whole.
I stand frozen, staring at the spot he vanished into, my hand still half-raised like a fool.
Like a child reaching for a bedtime story that turned real.
The sting tail’s corpse gurgles once, a final spasm of death, and the smell nearly knocks me sideways. I stumble back and double over, hands on my knees, lungs working like bellows. My heart feels like it’s trying to crack my ribs open from the inside.
What the hell just happened?
I don’t remember walking back to camp.
I don’t remember anything but the wild thud of my pulse and the echo of his eyes, still branded into my memory like afterimages of lightning.
The shouting cuts through the dark like a buzz saw.
"Clear left!"
"Fan out! Keep your safeties hot!"
"Where the hell is the breach point?"
The marines descend on the clearing like a pack of starving wolves, their boots chewing up the soil, weapons raised, faces pinched with adrenaline. Floodlights slice through the dusk, stabbing into every crevice as if they could burn truth out of shadows.
I don’t move. Can’t. My body’s still vibrating from the encounter, every cell humming with a frequency that feels borrowed—like I’ve touched something ancient, primal, and it’s left a residue inside me.
One of the marines shouts something in my direction, but it’s garbled. My ears are still full of my own heartbeat.
"Jillian!"
A hand grabs my arm. I flinch so hard it jerks my shoulder.
Grady’s face swings into view—hard-set jaw, gritted teeth, and too many emotions trying to fight their way through a soldier’s mask.
“What the fuck happened?”
I open my mouth, close it. Breathe. Try again.
“Sting tail,” I whisper.
It’s not a lie. Not technically.
“Where?”
I point to the carcass. Or what’s left of it.
His eyes follow my finger, narrow when they land on the body—torn, crumpled, still leaking that sour-smelling black ooze into the dirt. He steps away to radio something in, barking orders I only half-hear.
I wrap my arms around myself and try not to look like I’m shaking. It’s not fear—not exactly. It’s the memory of fear. The ghost of a feeling I didn’t get to fully feel because he was there.
I hear Darwin’s voice before I see him.
“Jill! Jesus, are you—are you hurt?”
He’s running, tripping over his own feet, eyes wide behind his lenses. He almost crashes into me, then pulls back like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch me.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“You’re sure? We—God, we heard screaming—Ciampa sent me to—”
“I said I’m fine.” I don’t mean to snap, but my voice cuts him off like a blade. He recoils slightly. I soften. “Sorry. It just… happened so fast.”
Grady returns. His tone’s clipped. Controlled. “Base perimeter’s being locked down. No one leaves until this is assessed. Ciampa’s waiting in the lab.”
Darwin touches my elbow again, gently this time. “Come on. Let’s get you checked out.”
I let him guide me. Let him pretend he’s helping. But my thoughts are elsewhere.
Back in the clearing.
Back with him.
The image is burned into my mind. His frame—massive, coiled with power. His eyes—golden, glowing, not wild but aware. There was something in that look. Recognition. Connection. Something real.
He saved me.
And I didn’t tell them.
Not because I’m scared. Not because I’m confused.
Because I know what they’d do.
I’ve seen what happens when they think they’ve found their monster.
They shoot first. Fabricate later.
They won’t understand.
So I let the lie grow legs. I let Ciampa hover like a concerned uncle and mumble something about trauma responses and neurochemical shock.
I let Darwin take my vitals and offer me bland protein paste from a sealed pack like it’s a cure for existential dread.
I nod, I thank them, I play the part.
And then I crawl into my bunk and pull the blanket up and stare at the ceiling with eyes that won’t shut.
Because I felt something out there.
Something tied to me now.
And I don’t know what it means.
But I want to.