JANE'S HOUSE
Jane was holding a baby.
Her baby brother. Jeremy. Small. Fussy. Wrapped in a blue blanket that bunched under his chin. She bounced him gently, her hand supporting his head, her voice low and soft.
"He's very selective," she said.
David stood across from her, his hands in his pockets, watching.
"How hard can it be?"
She gave him the baby.
The moment David's arms closed around the small, warm weight, the baby screamed. Not a fuss. Not a whimper. A full-throated, terrified wail.
"Give him back, give him back—"
Jane snatched him. The baby quieted instantly.
David looked at his hands.
"Let me go wash my hands," he said. "They're kind of dirty."
He left to the restroom.
The water ran.
David scrubbed his hands—soap, more soap, hot water, cold water. But the stain wouldn't come off. Dried blood, crusted in the lines of his palms, under his nails, between his fingers.
He scrubbed harder.
The water ran pink.
He looked up at the mirror.
His face stared back. Pale. Tired. Green headband. Coiled curls. The same face he saw every day.
He looked down. Scrubbed again.
The stain didn't move.
He looked up.
CJ stood behind him.
He was burning.
Flames crawled up his arms, his chest, his face. His skin blackened. His lips cracked. But his eyes—his eyes were alive. Looking at David.
"Happy early birthday to me," CJ said.
His teeth were white. His smile was wrong.
"You didn't forget, did you, bro?"
David couldn't move.
"Hope you didn't?."
The flames reached CJ's eyes.
"Hope you didn't?."
David tried to speak. Nothing came out.
"Hope you didn't."
The mirror cracked.
PRESENT — COVENANT MEDICAL WARD
David woke up gasping.
White ceiling. Clean sheets. The smell of antiseptic and something herbal—tea, maybe. He was in the medical ward. The same one he'd woken up in before.
He lifted his left arm. It was there. Whole. He lifted his right leg. There. Whole.
Lyric stood at the foot of his bed, her hands glowing with soft white light, the last traces of her Faith fading from her fingertips. Her face was calm, but there was sweat on her brow.
"You're awake," she said.
"My arm—"
"Is back. Your leg too. Praise's hands. Jonathan's arm." She stepped back, surveying her work. "Everything is where it should be."
David stared at his hands. Turned them over. No scars. No marks. Like nothing had happened.
"How long was I out?"
"About seven hours. Joy transported you back the moment the barrier dropped."
"Seven hours," David repeated. "And you grew me a new arm?"
"I didn't grow it. I... encouraged your body to remember what it was missing." Lyric wiped her hands on a cloth. "Outputing healing is complicated and tedious. Not as easy as healing one's self."
Praise sat in a chair to his left. Her hands were back—fingers, nails, everything. She flexed them experimentally, watching the light catch her skin.
"It feels strange," she said. "Like wearing gloves that are too new."
"It'll pass," Lyric said.
Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed next to David's. His right arm was back. He was rotating his shoulder, testing the range of motion.
"You're a miracle worker," he said.
"I'm a healer. There's a difference." Lyric smiled—small, tired. "Miracles are for God. I just do the work."
The door opened. Joy walked in, her head bowed, her hands clasped in front of her. Jaron followed, his face unreadable.
"I'm so sorry," Joy said. Her voice was tight. "The barrier—I didn't notice. Someone added another layer over mine. I should have felt it. I should have—"
"Joy." David's voice cut through her rambling. "It's not your fault."
"He's right," Jonathan said. "You couldn't have known."
"We don't blame you," Praise added. "Not for a second."
Joy's eyes glistened. She nodded, unable to speak, and slipped out of the room.
Jaron stepped forward. His arms were crossed. His face was heavy.
"Someone put up an additional barrier over Joy's," he said. "And released the Phobia. We haven't been able to identify who."
"Someone targeted us," Praise said.
"It appears that way."
"Who would know our mission details?" Jonathan asked. "Who would know the location, the timing, the—"
"We're looking into it." Jaron's voice was firm. "For now, focus on recovering. You did extremely well. All of you."
He looked at each of them—David, Jonathan, Praise—and nodded.
"Thank you for surviving."
He turned and left. Lyric followed.
The door closed behind them.
They walked in silence down the corridor, past the blank white walls and the flickering fluorescent lights. Lyric waited until they were out of earshot before speaking.
"Do you actually think it was him?"
Jaron didn't answer immediately. He stopped walking, stared at the floor, his hands in his pockets.
"I hope not," he said finally. His voice was quieter than usual. "I really don't think it's in his character to attack young Vanguards."
"Except," Lyric said, "he may have changed."
Jaron let out a weary sigh. The kind of sigh that carried decades.
"Maybe."
They stood there in the empty hallway. Lyric's arms were crossed. Her eyes were on Jaron, not pushing, just waiting.
"If it was him," she said, "we need to know. Before he tries again."
"I know."
"And if it wasn't?"
"Then whoever did this is someone else." Jaron looked up. "Someone who knows our protocols. Our barriers. Our people."
"Someone inside."
Jaron didn't confirm it. He didn't deny it. He just started walking again.
Lyric followed.
BACK AT THE ROOM
The room was quiet.
Praise flexed her new hands. Jonathan rolled his new shoulder. David stared at his new arm.
"So," Praise said, breaking the silence. "Who's this Jane you kept calling out in your sleep?"
David blinked.
"Jane?"
"You kept saying her name," Jonathan added. "Like, abnormally. While you were recovering. Over and over."
David looked at the ceiling.
"Oh," he said. "Yeah. We broke up. Three months ago."
"Wow," Praise said. "A lot happened when we left."
"Not like you told me you were leaving but yeah."
Jonathan shifted. "We're really sorry about that. Honestly. It wasn't our intention to disappear on you."
"I know. I don't really mind. I was going through my own thing then." David paused. "But at least we survived today."
"Yeah," Jonathan said.
"Phobias are just something you can never predict," Praise added. "No matter how much you think you can."
David looked at his hands. His new hands. Whole. Unmarked.
"That Phobia really scared me, honestly. My hands chopping off like sliced meat was not something I thought could happen."
He looked at Praise's new hands. Jonathan's new arm.
"At least we have Lyric. She's pretty skilled with this healing thing."
"We can't rely on her forever though," Jonathan said. "She won't always be there."
"I'm still learning how to apply Faith that way," Praise said. "Healing. I have to learn to heal myself first before I learn outputing it."
"Yeah," David laughed—weakly. "I believe you can."
Praise laughed too. Jonathan joined. The laughter grew—not because anything was funny, but because they were alive, and whole, and the alternative was crying.
When it subsided, Jonathan rotated his new shoulder again, testing the range. "Lyric's good. She's been doing this since before we joined."
"Since before most of us were born," Praise said.
"But she's not Eloghosa."
The name hung in the air for a moment.
"No one's Eloghosa," Praise said quietly.
David looked at his new hands. Whole. Unmarked. "If he'd been there—"
"He wasn't." Jonathan's voice was firm, but not unkind. "Lyric was. We're whole. We can still fight. That's enough."
David nodded. It was enough. It had to be.
Then the door opened.
Ezra filled the frame. In his massive hands was a fruit basket—oranges, apples, bananas, a pineapple at the center. It looked comically small against his frame.
He walked to the table, set it down, and looked at the three of them.
"Fruit," he said.
"We can see that," Jonathan said.
"Pineapple is for Praise. She likes pineapple."
Praise blinked. "I do like pineapple."
"Oranges are for Jonathan. Vitamin C."
"Thanks."
Ezra looked at David.
"Bananas are for you. Potassium. For muscle recovery."
"You researched this," David said.
Ezra didn't answer. He just stood there, massive and silent, watching over them like a mountain that had decided to keep them safe.
David looked at the banana. Then at Ezra.
"Thanks," he said.
Ezra nodded.
He didn't leave.
He just... stayed.