“But perhaps they were already looking,” Adjar said.
“And trying to use scans to trigger an awakening.” She felt sick. “Like poking sticks into a hibernating animal’s den to flush it out.”
“One animal, perhaps.” Rhyx’s voice was dark. “Easy to capture. Easy to control. But what happens when they poke too many dens? When they wake something they can’t handle?”
“That may be exactly what’s happening.” Alina pulled up more data on her tablet. “These are seismic readings from the past six months. See this pattern? These clusters? There are at least a dozen sites showing the same kind of anomalies that preceded Rhyx’s emergence. If GenCon is triggering them deliberately…”
“Then others are waiting to emerge,” Adjar finished. “And GenCon is trying to catch them before they can connect.”
“Before they can become a threat.” She met his eyes. “That’s why R-339 brought us together. If we can find the others first…”
“We can warn them. Help them.” Adjar’s expression turned grim and determined “The Keepers were meant to guide our people through the transition. To help them understand the new world they would wake to. That was always the plan.”
“Your plan,” Rhyx said. “The polar guardians’ plan. The Warriors were never part of it.”
“Are you sure? You’re here.” Adjar raised an eyebrow at the other male. “And you survived. You found a mate and a place in this world. If a Warrior can adapt, then others can too. We just have to reach them before GenCon does.”
The two males held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and something passed between them, a recognition that transcended their initial hostility.
“How?” Rhyx asked finally. “GenCon has resources we can’t match. Technology, personnel, the ability to monitor half the planet’s surface. How do we compete with that?”
“We don’t compete. We adapt.” She leaned forward, her practical mind already working through logistics. “We just need to stay one step ahead. Find the emergence sites before they do. Get there faster.”
Alina nodded. “That might be possible, especially if I can find a pattern in the data we’ve been tracking. But even if we can find them first, how are we going to hide them?”
“Actually…” Adjar’s voice was strange. “That may not be as much of a problem as you think.”
She turned to look at him—and felt her breath catch in her throat.
His wings were gone.
Not folded, not tucked away, but gone. His back was smooth, except for two thick ridges on either side of his spine.
“How—” she started.
“Rhyx showed me.” Adjar’s voice held a note of wonder. “Not deliberately, but… I could feel how he holds his form. The way he keeps the human shape dominant. I didn’t realize it was possible, but when I tried…”
“It hurts,” Rhyx said quietly. “The first few times especially. It was easier for me before they emerged. Once they did, it was harder to conceal them. And you can’t hold it forever—the true form wants to surface. But for short periods, for moving among humans…”
She reached out to touch Adjar’s back, her fingers finding only smooth ridges where wings should have been. The sensation was disorienting, almost disturbing. She had grown accustomed to the weight of them, the way his wings shifted when he moved, and the way they curved around her when they slept.
“Does it hurt you?” she asked.
“It is… uncomfortable. Like holding your breath underwater.” Adjar released the form, and his wings materialized smoothly, unfolding from his back as if they had never been gone. “But I can do it. Which means I can move through human settlements without immediately being identified as a threat.”
“From a distance.” Alina was staring at him with undisguised fascination. “But sometimes that’s enough.”
“It’s better than nothing.” Her mind was already racing with possibilities. “We can work with limitations. We can plan around them.”
The conversation continued as the afternoon wore on and they discussed strategies and contingencies, potential allies and known threats. They discussed R-339’s role, the cyborg network’s capabilities, and the locations of suspected emergence sites. They argued over priorities and debated risks. And gradually, almost imperceptibly, the tension between the two males continued to ease.
By the time the weak Martian sun began to set, she realized that she was no longer tracking every movement Rhyx made, no longer preparing for violence to erupt. The golden male had relaxed into something approaching friendliness, his comments dry but not hostile, his body language open rather than defensive.
Adjar, too, had changed. He still watched Rhyx carefully, still positioned himself between the other male and Jaz, but the predatory edge was gone.
“You should get some sleep,” Alina said as the discussion wound down. “There’s a guest quarters attached to this building—nothing fancy, but warm and private. And I think we all need time to process everything we’ve discussed.”
She glanced at Adjar, who nodded slightly.
