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His hands clench and unclench, agitation breaking through his controlled demeanor. “This isn’t the daughter I raised. My Blair understood the threat these creatures pose. She helped develop methods to contain them, to study them, to ensure humanity’s protection.”

“Your Blair was a child following her father’s lead.” The blunt assessment makes him flinch. “A girl so desperate for connection after losing her mother that she’d believe anything if it meant keeping you close.”

His steps falter. “I taught you to think critically. To follow evidence.”

“Yes. And that’s exactly what led me here.”

“They’ve manipulated you.” His scientist’s certainty remains unshaken. “The more advanced species use pheromones, electromagnetic influences—”

“Like the Jersey Devil?” The question slips out quietly.

Something shifts in his gaze—calculation mixed with what might be genuine concern. “The male specimen exhibits particularly dangerous adaptation capabilities. His influence over you is especially concerning given the physiological bond that’s forming.”

Ice floods my veins. “How do you know about that?”

“I’m still a scientist, Blair.” Professional pride colors his tone. “There’s been a Jersey Devil seen flying these mountains. I’ve researched everything we know about them. The symptoms are distinctive for anyone who knows what to look for.”

“The bond isn’t what you think.” Choosing words carefully. “It’s not manipulation or control. It’s connection. Mutual recognition.”

“It’s dangerous.” My father steps closer, genuine concern breaking through scientific detachment. “You’ve been in close proximity to a Jersey male—his pheromones are potent. The neurological alterations are likely already affecting your cognitive function.”

“Or perhaps it’s allowing me to understand another being in ways traditional science never could.” The calm certainty in my voice seems to unsettle him.

“Listen to yourself.” Frustration edges his words. “This isn’t scientific reasoning. This is emotional justification.”

“Maybe both are necessary for true understanding.” Meeting his gaze directly. “Maybe that’s what your research has been missing—recognition that empirical observation without empathic connection provides incomplete data.”

His expression hardens. “You sound like her.”

The simple statement hits with unexpected force. “Mom?”

“Eleanor believed in connection, too.” Old grief shadows his features. “Insisted that understanding cryptids required approaching them with openness rather than defensive protocols. Said we could learn from them as equals rather than subjects.”

New understanding dawns with startling clarity. “That’s why she was alone that day. Without security measures.”

His silence confirms my realization. My mother hadn’t been killed because she was careless—she’d been implementing her own research methodology, attempting connection rather than capture. The approach I’ve independently rediscovered decades later.

“She was wrong.” His voice hardens with conviction built on decades of grief. “Her openness got her killed. And now you’re making the same mistake.”

“Or finishing what she started.” The possibility creates unexpected warmth. “Finding the truth she never had the chance to document.”

“Come home, Blair. Let me help you. Whatever neurological alterations the male is attempting to create, we can reverse them. Return your mind to proper function.”

“My mind functions perfectly.” Calm reply. “It’s my perspective that’s changed, not my cognitive ability.”

“Because of him.” The realization crystallizes as he speaks. “The Jersey Devil specimen. He’s the focal point of the bond.”

In my ear, Volt warns, “Your heart rate’s elevated. Maintain distance.”

“His name is Dante,” Isay quietly but firmly. “And yes, we share a connection neither of us expected nor sought. But it’s real and valuable and genuine.”

“You can’t possibly—” He stops, something like horror dawning. “You have intimate relations with this creature?”

The disgust in his voice should hurt more than it does. Instead, I find unexpected strength.

“I love him.” The simple declaration emerges without scientific qualification. “Not because of pheromones or neurological manipulation, but because of who he is. His courage. His humor. His capacity for growth and change and compassion.”

“This is worse than I thought.” My father runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. “The neurological alterations must have progressed further than preliminary analysis indicated.”