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Aiden wasn’t sure what this new illness was—there were so many, it took a human disease specialist to keep track of them all.

But it was spreading fast. And stubborn.

Symptoms ranged from mild to severe, with younger and older populations naturally being more at risk.

Fever, chills, an unusual pattern of bruising on the fingers and toes, sometimes a cough, but the main symptom was the uncontrollable, violent shivering that gave it its name: the shaking fever.

The woman reached out, gripping his wrist with surprising strength. Her whole arm shook with her illness’s namesake tremors. “My daughter, she’s just a child. You have to help her.”

“What’s her name?” he asked.

“Elara. I told ‘em that was signing us in, if I got it, she would too. That’s how contagions work. Don’t matter if she ain’t showing it yet, but they wouldn’t listen.”

Aiden nodded and made a mental note to look at the patient roster. They were doing their best to collect next of kin information and addresses, but the intake desk was understaffed. The volunteers weren’t always well-trained.

“I’ll do my best to find her,” he promised, disentangling his wrist gently. “For now, you need to rest.”

And he needed to move on. He pressed his fingers to her temple, casting a spell to soothe her fever, and placed a bit of leather between her teeth to help with the rattling before continuing his rounds.

Each day, he had more patients than the last. The humans moved aside for him.

Hollowed cheeks, weary eyes, and a shared sense of unease painted a grim portrait.

It wasn’t panic. Not yet. Humans lived their whole lives knowing it would end, that death would one day come for them.

But it generally didn’t come with so many faces at once—hunger, sickness, siege.

And even the strongest threads fray when pulled too tight.

Raised voices echoed ahead. As he approached the heart of the camp, he found the source. A young woman—Mina, at least, he thought that was her name—stood at the center of a growing circle of disgruntled humans.

“What’s going on here?” Aiden demanded.

The leader of the group, a man with graying hair and lines on his face, pointed an accusing finger at Mina. “It’s like I was just telling this one. We don’t want your kind here! Take care of your own, and let us take care of ours.”

There was a rallying cry from the gathering mob.

Aiden stepped forward, keeping his tone steady. “We’re here to help.”

“Help?” The man sneered, his fists clenched. “You smug bastards must think we’re fools. Fey don’t waste resources saving human lives.”

Ivain was doing his best to support the human population. But the man was right—not all Fey were in agreement on the allocation of supplies and labor.

Mina’s voice was steady despite the tension. “We’re here because we want to help. We took an oath as healers—”

The man spat in her face. “That’s what I think of your oath. And I certainly ain’t takin’ the word of the Fey cunt trying to lock up my daughter.”

A girl, maybe 6 years old, with chestnut curls that fell to her waist in tangles, clung to a woman standing nearby. Her nose was red, her eyes clouded with fever.

Mina said, “I can understand your concern, but it’s standard quarantine procedure—”

The man spat again. Mina frowned, dragging a finger through the spittle on her cheek and flicking it away.

Aiden admired her restraint. The man was either brave, stupid, or desperate—or some combination of all three—to pick a fight with someone who could wipe him off the face of the planet with half a thought.

Still, it might be better not to test that restraint any further.

Aiden pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers. “Mina is here to help, just like me. If you have concerns, we can talk, but violence won’t solve anything.” Getting close enough, he asked her, “What’s going on here?”

Mina’s eyes, a soft shade of lavender that swirled with a mix of impatience and bewilderment, flicked to him. “This man brought his daughter into the clinic. I examined her and determined that she needed to be admitted. Then he just went crazy on me.”

“She tried to lock up our girl because of a fever and a rash,” the man insisted gruffly.

“Quarantine,” Mina shot back. “We’re dealing with an outbreak. It’s standard procedure to separate the infected and healthy populations.”

Aiden held up a hand. “Let me the see the girl.”

The man began to speak up, but Aiden quieted him with a look. He was taller than Mina, broader, and brute strength was a threat anyone could understand.

He waved her forward. The girl let go of her mother’s hand and timidly stepped forward.

Aiden knelt in front of her, felt her forehead, her glands, her joints. His aether pulsed, and a green light swept across her skin and made the blue of her eyes flicker.

“The father is right,” he concluded. “She’ll be fine in a few days with a little rest.”

“Ha!” the man barked, stabbing a finger at Mina.

The woman sobbed in relief, opening her arms for the girl who ran back to her.

“Give her plenty of fluids, and if you have any other children, keep her away from them,” Aiden instructed, rising to his feet.

“I really don’t think—” Mina began.

“We’re setting up the quarantine to contain sickness, not to separate families,” Aiden said firmly. “This girl has the chicken pox.”

Mina blinked. “Humans can catch diseases from chickens too ? Are you serious?”

Aiden sighed. They were short on, well, everything—but especially healers.

Most were either stationed at the front lines or dealing with the influx of wounded still pouring into the city.

Human illness was low on the list of priorities, which was why he’d volunteered when his uncle was scrounging together resources to address the rising cases of shaking fever moving through the human population.

Besides him, there was a retired military veteran and the handful of private physicians the nobility had donated to the cause.

Mina was one of the latter. He could tell by the very stylish, very clean robes and general air of elegance that seemed so out of place in the camp’s rough and muddy surroundings.

“I’m sorry,” Aiden said to the man. “Most of our healers don’t have much practical experience with common human ailments. Stop by the medicinal tent on your way out. They should be able to give you a salve for the itching.”

The man nodded, grateful but wary. He shot a final glare at Mina before herding his family away. The group dispersed with them, disappointed there hadn’t been more of a spectacle.

“I had that handled,” Mina insisted. “But also, thank you, I guess. How did you know it was the, er, chicken pox ? …and not something more serious?”

“Humans aren’t usually covered head-to-toe in little red dots.” Aiden meant it as a joke, but Mina pulled a writing pad from her pocket and jotted down a note. “I take it you’ve never worked in public medicine?”

She closed her writing pad with prim precision. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. Thankfully, she laughed.

“I’m the private physician for House Corvell’s visiting dignitary. Before today, my primary duty was making the elixir she needs to soothe her nerves .”

“Well, that’s a full-time job.”

That got him another laugh. “Yeah,” she said, tucking a strand of dark behind an arched Fey ear. “Between you and me, it’s mostly whiskey.”

Aiden chuckled. “Well, I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.”

Mina’s face lit up—only for her expression to fall when a mender immediately called his name. He had no idea how he’d ended up the de facto leader of this operation, but here they were.

“Rain check?” he asked.

A little bit of that light returned to her eyes. “Thank you, yes. I’d like that.”

“And until you find your feet, why don’t we have you shadow one of the menders? They deal with the bulk of human injuries and illnesses, so there’s a lot to be learned.”

As luck would have it, one chose that very moment to slip past him, clearly hoping he wouldn’t notice she was two hours late for her shift. He caught her eye over Mina’s shoulder.

She froze. Read the look. Then began to shake her head vigorously.

He snapped his fingers. Now .

She sighed, hung her head, and trudged over.

“Hi,” the mender said. A Lowborn woman and an Earth mage, she had a little magic, though only enough to heal colds more quickly and stave off infection in small flesh wounds. The rest of her training was non-magical, acquired in the same way that mortals learned medicine. “I’m Soraya.”

“Hi. Hello.” Mina stared at Soraya’s hand for a moment. “Oh,” she said, realizing that she should shake it.

“Well, come on then,” Soraya said brusquely, no doubt in a hurry to get to work now that she was already two hours behind.

“Right, uh, I had some questions,” Mina said, trailing behind her with her notebook. “First, how much blood loss is actually fatal? And why do their hearts only have four chambers? That seems terribly inefficient. Also, exactly how big a threat do chickens pose to the human constitution?”

As Aiden watched them go, he realized he was smiling for the second time that day.

“Why do you look so happy?”

And just like that, his smile was gone. He turned to find his sister behind him, soaked through and scowling.

If it wasn’t a sight that greeted him every morning around this time, he probably would’ve dropped what he was holding.

If you knew Aimee—and unfortunately, he did—you’d know this wasn’t just unusual.

It was apocalyptic. Nothing but the end of the world would explain her looking like this in public.

Her dark hair was plastered to her head. She wore no cosmetics, no glamours. Her clothes were ill-fitting—trousers too short, jacket riding up at her waist.

On the one hand, it was nice to see her relaxing her standards. On the other, he couldn’t shake the feeling this wasn’t so much a sign of growth as a warning flare.

“Come on.” He motioned her into a nearby tent.

Inside, the space was a work in progress. A stove balanced on a crate, a kettle perched precariously on its edge, and a set of mismatched mugs and tin plates were arranged on a folding shelf that looked seconds away from collapse.

Herbs hung from the tent poles. Aiden plucked off two bundles and set about making tea.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Aimee said, dropping into a chair.

He shrugged. “Do I need a reason to look happy?”

Her lips pursed. Yes, apparently.

Aiden didn’t take it personally. They were all dealing with the siege in their own ways. Him? He kept busy. Fixing things. Focusing on problems with actual solutions.

Aimee, well… she was still looking for her happy place.

Voices drifted past the tent.

“Wait, so you’re telling me a human fixed the flash cannon?” a woman asked, incredulous. “By herself?”

“That’s what I heard,” a man answered. “Though, given she’s the Marquess’ ward, can’t say I’m surprised. A man like that—I imagine the smart rubs off.”

Aimee’s expression soured even further. Aiden sighed. Here we go…

It wasn’t unusual to hear people murmuring about Taly these days. The Savior of Ebondrift was all anyone wanted to talk about. They needed something to hold onto, and she’d given them that, even as she disappeared.

Aiden passed her a mug of tea. Aimee accepted it stiffly, muttering a thank-you into the steam.

“Are you going to use your words or make me guess what’s wrong?” he asked.

She didn’t look at him, just shrugged and muttered, “They talk about her like she’s some kind of myth.”

“Well, turning the tide of a losing battle and risking her life to send a lifesaving message kind of fits the mold, don’t you think?” He took a seat across from her. “You seem angry.”

“I’m not angry.” Her grip tightened around the mug. “I’m just… annoyed that people don’t see the ridiculousness. Talya… well, she’s Talya .”

She said their cousin’s name like it was a slur.

And wasn’t that still something—Taly was Cori. The baby cousin they thought they’d lost.

There was a time when Aiden couldn’t imagine Aimee being anything but elated to have Cori back.

He, of course, knew better now.

“She’s really not that bad,” Aiden said. “I mean, I get it. You’re bitter about Skye. But if you could just let that go—”

“I’ve let him go, Aiden,” Aimee insisted, voice cold. “I told you that.”

She had. He just didn’t believe her.

Maybe there had been some push to move on, sure. He’d give her that. But then Taly had disappeared, presumed dead, and Aiden couldn’t help but wonder if those ambitions had been rekindled.

“I’m just saying,” he tried again. “You might actually like her if you gave her a chance.”

Aimee barked a laugh. “Have you been smoking your own mirthroot again?”

Yes. He’d seen more than he cared to these past weeks, and it helped with the nightmares. Still, not the point.

“You liked Cori.” He met her gaze. “And they are, technically, the same person.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Aimee’s face twisted. Her fingers curled as if resisting the urge to slap him for the audacity of conflating the two.

Aiden sighed. He thought they’d made progress—that surviving the harpy had smoothed over some of the animosity. But whatever thaw there’d been was gone now, frozen over by something colder.

He wasn’t sure what changed. She’d been the one to chase this—Cori’s return, the truth, the proof. And she’d found her. That dogged determination had finally paid off. She should’ve been basking in it— lording it over them.

Instead, she was sulking.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about Cori lately,” Aiden said.

“And Dad. Mostly about those first few days after we got the news that they were gone.” He lifted his mug but didn’t drink.

“I remember… it didn’t feel real at first. It felt like we were waiting for someone to say it was all a mistake, some stupid prank.

That they were coming back. They had to be coming back. ”

He shook his head. “We got that, Aimes. One of them came back.”

Aimee’s jaw tightened. Her voice dropped to something flat. “What if it’s not the one I wanted?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

She plucked out her tea bag and set it aside.

He stared her down across the table. “You slept in Cori’s bed for a year. Until you said you couldn’t smell her anymore. You didn’t do that for Dad.”

A flash of old grief, quickly buried. Aimee lifted her mug and said, bored and biting, “That was a long time ago. And I wouldn’t have gotten so attached if I’d known she’d grow up to be such an attention-seeking little troll.”

Aiden didn’t push. Maybe once Taly was back—and it stopped being an if—some of that bitterness would crack.

He sipped his tea. “You know, if you keep frowning like that, you’re going to get lines.”

Aimee scowled. “Shut up.” Then she flicked her fingers, sending a spray of water droplets flying at his face.