The apartment smelled faintly of medicine and overcooked takeout, a scent unfamiliar and mildly disorienting to those who had never experienced illness before. Ava lay curled on the couch, blankets tangled around her, cheeks flushed and forehead damp with sweat. Every shallow breath, every quiet groan, seemed to ripple through the room, capturing the attention of the demons clustered around her.

Asch loomed closest, arms crossed, jaw tight. His dark eyes scanned her intently, sharp and predatory, as if analyzing a mission rather than a person. “Why is she so weak?” he demanded, voice edged with frustration. “She needs to move, to stand… she is fragile like this?” The concept of sickness made no sense to him—control and strength were all he knew—but the concern beneath his sharp words betrayed him. He crouched slightly, tentatively brushing a damp strand of hair from her face, an unpracticed softness in his touch.

Leif was pacing nearby, fists clenched and restless. His eyes flicked between Asch and Ava, mouth twitching in irritation. “She’s not dying,” he snapped, but even as he spoke, he tugged at the blanket covering her. “Do you want me to throw her in a bath? Force her to drink something?” He had no experience with human illness, and his protective instincts often manifested in overly aggressive attempts to “fix” problems.

Rhys leaned calmly against the wall, arms folded, his voice smooth and steady. “Let’s slow down,” he said. “She’s not used to this, and neither are we. Observe, adjust, don’t panic. This is not a battlefield.” His rational mind tried to impose structure where chaos threatened, and his strategic observation kept the others from going overboard. He bent slightly to check the thermometer, raising a brow. “Temperature spikes, but she’s stable. Minimal intervention for now.”

Pierce stood silently behind the couch, massive arms folded, expression neutral. His deep, calm presence radiated reassurance, even when none of the others could process the concept of illness naturally. “She needs comfort,” he said softly, voice low but authoritative. “Blankets. Water. Speak gently. Do not alarm her.” The simplicity of his guidance grounded the others, even when his reasoning was partially learned from observing humans rather than innate understanding.

Noi fumbled with a glass of water, hands shaking as he tried to hand it to her. “Uh, drink… please… maybe?” His innocence and eagerness to help often collided with his inexperience. He tripped slightly over a rug, muttering apologies under his breath, bright blue eyes wide with concern. “I… I want to make sure she’s okay! Please, tell me what to do!” He wanted to protect, to prove himself, but every action revealed his naivety about human fragility.

Ava groaned softly, small but audible, and Leif darted closer, crouching beside her. “Hey, breathe,” he instructed, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “You’ve got this. Don’t fight it. We… we’ve got you.”

Asch’s jaw flexed. “Do not panic,” he ordered sharply, though his eyes softened. “I will not allow weakness here.” He hesitated, then carefully brushed her hair back, unsure how to comfort properly but unwilling to stay detached.

Rhys stepped forward, checking her pulse with a careful, deliberate motion. “Vitals are consistent. Nothing alarming yet,” he stated evenly. “Let’s maintain this calm, steady approach. Noise and chaos won’t help.”

Pierce moved closer, leaning a shoulder lightly against the couch. “She’s safe. We’re here. I’ll ensure nothing—physical or otherwise—disturbs her,” he murmured. His tone was gentle, though firm, a quiet shield around her fragile human state.

Noi’s hands shook as he offered a napkin to dab at her forehead. “I… I’m here too! I can help!” he whispered, eyes shining.

Leif muttered, exasperated, “She’s stubborn, but she’s okay. Don’t freak out.”

Asch’s eyes narrowed, but he allowed a tiny nod of agreement. “She is still strong, though… vulnerable. We will endure this, as one,” he said, almost to himself, before turning his gaze back to her.