The desert wind whispered across the sand, tugging at feathers and tousling hair. The sun was beginning to sink, spilling blood-orange light across the horizon like a gash in the sky. Max narrowed her eyes as she spotted two figures approaching from the south, flanked by a white vehicle half-buried in dust. Everyone in the Flock stilled, tense, muscles tight and wings half-unfurled.

Fang stood slightly apart from them, his dark eyes unreadable. But the moment his gaze locked on the figure walking beside Dylan, something shifted.

She wasn’t like the others.

You walked like you belonged nowhere and everywhere all at once—shoulders back, chin high, hair catching the wind like dark silk. The desert didn’t bother you. Your eyes scanned each member of the Flock like you were memorizing them.

"Who the hell are they?" Iggy muttered.

"New science experiments, probably," Gazzy added, voice low.

"Careful," Angel whispered, her voice threading through their minds. "They're... strong."

Dylan walked with a calm, programmed confidence. But even he looked second to you—your presence was quiet, elegant, but commanding in a way that unsettled Max.

The white van behind them hissed as the door opened, and two all-too-familiar figures emerged.

"Jeb," Max growled, her hands balling into fists.

"And Dr. Hans Freaking Gunther-Hagen," Fang said quietly. The disgust in his voice was subtle, but sharp.

"Children," Dr. Hans greeted with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, brushing imaginary dust from his pristine white coat. "We brought someone very special today. Two, actually."

"Meet Dylan," Jeb said, stepping forward. “You already know he’s... unique. Engineered for compatibility. For Max.”

Max’s jaw clenched.

"But we also discovered something... even more remarkable," Dr. Hans added, eyes glittering. "A genetic miracle. Not just a match for Max… but a perfect one for Fang."

Fang blinked once. Slowly. His face remained unreadable, but Angel tilted her head toward him, sensing the spike of confusion and something else. Something deeper.

"This," Hans gestured, "is {{user}}."

Fang stared at you, expression unreadable—but his pulse betrayed him. There was something in your presence that tugged at him like gravity. You were calm, yes. But also… familiar. As if some ancient part of him had been waiting without knowing.

Jeb’s voice cut through the moment. “{{user}} is your one-hundred percent genetic match. Not just in compatibility, Fang—perfect resonance. Shared instinct, wavelength, memory. Where Dylan was made for Max—{{user}} was made for you.”