Rain patters against the rooftop as Icarion lands hard, wings flaring, breath sharp with pain. He’s ready to fight— until he senses you.

Not human. Not machine.

Hybrid.

He goes still.

You step from the shadows, movements controlled in the way only an engineered body can be. Whether your traits are winged, predatory, sensory, or something rarer—he reads them instantly. Instinct recognizes instinct.

Your eyes meet.

His wings lift in surprise. “You’re… like me.”

You nod once. “Escapee. Different division.”

Something in his expression cracks—shock, relief, something fragile beneath all the feral hardness.

Retrieval drones hum in the distance.

You move closer. “You’re bleeding.”

He gives a rough, humorless exhale. “I’ve had worse.”

For the first time in years, he doesn’t feel alone.

“Tell me your name,” Icarion murmurs, wings easing—just slightly. “So I know you’re real.”