Harem Apocalypse: Every Moan Levels Us Up!

I looked at the girl through the glass, her eyes locked on mine.

She hovered there, suspended in the sterile white chamber, pale skin glowing under the harsh lights. Water — or whatever fluid the field maintained — beaded and slid down her body in slow, glistening trails, tracing the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, and the faint veins that pulsed softly along her thighs. Her long dark hair drifted weightlessly around her shoulders. She didn’t move, but her gaze never left me.

"What do you see, Abram?" Bala asked, voice low.

"A person," I said.

"Exactly." He nodded once, sharp. "Doctor Reed says she’s seventy percent normal. Improving every day." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

I stepped closer and pressed my palms flat against the thick reinforced glass. It was cold, almost icy under my skin. The girl drifted forward in response, bare feet hovering just above the floor, and placed her fingers exactly where mine were, matching the position perfectly. Her touch left faint condensation prints on the other side. She held my eyes like she remembered me from the boot, from the long drive back through the plain.

"The walls aren’t the last hope of humanity," Bala said behind me. "I think they made us hide. Made us stop offering anything to the world outside."

The girl watched me, blue eyes steady and unnervingly aware. She tilted her head slightly, hair floating with the motion, as if trying to communicate something through the barrier.

"What if the walls are a prison we’re sitting in without knowing it," Bala said.

That was the truth I had already been given — by Eleanor, in a bathtub in white sand territory. Bala was arriving at it the long way, from inside the system itself. And he was telling me all of this because he needed something from me.

I took my palms off the glass. She held hers there a moment longer, then stepped back, still watching.

I turned to Bala.

"How do you want me to help?" I asked.

"I’m ready to move against the system I represent," he said, voice low but steady. "Will you stand with me?"

This was my purpose. The exact thing my father had built me for, arriving from a direction I hadn’t expected. The difference was that I had a clear path and Bala’s was uncertain, built on a doubt that was only two days old.

He smiled slightly, the expression tired but genuine. "I’m gathering a team. It’s why I ordered Mary Stam brought in. She’s worked against the walls for years. I want her with us."

"So you’re building a team," I said.

"Yes."

I looked back at the girl behind the glass — at the eyes that kept finding mine — and thought about Eleanor, the three sources, the marking, and everything I was carrying that Bala didn’t know about.

A man with real power inside the walls, turning against the families, gathering people to open what the four families wanted kept closed.

He didn’t know I was already the answer to the question he was asking. He just knew I was the outsider Sinn trusted.

"I’m in," I said.

It was the truth. For my reasons, not the ones he assumed. But the road was the same road, and for now that was enough.

"Good," Bala said. The single word carried relief and weight at once. He straightened, coat settling around his shoulders with a faint rustle. "Tomorrow I convince Mary Stam."

"Does she know why she’s here?"

"Not yet. Should I trust her?"

A woman running from the primordial families, with a Belmonte assassin already sent to kill her. There was no version where she said no.

"Yes," I said.

We walked out, leaving the specimen behind the thick glass. Night had already claimed the capital. The corridor lights hummed overhead, casting long, pale shadows that stretched ahead of us like fingers reaching for the exit. I’d promised Sherry a date and told Carrise I’d meet her sister. The evening was full before it began.

***

Sherry was on the steps outside, waiting under the glow of a streetlamp. She stood the moment she saw me, arms uncrossing, posture shifting as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. The cool night air moved through her short brunette hair, strands catching the light as she stepped forward.

"What took you so long?" she said, voice carrying across the quiet courtyard, a mix of relief and teasing.

"Report," I said.

"They’re saying Becky’s critical."

"She’s fine. Fractured bone, that’s all."

Sherry fell into step beside me as we started walking, her shoulder brushing mine with every stride. The streetlights painted warm pools of gold across the pavement, our shadows stretching long and thin behind us. "That’s not nothing, Bram. What happened up there?"

"Owen happened."

She stopped for half a second, boots scraping on the stone. Her hand found mine instinctively. "Owen? Mercury’s Owen?"

"Same one."

"What’s he doing in the capital?"

"Nothing now," I said. "He’s dead."

She let that settle as we walked, her fingers tightening once around mine before relaxing. She didn’t look surprised, exactly. Just quiet for a moment, the night breeze tugging at her hair as she processed it.

"If he put Becky in a hospital bed," she said eventually, "then it was a real fight. She’s not someone who goes down easily."

"No," I said. "She isn’t."

Sherry glanced at me, the corner of her mouth curving upward. "You sound impressed."

"She’s good at what she does."

"Mmm." She leaned in a little closer, the teasing edge softening into something warmer. Her hip brushed mine as we walked. "So. Are we still doing this tonight?"

"Why wouldn’t we be?"

I slid my arm across her shoulders. She found my waist, fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt to rest against my skin, warm and steady. The city lights stretched long shadows ahead of us on the pavement, our combined silhouette moving as one.

"Can we stop by the hospital after?" she said, tilting her head up to look at me. "I want to see her."

"Sure."

"Some healer you turned out to be," I added, squeezing her shoulder. "We wouldn’t be running to hospitals if you weren’t a fraud."

She laughed, the real one, bright and unguarded, head tilting back so the streetlights caught the clean line of her throat and the curve of her smile.

It was night, and this time I’d chosen Sherry. Carrise’s sister could wait. The marking could wait. Tonight belonged to her.

We walked through the capital streets together, her body warm against my side, the city lights stretching long shadows ahead of us on the pavement. For the first time in a long time, the weight on my shoulders felt a little lighter.