Moments before the intercom crackled to life, Allium and Rose sat together in the quiet that only hospitals ever seemed able to produce.
The glass between their rooms reflected soft light. Monitors hummed in steady rhythm. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and ozone—clean, controlled, and unnervingly calm.
They hadn't spoken in several minutes.
They didn't need to.
Rose sat on the edge of the chair she had dragged far too close to Allium's bed, her posture rigid with effort. Bruises still darkened her arms and ribs, the frost beneath her skin slower now but far from gone. Even injured, her presence filled the space, grounding it in a way Allium had come to rely on.
Then—
The door slid open.
Nina stepped in.
She stopped the instant she saw Rose.
Her expression didn't harden. It didn't soften either. It settled into something practiced and tired.
"Rose," Nina said. "How many times this week do I need to tell you to rest and stay in your room?"
Rose froze.
"And how," Nina continued, already rubbing the bridge of her nose, "did you not trigger the leads?"
Rose's fingers curled together, betraying her before her voice did.
"I made a small energy sphere," she admitted quietly. "It might be… mimicking my heartbeat."
Nina closed her eyes.
"The more you get up," she said carefully, "the longer your recovery will take. I don't understand this dynamic between you two—"
She gestured between Rose and Allium.
"—but I'm putting both rooms on lockdown."
Allium's shoulders drew in slightly. Rose nodded immediately.
"There's no need," Rose said, already forcing herself upright despite the pain. "I don't intend trouble. You've been very enduring with me."
She steadied herself against the wall.
"I'll stay in my room."
Nina paused.
Some tension left her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said. Then she turned to Allium, eyes narrowing. "And you. You really do need a shower. You are stinking up my ICU."
Allium frowned.
"I am natural," he protested. "This is the smell of work and balance."
Rose paused at the doorway and glanced back.
"You really should shower, Allium," she said softly.
He hesitated.
Considered.
"…I suppose," he said. "Showering would help."
Nina stared at him like she'd just witnessed a miracle.
"Next time," she muttered, "I'm telling Rose first."
She handed him a red cord.
"You pull this if you need anything. Don't take too long. Sable will be here soon."
Allium nodded.
Nina left.
And for the first time in days—
Allium was alone.
The water came down warm and steady. He stood beneath it without moving, letting it wash over skin that had carried too much heat, too much force.
When he faced the mirror afterward, the reflection felt wrong.
Too clear.
Too honest.
Memory surged.
Weaver's body hitting the ground.
Rose's cry.
Cassidy's terror.
For a heartbeat, the orange in his chest flared inward, sharp and panicked.
He turned away from the mirror, gripping the sink until the surge passed.
Over the intercom:
"Jax. Cassidy. Weaver. My office."
He exhaled slowly and focused instead on sound—on music Cassidy had shown him once, something that grounded rather than burned.
Clean felt strange.
His skin felt unfamiliar. His hair—normally sharp and wild—hung heavy and unruly, puffed and soft. He lay back down, pressed play, and let the sound pull him away from memory.
Then—
The door slid open.
Sable entered first.
Weaver followed.
Jax and Cassidy lingered outside with Nina.
Sable paused when she saw him.
So did Weaver.
"Your hair," Weaver said. "Have you showered?"
"Yes," Allium replied.
Weaver nodded faintly, as if that explained everything.
Sable took the chair.
"How are you feeling, Allium?"
"I feel pain," he said. Then he touched his chest. "Here. I remember what I caused. It does not improve."
Sable glanced briefly at Weaver.
Then back.
"What I'm asking," she said, "is whether you are ready to leave ICU."
Allium stiffened.
"I can walk," he said. "But I am afraid."
Sable didn't interrupt.
She let the silence stretch.
"Do you remember Sunslope?" she asked.
His eyes lifted immediately.
"Yes. They sold me apples. They showed me a game."
Weaver nodded. "Commander Hawk received a reading. Zero emotional signatures."
Allium's brow furrowed.
"That is wrong," he said quickly. "They are lively. They laugh."
"They were," Sable said. "Now they register as empty."
Allium shook his head.
"Then go," he said. "Please. Make sure they are safe."
Sable leaned forward.
"Hawk wants you present," she said. "In case the situation escalates."
Allium's hands curled.
"I am not ready," he said, voice tightening. "I am barely holding myself together. What if I—"
He stopped.
Didn't finish the thought.
Weaver spoke gently. "You agreed to oversight."
Allium looked at him sharply.
"I agreed because I was afraid," he said. "Because I thought staying still would stop me from hurting anyone again."
Sable watched him carefully.
"And has it?" she asked.
Allium didn't answer.
"Staying here hasn't made the fear go away," she continued. "It's only taught you to be afraid of yourself."
Allium swallowed.
"I do not trust myself," he said quietly. "I became something I despise."
Weaver stepped closer.
"You did," he said honestly. "And you stopped."
Allium looked at him.
"You came back," Weaver continued. "That matters."
Sable's voice was steady, not unkind.
"If you hide," she said, "Central will decide what you are without your input. If you act—carefully, restrained—you prove you are not what they fear."
Allium closed his eyes.
"Sunslope mattered to you," she added. "If you do nothing, and something happens… will you forgive yourself?"
The question landed hard.
"…No," Allium admitted.
Weaver placed a hand on the bed rail.
"This is investigation only," he said. "No combat. No escalation."
Allium exhaled, long and slow.
"If I go," he said, "I go for them. Not for Hawk. Not for Central."
Sable nodded. "That is acceptable."
Cassidy burst in.
Cassidy stepped closer and held out new clothes
"Nina's letting you move," she said, gentler now. "But you're not going alone. You've got us, okay? Let's get these on, and we'll be back before you know it."
Allium took them.
The fabric was light in his hands. Softer than armor. Softer than anything he'd ever worn that wasn't grown, forged, or earned through endurance. No sigils. No markings. No purpose etched into the seams.
Just clothes.
He stared at them longer than necessary.
"I have never chosen what I wear," he said quietly.
Cassidy blinked. "Well… that is depressing, you'll like this."
Allium turned the material over once, fingers tracing the edge like he expected it to bite back. It didn't. It yielded instead—pliant, forgiving.
Armor had always told the world what he was.
This didn't.
He exhaled slowly and nodded.
"I will try," he said. Not like a promise. Like permission.
Weaver watched without comment. Even Sable didn't speak, it almost as if her eyes could document a whole room.
For the first time since the garden, no one was staring at him like a monster.
Allium held the clothes against his chest, and stepped off the bed.
Then, carefully, deliberately, he stepped toward the changing room.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a keeper.
Just as himself—going somewhere people might need him, if he's ready or not.