As we arrived at the station I noticed a detail that I missed last night—two flags flew from poles near the entrance gate—the familiar American flag, and another I didn't recognize with a stylized image of various animal silhouettes arranged in a circle.

  "Wait in the vehicle," she instructed, parking in a reserved space marked 'Chief Ranger' and exiting with her usual fluid grace. "I need to prep the lab."

  As soon as she disappeared inside, Nessy let out a long, dramatic groan. "This," she declared, "is gonna be an effing disaster, I can feel it."

  "It could be worse," I offered, trying to sound optimistic.

  "How?" Nessy challenged. "My arch-nemesis, who also happens to be your alternate-dimension girlfriend, is probably secretly planning to dissect you while simultaneously trying to prove you're her Alec so she can steal you away from me again! Not to mention she could arrest us both at any moment if she doesn't like what she finds!"

  "When you put it that way..." I conceded.

  "And the worst part?" Nessy continued as she pawed her face, stretching the skin. "She's so freaking pretty with those shiny scales and fancy feathers and she has so much more authority. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

  I stared at her, momentarily blindsided by this sudden shift in concerns. "That's the worst part? Really?"

  "Well, it's certainly not helping the situation!" she huffed. “I see you staring at her!”

  “Staring isn’t a crime,” I pointed out. “She, like you, is simply a mind-bogglingly surreal alien from my point of view.”

  The husky-girl huffed at me.

  “Do we have other options?” I asked.

  “Options like?”

  “Leaving town?”

  “No,” Nessy shook her head. “Calvin said we need to make our domain in a place we both know and love.”

  “I don't exactly know or love your pradavarian Ferguson.”

  “I think that you know it enough and whatever you don't know I can help you catch you up on, if the raptor doesn't keep getting in my way,” Nessy said. “I, umm… tried to sniff a way out of town last night after the whole you almost getting shot fiasco.”

  She fell silent, looking sad.

  “And?” I prompted. “Why can't we hotwire the RV and drive away to the wild?”

  “As far as I can smell–leaving this town would lead to our deaths. Ferguson is safe, uncorrupted, has fresh food and water and electricity. Escaping on foot through the mountain passes smells like our demise and the only tunnel road out smells like it's barred by several metal gates so stealing the RV and driving is out of the question too.”

  “Guess we're stuck here then and will have to make the best of it,” I sighed.

  “Yeah,” Nessy let out.

  Krysanthea reappeared at the station entrance, unlocking the back of the car with her key fob and gestured for us to come inside.

  The interior of the ranger station was divided into two distinct sections. The front area served as a visitor center, with educational displays, maps of hiking trails, and warnings about local wildlife. The second, separated by a secured door that Krysanthea unlocked with a card, was clearly the professional zone—desks, communication equipment, and various monitoring displays.

  She led us down a corridor to a room that resembled a small medical lab. The space was meticulously organized, with gleaming equipment, cabinets of supplies, and examination tables. Everything smelled of antiseptic and pine.

  "This is usually for treating injured wildlife before transfer to veterinary facilities," Krysanthea explained, pulling on reinforced, rounded tips that matched her sharp talons and latex gloves over those. "But it'll serve our purposes."

  "Just how much blood are you planning to take?" I asked, eyeing the equipment she was preparing.

  "Enough for a comprehensive analysis," she replied. "I need to understand your cellular structure, determine if your blood has unusual properties and check for signs of Systemfall corruption."

  "And what if you find some?" Nessy asked, hovering protectively near my side.

  “We’ve been over this. I have to determine if he poses a threat to Ferguson. My priority is protecting this town and its people, including you, Miss Whitepaw, whether you appreciate that fact or not."

  Nessy let out a growl.

  "Shall we get started?" I suggested, wanting to move things along before another argument erupted.

  "Sit," Krysanthea directed, pointing to the examination table.

  I complied, rolling up my sleeve as she prepared a syringe and collection tubes. Her scaled hands moved swiftly, swabbing my skin with alcohol.

  "This may sting," she warned.

  She poked my vein with a needle. I watched with a wince as my blood—red and seemingly ordinary—filled the collection tubes. Krysanthea's expression remained neutral, but I noticed her eyes widening slightly as she sniffed the blood.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Nothing," she replied too quickly, focusing on the task at hand. "Just... your blood looks and smells perfectly normal.”

  “You smelled it before when I broke my neck, no?”

  “I suppose,” she sighed.

  "So his blood is normal. That's good, right?" Nessy asked, her ears perking forward hopefully.

  "It's... Strange," Krysanthea allowed. “I saw it turn into this weird mycelium… and yet here it is acting completely mundane. Maybe there's some activation marker I'm not spotting.”

  Over the next hour, she conducted a series of tests—checking my vitals, taking tissue samples, examining my eyes and reflexes. Throughout it all, her demeanor remained detached, clinical, though occasionally I caught her watching me with an expression that betrayed deeper emotions.

  Finally, she stepped back, removing her gloves and talon-covers. "I'll contact a doctor to run more detailed analyses on these samples. It will take some time."

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "And until then?" I asked.

  "Until then, we proceed with our arrangement," she replied. "I've already called the towing service. Your grandfather's RV should be at the campsite by this afternoon. In the meanwhile, we’ll go… clear the space to get it out.”

  "What about Nessy's tests?" I reminded her.

  Krysanthea's mouth twisted slightly. "Right. Let's get that over with."

  Nessy approached the examination table with visible reluctance, her tail tucked low. As Krysanthea prepared a fresh needle, the husky-girl's nose wrinkled with disgust.

  "I hate needles," she muttered.

  "Everyone does," Krysanthea replied dispassionately.

  "Not helpful, lizard," Nessy growled.

  "Just hold still, dog," Krysanthea shot back.

  I moved to Nessy's side, offering my hand. "Hey, look at me instead of the needle."

  Nessy's blue eyes fixed on mine gratefully, her fingers intertwining with mine. When Krysanthea got her blood, Nessy's grip tightened painfully, but she remained still.

  "There," Krysanthea said as she finished collecting samples. "Was that so terrible?"

  "Yes," Nessy muttered, rubbing her arm dramatically. "I expect compensation for my suffering. Perhaps in sandwich form."

  “Riiight.” Krysanthea sighed, her patience visibly wearing thin. "I still need to examine that tree of yours."

  "No cutting pieces off it," Nessy said immediately.

  "I need samples—"

  "Don't hurt it directly.” Nessy insisted.

  After a tense moment, Krysanthea nodded. "I’ll snip off a tiny branch end. Good?"

  “Okay.”

  The raptor spent the next hour carefully examining our blood through the microscope and then looking over the Sandwichu Tree sample.

  "The tree definitely needs to be contained," she finally declared. "It cannot be exposed to open soil or air."

  "We can keep it in its bucket," I suggested. "It seems content enough there."

  Krysanthea shook her head. "Not good enough. I need to ensure it can't propagate or spread its influence." She gestured for us to follow her to a storage area where she retrieved a clear, sealed container. "This should work as a temporary measure."

  The container—a large, reinforced plexiglass container with an airtight seal—seemed excessive, but I didn't argue. We carefully transferred the tree from its bucket, making sure not to damage its delicate branches.

  . . .

  We climbed into Krysanthea's forest-green ranger vehicle, the Sandwichu Tree now sealed in its plexiglass prison on the seat between Nessy and me. The container seemed to diminish our creation somehow—rendering it clinical, suspect, a specimen rather than the miracle it represented.

  “Alec,” Kristi said. “Sit beside me.”

  Nessy growled.

  “You shush,” the raptor added, her voice carrying the quiet authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. “And it’s not a request. Shotgun now, Alec.”

  With a resigned sigh, I slid out of the back seat. Nessy's low growl intensified as I moved to the front passenger seat, her blue eyes tracking my every movement with wounded intensity.

  "This is unnecessary," she muttered.

  “Do you want me to lock you up by yourself at the station?” Kristi asked. “Because I will, if you keep annoying me.”

  Nessy fell silent.

  The moment I was seated, her scaled hand reached across the console, capturing mine in a grip that was both gentle and inescapable. Her skin felt different than I expected—not cold or rough, but warm with a textured smoothness, like suede heated by the sun. She positioned her thumb directly over my pulse point, pressing down with precise pressure.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, though I suspected I already knew.

  "Monitoring," she replied, starting the engine with her free hand. "Your pulse might tell me things your words might not."

  The intimacy of the contact was jarring—this person who was both a stranger and a girl whose body knew another version of me.

  "Your heart rate is elevated," she observed without looking at me. "Nervous?"

  "Wouldn't you be?" I countered. "Being held captive by a ranger who thinks you might be contaminating her town with your very existence tends to raise the pulse a bit."

  "You're not a captive," she replied. "You're a subject of interest in an ongoing investigation." Her scaled fingers adjusted slightly, maintaining their position over my pulse. "And as for contamination... that remains to be determined."

  From the back seat, Nessy huffed audibly, her reflection in the rearview mirror showing flattened ears and narrowed eyes.

  “Right,” Kristi said. “Let’s begin. What’s your name?”

  "Alec Foster," I answered automatically.

  "Place of birth?" she continued, her amber eyes flicking briefly from the road to study my expression.

  "Ferguson General Hospital."

  "Parents' names?"

  "Richard and Anne Foster."

  “Now tell me a lie.”

  “The sky is yellow.”

  “Another lie.”

  “My shoes are currently red.”

  “Relationships?”

  “Dated about seven different girls in college a week or two each, got dumped,” I replied.

  The raptor frowned at this.

  "Pets growing up?"

  I hesitated. I heard Nessy leaning forward, as she awaited my answer with tense anticipation.

  "One dog," I finally let out. "A Siberian Husky named Nessy. She belonged to my grandfather."

  “What…” Kristi choked, nearly driving off the road. “What do you mean Nessy belonged to your grandfather?! She's… not a slave.”

  "In your world," I reminded her. "In mine, dogs don't talk, don't walk upright, don't become mechanics."

  "So you're saying," Kristi continued, "that in your reality, the person sitting behind us was merely an animal? A... family pet?"

  “No,” I shook my head. “The Nessy from my world wasn't much like this one. She was a devoted dog, but she wasn't fully sapient.”

  “Mkay… What about me?”

  “You didn’t exist.”

  The raptor twitched at this, her hand squeezing mine harder. “WHAT.”

  “Dinos are extinct in my world. Dogs walk on all fours and can’t talk. The only fully sapient bipedal species with abstract thinking capability were humans. There were no pradavarians there.”

  “I… see.” Krysanthea took a deep breath, composing herself and releasing the pressure on my hand slightly. "Brother's name?"

  "Marcus Foster."

  “Other siblings?”

  “None.”

  "Your first job?"

  "Mowing lawns for Mrs. Hendricks on Maple Street when I was fourteen."

  “Second job?”

  “Packing dogfood in Mr. Lobforth’s basement when I was sixteen.”

  "What did you study at university?"

  "Computer science with a minor in mathematics."

  "First kiss?" Krysanthea asked, her voice deliberately casual.

  I laughed dryly. "Seriously?"

  "Answer the question."

  "Sarah Ellsworth. First girl I dated at uni."

  The raptor fingers tightened. She didn’t seem to like this answer.

  "What happened at the senior formal?" She asked.

  “No idea,” I said. “I never went.”

  A beat of silence, then Krysanthea's claws dug slightly into my wrist. "You were there," she said. "You wore a navy suit that was too big in the shoulders. You danced with Nessy. Then you danced with me."

  “No. I wasn’t,” I said. “I was home, watching reruns of The X-Files and not giving a fuck about formals because I didn’t have any friends I trusted at high school to go to formals with.”

  We turned onto a narrower road leading toward the outskirts of town. Trees began to crowd closer, their shadows dappling the vehicle as we drove.

  "Tell me about your death," Krysanthea said.

  "I was drowned…" I began, describing the cartel men and my death in gruesome detail, concluding with silver letters burning into my eyes and fermenting within the tub for years or possibly just weeks.

  “Fuck,” Kristi swallowed. She let go of my wrist rubbing her face. “Fuck my life… you’re so much like him and yet you’re not. Damn it all. This is so fucked up.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nessy commented from the backseat. “Now you know how I feel.”

  We drove in silence for several minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. The road curved, revealing a small clearing. The ruin of my grandfather’s original home, filled to the brim with junk, windows broken and covered in cardboard or taped up with trash bags appeared first.

  Support Bloom with your ratings and likes! [and help defeat the non-reader conceptoids]

  other books connected to this one via the infinite stairwells.

  Romantically Apocalyptic discord