The guest bedroom was nestled beneath the eaves of the old farmhouse. A single lamp on the nightstand cast a meager circle of light, barely enough to illuminate the worn wooden floorboards and the faded floral wallpaper. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic herbs and the lingering aroma of woodsmoke. Rain lashed against the windowpane with a steady drumming.

  Olt lay on the bed, pale, against the rumpled sheets. Bandages, stark white against his skin, bound his ribs. His breathing was shallow and ragged. Each inhale worsened the pain. His left hand, still faintly cool despite the vanished blue glow, rested on the blanket. His eyes, usually sharp and observant, were clouded with confusion, lost in the swirling mists of recent trauma.

  Cristina and Hannah knelt beside him. Their movements were a silent ballet of care and concern. Lines of worry were carved into Hannah’s face, as she gently dabbed at a cut on Olt's forehead with a damp cloth. Cristina concentrated, carefully, as she re-wrapped the bandages around his ribs. Her trembling hands betrayed the fear she tried to mask. The playful banter that usually filled their interactions was absent, replaced by a hushed solemnity.

  At the foot of the bed, Jeffrey and Omar stood sentinel, the lamplight flickering their grim faces. Jeffrey leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed, fixed on Olt. Omar’s hands clasped behind his back, rocked slightly on his heels. Worry and uncertainty canvased on his weathered face.

  "Easy there, Olt," Jeffrey murmured with a fragile tendril of reassurance.

  "How bad is it, Cris?" Omar asked Cristina, but his eyes never left Olt.

  "Ribs are definitely cracked, maybe broken," Cristina replied, as she focused on her work. "Head wound is superficial, thankfully. But…he's lost a lot of blood."

  The silence returned, heavier now, punctuated only by the steady drumming of the rain and Olt's shallow breaths. Gently, Jeffrey began the interrogation.

  "That woman…Cristina said red hair? Did you recognize her? Anyone from the Institute?"

  Olt shook his head weakly, a grimace of pain twisting his features.

  "No…never saw her before. Just…fast. Strong."

  "Did she say anything?" Omar pressed. "Why she was here?"

  Another weak shake of the head, and another wince of pain.

  "Nothing…just…attack. Like…like a machine."

  The following was the unspoken question. The question of the blue glow, the impossible surge of power, the Aether. Hannah's hand froze, hovering over Olt's forehead. Her eyes were wide with hope and dread. Cristina paused in her bandaging, and looked at Olt's left hand.

  "Olt…your hand…" Omar began, hesitant, almost reluctant to voice the impossible. "Cristina and your grandma…they said…they saw something…blue. I saw it, too."

  Olt looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers weakly, brow wrinkled with confusion.

  "My hand? Yeah… it felt…hot. Burning…but cool at the same time."

  Jeffrey leaned closer.

  "The glow, Olt. Like Indigo, blue?"

  Olt frowned.

  "Indigo? I…I don't understand. I never…you know I haven't…"

  Uncertainty washed over the room. Hannah's fear, Cristina's desperate attempts at rationalization, Olt's bewildered denial – it all coalesced into a suffocating dread.

  "But…how, then?" Hannah whispered, trembling. "It's not possible…"

  "Maybe it's a delayed reaction?" Cristina offered, strained. "Stress? Something triggered it?"

  "I…I don't know," Olt murmured. "I just…I got desperate."

  Jeffrey placed a hand on Olt's shoulder; a gesture of comfort.

  "We'll figure it out, Olt," he said, the familiar reassurance now laced with a tremor of doubt. "We always do."

  Just then, a faint sound drifted up from downstairs. It was a soft creak. It was a whisper of danger in the quiet house, a sound that Jeffrey, with his honed senses, couldn't ignore. His hand on Olt's shoulder tightened, his eyes darting towards the door. Without a word, he rose, his movements fluid and purposeful. He picked up the lamp, its sharp glass chimney now a potential weapon. His eyes scanned the room, as his expression hardened with grim determination.

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  "Stay here," he whispered urgently to the family. "Stay quiet."

  Omar nodded curtly, his hand resting protectively on Hannah's shoulder. Cristina and Hannah watched Jeffrey, afraid. He moved towards the door, silent and swift, pausing only for a fleeting glance back at Olt. He gave Olt a look of concern and resolve. Then he was gone, disappearing into the dimly lit hallway. The bedroom door was left slightly ajar. The rain intensified, beating against the windowpane.

  The living room remained chaotic. Splintered wood and shattered glass littered the floor, remnants of the earlier struggle. The broken window gaped open like a missing tooth, rain lashing inwards, turning the dust to mud. The air, cold and damp, carried the scent of rain and the acrid tang of woodsmoke. The dying embers in the hearth pulsed with a faint orange glow, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the wreckage.

  Jeffrey moved through the room like a wraith. He held the kerosene lamp aloft. Its waving flame casted an eerie glow on his face. His senses were on high alert. Every creak of the old farmhouse, every rustle of the wind in the trees outside, amplified his anxiety.

  The sound was now clearly identifiable. Muffled voices came from just outside the broken window. Jeffrey moved closer, his footsteps silent on the thick rug. The lamplight revealed two figures huddled in the darkness beyond the shattered glass.

  Rebecca and Mariah.

  Their faces, pressed close to the jagged edges of the broken pane, were pale and streaked with rain. Urgently, Rebecca gestured towards the interior of the room. Mariah, shivering in the cold, damp air, scanned the scene with a cautious, assessing gaze.

  Jeffrey lowered the lamp slightly, but kept it raised. He nodded curtly to Rebecca with a signal of recognition. Relief set in. Gesturing with his head towards the front door, Jeffrey gave a silent command.

  Rebecca and Mariah visibly relaxed, the tension draining from their postures. They backed away from the window, disappearing into the stormy night.

  Jeffrey waited. Although slightly relaxed, the nerves still tightened in his gut.

  The front door creaked open, admitting Rebecca and Mariah. They stood on the threshold, dripping rain onto the worn wooden floor.

  "Rebecca? Mariah?" Jeffrey asked, his voice low and cautious, the lamp still held defensively. "What are you doing creeping around outside? I was ready to attack."

  Rebecca stepped inside, water streaming from her shirt.

  "Yeah, sorry about that. We didn't want to startle anyone, especially after…what happened. We saw the broken window."

  Mariah followed, trying to tame her shivering body.

  "Is Olt alright? How bad is he?"

  “You’ll see,” Jeffrey replied.

  …

  The guest bedroom felt even smaller now. Olt lay on the bed. His eyes were open now, tracking the new arrivals with a confused but alert expression. He looked paler than before. His shallow breathing intensified, struggling against the pain that radiated through his battered body.

  Cristina and Hannah, still kneeling beside him, shifted slightly to make room for Mariah. Despite the tremor in her hands, Hannah instinctively reached for a stack of towels from a nearby chair.

  "Oh, you must be soaked!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling but laced with a touch of ingrained hospitality. "Here, take these…dry yourselves off a bit."

  Cristina, ever practical, simply handed towels to Rebecca and Mariah with a curt nod.

  "Here."

  Rebecca took a towel, quickly running it over her face, as her eyes remained fixed on Olt. Mariah accepted the towel, draping it over her shoulders. She was immediately drawn to the figure on the bed. Her healer's instincts kicked in, overriding any personal discomfort.

  "Give me some room, please," she said softly.

  Moving swift and professionally, she knelt beside Cristina. Her assessment began. Gently, she pulled back the blanket, her light but probing touch eliciting a suppressed gasp of pain from Olt.

  Rebecca and Jeffrey moved away from the bedside. A hushed conversation was being shared by them to the rustle of bandages and Olt's pained breaths.

  Mariah stepped back, her expression grave.

  "He's got cracked ribs, possible internal bruising. He does need medical attention…but I know that’s out of the question.

  She paused, looking directly at Olt, then at Jeffrey and Rebecca, her tone taking on a more technical, cautionary edge.

  "Waiting is dangerous. But my healing…it's not…conventional for someone like Olt. Or…I’m not sure."

  She continued with a slightly clinical tone.

  "The Aether is essentially quantum energy.The potion alters us at a cellular level. Healers…we work with quantum coherence. We tap into the cells to speed up regeneration and rebalance energy flows in a way that’s too complicated to explain. But, it’s biological…quantum biology in action.

  She emphasized her next words, the risk becoming clear.

  "Regulars, their cells aren't…built for that kind of manipulation. It's like forcing a system to work in a way it wasn't designed to. It could backfire."

  She gestured with her hands, as if trying to visualize the complex cellular processes she was describing.

  "Rebecca told me about Olt’s Aether surprise. But, if that glow was just…the messiah on your side…my healing could do more harm than good. It could overload his system, make you sicker. It could…it could kill him."

  Hannah's panic intensified, fueled by the scientific explanation.

  "No! Oh god, no! Don't do it! We can't risk it! Just…just let nature take its course! Time…time will heal him, naturally!"

  "Hannah," Rebecca said firmly but gently, "Mariah's right about the risk, but she's also right about the kind of damage he might have taken. He fought an Aether user, head-on. If he survived that without the Aether…it's a miracle. But it also means the damage could be cellular. Time alone won't fix that. Not quickly enough. This is his best option. Waiting…waiting could be a death sentence."

  Olt, listening to the frantic exchange, looked down at his hand, then at Mariah. This was his new normal. This was the reality he had to accept. A new kind of resolve hardened within him.

  "Do it.”

  Mariah nodded slowly with trepidation. She exchanged a look with Rebecca and Jeffrey, silently acknowledging the risk they were about to take. Mariah's hands, hovering over Olt's bandaged ribs, poised to begin.