Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They stood facing each other, eyes locked without wavering.

For someone who was locked up and chained, Tyler looked far too self-assured. She wasn’t impressed by his bold talk of plundering the world, nor by the pretentious flourish about loving the monster, but the fact about the werewolf was entertaining. When she mentioned his father and asked for help, Tyler’s gaze darkened, as though something had burned out inside him.

“You’re looking for my help?” he asked with a crooked smirk that carried the aftertaste of an old wound. Her poison seeped through his veins — cold and slow, like mercury. Wednesday hadn’t come for him; she had come for a purpose. To use him as a tool, like before… like everyone else in this world who saw in him a monster, a weapon, but never himself.

Tyler had imagined their next meeting from the very day he ended up here and regained his senses. He had replayed possible conversations over and over, picking the best lines and picturing her replies.

When Faerbern had mentioned the werewolf, he had decided on the spot that he would tell Wednesday about it at the first opportunity. And now she had come… only for help with her investigation…

Of course, it would have been foolish to expect that after what had happened between them she’d confess her love, rush into his arms, and set him free. But realizing that she once again only wanted to use him hurt too much, and anger was starting to boil inside him.

Tyler could feel the Hyde clawing under his skin, desperate to get out. He swallowed hard, forcing the beast back. Transformation would bring nothing but another jolt of electricity.

Tyler drew in a sharp breath and fixed his gaze on Wednesday, as if trying to burn through her, to leave a mark that would never fade. Whatever the case, she was here, and that was his chance — one he would be a fool not to take. He had let his darkest emotions win too many times before, and always lost because of it. So now Tyler held back the urge to refuse her outright. To yell, to sneer, to threaten. He had always known how to play wicked games, turning her rules into his own. Why not play again?

“I’m flattered, Wednesday…” he drawled lazily. “You must be desperate if you’ve come to me.”

She just stared at him silently with the same impenetrable gaze as before. He wanted to wipe the reckless confidence off her beautiful doll-like face, and she wanted the same for his.

“Believe me, I can manage without your help,” she cut him off, her tone sharp and almost contemptuous. “That’s not why I turned to you.”

“Then why, Wednesday? I’ll think about helping you only if I hear the truth. If you stop lying to me! And to yourself!” He finally snapped, almost shouting as he stepped closer to the glass, breathing deep and heavy.

“You’re in no position to set conditions, Tyler,” she shot back and turned sharply on her heel to leave. It suddenly seemed like such a stupid idea — coming here and trying to talk to him. Dr. Faerbern had been right: uncooperative, volatile, manipulative.

Tyler clenched his teeth and growled. Watching her back retreat was unbearable. He was ready to shout anything to stop her. Beg, threaten, confess love, or destroy — anything, as long as he didn’t have to see her walk away. As long as he didn’t have to be alone again. For long, long days…

It felt like if she left, his world would collapse and go dark.

“Stop! Tell me the truth, Wednesday!” he shouted, half pleading, half demanding, and suddenly she froze in place, pinned to the floor by his desperation. Still not turning around, but no longer moving.

For a few seconds, everything in the cell seemed to stop, like a film reel paused mid-frame, and Tyler could hear only his own heartbeat. One, two, three, four, five…

Then she turned.

She took a step toward him, then another.

“I came to you because your father offered to cooperate with me on the investigation the day before he died. He started it because of you, Tyler. He said the outcasts were in danger, and you’re an outcast too.” She paused, searching his face and trying in vain to see past the mask. Tyler listened without interrupting, but his breathing grew ragged at the mention of his father.

He swallowed and grimaced, as if tasting something bitter.

“Back then, I refused him, but maybe he managed to tell you something. I don’t think you’re involved, don’t flatter yourself,” she lifted her chin and met his gaze. “But I thought it would be fair to tell you about it. And since it concerns your family, helping me is in your best interest.”

“You’re still obsessed with investigations and poking your nose into other people’s graves,” Tyler said with a quiet smirk. “But I’m not going to let you use me again.”

He remembered how, in some other, still normal life, Dr. Kinbott had tried to teach him to voice his feelings instead of bottling them up… He had never been able to follow that advice. Too afraid no one would accept him as he was. That any attempt to open the door to his soul would only make the one who peeked inside run away, leaving nothing but the echo of a slammed door. And that’s exactly how it turned out. Even she had run from him.

Wednesday clenched her fists, her nails digging deep into her palms. The hurt and anger from his betrayal, locked away in her heart behind seven seals, threatened to break free.

“You’re the one who lied and used me, Tyler,” she snapped, harsher than she had intended. “You didn’t expect me to come to you with a love confession after that, did you?” She arched an eyebrow, as if she had read not his thoughts, but his deepest desires, the ones he barely admitted to himself… and mocked them.

But Tyler knew Wednesday too well. And suddenly he saw that she, like him, had felt hurt and betrayed. That she, like him, was fighting herself. He could see it in the lips pressed tighter than usual, the gleam in her eyes, and the tense, almost defensive posture. But pain was better than indifference. Paradoxically, that was what gave Tyler hope.

“I expected you to be honest with yourself,” he said, unexpectedly soft, staring at her as though trying to burn a hole through her heart. “I never lied to you when it came to my feelings. Never.” He said it with casual certainty, as if it were something obvious and beyond debate. “You can run from yourself all you want, but in the end, you’ll see that we’re perfect for each other.”

“Step out of your delusions, Tyler,” Wednesday cut him off sharply. She wanted to run — from him, from this conversation, because it was breaking down the foundations she’d built. Everything she had convinced herself of for months was starting to crack. She was ready to turn and leave the cell right now, and apparently sensing it, Tyler drawled:

“Seems you need more time to admit the obvious. Fine, I can play along.” He winked at her and almost smiled sweetly, like the old Tyler — the barista from another life. Wednesday felt a sharp prick in her chest, like a needle. Meanwhile, he went on, his tone shifting to serious and almost detached:

“My father never told me anything about this case. But I do have an idea where you could find more information…” Tyler let the words hang, waiting for her reaction. Wednesday’s brow twitched slightly. She didn’t like playing by his rules, but now, with Enid in danger and her visions no longer working, any clue had value, even one from him.

“What do you want in return, Tyler?” she asked, knowing perfectly well he had been waiting for those words.

He smirked with the same crooked smile he’d worn when she first walked into the cell.

“You’ll come back here again. You’ll tell me everything you’ve learned. If we’re going to cooperate, it’s going to be on equal terms.” Tyler gave a lazy shrug, trying to hide the fear and tension behind his mask.

“Equal terms…” Wednesday echoed. “Ironic request for a Hyde.”

She knew she was treading a thin line, but she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. She succeeded — he twisted his features and growled, attempting to transform. The collar shocked him, forcing out a strangled cry. Tyler shot a pained glance at the corner, at the camera.

Wednesday realized she had crossed the line. Talking to him felt like being a sapper in a minefield, where every sentence was a wire leading to an explosion. One wrong step, and everything would blow to pieces.

“It seems you don’t need my help after all,” he ground out through clenched teeth, then shouted, breaking, “Get out!”

Her heart skipped a beat, as if one of the mines in this field had finally gone off and the blast had thrown her back.

“I’m not Laurel Gates,” she said firmly, locking eyes with him. “I don’t need pets. I’m willing to play on equal terms.”

He took several deep breaths, trying to steady his ragged breathing. It took at least a minute before his dilated pupils shrank back to normal and his muscles relaxed, however reluctantly.

“I’ll give you the information,” he finally said, then narrowed his eyes and almost hissed, “But if you break your promise and don’t come back… I’ll find a way to get out of here and I’ll make you pay. And your fanged little friend too.” He bared his teeth in a predatory grin. “Since you know so much about Hydes, you should remember from that diary — we’re extremely vengeful by nature.”

“I always keep my promises. So here’s mine: if you touch Enid, I’ll find a way to kill you. Slow, long and excruciatingly painful,” she repeated the vow she had made the night Laurel had nearly killed Thing.

“Didn’t expect anything less from you,” Tyler smirked, then almost coaxingly added, “Now come closer…”

Wednesday arched a questioning eyebrow.

“I don’t trust this place,” Tyler explained, quiet, almost conspiratorial. “So I’ll say it so only you can hear.” With that, he stepped a few paces forward and to the side from the glass, so that there was no glass between them, only bars.

Wednesday approached cautiously, as if walking across fragile ice. As soon as she was within his reach, Tyler clasped her hand in his, pulling her forward until she was almost pressed against the bars. The cold metal touched her skin, contrasting sharply with the warmth of his palm. His scent — sweat, cheap soap, and something wild and dangerous, hit her senses. Her heartbeat quickened, and a shiver ran up her spine.

He leaned toward her ear, his warm breath scorching her skin:

“There’s a hunting bullpen in the forest, address is 2015 Pine-Crest. My father and I sometimes stayed there on family weekends.” His voice cracked and broke mid-sentence, and his grip on her fingers tightened just a little. Only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for her to feel that fragile pain buried deep beneath the layers of anger.

He quickly regained his composure, and his thumb began to slide slowly across her palm, provoking an irritatingly warm response she couldn’t entirely fight. “That’s where he kept things he didn’t want or afraid to store at home. If my father and Bradbury found something, they would have hidden it there.”

He let go of her and stepped back, leaving Wednesday with a sudden sense of emptiness.

“See you, Wednesday,” he said, a note of almost affectionate mockery in his voice. “And one more thing… take care of Elvis.”

She gave a silent nod, turned quickly, and nearly ran out of the cell.

Her heart beat out an anxious rhythm. This meeting had shaken her inner balance more than she was willing to admit. She had gotten a lead for the investigation, but it felt as though she’d bound herself to Tyler not only with the promise to return, but with something deeper.

Perhaps by involving him, she had put Enid in even greater danger. But Wednesday didn’t regret it. The adrenaline was still spiking, and the corners of her mouth curved upward. Deep down, it seemed she liked playing these wicked games.

Chapter Text

Wednesday would never have admitted to herself that she was waiting for the chance to come back to him.

She kept telling herself she was only keeping her promise to protect Enid’s life, though she knew perfectly well his threat had been more theatrical bravado than anything real.

She convinced herself she wanted his opinion on what she had found in Pine-Crest because one serial killer would surely understand the logic of another. Besides, Tyler had spent nine whole months in Willow Hill — the very place where every thread of her investigation seemed to lead. He might know something, even despite his solitary confinement.

But all of that was only partly true. Only a façade… Reason’s excuses meant to hide the obvious — the one thing Wednesday refused to acknowledge. She was drawn to him with an inexplicable pull, as if they were two oppositely charged magnets, drawn together across time and distance.

Not three days had passed since her return from camp, and already she was standing again before the massive door of his cell, listening to the thunder of her own heartbeat as it slid slowly open.

***

She had returned. He lifted his head, and his lips stretched into an almost boyish smile. It was utterly involuntary, and his attempt to pretend he hadn’t been waiting for her every damned second of those long two weeks collapsed instantly.

Even during the previous months he’d spent here, dreaming of seeing her again, the waiting had never been so slow, so poisonous, so unbearable.

But here she was again. She hadn’t lied, hadn’t vanished. Her gaze was still colder than in his dreams, but Tyler knew that was only a matter of time. She needed him, just as he needed her, and all that remained was to push her toward admitting it to herself.

Contrary to his expectations, this time she didn’t stop a meter from the glass. She went straight to the bars, standing almost flush against them.

“You were gone a long time. I had time to miss you… and to start planning revenge for a broken promise,” Tyler smirked, his hot breath brushing her skin. Wednesday ignored the empty threat, measuring him with a long stare.

“All the threads lead here,” she murmured, lowering her voice to a whisper and darting a glance at the red blinking surveillance camera watching them intently.

“Here? You mean Willow Hill?” he asked cautiously.

“Quiet,” she snapped. “Yes. Your father was investigating this place, collecting obituaries of supposedly dead and cremated patients. But the ashes in at least one of those urns don’t belong to a human. I checked.”

“What…” Tyler’s gaze darkened, and he shuddered, trying to fight back the transformation. He failed. His eyes flushed red and began to bulge. A roar tore out, followed by the crack of electricity that halted the shift. Wednesday took a step back, retreating to a safer distance.

He was breathing heavily, wrestling with the Hyde inside. His fingers trembled as though invisible claws were trapped in them. His face twisted, muscles rippling beneath his skin, ready to explode into fury at any second.

Wednesday watched him, realizing how fragile his self-control had become. The faintest spark, and his rage would ignite into a consuming blaze. This Tyler barely resembled the self-assured manipulator who had once managed to fool even her.

He reached for her, and there was no confidence in the movement — only desperate need. Tyler seized her wrist and yanked her so hard she nearly lost her balance.

“My mother was cremated in Willow Hill,” he ground out through his teeth, his eyes flaring red again. “I’ll kill them all!”

Luckily, he had the sense not to shout it straight into the surveillance camera, though Wednesday still shot a wary glance at it. The situation was slipping out of control, threatening to derail her entire investigation.

“Tyler,” she said firmly, holding his gaze with all the authority she could muster. “I won’t say another word until you get control back.”

His eyes were pained, almost deranged. But in hers he met no fear — only a cold, far-too-mature certainty. For several seconds he was drowning in her obsidian gaze, like in a bottomless lake. His breath broke into short, ragged bursts, his chest heaving sharply, his shoulders trembling.

Then the breaths began to lengthen. His grip on Wednesday’s wrist loosened and tightened again, but no longer with the same frenzy. His clenched jaw slackened, his lips quivered, releasing a long, fractured sigh.

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if forcing the beast back into its cage, and straightened slowly, still holding onto the bars. The veins in his neck receded, and his eyes, once blood-red, returned to their usual hazel, still wet with the remnants of pain.

“Your voice…” Tyler muttered hoarsely. “It affects Hyde. Calms it.”

He added, almost pleading:

“Keep talking.”

Wednesday nodded.

“We’re going to find out what’s happening here. But I need the Tyler I once knew. The one who managed to fool even me, humiliating as it is to admit. Only then can we solve this before they catch us.”

“So you do admit I outplayed you?” he asked, smugly, with a sly squint, switching from panic to arrogance in the blink of an eye. His lips curled into a predatory grin.

“Not entirely. You started celebrating your victory too soon. But if it hadn’t been for my vision…” She trailed off, choosing her words carefully. She needed not to provoke him, but feeding his overblown ego was the last thing she wanted.

“Using cheat codes, Wednesday. Just like all the outcasts,” Tyler chuckled, seizing the pause. “If you hadn’t threatened me in that shed, I would’ve turned against Laurel. I was ready to do anything for you.” He said it so quietly, so earnestly, as though hypnotizing her, forcing her to believe.

Wednesday stared at him, stunned by the words. She hadn’t meant to open herself to him again, hadn’t meant to trust fully. They were reluctant allies against a common enemy — nothing more. And yet he was manipulating her now, trying to lull her vigilance, to hook her on his bait.

At least, that was what she desperately tried to convince herself, because admitting that he might be telling the truth was unbearable.

He had betrayed and deceived her, she had tortured him. Then he had nearly killed her, but lost and ended up here. It was neat, it was just, it was clear. No other options, no what-ifs…

And yet Tyler’s words eroded her certainty, while his palm on her wrist burned her skin as though his fingers were searing rings of iron.

“Back to the case,” Wednesday cut him off sharply, tangled in her own emotions and determined to put an end to it. Their conversation was leading her into uncharted, dangerous territory, where her heart beat too fast and her control slipped away.

She had to say it softly enough that no one watching the cameras could possibly hear. So she leaned in close to Tyler, nearly pressing against him:

“On your father’s investigation board there was a name — Lois. I don’t know who she is, but she’s most likely behind all this. And the cremation was faked by Dr. Augustus Stonehearst, who’s now a patient here. We need to learn everything we can about them.”

“As you can see, my options are… rather limited,” Tyler smirked crookedly, giving his chains a little rattle.

“You offered to plunder the world from inside this cage. I’m sure you can come up with something,” Wednesday shot back, issuing the challenge.

“Well, since you’re asking…” he drawled, stretching the words, leaning closer until his face was almost against hers. “It’s so much more pleasant to cooperate than to hate each other, isn’t it?” His voice was almost seductive, and a flash of mad charm lit his eyes. “I’ll say it again: we can pillage this world together. Or save it. Whatever you choose. We’re perfect together, Wednesday.”

“Temper your enthusiasm, Tyler,” she cut him off sharply.

They were so close their lips were barely a few centimeters apart. Wednesday could smell him, could see the pores on his skin, the scattered freckles and moles across his cheeks. She knew she could step back now — just one step, and the fragile status quo would be preserved.

But Wednesday didn’t.

He lunged forward suddenly and pressed his lips to hers, closing that last distance, and it was too late to retreat.

He wasn’t gentle, forcing his tongue into her mouth and biting her lip, as if taking what had always belonged to him by right. His taste seeped into her, spreading through her veins, poisoning her blood, awakening the desire she had fought so hard to bury. She no longer wanted to stop — it was the only continuation she craved.

The emotions stirred by his kiss were so overwhelming they nearly triggered a vision. She felt the familiar tremor ripple through her body and even glimpsed vague, blurred images — but too weak and indistinct to grasp.

Tyler pulled away first. He caught her dazed look, which hardened into anger in an instant, and explained mockingly before she could even ask:

“It’s for cover, Wednesday. When Fairburn asks what we talked about, I’ll say it was about us. Better she thinks we’re in love than realizes you’re digging under her, isn’t it?” He smirked, winking slyly.

“Your manipulations are revolting, Tyler,” Wednesday hissed, her chest still heaving, her stomach burning with warmth, her limbs tingling. Deep down, she was grateful he’d given her a chance to save face.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And maybe one day I won’t have to manipulate… if you admit your feelings.” He shrugged, clearly pleased with himself. Wednesday only rolled her eyes.

“Fairburn said you were at my father’s funeral,” Tyler shifted the topic.

“Yes. It’s well known that killers often attend their victims’ funerals… so I hoped to find him there.” She shrugged indifferently. “But considering there were only three of us, and Fairburn said she came at your request, I don’t think it counts.”

“Yes, I asked her to confirm it,” he replied deliberately evenly, masking his real emotions.

“You didn’t take my word for it?” Her voice carried a sharp challenge.

“No, it’s just…” Tyler faltered, and his face suddenly looked boyish, almost vulnerable. “It still feels unreal. Sometimes I think if I just close my eyes, it’ll all turn out to be a bad dream.” His confession made something twist inside Wednesday. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise, he was nothing like a psychopath savoring his kills. It was all more complicated — and far more painful.

“What about Elvis? Did you find him?” Tyler asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

“He’s with my family, safe,” she nodded automatically, then quickly added, remembering: “This killer… he can control birds. An Avian outcast. Fairburn swears none are here, but I wouldn’t rely on her word.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tyler nodded.

“Be careful. And don’t trust anyone,” Wednesday said — and the words surprised even her. “We may be about to cross some very dangerous people.”

“Worried about me?” He smiled far too sweetly, and Wednesday scoffed.

“See you, Tyler.”

She stepped back, ready to head toward the exit — but her gaze lingered on his face, his lips, the marks of the shocks along his neck, the bare skin of his torso. She froze mid-step, then in the next instant hurled herself toward him, pulling him in and kissing him again.

It was like a drug coursing through her veins. Like a jolt of adrenaline, like leaping from a great height without a parachute, when every cell is scorched by the rush.

He answered hungrily. Bit her lip and gripped her shoulders with bruising force, crumpling her Nevermore uniform as he crushed her against the bars between them.

If not for the sobering chill of the metal reminding her where they were and why she had come, Wednesday wasn’t sure how far she might have gone.

But she tore herself away abruptly, almost shoving him back, and said coldly:

“Just for cover. That will make it even more convincing.”

Without giving him a chance to say another word, Wednesday strode quickly out of the cell.

His hungry gaze burned into the back of her head, and she could almost feel it physically.

“Of course, Wednesday… just for cover,” he murmured under his breath, running his tongue across his lips.

But she was already gone.

Chapter Text

Tyler had always known that his boy-next-door smile worked on people without fail, opening the right doors better than any lockpick.

He'd often used it to his advantage, but in recent months, Hyde's rage had been a consuming flood, leaving no strength for games or manipulation. Now, however, everything was different…

Dr. Fairburn probably should have been convinced of the healing power of love, enough to write a whole dissertation on the subject with a long, convoluted title — so striking were the changes in Tyler.

But the explanation was much simpler. He had found a purpose, and with it, a reason to open his eyes each morning. To get to the bottom of everything — for himself, his mom, and Wednesday. The one he’d dreamt of for these past nine months. Though they were separated by walls, bars, and barbed-wire fences, Tyler felt they had grown closer than ever. He no longer had secrets from her; instead, they now shared one.

It took five days and a hundred smiles for Tyler to convince everyone that he had much better control of himself now. And just like that, he was listed as “conditionally stable.”

He and Dr. Fairburn developed an interesting cooperation — he tried to pull information from her about Willow Hill and to ease the terms of his confinement, while she tried to learn as much as possible about Hydes. Previously, he had completely refused to cooperate, but now he doled out information in small portions about how Hyde worked and his connection to Laurel. But only what he deemed safe for himself. Many of his memories caused so much pain that the monster inside thrashed to get out, and Tyler struggled to contain it.

On the fifth day, however, Fairburn finally submitted the first request to ease the terms of his confinement.

Thus, he earned the right to sleep without chains, use the communal shower, and take two-hour walks on the hospital grounds. Of course, this was without interacting with other patients and always accompanied by a guard who could activate his collar at a moment’s notice.

“One single attempt to transform, and you'll be chained to the wall again. No second chances,” Dr. Fairburn recited sternly, announcing his new “privileges.”

That same day, Tyler was handed a stack of hospital shirts that reeked of bleach. They were to replace the ones he had torn to shreds during his transformations in his first week here, reducing them to pathetic rags.

On the sixth day, Tyler sat in Dr. Fairburn’s office. Of course, a guard stood in the corner, his fingers poised to press the activation button from the collar at any moment.

“You said you wanted a change of scenery, so our sessions will take place here from now on,” Dr. Fairburn stated. “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“Coffee,” Tyler said. It was his first time here, and his eyes scanned the office, taking in the surroundings. A depressing greenish color scheme, the steel gleam of the furniture, an MRI monitor, diplomas and commendations on the walls, and a small plant on the windowsill — a carnivorous Venus flytrap, lazily digesting its latest victim. Amusing. The doctor spoke to her assistant over the intercom, asking for coffee.

“How are you feeling today, Tyler? On a scale of one to ten,” she inquired, her eyes boring into him again.

“A six. Better than before. But still a long way from normal,” he shrugged.

The doctor made a few notes in her pad, followed by breathing exercises and bleak attempts to delve into his inner world — a pathetic echo of his sessions with Kinbott. Tyler followed her instructions mechanically, but his thoughts were far away.

“Have you worked with Hydes before? Have there been other Hydes in this hospital?” he asked, as if in passing, just as their time was coming to an end. Tyler knew the answer, and Fairburn knew that he knew. Their gazes locked for a few seconds in a silent duel.

“Your mother was a patient here, Tyler, if that’s what you’re asking. You can speak plainly,” Fairburn clipped out, not breaking eye contact and tapping out an unknown Morse code on the table with the tip of her pen. “Unfortunately, she passed away long before I started working here.”

"Have you looked at her file? You must have, since it could help with my therapy." The question was almost point-blank, like a gunshot.

"Yes, but it didn't yield much information. I am sorry…"

"Doctor…" Tyler paused for a long, almost agonizing moment, staring at Fairburn, unblinking. He bored his gaze into her until his corneas began to burn and his eyes started to water, creating the perfect image of a man on the verge of a breakdown. Then he abruptly looked away, as if unable to bear his own despair. "Everything I knew about my mother came from Laurel. My father hardly ever spoke of her… I'm confused about what's true and what's a lie…" His voice cracked, and Tyler let out a sob. These emotions could have been genuine… somewhere deep down, they were — a painful, festering splinter of his grief. But Tyler was careful not to let it flood his mind to the point of losing control. This was still a game, one that was now entering dangerous territory for him, blurring the lines of reality.

"What did Laurel tell you?" Like a bird of prey that had scented wounded game, Dr. Fairburn leaned forward. Her eyebrows knitted together, her gaze sharp. It was as if she were scanning him, trying to separate the performance from genuine trauma.

"I…" He deliberately let his voice break, then grabbed his cup and took a sip of the cooling coffee, using the moment to shove the authentic pain back into its cage. "I'm afraid I'll just get more confused. It's already hard for me to tell truth from fiction. Maybe if I could just look at her file… at least see a photo…" He dropped his gaze to his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap.

"I am not authorized to show you confidential documents. You must understand that, Tyler…" She paused, studying him. "However, I'm glad we've made progress. Your situation is indeed complex. And unique… So, if you think this will help you move forward, I can make an exception."

Tyler slowly raised his eyes, filled with calculated gratitude, and nodded, suppressing a wave of icy satisfaction. Talking about his mother, using her memory as a lockpick to crack open the archives of this place, felt almost sacrilegious. It was as if he were digging up her grave in search of a key. But Tyler quickly reminded himself why he was doing it. To figure out what really happened to her. Who killed his father. To find this puppeteer and cut his strings.

"Thank you, Doctor," he breathed out. His heart hammered in his chest as she tapped on the keyboard. He could see a part of the screen in the window's reflection, but it was too blurry to make anything out.

Finally, Dr. Fairburn found the right file and, after a moment's hesitation, turned the screen toward Tyler.

He had seen this page before. Laurel had shown him a copy. Outcast Type: HYDE. In bright red against the black-and-white lines. And the photograph… in it, his mother looked almost as he remembered her. Unearthly beautiful, with a shadow of sadness in her enormous eyes.

Tears did glisten in his eyes, but not from pain — from a mixture of fury and bitter hope.

The doctor scrolled with the mouse wheel, revealing the second page.

Conclusion: Death occurred on November 15, 2012, at 04:17.

Cause of Death: Acute heart failure secondary to dilated cardiomyopathy of unknown genesis.

Note: Body cremated per Willow Hill protocol.

Attending Physician: Dr. Augustus Stonehearst.

The same one Wednesday had mentioned…

"Augustus Stonehearst? Who is that?" Tyler asked, a tremor in his voice as he tried to sound as sincere as possible. "Maybe I could talk to him? To find out more… about Hydes, and about my mom."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question, Tyler," Fairburn said, shaking her head. "Dr. Stonehearst has been retired for a long time. And, unfortunately, he's no longer in a state to be of any use to us."

"Maybe we could still tr…" he began, but she cut him off sharply.

"No. That is absolutely out of the question.”

Tyler nodded, noting to himself that there was clearly something more hidden behind that adamant tone and haste than just concern for confidentiality. Wednesday had mentioned that Dr. Stonehearst had become a patient in his own hospital, so perhaps, with time, he could learn more about him. Now that he had seen the name in his mother's file, everything that was happening felt even more personal.

"What did Laurel tell you about your mother, Tyler?" Her voice regained the insinuating softness of a therapist. She pointedly turned the monitor away, as if slamming shut a door to his past.

Tyler looked up at her, deciding to go all but all-in:

"She said they were experimenting on students at Nevermore, that they triggered her Hyde, and then threw her out," Tyler paused, letting the venom of his words sink in, and locked eyes with Dr. Fairburn again. "And…" he continued, lowering his voice to a whisper, "she said that here, at Willow Hill, they experiment on outcasts, too. That there’s no place in this world for people like me, and only she could help."

"And we dissect aliens in the basement," Dr. Fairburn retorted with icy sarcasm, swallowing a laugh. Her lips twisted into something resembling a smile. If she was nervous, she hid it behind an impenetrable mask of professionalism. "I'm sorry, Tyler, that your Hyde was unlocked by someone so deranged… You can see that we are genuinely trying to help you. I am meeting you halfway on many things."

Her almost defensive tone struck Tyler as odd, but he decided he would think about it later.

"Yes, Dr. Fairburn, thank you for that," Tyler simply nodded, and for the umpteenth time, his lips stretched into the practiced smile of a former barista, one capable of hiding both soul-rending pain and a thirst for blood.

"Our session is over for today. Until tomorrow, Tyler. James will escort you to your room," she nodded at the guard, and the lid of her laptop snapped shut with a sharp, final click.

Once inside, Tyler collapsed onto the bed, gripping the sheets so tightly his knuckles ached. His head was splitting from the tension and the information he’d just received. He urgently needed to talk to Wednesday. He needed her sharp mind, her eye for detail, her cold logic. She was his black mirror, in which all the crooked, tangled lines became clear.

Now that he was allowed walks, they could discuss everything without bars and barriers. Without glass between them… He had dreamt of this! Wednesday would surely help him piece it all together and calm the Hyde raging inside him, hungry for blood and revenge.

But Wednesday didn't come. Not that day, nor the next.

His first walk passed in a haze. The sunlight, which he had grown unaccustomed to, burned his eyes, and the fresh air made his head spin. Tyler didn't know where to run or what to do, so he just walked in circles around the hospital grounds, observing the patients in their identical robes from a distance and constantly feeling the guard's heavy gaze on him.

Tyler was burning with impatience and a nagging feeling that the solution was right under his nose, but he just couldn't see it. Wednesday had said that the person they were looking for could control birds, so out of desperation, he decided to watch them.

He chose a spot with a view of almost the entire hospital building and settled on a bench under a sprawling oak tree, beginning to study the feathered creatures. His knowledge of ornithology ended with high school biology, so at first, it all looked like chaos. Fussy sparrows chirped in the bushes, brazen pigeons strutted along the paths, and crows hid in the treetops. He had never realized before just how many birds there were around…

Tyler felt terribly foolish for this activity, and at one point, he was ready to conclude he had finally lost his mind for believing such a waste of time could be useful. On the second day, however, a raven caught his attention — an inky-black raven, but with a red scar on one side and beady eyes that held an inhuman intelligence. Out of nowhere, it glided down and flew into an open window on the second floor.

The raven was there for only a few minutes before flying back out, as if it were nothing.

It was too suspicious. Tyler mentally traced the trajectory, trying to figure out where that window might lead. It was in the same wing as Dr. Fairburn's office. He made a mental note to try and find that spot from inside the building the next time he went to therapy. And by the following day, he was almost certain that the office the raven had flown into belonged to Judy — Dr. Fairburn's assistant, the one who brought them coffee during their sessions.

Tyler thought he should tell Wednesday about this. She would surely find a way to dig up more information on Judy and Dr. Fairburn.

But Wednesday didn't come again…

The not-knowing was killing him. Tyler was angry and anxious at the same time, running two scenarios through his head, one worse than the other: either something had happened to Wednesday, or she didn't need him anymore. She had abandoned him, continuing the investigation on her own.

Deciding that pigeons and sparrows were unlikely to be of much use, Tyler spent the next two days watching only the ravens. That’s when he noticed that one of them — either the same one or a fellow — regularly flew into a ventilation shaft that led somewhere into the building's basement.

If it weren't for the guard watching his every move, Tyler would have quickly figured out where it led. But it was foolish to risk his precarious position over vague suspicions. So, the only thing he could think of was to study the hospital layout map, which hung near the entrance to the wing, and try to understand what might be in the section where the bird had flown.

That wing housed the genetics department. Nothing there seemed suspicious, except for one small detail… On every floor, the utility rooms were numbered sequentially — from one to five on each level. But in this specific wing, on the lower floor, room number four was missing, even though a simple storage closet should have been there.

Tyler was staring at the diagram, trying to come up with a pretext to get into that part of the building and find the right door, when the guard's voice interrupted him.

"What are you looking at over there? Planning an escape?" he asked with a lazy smirk, seeing as Tyler had been staring at the map for over ten minutes.

"If I could escape that easily, I'd have been long gone," he snapped back. "Just looking for where to go on my next walk. There's even an aviary here?"

"Yeah, an aviary and a greenhouse. They say the former head doctor was obsessed with birds. You can still find him there sometimes," the guard chuckled and shrugged.

"What happened to him?" Tyler asked, trying to make it sound like a casual, routine question.

"Don't know, I wasn't working here at the time. But you know… If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you," the guard remarked philosophically.

"Yeah, I guess if you dig around in the minds of the insane, you can lose your own mind," Tyler added, then headed for his room.

***

"It's been a week, Tyler, since we eased the terms of your confinement," Dr. Fairburn said, patting her knees. "And I have to congratulate you, you're handling it excellently!"

"You know what's influenced that…" he shrugged, raising a weary gaze to her. Wednesday hadn't appeared in two weeks, and despair had gnawed at Tyler from the inside. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could find out what was wrong through Dr. Fairburn.

"Miss Addams, yes. You mention her often enough for me to remember," she smirked.

"She hasn't visited in a while…" It was part complaint, part statement of fact.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any information regarding Miss Addams's visiting schedule," Fairburn shrugged. "But I think you need to be patient. In any case, it's important for us to work on this dependency of yours. Your emotional equilibrium shouldn't depend so heavily on another person."

Tyler silently nodded, building a solid wall inside himself. He understood that Dr. Fairburn wouldn't give him the answers he was looking for.

She made a note in her pad and continued, steering the conversation back onto a professional track.

"Before our session, I was rereading what you told me about the connection between a Hyde and its master. And I wanted to ask you… Theoretically speaking, do you think Hyde could choose his own master?"

"It's funny, but I probably know even less about Hydes than you do," he said with a wry smile. "But… I think it's possible. I just don't know how."

"If that's the case, and you could choose… who would you choose?" She tossed the question out almost casually, but it hung heavily in the air.

Tyler raised his gaze to her, and his eyes no longer held any feigned sadness, only a cold, hard certainty.

"I think you know the answer, Dr. Fairburn."

***

Wednesday stood before the Willow Hill security checkpoint, her eyes drilling into the guard.

"There's a mistake in your records. Check again," she ground out, her tone icy, without a hint of a request.

"There's nothing I can do, Miss Addams," the guard clipped out indifferently, letting out a weary sigh.

"You remember me," Wednesday persisted, her stillness becoming threatening. She didn't raise her voice, but the air around her seemed to drop several degrees. "I've been here twice before."

"I remember you, Miss Addams. But I repeat: your authorization has been revoked. You are no longer on the visitor list."

"Then call Dr. Fairburn." She crossed her arms over her chest, her entire posture radiating menace. "This is obviously a bureaucratic error."

"There is no mistake, Miss Addams," the guard snapped, wearying of her pressure. "The order was signed by Dr. Fairburn herself. And now, I'm going to ask you to stop wasting my time and leave the hospital grounds.”

Chapter Text

"How is your progress with our Hyde, Rachel?" Judy asked, taking a sip of tea and rustling open her third chocolate candy. "You submitted a request to change his confinement conditions. Does that mean the boy is finally cooperating?"

"Ever since he met that girl, Miss Addams, things have been much better. He’s become more open and receptive to therapy. But we’re still far from a breakthrough," Dr. Fairburn reported, adding, "However, I do have certain concerns, as his fixation on Miss Addams is only intensifying."

"Concerns?" Judy popped the candy into her mouth and sized Rachel up with a calm, appraising gaze. "You do remember, Rachel, that your job isn't just to 'help the boy.' It's to figure out precisely how to gain control over Hydes—what exactly in their DNA compels them to obey and form a bond with a master. They are a rare and enigmatic species of outcast, and in all our years of study, we haven't even learned how to break a previous bond and form a new one. The last attempt to do so..." she paused meaningfully, "ended in failure."

"I remember," Fairburn nodded. "I can't say much for certain yet... However, the meeting with Addams was the catalyst for Tyler's progress. His hyper-fixation on her was obvious from the start. Speaking with her, and... something resembling a romantic connection between them, caused him to drastically change his behavior."

"Their relationship is a variable we don't control," Judy cut in, her voice remaining soft, but with a new steeliness to it. "We still have no idea how the Hyde-master bond is formed. Is it chemical, psychological, or emotional? What if the bond we need forms with her, accidentally and uncontrollably? We cannot allow that."

She picked up a fourth candy, twirling it thoughtfully in her fingers, and concluded:

"We need him manageable and vulnerable, Rachel. A male Hyde is a unique specimen, completely dependent on its masters. We cannot lose him."

"And what do you suggest?" Fairburn asked, already guessing the answer.

"Isolate him from the girl completely. Revoke her clearance under the official pretext of 'negative influence on the therapeutic process.'"

Smirking, Judy offered Fairburn a candy. "Want one?"

The doctor shook her head. Judy continued, "And I know you're against this idea, but the only person available to us who has successfully formed a bond with a Hyde is Laurel Gates. I think it's time we consulted her. I've already sent the request to St. Lorelei's Colony."

She unwrapped the candy, the crinkle of the foil sounding loud in the quiet office.

***

The guard with the perpetually bored face led Tyler down the familiar route to Dr. Fairburn's office. His footsteps echoed loudly in the sterile silence of the hallway. But when they reached the right door, it was locked. James knocked, perplexed, but no one answered.

Casting a quick glance at Tyler, as if debating what to do with him, the guard looked at the neighboring door and knocked there.

"Just a minute!" a muffled, soft voice called from inside, and the door opened to reveal Judy in a fluffy pink cardigan. "Rachel's held up in a meeting. No point in you standing in the hall, Tyler. Come on into my office, I'll make us some coffee."

James shrugged, seeing no breach of protocol, and motioned for Tyler to enter the office of Fairburn's assistant—the one the raven had flown into. For Tyler, this was a chance to learn more about her.

Judy's office was the complete opposite of Dr. Fairburn's sterile austerity.

Tyler felt like he'd been plunged into a cloud of cotton candy. Pink walls, a desk buried in papers and folders, flowers in vases, countless porcelain cat figurines on the shelves and desk, each staring at him with glass eyes. The air was thick with the smell of cheap perfume and something confectionary.

This would be the perfect place to horrify Wednesday. He wondered if she'd ever been in here when she came to see him. Tyler smirked, thinking this must be what her personal nightmare room would look like.

To Tyler, however, the office just seemed absurd and jarringly out of place with the rest of the hospital's atmosphere.

"Have a seat, dear," Judy sang out, navigating between stacks of documents toward the coffee machine. "With milk, no sugar. I remember."

Tyler sat on the edge of the chair, his gaze predatorily scanning the chaos on her desk. This was a chance—unexpected, risky, but perhaps his only one, and Tyler had to take it.

When Judy placed the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, he nodded gratefully and reached for it. As he did, his elbow made a slight, almost imperceptible, but perfectly calculated movement. The cup tipped, and dark brown liquid flooded the desk, soaking the papers.

"Oh, hell!" Tyler exclaimed with the most sincere remorse he could muster. "I'm so sorry, Judy, I'm so clumsy! Let me help!"

"Oh dear, oh dear, it's quite all right, it happens to everyone," she fretted, grabbing for napkins.

Not waiting for permission, Tyler jumped up and also began gathering the soaked papers, pretending to save them. His fingers moved quickly, but his eyes moved faster. Charts, schedules, some internal memos...

The top sheet of one stack, where, in clear typewritten font, it read: "Assistant Chief of Medicine Judy Stonehearst."

Stonehearst.

Tyler's gaze darted further. Under the stack of papers he'd "saved" lay a thin, dark burgundy folder, standing out from the rest of the mess. On its cover was a single classification, printed in red letters: "Secret."

His heart hammered in his chest. He was just about to reach out, to lift the corner of the cover, when Judy gently but firmly intercepted the stack of papers from under his nose.

"Thank you, sweetie, I'll take it from here," her smile didn't change, but for a split second, a cold glint flashed in her eyes. "You've helped enough, Tyler."

At that moment, Dr. Fairburn appeared in the doorway.

"My apologies for the delay. Tyler, we can begin."

Tyler rose silently. His mind was racing, fitting the puzzle pieces together. The raven flying into Judy's office window. The ventilation shaft leading to the genetics wing. The missing utility room on the schematic. And now Judy Stonehearst, clearly related to the very doctor Wednesday had pointed him to. The same doctor who had performed his mother's cremation.

The answer he had struggled to see for so long was finally beginning to take shape.

Entering Dr. Fairburn's office after her, Tyler could still taste the cheap coffee on his tongue. He tried to force his expression into one of neutrality, not wanting to give away his excitement at the information he'd just acquired.

"You look agitated," Fairburn noted, sitting in her chair and opening her notepad. The click of her pen was the familiar signal for the session to start. "Did something happen in Judy's office?"

"I just... spilled the coffee. I feel like an idiot," he lowered his head, feigning shame, then looked up at her with a heavy, tormented gaze. "Doctor, I haven't been sleeping well. At all."

It was almost true. For the past few nights, Tyler had only slept in fits, falling into an anxious, viscous oblivion from which he'd jolt awake at the slightest sound. But now, he decided to use this half-truth to his advantage.

"I just lie there and stare at the ceiling. I'm thinking, but about nothing specific, and I'm constantly anxious about Wednesday. She's been gone for almost three weeks..."

Fairburn pressed her lips together sympathetically.

"That's an expected reaction to stress, Tyler... A lot has happened in your life recently," she stated.

"I can't take it anymore," he interrupted, injecting a note of desperation into his voice. "I just need to shut down, just for one night..."

She watched him for a few seconds, evaluating. Then she nodded, making a note.

"Alright. In your case, I'm not a proponent of medication, because Hydes are so poorly understood. We don't know how you'll react or how to dose it properly. But as a temporary measure, I'll prescribe you a mild sleeping pill. You'll be given one tablet every evening before lights out. But we must continue to work on the cause of your anxiety, not just the symptoms."

"Thank you, Doctor," he whispered. "Thank you."

That same evening, James brought him a small plastic cup of water and one small white tablet. Tyler obediently took it, raised it to his mouth, pretended to wash it down with water, and, turning away, deftly palmed it. When the guard left, he carefully pushed it into a tiny slit he had made with a fang in the inner seam of his mattress.

He just had to repeat this a few more times, and he'd have enough pills to execute the next part of his plan.

Tyler figured three or four tablets should be enough to knock the guard out for a few hours. He knew perfectly well that James got himself a coffee before his night shift, right after the evening walk, and then drank it slowly while reading the paper. If he could distract him, find the right moment, and add the pills to the coffee, it just might work.

If he managed to put the guard to sleep, he could take his keycard and get out of this wing. But then came the doubts. Escape? To where?

For now, escape was just a backup plan in case everything went sideways. His real goal was clearly here, within the walls of Willow Hill. He had to understand what Judy Stonehurst was hiding in the basements of this building, not just for the investigation, but for his mother.

Tyler was desperate to tell Wednesday everything he'd learned, but she still hadn't appeared. Every time footsteps echoed down the hall, a part of him hoped Wednesday would appear in the doorway, that she would find a way to break through, just as she always did. And he had to be ready when she arrived, armed not just with questions, but with answers.

***

Wednesday and Uncle Fester stood on the top floor of Yago's Tower, looking at each other with complete understanding and a slight hint of a challenge.

"If anyone's a master at getting into nuthouses, it's me," Fester grinned.

"I need you to find someone named Lois. She's connected to the former chief of medicine, Augustus Stonehurst. Also, try to find Tyler Galpin. We... struck a deal to cooperate, after which my clearance was revoked. Maybe he's found something, or maybe he's betrayed me again and compromised the investigation." Wednesday smirked, trying to hide a semblance of worry—or even uncharacteristic care—behind the casual tone. Fester knew her too well, and she was not prepared to answer questions about Tyler and their... less-than-simple relationship. "And be careful. I suspect something more sinister is happening there than standard punitive psychiatry."

After Fester left, Wednesday allowed herself a small, grim smile. The game had moved to a new level. If they closed the front door on her, she would enter through the padded room. And Uncle Fester would be her Trojan horse.

Dr. Fairburn measured Laurel with a long look. Her orange prison jumpsuit looked alien against the pale beige uniforms of the Willow Hill patients, but it emphasized her short-cropped red hair.

Talking with Tyler's master was almost as difficult as talking with him during the first few months of his therapy.

"So, will you help me or not?" Fairburn asked curtly, rising to look down on Gates.

"Only if you transfer me here permanently. As a patient, not a prisoner," Laurel countered, looking up at Fairburn with a wry smirk.

"That will be up to a jury. It's a shame we couldn't reach an agreement. In that case, I'll find a more... invasive method of treatment for Tyler," Fairburn cut her off. Her patience had run out. She turned to the guard. "Arrange her transfer back to the prison. I recommend she be placed in solitary confinement until the trial."

The guard nodded in agreement. Gates's expression changed.

"Alright, you win," she snapped, and then, almost fawning, she begged, "Just let me see Tyler. Face to face. Just once. Please..."

***

When James told him he had an "unscheduled meeting," Tyler's heart skipped a beat.

His father was dead, so only one person could possibly want to visit him. He waited, staring at the door with hope and impatience, barely breathing in anticipation. Tyler imagined he would see her dark silhouette, the two braids, the impenetrable face in which he had learned to read more emotion than anyone else.

But when the door opened, it wasn't Wednesday.

The air froze in his lungs, turning to sharp, icy needles. Standing before him was Laurel Gates.

His master. The one who had forced him through hell. The one responsible for him being here...

For a second, the world narrowed to her face: the crazed look, the saccharine smile. The shock was so profound it paralyzed him, and Tyler forgot how to breathe or move. But his Hyde reacted faster than his mind. His hand twitched, reaching for her. The monster stirred within, seeking its master's approval, and the bond thrummed like a tightly pulled string.

Laurel saw the movement, and her smile widened.

"My boy," she whispered, soft and commanding. "What have they done to you? I swear, I'll get you out of here..."

Her sight and her voice awakened Tyler's darkest, deepest memories: the pain, the humiliation, the smell of chemicals, her cold fingers on his body. The images flooded in, drowning his consciousness. The scent of blood hit his nostrils, and for an instant, he was thrown back into that cave, where she had first turned him.

His body arched and began to transform, bones cracking as they shifted shape.

Before Laurel could even flinch, he lunged at her. Her smug smile twisted into fear, mixed with a hint of madness and admiration. His clawed fingers closed around her throat, and Laurel gagged. He saw in her the cause of all his pain, and he wanted to wipe her from the face of the earth. Somewhere in the distance, as if through a fog, he heard Dr. Fairburn's voice.

"Tyler, let go," Laurel commanded, and the Hyde couldn't resist. He could never resist her commands, even if he hated them. Tyler felt like he was being torn apart from the inside by his hatred for her, for himself, and by the compulsion to obey. Even now, after everything, she still had power over him...

The monster's grip loosened, and Laurel fell to the floor, coughing and gasping for air.

The Hyde collapsed after her, its body shrinking, returning to its exhausted human shell. The last thing Tyler saw was Laurel's face, a triumphant, insane fire burning deep in her eyes.

***

Tyler woke to the smell of antiseptic and a dull ache in the back of his head. He quickly realized he was lying on the cot in his cell, his right wrist chained to the metal bed frame. An IV stand was next to him, a line running into his vein. A powerful sedative, apparently.

The memories rushed back in a murky, furious wave: Laurel's face, her smug smile, the feeling of her throat beneath his fingers...

"Good morning, Tyler."

Dr. Fairburn was standing on the other side of the bars, holding a tablet. Her face was calm and impenetrable, as always.

He yanked his arm, testing the chain.

"What was that?" he rasped, his throat raw. "Why the hell did you bring her here without asking me?"

"It was a necessary part of your therapy," she replied in a flat, professorial tone. "Confrontation with the source of your trauma. Your reaction, while extreme, showed us just how deep your bond is. Unfortunately, the distance hasn't weakened it much, contrary to my expectations."

"Am I a patient or a lab rat?" Tyler snarled angrily, but his voice broke into a cough. "You could have at least warned me! You know I was waiting for Wednesday! I definitely wasn't ready to face my former master!"

He tried to sit up, but the room swam. They must have pumped him full of heavy sedatives; his limbs felt like lead.

"Wednesday isn't coming back, Tyler," Dr. Fairburn stated, almost sympathetically. "I ran into her a couple of days ago. She said she decided to move on. You can understand her position, Tyler..."

"What? No! That's a lie..." Tyler whispered, shaking his head. A surge of adrenaline made him almost leap from the cot, but the chain stopped him.

It couldn't be true... She wouldn't betray him, wouldn't abandon him, she couldn't just give up like that. "She would have said it to my face," Tyler said stubbornly, as if trying to convince himself. His eyes stung, and he blinked hard.

"Maybe she just couldn't," Fairburn sighed with false sympathy.

Tyler stared at her, gasping for air, not believing a single word.

Chapter Text

Tyler lay staring at the ceiling, feeling the medicine flow through his veins. It was poisoning his mind, tangling his thoughts and making it impossible to focus.

This chemical poison mixed with the poison of Fairburn's words.

"She decided to move on." Every word cut into his brain, leaving bleeding serrations. No, he didn't believe it. Wednesday wouldn't abandon him... especially not so cowardly, passing along her goodbye through Fairburn.

A lie... A dirty, vile manipulation, calculated to break him and make him compliant. And it had almost worked.

The despair was dark and sticky. It pulled him under, shrinking his world to the size of the cell, to the taste of cheap soap and bleach, to the dull ache in the back of his head.

The Hyde thrashed within him, weakened by the tranquilizers but no less furious for it. It sensed betrayal, real or imagined, and responded with blind rage. The monster inside didn't understand nuances, and so, from the moment of its awakening, any pain inside Tyler ended in an undirected flash of anger. Once, Laurel's commands had suppressed that anger, directing it toward the murder of innocent people; at other times, whatever light was left inside Tyler helped him fight it. That was how he'd managed not to kill Eugene, and how he'd slowed the transformation on that fateful night in the woods when he'd almost killed Wednesday.

Now, if not for the drugs, the chains, and the collar, he would have transformed and torn this place down to the last brick. But, bound and weakened, the Hyde merely writhed inside, bringing incredible pain to every cell in his body from the unfulfilled transformation. And Tyler screamed into the void.

***

He didn't know how much time had passed since the tranquilizers shut down his consciousness after his desperate attempt to transform. It had done no good—only weakening his already exhausted body.

When the cell door opened again and Dr. Fairburn appeared on the threshold, Tyler didn't even turn his head. He continued to stare at the ceiling, feeling her gaze slide over his chained figure.

"How are you feeling, Tyler?" Her voice was even and professional, without a hint of yesterday's pseudo-sympathy.

"Fantastic. Thanks to your efforts," he rasped sarcastically. His throat was raw, and his voice wouldn't obey him. Apparently, he had completely burned out his vocal cords yesterday.

Fairburn entered, leaving the door open. The shadow of a guard loomed behind her.

"I understand your anger. But what happened was necessary. We had to test your bond with Laurel, to assess its strength and..." she paused. "Find a way to break it."

Tyler slowly turned his head. His eyes, sunken from insomnia and drugs, met hers.

"You brought her here to run another experiment on me?" he hissed through his teeth.

"Unfortunately, Hydes are so poorly understood that all of your therapy is experimental. But, despite the fact that your meeting with Miss Thornhill yesterday didn't go very well, I still saw progress. Although the command proved stronger in the end, you were able to attack her. Your Hyde and your rage were directed against your master. Before, you wouldn't have even been able to raise a hand to her. She, by the way, was certain that fact remained unchanged."

Fairburn fell silent, letting the words seep through the fog of his despair and anger, then continued:

"Yesterday, we held another consultation regarding your situation, Tyler. And we want to offer you two paths. The first is risky, but highly effective. We can perform a procedure that will destroy the Hyde within you, literally cut it out of your body and consciousness. You would become yourself again—the way you were before the awakening. No monster, no double life."

He stared at her point-blank. There was no longer any warmth in Fairburn's gaze, only cold, scientific interest.

Once, long ago, after the first murders he was conscious of, Tyler had dreamed of getting rid of the monster inside. But now, after Wednesday had accepted him as he was, it no longer seemed like the best option. The Hyde gave him strength, protection. It made him not just some normie from a provincial town, but a rare outcast. The outcast she had fallen for.

"And the second path?" Tyler asked hoarsely.

"The second path is more complex," Fairburn said, shrugging slightly. "There is a new methodology we are currently developing. It allows us not to destroy the Hyde, but to give it a new master. And subsequently, perhaps, to abandon the bond altogether, if the master consents to it."

Tyler froze. His heart, which usually pounded at any hint of hope, nearly burst from his chest. To remain a Hyde, but be free, without a master... It seemed too perfect to be true. Tyler sharply reined himself in, refusing to sink into euphoria and false hope. He should expect a catch from Fairburn. And the only person in the world he trusted enough to allow to be his master had supposedly abandoned him.

"Laurel said that without a master, a Hyde goes insane and then dies," he noted skeptically, though he couldn't hide the tremor in his voice.

"Laurel doesn't know everything, Tyler. Both options are our unique developments, based on reprogramming the consciousness in combination with chemical intervention. But there is a crucial nuance..." she paused, looking at him as if she wanted to burn a hole through him. "The procedure will not work without your conscious, voluntary, and complete consent. You yourself must, with your entire being, want to be cured. Without that, any intervention will be useless. The Hyde will either kill you in the process or drive you insane."

"I need to think..." Tyler said, bewildered, trying to calm the thoughts swarming in his head.

Dr. Fairburn nodded condescendingly. "Of course, I understand. Decisions like this aren't made hastily..."

"And before I give an answer, I want to talk to Wednesday. I've already told you she's the only person I would want to see as my Hyde's master," Tyler declared stubbornly. The understanding on Fairburn's face was replaced by irritation.

"Even if Miss Addams were willing to do such a thing—which, as I've told you, she is not—it's a bad idea," she stated uncompromisingly. "You and Miss Addams have a complex and contradictory history, and a Hyde's master cannot be someone with whom you have emotional ties. It's not safe, not for you, and not for her." Fairburn paused, as if deciding whether to continue, but then spoke again. "We will only perform the procedure if your master becomes someone from the Willow Hill staff, or the consortium. Someone who wishes you well, but can remain dispassionate."

Something inside Tyler shattered and broke. Everything became painfully clear—they wanted to either dissect him, robbing him of part of his identity, or turn him into their own pet monster. And, of course, no one intended to let him go.

"Before I make a decision, I want to talk to Wednesday," he repeated, his voice cold, almost mechanical.

Fairburn clicked her tongue, losing patience with his stubbornness, but Tyler didn't back down.

"You must have her contact information. Contact her and ask her to come. Even if she really did abandon me, then let her confirm it in person," he stared at the doctor again, holding her gaze.

Fairburn pursed her lips, as if flustered, but it only lasted a moment.

"I cannot force Miss Addams to visit you against her will, Tyler. And furthermore, I have no right to involve her in this," she stated with professional calm. "Such visits are dangerous for you both and, frankly, would have to be approved by the medical commission and her parents. I doubt either will give their consent."

"And I think you're just afraid Wednesday will tell me something that contradicts your words," Tyler declared defiantly, leaning forward. "And that's why you're making excuses. If she really did dump me, that would only strengthen my desire to accept your offer. Wouldn't it? I will only agree to your treatment options if I see her one more time..." Tyler knew he was playing with fire, but talking to Wednesday now seemed like a vital necessity. And Fairburn's stupid excuses only convinced him that she was not playing fair.

The doctor stood up silently. The mask of the patient therapist on her face cracked, revealing an exhaustion mixed with anger.

"You are in no position to make demands. You are a murderer, here for compulsory treatment. And you should be grateful we are offering you a way out at all," she bit off.

"You're lying and manipulating me, Dr. Fairburn," he said quietly, but clearly.

She froze at the door, then slowly turned her head.

"Think about my offer, Tyler. It's your only chance at a life outside these walls. When you're ready to accept help without stupid ultimatums, let me know. And yes, after yesterday's outburst, we've decided to cancel your walks. Unfortunately, you can no longer be considered stable enough for such privileges."

With those words, the door closed behind her.

***

The next few days blurred into a uniform gray mass. Tyler almost stopped reacting to external stimuli, mechanically following the guards' instructions and giving monosyllabic answers to Fairburn's questions. Her offer hung in the air, a persistent temptation and an elusive threat all at once.

The walls of the cell seemed to press in even tighter than before. And yet, somewhere in his chest, like a wounded bird unwilling to die, hope fluttered that Wednesday had not abandoned him and would find a way.

Usually, lunch at Willow Hill was as tasteless and predictable as everything else. An old glass plate, often chipped, with cold soup inside, a glass of water, and a slice of bread.

When the food cart rattled across the floor, Tyler didn't even turn his head. Most of the time, the orderlies brought it silently, warily sliding the tray through the bars of the cell and trying to leave the presence of such a dangerous and unpredictable patient as quickly as possible.

But this time, Tyler heard an almost cheerful "Enjoy your meal" from behind him. Turning, he saw a woman in a shabby white coat with disheveled hair and a name badge that read "Louise." She gave him a strange smile and gestured with her eyes toward the tray. There was a nervous note in her gaze.

"Eat it while it's hot," Louise said, and quickly walked away.

Tyler approached and picked up the tray, examining the food. It seemed it actually was warm this time. But that wasn't the main surprise. Underneath the plate, he noticed a tiny, almost invisible triangle of paper, tucked under the rim.

His heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer. Tyler shot a quick glance at the door—the guard was dozing in his chair, staring at the wall. With fingers trembling from weakness and excitement, Tyler hooked the paper and unfolded it.

The handwriting was sharp, clear, almost calligraphic.

"Tyler,

Fairburn revoked my pass. But if you're reading this, it means my Uncle F. found a way to get this to you.

Tell me everything you know about the investigation. Time is not on our side...

So you know it's me:"

After these words, instead of a signature, were two small, drawn black hearts.

Everything inside Tyler turned upside down. Joy, fury at Fairburn who had lied to his face, and a wild, all-consuming relief washed over him like a waterfall. She hadn't abandoned him. She had found a way to make contact... But how could it be otherwise? This was Wednesday, after all. His Wednesday.

Grabbing the dulled pencil that Fairburn had given him to keep a wellness journal, he tore a corner from a page and, turning his back to the surveillance camera, began to form the letters with feverish haste.

"Fairburn lied, said you refused to come. But I knew it wasn't true.

The one-eyed raven flies into Judy's office. Her last name is Stonehearst, and she has some secret project in this hospital.

Utility room number 4 in the genetics department, unlisted on the schematic, looks suspicious. Be careful, nothing here is what it seems. And they probably want to take control of my Hyde."

Tyler wished he could write more... To tell her in detail about Fairburn's offer, to share his feelings about what he'd endured from the meeting with his master and the endless web of lies surrounding him. But there was no time, nor space on the tiny scrap of paper. At the very bottom, however, his hand trembling, he drew two small black hearts—their new secret sign.

Carefully folding the note into a tiny square, Tyler waited for Louise to come back to collect the trays. Their eyes met again for a split second, and Tyler saw sympathy in her gaze, along with a spark of the same adventurous fire that must have attracted Uncle Fester.

"Everything alright?" she asked quietly, taking his plate.

Tyler nodded and, clearing his throat, discreetly pressed the folded paper into her hand.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Everything's great."

Louise's fingers closed around the paper. Nodding, she moved on, and the note disappeared into the folds of her uniform.

When the door closed, Tyler fell back onto his pillows. The emptiness inside him was filled with hope, excitement, and relief. The game was still on, and in it, he and Wednesday were once again on the same side. On opposite sides of a barbed-wire fence, but connected by one secret, one goal, and two black hearts drawn on a scrap of paper.

Chapter Text

Uncle Fester's romance with Louise was passionate, explosive, and decidedly short-lived. When Laurel Gates happened to recognize him in the hallway, she immediately reported it to Dr. Fairburn.

Fester was thrown into a maximum-security cell in one of the most heavily guarded sectors of the hospital.

What's more, his cellmate turned out to be the very same zombie Pugsley had reanimated in his search for a friend. Ironic that Willow Hill decided to treat the brain of someone who didn't have one. It said a lot about their professionalism.

When Thing informed her of this, Wednesday realized she couldn't leave either Fester or Tyler in such a hellish place—in the worst sense of the word.

She told no one of her true intentions. To Thing, Enid, and Agnes, their mission was only to rescue Fester. But Wednesday knew she had come for them both. Not just for her uncle, but for Tyler.

Her uncle was still first on the rescue list. He was family, and besides, he wasn't in a special cell designed for a schizophrenic shapeshifter: behind three bulletproof doors and with a personal guard.

Louise kindly provided her help and cover, hiding Wednesday in a food cart and wheeling her straight to Fester.

He looked pleased, despite his... specific cellmate.

"We have little time, we need to find Lois," Wednesday hissed without unnecessary sentiment as she burst into the cell and immediately began unfastening his straitjacket.

The zombie lunged at them, barely held back by a chain that wasn't very securely bolted to the wall. Fester immediately stopped it with a jolt of electricity.

Once outside, Wednesday paused and looked at the open door, and then at the zombie. She deliberately left the cell unlocked.

It wasn't more than two minutes before a dull thud was heard, the scrape of claws on metal, and finally, a heavy, shuffling step. The zombie, sensing freedom and the smell of living people in the corridor, had ripped its chain free and gotten out. Its low growl echoed down the hall.

Almost immediately, the siren began to wail, and in the distance, the rapid footsteps of guards could be heard.

Deep down, Wednesday wanted to turn right now and run for Tyler. The impulse was almost uncontrollable, but, as usual, rationality took over.

She knew full well that a Hyde's escape would raise a completely different level of alarm. It would mean calling in the state police and special units. They would have to flee immediately, risking capture. Therefore, his release had to be the last step, the final note in this melody of chaos.

And in the meantime... while almost all the guards were chasing a reanimated zombie, she had a window to go down to the basement and see with her own eyes the secret project Tyler had written about. To see who, or what, Judy was really playing with, and to finally find out who this mysterious Lois really was.

Turning her back to the growing noise, Wednesday quickened her pace, heading for the genetics department—into the very heart of this snake pit called Willow Hill.

She and Fester ran through the nearly empty corridors; it was almost too quiet and deserted. The zombie diversion had worked perfectly, drawing most of the security to Sector C to capture it. Thing, as always, was her eyes and ears, skittering on his five fingers a few yards ahead and peering around corners.

They were just turning into another corridor when he suddenly stopped and wiggled his fingers, signaling danger.

The next moment, someone Wednesday had not expected to see here ran right toward them. A ghost from the past, the cause of everything that had happened to Tyler—the crazy psychopath Laurel Gates.

Dressed in a hospital gown, she was racing in the direction of the maximum-security wing.

Wednesday had no idea how she got there, but it wasn't hard to guess it meant nothing good. Obviously, Gates was running to Tyler. Probably to free him, to get him back under her control and get a second chance at her stupid revenge. Wednesday couldn't allow that, not just because of her hatred for Laurel or the feelings for Tyler she wasn't ready to admit, but because of simple common sense. Allowing them to reunite meant endangering not only Enid, but all of Nevermore.

"Fester," Wednesday snapped as they drew level with Gates. "Take her out."

Wednesday would have preferred to kill Gates herself—slowly, painfully, looking her in the eyes and savoring the pain. But there was no time for that now.

Fester, without a second's thought, threw a shower of sparks forward. There was a short crackle, and Laurel shuddered. Her body arched in an unnatural pose for a moment, and then she collapsed lifelessly to the floor. Giving Gates a contemptuous look, Wednesday took a step toward her, intending to check her pulse and, if necessary, finish the wretch off for good. At that moment, footsteps and the characteristic crackle of radios sounded from around the corner. Without thinking, Fester grabbed Wednesday's arm and dragged her away. She didn't resist, recognizing the logic of the move. As much as she wanted to kick Gates's breathless body or at least spit on her disgusting face, getting caught by the guards because of it would be simply foolish.

***

The door Tyler had mentioned looked inconspicuous. A standard utility door with a keypad lock. Thing skillfully scrambled up the wall and picked the code in a couple of minutes, causing the lock to click open.

Inside was a cramped utility room filled with shelves of junk. A dead end.

"Looks like your boyfriend was wrong," Fester grunted.

"He's not my boyfriend," Wednesday shot Fester a murderous look, but didn't pursue the topic because she noticed scratches on the floor leading behind an old metal cabinet. Together, they pushed it aside, revealing a narrow staircase leading down into the darkness.

On the wall above the opening, the acronym was painted: L.O.I.S.

"'Long-Term Outcast Integration Study,'" Wednesday read aloud, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. "So Lois isn't a person, it's a program..." she stated thoughtfully.

The basement was enormous—much larger than she had expected. In the center, a strange, bulky apparatus hummed, entangled in thick cables. And along the walls stretched cells, holding miserable, mutilated outcasts. Pale, emaciated, with empty eyes... The very ones who were listed as long dead. The ones Dr. Stonehearst had supposedly cremated. Stolen, to be tortured and experimented on.

Wednesday's attention was drawn to one cell, the most secure of all. In the far corner sat a woman, hugging her knees, her face buried in them. She cowered helplessly, her long dark hair matted, and her light-colored dress with a black floral print faded and dirty.

Everything that followed happened rapidly... Judy's appearance, her pompous speech about her father's work, Fester's electric shock that blacked out the entire hospital, and the opening of the cells.

The outcasts lunged at Judy, while Wednesday herself led the mysterious woman—who had remained sitting inside, as if no longer believing freedom was possible—out of the cell.

"Get her out of here," she told Fester. "Don't wait for me. I'll handle the rest."

After climbing out of the basement, Wednesday ran toward Tyler's cell. Her boots thudded dully on the tile floor, but the sound was lost in the ensuing chaos. Fester had completely knocked out the hospital's power. The magnetic doors had unlocked, just like in a fire alarm, and now all the patients and inmates, until then securely locked in their cells, spilled out into the corridor.

Wednesday turned into the hallway where they had just encountered Laurel Gates and stopped short. The spot where Fester had zapped her was empty. Only a small scorch mark remained on the floor.

Cursing under her breath, she broke into a run, afraid she'd be too late. If Laurel got to Tyler and took control of him again, it would all be over. For him, and likely for her, too.

Wednesday was only a few corridors away when a hulking figure stumbled out of a side passage. It was the very same zombie she herself had tactically released from Fester's cell.

Naturally, its intentions were absolutely primitive. Letting out a low, guttural growl and spreading its arms, it walked straight toward Wednesday. Its glass eyes glinted dimly in the half-light, one arm outstretched, fingers with rotting skin twitching.

Wednesday tried to run, but the corridor was too narrow, and the zombie was faster than she thought. It lunged at her, pinning her against the cold wall. Foul breath washed over her face, causing a wave of nausea. Wednesday had always been tolerant of the smell of decay, but this was too strong and disgusting even for her.

The zombie pulled her closer, its jaw unhinging to reveal rotten teeth and a long, lolling tongue.

She jerked, trying to break free, but his fingers dug into her with a death grip. Now, death looked at her through the empty sockets of Pugsley's bloodless friend and seemed not tragic or romantic, but horribly absurd.

'How ironic,' a cold, detached thought flashed through her mind. 'To be killed not by a crazed fanatic or a Hyde, but by my own brother's pet zombie, reanimated out of boredom.'

The red tongue snaked out of its mouth, almost touching her face. A sudden pang of regret, almost as sharp as the bite she was expecting, pierced Wednesday. Not that she was about to be eaten, but that she had failed her mission.

She wouldn't be able to help Tyler. His master, who was undoubtedly also running through these corridors, would find him after all. He would be a slave again, and perhaps this was how the vision of Enid's death would come true.

Her mother had said her interference only made things worse. Maybe she was right. By coming here, Wednesday had really made things worse. Much worse.

***

The power died suddenly. It didn't flicker or dim, as it often did here; it cut out completely, plunging Willow Hill into darkness. A few seconds passed before the backup generators kicked in, and then the wail of a fire alarm echoed through the corridor. Emergency lights flared on, bathing everything in a bloody red. The doors to Tyler's cell swung open on their own.

Whoever designed this place wasn't very forward-thinking, or perhaps they just weren't prepared for Wednesday Addams.

Tyler knew it instantly: this was no accident. Not a blown transformer or routine maintenance. If anyone could pull something like this off, it was her.

There were- screams and panic in the hallway. The staff clearly hadn't expected all their captives to be released from their cages at once. This had Wednesday's signature all over it—man-made and beautiful chaos.

Now, standing between Tyler and freedom were the chains, which are not a problem for the Hyde, an electric collar on a standalone battery, and the guard, James, who could activate it.

A chair scraped in the darkness—the guard was on his feet, cursing and fumbling for his flashlight. Tyler listened to his every movement like a predator in ambush. There were nervous footsteps, and soon a silhouette appeared in the doorway.

"Galpin, don't move!" James's voice was trembling. Disoriented in the dark, he came too close. Usually, there were bars between them, but now, nothing could protect him.

When the distance was short enough, Tyler lunged forward as far as his chains allowed and knocked the guard out with one precise move. He hadn't wanted to kill James; he was one of the few people here who had treated him like a human. He didn't mock him, didn't provoke him, didn't use the collar on a whim. He obeyed Fairburn's orders, just doing his job. Tyler knew what that was like...

So he gently lowered James to the floor, trying not to cause unnecessary pain.

Pulling the keycard, the remote for the collar, and a set of keys from his pocket, Tyler retrieved the hidden pills from the slit in his mattress—his former "Plan B." Without hesitation, he shoved several into the guard's mouth, poured in some water, and waited for the reflexive swallow. Now James was guaranteed to stay asleep for the rest of the night and wouldn't tell anyone anything. This might even save his life; judging by the screams, all hell was breaking loose outside.

Tyler quickly removed the collar and chains and ran out into freedom. He decided not to shift into the Hyde just yet—it would attract attention and wouldn't let him blend in with the lunatics now swarming the hospital.

The corridor was pitch black, lit only by the pulsing red of the sparse emergency lights.

He ran toward the genetics department, recalling the building schematic he had studied. His bare feet slapped against the cold floor, his breathing ragged. The Hyde raged within him, demanding to be let out.

Approaching the correct hallway, Tyler listened. The muffled sound of a struggle and a low, hungry growl reached him.

The faint, almost imperceptible scent of Wednesday mixed with the putrid stench of something dead.

Tyler picked up his pace, bursting through another set of doors dividing the hospital wings. The scene he witnessed made his blood boil.

Wednesday was pinned to the wall by a grotesque figure in a torn straitjacket. Something that looked like a decaying zombie was pulling her close, trying to eat her.

A possessive, animalistic rage flooded Tyler. He didn't even have time to think about transforming before his body did it on its own, and the Hyde burst forth.

The zombie, lacking any instinct for self-preservation, reacted too slowly. The Hyde grabbed the undead thing by the shoulder, hurling it away from Wednesday. The zombie hit the wall but immediately got up and shambled back toward Wednesday.

The Hyde's claws tore through the rotten flesh, but it wasn't fatal; what is already dead cannot die again. Letting out a hoarse, garbled sound, it turned and shambled away in search of new victims.

The Hyde slowly turned to Wednesday. The rage in its eyes faded. A few seconds later, Tyler was standing before her. Pale, emaciated, completely naked, and trembling from adrenaline and the transformation.

Wednesday's eyes glittered in the red emergency light, and Tyler caught in them a dark, faint, but distinct admiration.

"You shouldn't wander this hospital alone. There's some real sick people here," Tyler said hoarsely. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, and his breath burned against Wednesday's. Their lips met in a greedy, all-consuming kiss.

Tyler's hands dug into her back, pressing her close, as if trying to dissolve all the barriers that had separated them for these long months. For the first time, there was no glass, no bars between them. The world narrowed to the taste of her lips and tongue, the scent of her skin. Her hand was in his tangled curls, while his hands found their way under her vest.

But the sirens outside wailed louder, a reminder of reality.

"We have to go," Wednesday exhaled, pulling away. Her gaze slid over his body without an ounce of embarrassment, as if assessing him. And judging by the way she swallowed, it was clear she liked what she saw. "A shame to interrupt such an... educational study."

"We'll continue this later," Tyler said. His voice was low, and playful sparks danced in his eyes. It was both a challenge and a promise. "Were you in that utility room?"

"Yes, you were right about it," Wednesday nodded. "But I'll tell you later. We have to run."

Not wasting a second, Tyler dashed to the body of an unfortunate orderly lying at the end of the hall—the zombie's previous victim. He quickly stripped the uniform off him and pulled it on. The jacket was tight in the shoulders and the pants were short, but it was better than nothing.

They ran again through the labyrinth of corridors, the adrenaline and the proximity of freedom now giving Tyler strength. He was slightly ahead, peering around corners first to check if the path was clear. As he rounded another bend, he froze, as if his feet were rooted to the floor.

Because he was met by the gaze of the one person he never wanted to see again. His tormentor. His master.

Laurel looked crazed. Her hair was wild, and the orderly's uniform she'd changed into was torn and singed. But at the sight of Tyler, her face twisted into a mask of sick relief.

"Tyler!" she breathed, rushing toward him. "I was looking for you! Mommy would never abandon you!"

Her hands reached for him, trying to pull him into an embrace. Tyler recoiled. Cold, venomous disgust rose from the pit of his stomach.

Wednesday, who was running behind him, heard Laurel's voice and froze just around the corner, hiding in an alcove in the wall a few steps away. She listened, her hands clenched into fists. She couldn't let Gates see her now. If Gates knew Wednesday was here, she would immediately give an order Tyler couldn't disobey.

All she could do was wait and watch, and attack from behind as soon as she had the chance.

"You’re the reason I’ve been locked away in here," Tyler said, pulling away. His voice was quiet, but it cut to the bone. "You're not my mother, you're my master. Or should I say… you were."

"I unlocked your true potential!" Her voice was filled with poorly hidden panic, a desperate attempt to regain her slipping control. "I made you who you are! I gave you that power!"

"You did," Tyler nodded, and a dangerous glint sparked in his eyes. "That's why... I’ll give you a five-second head start. Run."

Laurel didn't understand at first, staring at Tyler in confusion, until his bones began to crack. Then she turned and bolted down the corridor in the opposite direction.

Tyler, already halfway to being the monster, let her. As promised, he gave her exactly five seconds before the Hyde, roaring, gave chase. He wanted to not just kill Laurel, but to savor her fear and make her feel even a hundredth of the despair he had endured in that cave.

Wednesday heard her screams of terror echoing down the hall. And the sound was almost musical.

It was then she couldn't resist. She needed to see it. To see Tyler kill his master, to see the Hyde's claws pierce her through, and to watch the life leave her hated body. She was so proud of him in that moment that she couldn't possibly miss the spectacle.

Moreover, Wednesday wanted Laurel to see her in her final moments. To understand that she had lost everything, and that Tyler no longer belonged to her. And, in truth, never really had.

This vanity was Wednesday's fatal mistake.

She stepped out from around the corner just as the Hyde caught Laurel. Its clawed paw plunged into her back with a vicious swipe, bursting out of her chest. He spun her around to face him, reveling in the taste of her fear. Laurel gurgled, and at that moment, her eyes, wide with terror, met Wednesday's.

She stood in the red emergency light, a faint, triumphant smirk on her lips. She saw the understanding in Laurel's dying gaze—the realization of her defeat.

A trickle of blood ran from Laurel's mouth, and Tyler raised his claw for the final blow. But before the light left her eyes for good, Gates, gathering her last strength, hissed at the Hyde whose claws were still buried in her body:

"Wednesday Addams... Get rid of her. That's the order."

The Hyde froze. Then, with a low snarl, it ripped its claws from Laurel's body, and she collapsed lifelessly to the floor.

He slowly turned, his eyes finding Wednesday at the end of the hall. There wasn't a trace of Tyler in them—only blind, cold fury, directed by the will of the command.

The Hyde charged at her, an enormous, relentless embodiment of her own fatal mistake. Unlike Laurel, Wednesday did not run.

Less than an hour ago, Tyler had saved her life, only to be the one to kill her. How ironic.

Wednesday stood with her back to the huge arched window, behind which the blue lights of police cars flashed, watching the monster rushing towards her, in whose chest beat the heart of the man she loved, and realising that these could be the last moments of her life..

Chapter Text

Hyde charged at her, closing in relentlessly. These seconds, seemingly stretched in time, felt infinitely long. Wednesday could still have tried to run, but she knew perfectly well it was pointless. Unlike Laurel, she would not turn her back and let him taste her fear.

He stopped abruptly in front of her, less than a yard away, and froze. Wednesday looked into his enormous, round eyes and saw not only a monster driven by a command, but Tyler's desperate soul, tearing itself apart.

Then she did something she never would have done before—she stepped toward him.

Her pale, cold, almost fragile palm rested on his cheek. Hyde froze, his growl choking in his throat.

"Laurel is no longer your master," Wednesday's voice was quiet but firm. She didn't look away and didn't break the contact. "You killed her. And you don't have to obey her orders," Wednesday continued, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly, digging into his tough skin as if trying to hold him there. "Come back to me, Tyler."

For a fraction of a second, the veil of the command in his eyes seemed to recede. His Hyde nature, encoded in his DNA, demanded the execution of the order, but Wednesday's voice and cool touch forced him to fight with all his might.

He couldn't carry out the order, but he couldn't disobey either, and this internal rupture became unbearable. Hyde let out a roar that mixed rage and despair. He could no longer see or hear her. Wednesday had become his anchor and his curse simultaneously.

With a sudden, lightning-fast movement, Hyde grabbed her. Before she could process anything, powerful paws ripped her from the floor. However, Tyler didn't sink his claws into her; instead, he hurled Wednesday with all his might through the enormous arched window she had been standing next to.

The glass shattered into hundreds of shards, reflecting the lights of the police cars, and Wednesday flew out into the night.

Hyde didn't look to see where she fell—he couldn't allow himself to know. Without giving himself a second to think, he jumped after her, smashing through the remains of the frame.

When he landed on the rain-soaked grass, shouts immediately rang out from all sides: "Fire!"

Dozens of bullets pierced the air. They bit into his body but couldn't stop him. The pain was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the all-consuming fire raging inside.

With a roar, the monster bolted away from the lights, from the sirens, and from Wednesday, toward the only place that could hide him. Under a hail of police bullets, Hyde crossed the lawn and dissolved into the saving darkness of the forest, taking Tyler's torn-apart soul with him.

***

Consciousness returned to Wednesday reluctantly, bringing with it not blissful oblivion, but a dull ache in the back of her head and an icy cold. She was lying on something wet and prickly. Thousands of shards from the broken window twinkled dully around her in the blue-and-red light of the police flashers.

Wednesday was lucky they had met Laurel on the way from the basement to the building exit, and the window she had flown out of was on the first floor. The fall was cushioned by the lawn, soaked with the night's dampness. Had they been higher up, this story might have ended much less trivially.

"Miss Addams? Can you hear me?" Wednesday caught a man's voice and squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding beam of a flashlight that unceremoniously hit her right in the face. "Don't move, we'll call an ambulance."

It was surprisingly quiet around her, especially in contrast to the chaos that had reigned just moments ago. The screams and roars had died down, replaced by the crackle of radios and muffled commands. apparently, she had been unconscious for quite a while.

"Wednesday! Oh my God, Wednesday! You're alive!" She would have recognized that voice even in hell. Enid broke through the cordon and collapsed to her knees beside her, her face wet with tears. Looming behind her were a pale Agnes and, of course, Thing, who immediately scrambled onto Wednesday's shoulder, tapping his fingers anxiously.

"What happened there?" Enid babbled, her voice cracking with panic. "It was Tyler, right? We saw him... he jumped out after you. The police tried to shoot him, but he ran into the woods. And everyone else... all the psychos scattered! Are you hurt? You're covered in glass!"

"Stop shining that in my face," Wednesday demanded, addressing the police officer. Brushing aside the annoying beam, she slowly sat up, feeling small shards digging into her palms. "I'm fine."

"But you... you flew out of a window!"

"It's fine," Wednesday cut her off in an icy tone, getting to her feet and brushing the glass shards from her clothes. The world swayed for a second, but she stood her ground, clenching her fists.

Her gaze caught movement at the main entrance of the asylum. Two orderlies were wheeling out a gurney bearing a black body bag. As they stopped near a streetlight, Wednesday squinted and watched the zipper slowly crawl up, covering what remained of Laurel Gates. Just a shapeless bag awaiting the morgue freezer...

Wednesday followed it with her eyes, feeling only cold satisfaction.

This time, she was dead for good.

Still anxious, Enid grabbed Wednesday's elbow.

"You need a doctor. You could have a concussion!"

"It wasn't high enough to worry about that. I just have a few scratches," Wednesday gently but firmly freed her arm. Right now, she wasn't looking at her friend or the bustling officers, but into the darkness of the forest where Tyler had fled.

"We'll comb the woods, Miss," the same officer who had shone the flashlight reported to her. "We're bringing in the K-9 unit. That monster won't get far—he's wounded."

At those words, something cold and sharp dug into Wednesday's ribs.

"Thing," she said in a voice that brooked no argument. "See to it that Enid and Agnes get back to Nevermore safe and sound."

"What about you?" Enid's voice trembled, because her friend's tone boded nothing good.

"I have unfinished business."

"We won't let you go alone in this condition!" Enid declared stubbornly, putting her hands on her hips.

"I'm not asking for permission," Wednesday shrugged. "Go to Nevermore and wait for me there. I'll be fine."

Without waiting for objections, Wednesday stepped past the yellow cordon tape.

"Miss Addams, you'll need to give a witness statement about what happened. We'll contact you and send the information," a police officer called after her, but didn't try to stop her. They had plenty to worry about right now without that.

Soon, the police lights and barking dogs were left behind. Wednesday stopped a few times to check that there was no tail in the form of Enid or Agnes, and then continued walking, ignoring the dull ache in her back and shoulder where she had taken the brunt of the fall.

She spent almost the entire night in a futile search for Tyler, trying to stay away from the patrols combing the forest for the patients who had fled Willow Hill, some of whom were quite dangerous.

If at first she could navigate by broken branches and drops of blood, soon it began to rain, washing away all tracks. On one hand, this was actually good, because it would make it harder for the police to find Tyler before she did; on the other, she risked losing him in this forest forever.

Where the trail disappeared completely, Wednesday stopped and thought about where he might have gone. She knew perfectly well that if she continued to wander chaotically through the woods, she would find not Tyler, but trouble with the police or death at the hands of another Willow Hill psycho currently running loose.

Tyler was wounded... Where would a wounded beast run, barely in control of itself but needing shelter? To the only lair no outsiders knew about. To the place that had marked the beginning of their cooperation. To Pine-Crest.

Dawn was just beginning to paint the sky blood-red when she reached the hunting lodge. As expected, the door was ajar. Wednesday pushed it, and it opened with a long creak.

Tyler, having returned to human form, lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Right where his strength had finally failed him.

Tyler's body was covered in abrasions and deep wounds; fever made him shudder with chills, his lips were crusted dry, and his skin burned like fire. He was in that dangerous semi-conscious state where pain blurs the boundaries of reality.

Several bullet holes—dark, ragged craters on his chest and shoulder—were still oozing blood.

"Tyler," Wednesday exhaled. Her voice was quiet, but in this dead silence, it sounded deafening.

Without a second's hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside him, trying to act quickly, not letting feelings cloud her mind or her fingers tremble.

Since the night of the Blood Moon, she always carried an emergency kit in her backpack. Tweezers, antiseptic, bandages, gloves, and an anti-inflammatory potion made from her grandmother's recipe.

"This is going to hurt," she warned, simply stating a fact, though she wasn't even sure Tyler could hear her.

Wednesday extracted the bullets one by one. The metal clinked dully as it fell into an old tin can she found in the kitchen. By the end, her arms were elbow-deep in his sticky, thick blood.

When she pulled out another bullet, Tyler groaned softly, arching in pain. Wednesday swallowed, trying to estimate how much blood he had lost, realizing that if he were an ordinary human, she would already be holding his stiff corpse.

When the bullets were done, Wednesday cleaned the wounds, bandaged them, and took out a flask.

"Drink. This is a strengthening potion, my grandmother's recipe. Tastes like grave dirt and swamp slime, but it should help your regeneration. If it doesn't kill you outright, of course."

She lifted his head. Gasping for air, Tyler took several greedy gulps and immediately fell into deep oblivion.

Wednesday sat down beside him, leaning her back against the dusty wall. No sirens could be heard outside, only the chirping of crickets and the waking morning forest.

She looked at his deathly pale face, at the way his eyelashes trembled.

Hyde, monster, killer, traitor... The one who broke down her barriers time and time again. The one whose kiss felt like falling from a height without a parachute.

She wasn't sure he would survive. Bullet wounds, blood loss, shock... even Grandmama Addams' potion had its limits.

Only now, in this chill silence, did Wednesday allow herself to feel the consequences of the fall and the small cuts from the shards of the broken window. She hastily treated her own wounds and took a sip of water. Her back and shoulder, where the impact had landed, throbbed with a dull, sickening pain.

But that seemed like mere background noise, for the real pain was elsewhere. Cold, sharp, and practically unfamiliar, it settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

She had felt something similar only once before—when a bloodied Thing lay in her hands.

Tyler had almost killed her again. And now he might die here himself, on this dirty floor, never having fully escaped the cage built for him first by Laurel, and then by Fairburn.

Sticky fear in anticipation of his next ragged breath prevented her from breathing normally herself. With disgust, Wednesday admitted she was trapped in this new, terrifying feeling that threatened to destroy her to the foundation far more surely than a fall from a height.

***

For several days, Tyler burned, balancing on the edge between life and death, which was already breathing down his neck.

Wednesday couldn't stay at Pine-Crest constantly without raising suspicion.

By day, she returned to Nevermore, went to classes, and deflected Enid's clumsy attempts to involve her in improvised "therapy" after the events at Willow Hill, forcing her to tell what had really happened there.

Enid was afraid of the escaped Hyde, that he would come and take revenge on them all, and made plans for defense, while Wednesday feared for his life, barely flickering in Tyler's resilient but vulnerable body. The vision of Enid's death hadn't gone anywhere, but now Wednesday was certain the cause lay not in the Hyde at all. And she still had to solve that riddle.

Wednesday told no one what had really happened that night. Not a single soul could suspect she knew where Tyler was, that she was treating and hiding him.

Thing, albeit with great reluctance, became his nurse. He changed the cold compresses, redressed the wounds, and threw logs on the fire.

And in the evenings, Wednesday would sneak out of Nevermore and come herself. Twice she hitched rides, then walked through the woods; the third time, Agnes caught her and, saying it wasn't worth risking so much, taught her how to call a taxi.

Riding in a stranger's car, Wednesday thought about how she could have escaped Jericho last year without Tyler at all. Asked Enid to call a taxi from her phone. And there would have been no revenge from Laurel, which turned out to be built on pure coincidence and failed because of it; no coma for Eugene; no date; no first kiss revealing the truth; no betrayal and knife in her back from Tyler, and then in her stomach from Crackstone. One was real and the other wasn't, but she didn't know which had hurt more...

That year, Wednesday had turned to Tyler every time she needed help, not because it was the only option, but because she had been drawn to him from their very first meeting. And since then, she had been digging her own grave, letting the sprouts of these strange feelings take root in her black heart. And now they had entangled it so tightly they threatened to tear it apart completely.

That evening, his fever worsened. The weather was winter-cold, and the heat from the fireplace wasn't enough. Wednesday covered Tyler with a blanket and sat by the makeshift bed. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, and she allowed herself to close them for just a moment.

When Wednesday woke up, it was well past midnight, and returning was out of the question. Her whole body was stiff, and her head lay on the edge of the hard mattress, just inches from his motionless hand.

Tyler was still burning up. Despite the medicine, his body wasn't coping.

In the thick, viscous silence, broken only by ragged breathing and the sound of rain outside the window, Wednesday's whisper sounded too loud. But the words she spoke felt like fire, searing her own insides.

"You have no right to die, Tyler," she said into the void. "Not after what you did to me. You almost killed me twice, and I'm still here, changing your bandages instead of taking revenge. You were right—I was drawn to you from the very beginning. Not to the sweet barista with the fake smile, and not to the monster you became, but to all of you, entirely. But you betrayed me, and I thought I'd never look at you again. But here I am..." She trailed off, staring into nothingness.

It was the truth. Wednesday was drawn to his broken soul, which resonated with her own. To his darkness hiding behind the light, and to the light desperately breaking through the darkness.

Perhaps that was why his betrayal felt not just like a knife in the back, but like the destruction of all landmarks. It made her shut herself off from the world even more, and swear she would never again trust his fake smiles or her own feelings. But that oath turned out to be empty words, because later she went with her own two hands to free him from Willow Hill.

"If you die now, I'll have to reanimate you like Pugsley did with that zombie. You'll growl and eat other people's brains until you come back to me," she chuckled, and her fingers touched his hot forehead, brushing away a damp lock of hair.

Her voice stopped obeying her, and Wednesday buried her face in her knees so as not to say any more sentimental nonsense that would make her want to sink through the earth come morning.

At dawn, Tyler woke up. The fever had broken, the sweat was gone from his forehead. Wednesday was just changing the bandage on his shoulder when he inhaled sharply and opened his eyes.

The feverish fog was gone from his gaze; now, a meaningful, sobering pain splashed there.

Wednesday instantly jerked her hand back as if burned. The mask of indifference returned to her face so quickly it was as if she had never taken it off.

"Finally," her voice was dry and restrained. "I was beginning to think I'd have to perform resuscitation using Pugsley or Fester's electricity."

Tyler looked at her for a long time, studying every micro-expression.

"Please don't," he rasped. "I don't think I'd like the zombie diet." A faint smile appeared on his pale lips as his gaze met her huge eyes. "I heard what you said last night."

Her heart skipped a beat and hammered so hard it felt like it could break her ribs.

"You were dreaming. Fever causes auditory hallucinations," Wednesday parried, looking practically unflappable.

"But those weren't hallucinations," he shook his head stubbornly, and the simple movement elicited a grimace of pain. Tyler looked away, staring at his hands covered in dried blood.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. Back then, and now... I could have killed you. Again."

Wednesday finished the bandaging, pulling the knot tighter than necessary.

"I survived," she returned the phrase spoken on a date that felt like it was from a past life, and stood up, brushing off her knees.

"You got lucky," he countered. "If we'd been a couple of floors higher..." Tyler grimaced at the thought.

"But we weren't," Wednesday crossed her arms over her chest. "There's no time to speculate on what might have been. We need to go," she glanced at the window. "They're looking for you. The police are combing the woods; eventually, they'll find this place."

"Where? I won't..." Tyler tried to object, but Wednesday didn't let him finish.

"I'll hide you in my parents' mansion. It's a temporary measure, but the best option for now. Especially since it's already been searched."

She began to gather her things, putting away the bloody bandages and empty flasks. Tyler watched her without taking his eyes off her. Her dark silhouette stood out in contrast against the morning window, and Tyler's vision still struggled with the light, making everything flicker and seem surreal.

When Wednesday came over to help him up, he caught her fingers. His grip wasn't very strong, but it was very insistent.

"Become my master, Wednesday," he said in one breath.

Her eyebrows twitched, and she stared at him as if she wasn't sure he was in his right mind after the fever. But Tyler continued:

"I almost killed you twice on orders. Besides, Laurel and Fairburn said that without a master, Hyde goes insane in a matter of days. I don't want to hurt anyone again. And since I can't be free..." his voice cracked, but Tyler squeezed her fingers tighter. "Then I wanna be yours.”

Chapter Text

When they reached the Addams family's temporary residence, the sun was already shining brightly overhead. Not the best time to go unnoticed. As much as Wednesday hoped to avoid a face-to-face meeting between Tyler and her parents, it was not meant to be. Her mother was pruning roses in the garden and saw them before they could even pass through the ornate cast-iron gates of the mansion.

Morticia's gaze slid over the emaciated, bandaged Tyler, dressed in an oversized shirt of his father's found at Pine-Crest.

"Wednesday," her voice sounded as soft as the velvet used to line coffins. "I presume this is your... project, for which you skipped classes at Nevermore?"

Tyler tried to straighten up, but the pain in his chest made him wince.

"Mrs. Addams..." he rasped, feeling out of place. "I apologize for the intrusion."

"We are always happy to help the suffering, Mr. Galpin," Morticia said, smiling a practiced smile. "Though, I confess, I didn't expect my daughter to bring into the house someone who tried so diligently to send her to the next world."

"It's not that simple, Mother," Wednesday cut her off, signaling to Lurch. The butler, looming behind Morticia, emitted a low, guttural moan. "Tyler needs rest. Lurch, show him to the East Wing. There should be a spare room there, sufficiently removed from the others."

Tyler caught her gaze, his eyes full of confusion.

"Go, I'll be there soon," she said, and Tyler reluctantly followed the butler.

When they disappeared behind the front door, the temperature in the garden seemed to drop several degrees.

"You're playing with fire, my little storm cloud," Morticia said quietly. "Let's take a walk in the garden. We need to talk."

Still holding the pruning shears, Morticia approached a bush of carnivorous roses, and the blade snipped the head off a wilted flower. Wednesday stood a little way off, arms crossed, her entire demeanor expressing readiness for defense.

"You brought a monster into our home, Wednesday," her mother began without turning around. "One who nearly killed you. One who is a slave to his nature. Hydes are unpredictable; they are ticking time bombs, and you, of all people, should understand that."

"I didn't think a few forced murders and an outcast nature were a problem for our family," Wednesday countered coldly.

"We kill for each other, not each other, darling," Morticia said almost sadly.

"You don't know everything, Mother. Tyler no longer answers to Laurel Gates. He killed her, and now he is free."

"Free?" Morticia spun around and walked almost right up to her daughter. "No, darling. After awakening, Hydes cannot survive in freedom and seek a new hand to hold the leash. I suspect you intend to take it."

"It's a strategic decision. He is useful, strong. And..." Wednesday stumbled, searching for words. "That way, he won't hurt me or anyone else again."

Morticia smiled skeptically.

"Oh, Wednesday. Don't lie to yourself. I've seen the way you look at him. Do not mistake a morbid attachment for control. It is unwise to court this monster, trust his puppy-dog eyes, and think you can tame him. You know perfectly well that one who has betrayed once will do so again. Especially if it's a Hyde..."

Her mother's words, striking right at the target—at the very doubts tormenting Wednesday—caused a wave of sharp, prickly irritation in her. She didn't need lectures at all.

"Stay out of this, Mother," she hissed, taking a step back, her voice ringing with tension. "I don't need your advice on how to handle my... allies. I am not you, and I will not let emotions cloud my judgment, but I'm not going to abandon what I've started either. Tyler stays here until he recovers, and that is not up for discussion."

Morticia froze, her face once again an impenetrable mask. She nodded slowly.

"As you wish," she turned away, returning to the roses. "But one day, your eternal attraction to darkness will lead you too far."

"Let it," Wednesday retorted and headed for the mansion entrance. "I do my best work in the dark."

***

Tyler was settled in a room that resembled a museum more than a living space. Heavy velvet drapes tightly covered the tall windows, letting in not a single ray of light; the antique furniture smelled of antiquity.

Lurch left him on a huge four-poster bed, silently pointing to a table where a carafe of water and a tray with some strange steaming food already stood.

Left alone, Tyler collapsed onto the bed, feeling it envelop his aching body. His wounds reminded him of their presence with a throbbing pain, but that was nothing compared to the tension he felt under Mrs. Addams's scrutiny.

And yet, for the first time in a long while, Tyler felt relatively safe.

The door creaked, and Wednesday appeared on the threshold. She looked even paler than usual, but her gaze remained firm and determined.

"My parents won't disturb you," she said, entering and closing the door tightly behind her. "But I advise against wandering the mansion unnecessarily. Unlike our ancestral estate, there are no deadly traps here, but exercise caution nonetheless."

"I understand," Tyler smiled weakly, not taking his eyes off her. "Thank you, Wednesday."

She walked closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. In the twilight of the room, they were alone again. The boy with shining eyes hiding darkness, and the only one who wasn't afraid to look into his soul.

"This morning you asked me to become your master, Tyler," she said, and the air between them became electrified. "Were you serious?"

Tyler leaned forward, ignoring the pain from his wounds. His heart beat faster, and he nodded fiercely.

"So you agree?"

Wednesday froze, examining him like a rare, dangerous specimen under a microscope, and then approached and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"If we do this, the bond will be unbreakable until one of us dies..." she said almost hypnotically. "You will be mine forever. Are you sure this is what you want?" Her throat was dry, her voice hoarse, but a distinct challenge rang in it.

Tyler swallowed, licked his dry lips, and placed his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.

"Only yours," he whispered, as if tasting the words. "Yes, Wednesday, I want it to be you."

"Good. Then we do it tomorrow," she threw out on an exhale and, unable to cope with the heat wave washing over her, took a step back, turned, and left the room.

***

Laurel Gates's notes containing information about Hydes, easily found in one of the boxes of her belongings, now lay on the desk.

They were filled with neat, ornate handwriting, as if reflecting her obsession with control.

Wednesday once again ran her eyes over the page with the formula for the serum designed to subjugate a Hyde, and lit the spirit lamp. The blue flame cast sharp shadows on her focused face.

Wednesday carefully measured the ingredients, adding them to the flask, and soon a dark liquid bubbled inside.

She harbored no illusions and understood perfectly well that Tyler's desperate request was born not of a desire to submit, but of a panic-stricken fear of his own uncontrollable nature. He was a broken, cornered beast, ready to jump into any cage just to protect himself from himself. His mind could betray him at any moment, and the wild, furious part of his nature, embodied in the Hyde, could consume him whole.

But deep down, Tyler didn't want to belong to anyone again, not even her. He wanted freedom.

However, Wednesday didn't know how to give him that freedom. Laurel's notes contained not a single hint that a Hyde could survive without a master, but rather clearly testified to the contrary.

"I never knew Alfie's true nature, but we were happy together"—the voice of Caprice, with whom she had spoken a few hours ago, surfaced in her mind.

Wednesday bit her lip. She convinced herself that she was simply fulfilling Tyler's request and saving him from madness because there was no other way. That without her, he would go insane, hurt himself or others, die in a ditch somewhere, or end up back at Willow Hill.

But that wasn't the whole truth. In reality, she was driven not only by the desire to keep him or those around him safe. The darkest part of Wednesday's soul simply didn't want to look for another way. And although there was something very wrong and broken about this whole endeavor, almost like themselves, Wednesday couldn't resist the temptation. The idea of binding herself to him was mesmerizing.

When they did this, his monstrous strength, blind rage, and broken loyalty would belong only to her. It awakened dark possessive instincts, causing a thrill bordering on arousal.

She added the final ingredient to the boiling brew—a drop of her own blood. The liquid hissed, turning a dark burgundy.

Wednesday corked the vial. The serum was ready. That meant soon he would be hers. Her living weapon, her own monster. Her Tyler.

"Freedom is overrated," she whispered under her breath, hiding the flask in the inner pocket of her jacket. "Order and control are far more reliable."

She decided she would perform the ritual tomorrow night, but today she needed to return to Nevermore, because her constant absence threatened to become a problem. Enid and Agnes had clearly begun to suspect something, constantly covering for her but getting no answers to their questions. Wednesday couldn't allow them to start a full-scale search and accidentally stumble upon the fugitive in her house.

Leaving Tyler in the highly questionable care of her parents, Wednesday slipped out of the mansion. The cool vial of potion lay in her pocket like a promise that by tomorrow, Tyler would belong to her.

***

The next day, while Wednesday was at school, a woman appeared on the mansion's doorstep.

"Morticia... I couldn't believe it when I saw you," she said quietly.

Morticia froze, staring at the uninvited guest, for she certainly hadn't expected to see her alive. This was a ghost from the distant past, one that seemed long since decayed in the damp earth.

"Francoise?" Morticia said on an exhale. "I thought you were dead. Gomez and I sent flowers to your funeral."

The woman shuddered. She looked lost, her long hair was matted, and her large, expressive eyes darted feverishly around the gloomy hall.

"I was locked away in Willow Hill..." Francoise said quietly and picked up a photograph of Wednesday from the table. "But this girl... She got me out. This is your daughter, isn't she? She's a true angel... I had lost all hope, but she saved me," at these words she gasped for air and coughed violently.

"You need help..." Morticia said with concern. "I'll call the sheriff."

"Don't," Francoise stopped her fearfully. "You were always kind to me at Nevermore, so I thought you could help... I'm looking for my son," her voice broke and cracked with despair. "Your daughter was there when he escaped, and then his trail went cold... Maybe she said something?"

"My daughter has a habit of collecting lost souls," Morticia said, and her gaze turned from soft and sympathetic to calculating. Now she saw not just a former classmate risen from the dead, but an unhappy mother worrying about her son, and also an opportunity to protect her own child from dangerous, hasty decisions. "He is here. Our children have become... close."

Francoise swayed, her hand clutching the carved doorframe, a cold flicker with notes of fear flashing in her eyes:

"Is she his Hyde's master?"

"No, not yet..." Morticia shook her head, and Francoise exhaled in relief. "But that outcome is likely possible. Wednesday thinks she can play with fire and not get burned, but you and I know that a Hyde's nature is something that cannot be controlled forever. I want to protect her before things go too far."

"And I want to protect my son," Francoise leaned forward. "Call him, let us talk... And then we'll leave, and you won't see us again."

"He's not the child you remember anymore, dear, but a stubborn teenager. At this age, they don't listen to us the way they did in childhood. But I will be very glad if your plan succeeds."

***

When Lurch called Tyler downstairs, he assumed Wednesday had returned and followed the butler enthusiastically. But as soon as he reached the middle of the grand staircase and stepped around the turn, he and Francoise saw each other simultaneously. At that moment, the world seemed to split apart.

She looked like, and at the same time unlike, the woman he remembered in blurred, faded memories.

It was her death that had been the bait in the trap Laurel lured him into, and the fuel for his months-long rage. But here she stood before him—alive and real.

"Mom?.." Tyler's lips barely moved, and he blinked several times, trying to understand if he was hallucinating. Francoise looked up, and fear mixed with recognition flickered in her eyes. She remembered a small boy clinging to her skirt. And now a tall man with scars on his soul and body stood before her.

"Tyler," she whispered, reaching out to him.

He didn't remember descending the rest of the stairs, didn't remember ending up in her convulsive and desperate embrace, didn't remember inhaling her long-forgotten scent.

"My boy... We have so much to talk about..." Francoise said quietly, breaking the embrace and now touching his face. He was almost a head taller than her, and the realization knocked the ground out from under her feet. "Come, I know a safe place."

Tyler followed her like in a dream, stopping only in the doorway to look back at Morticia:

"But Wednesday..."

"Don't worry, I'll explain everything to her," Morticia nodded and smiled enigmatically with the corners of her lips. She stood motionless at the foot of the stairs, watching them leave. She was happy for them; deep in her dark eyes splashed the satisfaction that the problem causing her maternal heart to clench in anxiety seemed to have resolved itself.

***

Francoise and Tyler took shelter in a bunker that, as it turned out, Donovan had built many years ago upon learning of his wife's true nature.

Inside it was gloomy, damp, smelling of concrete and mustiness, but no police or other uninvited guests could possibly find them here.

As soon as the heavy steel door closed, the euphoria of the meeting receded, giving way to a deafening, unbearable awkwardness.

Everything was wrong. Not at all as he had imagined. All those years since his mother's death, facing his father's strictness and detachment, he had clung to her image—idealized, warm, almost fairytale-like. But this woman, proudly placing before him a plate of pancakes whose taste had long been erased from memory, was nothing like that image. She was real... Frightened, broken, and completely alien. A chasm of fifteen stolen years yawned between them.

Francoise sat opposite him, wrapping herself in an old knitted shawl.

"They kidnapped me," she finally spoke, her fingers nervously picking at the edge of the shawl. "Dr. Stonehurst and his daughter Judy... They lied to everyone, including your father, saying I had died..."

She told him everything. About the years at Willow Hill, the experiments, and the imprisonment. About how she had lost track of time and all hope while being kept in the basement with other outcasts long considered dead, and about the girl who freed her. And though his mother didn't name her, Tyler immediately knew who she was talking about.

He was so happy about his mother's return that the aching pain in his chest made it hard to breathe, and his eyes watered on their own. But the cold feeling of awkwardness that had settled between them refused to leave. Francoise barely recognized the toddler she remembered in this nearly two-meter-tall, scarred young man. And Tyler hadn't dared hope fate would grant them this meeting, and now he didn't understand how to behave with his newfound mother.

They didn't know each other at all, and both were unbearably pained by the years Judy and Stonehurst had stolen from them. By the lost time that could never be returned...

When Francoise spoke about the night of her liberation, Tyler remembered Laurel's face. And in that moment, all the lies with which his former master had so carefully fed his rage collapsed, burying him under their debris.

He had been taking revenge on Nevermore because he thought they had driven her out, when the real enemy wasn't there at all. How stupid it seemed now! His entire life in recent years had been a monstrous, all-consuming lie, because of which he had nearly killed the only person who not only accepted his darkness but had brought his mother back.

Tyler exhaled sharply, as if surfacing from under a layer of icy water. The realization hit his head harder than any drug Laurel had injected him with.

He had to return to Wednesday and explain himself, because he had abandoned her without explanation—just left without saying a word.

Tyler rose abruptly from his chair, the legs scraping against the concrete floor with a nasty screech.

"I want to talk to Wednesday," he rasped, heading for the massive door.

Francoise was beside him instantly, with a speed unnatural for an emaciated woman. Her dry, cold hand gripped his wrist tightly.

"No," her voice sounded soft, almost affectionate, but steel notes rang in it. "Sit down, Tyler. You can't just wander the streets. Every patrol is looking for you; it's dangerous."

"I'll be careful," he tried to free his hand, but his mother's grip was iron. "I'll just talk to her and come back."

Francoise looked into his eyes, and something frightening, manic flickered in her gaze.

"Don't, Tyler. We are safe here together... Right now, that's all that matters. I just got you back, my boy, and I won't let you disappear into the night for the sake of some girl."

Tyler felt irritation boiling up inside him. Such a familiar feeling, but now directed not at his father, but at his mother.

"Mom, let go," he yanked his arm harder, breaking contact. "I'm going anyway. I'm not a little kid who needs to be coddled!"

The sound of the slap shattered the silence of the bunker like a gunshot. Tyler's head jerked to the side, his cheek flaring with fire. He froze, slowly turning to her. Francoise stood before him, breathing heavily, her eyes wide, and a threat emanating from her posture.

"Don't you dare speak to your mother like that!" she spat. There was no longer any softness in her voice—only anger. "I went through hell, but I came back to you! And I'm not going to just watch you do stupid things!"

The darkness, which seemed to have subsided after Laurel's death, suddenly roared in Tyler with renewed vigor. His pupils dilated, flooding the irises with blackness. His spine arched in a spasm, and a low, vibrating growl escaped his throat. His fingers curled, ready to turn into claws. The monster inside him responded to his mother's aggression, demanding release.

He took a step toward her, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white; the air around them thickened. Francoise, seeing the darkness in his eyes—the same darkness that lived within her—changed instantly. Anger was replaced by understanding and infinite sadness. She stepped toward him, ignoring the threat emanating from her son, and placed her palms on his face—right on the cheek burning from the blow.

"Hush..." she whispered, her voice becoming soft and fluid. "Hush, my good boy..."

Her hands were cold, and that cold was sobering. The familiar childhood scent of his mother and her touch acted as an anchor.

"Breathe, sweetie..." Francoise continued, gently stroking his cheekbones with her thumbs. "No one will hurt us anymore."

Tyler exhaled convulsively. The blackness in his eyes receded, his muscles relaxed, leaving behind only leaden fatigue and the taste of blood in his mouth. He would have slumped to the floor if she hadn't supported him.

"I'm sorry..." he exhaled, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

"We'll figure it all out," she continued, looking him straight in the eyes and brushing a lock of hair from his damp forehead. "We'll talk about Wednesday, about Hydes, about whatever you want... But not now. It's already night, and we're both on edge. Tomorrow, Tyler, we'll discuss everything tomorrow, but for now, just stay with me."

She hugged him, and her forehead touched his. Tyler closed his eyes, allowing the embrace to envelop him, and stayed in the bunker.

***

All day at Nevermore, Wednesday existed as if in a thick fog. She sat through a lecture on the Comparative Anatomy of Outcasts but heard not a word. Her hand was in her pocket, fingers clutching the cool glass.

Thoughts of the upcoming ritual stirred her, making her blood run faster and her fingertips tingle.

In Laurel’s notebooks, amidst formulas and delusional notes on revenge, there was a separate section regarding the ritual itself. It stated that the bond, chemically initiated by the serum, had to be sealed. The text spoke of "peak emotional and physical impact."

Her mind first grasped at the obvious—torture. A proven, reliable method that would forever lock a Hyde’s loyalty to its master. But Wednesday remembered well how she had tortured Tyler in Xavier’s studio, and she hadn’t liked it. She had wanted information and revenge for the lies and betrayal, not his pain, which back then had brought her no pleasure whatsoever...

Laurel had also mentioned an alternative, one that seemed far more intriguing to Wednesday—physical intimacy.

The thought of it, having penetrated Wednesday’s brain, took poisonous root there. All day, she could think of nothing else. She imagined it with a cold, almost scientific curiosity, which nonetheless made her own body respond in strange and unfamiliar ways.

She recalled him naked in that Willow Hill corridor—the image was imprinted indelibly on her memory. Wednesday imagined how he would touch her, sending waves of shivers through her. How she, under the pretext of the ritual, would allow him to touch her wherever he wished. How she herself would do whatever she wanted to him. Her stomach twisted with tension, and her core was so wet and hot that she crossed her legs, clenching her skirt just to get some semblance of relief.

When Wednesday returned to the mansion, her steps were fast and purposeful.

Morticia was waiting in the living room, standing by the window and looking out at the dying autumn garden. Her posture was almost triumphant, but Wednesday didn't pay attention to it at first, running up the stairs in silence, unwilling to be distracted by any unnecessary conversation. Her mother’s voice caught her on the very last step.

"Tyler isn't there, darling."

Wednesday froze and spun around; her heart skipped a beat, and her hand instinctively tightened around the vial in her pocket. The first thought, sparking a searing fear, was that the police had found him.

"What? Where is he?" she asked on an exhale.

"He left with his mother," Morticia turned slowly. "The woman you and Fester brought out of Willow Hill is Francoise Galpin. Your surprisingly lucky acquisition from the asylum..."

Wednesday felt the floor drop out from under her, though her face remained impenetrable.

"They haven't seen each other for fifteen years, darling... It was a very touching reunion. The poor boy missed his mother so much and finally found her," Morticia walked closer, her voice softer, almost sympathetic. "I think you’ve done everything you could for Tyler. Don’t look for him. It is better to let go and rid yourself of your morbid obsession before your dark game goes too far." With a half-smile, she nodded at the pocket where Wednesday still clutched the serum for gaining power over a Hyde.

Wednesday didn't answer. With a sharp, jerky movement, she turned, ran up the remaining stairs, and headed for the very room where she had left Tyler.

It was empty. Now, it looked as if he had never been there at all. Wednesday stared at the neatly made bed and dug her nails into her palms. Lurch had already restored pristine order, eradicating even Tyler's scent.

He had left; he had allowed himself to be taken away. So easily and simply, without even saying goodbye. So that was the price of all his tender gazes and beautiful words...

Objectively, she couldn't blame Tyler for choosing to leave with the mother he had missed for years, but resentment clutched at her insides—resentment that between her and someone else, he hadn't chosen her.

Wednesday pulled out the vial, staring at the liquid shimmering inside. Her anticipation, her dark desire, her thirst for possession had turned into useless, bitter poison in a fragile vessel.

With a dull sigh, she hurled the vial against the wall.

The glass struck the stone and shattered into smithereens. The dark burgundy liquid dripped down the wallpaper in an ugly stain.

Wednesday had wanted control so badly, yet she controlled nothing. Not her emotions, not her gift, not the chaotic events of her life that constantly interfered with her plans, and certainly not Tyler. And it angered her to the point of grinding her teeth.

She collapsed onto the perfectly made bed, feeling robbed and hollowed out, and buried her face in a pillow that no longer smelled of anything but spicy detergent.

Chapter Text

The awakening was viscous and heavy, as if Tyler were surfacing from the bottom of a silty lake. The echo of yesterday's breakdown still hummed in his head, his body ached, and the damp air was hard to inhale. He stirred, intending to sit up and stretch his stiff muscles, but a sharp metallic clank and a jerk that sent pain shooting through his ankle made him freeze.

Tyler threw off the scratchy wool blanket and stared at his right leg. Around his ankle, biting into the skin with cold steel, a massive metal ring was clasped, from which a thick chain extended, attached to the wall.

Déjà vu hit him in the gut harder than any physical blow. Chains again, a cage again... Only this time, the jailer wasn't Laurel or Fairburn, but the one whose image he had clung to in the cave and the Willow Hill cell. The one he remembered as tender, loving, and accepting. That image was crumbling before his eyes more and more, and there was nothing left to cling to.

"Are you awake, sweetie?" his mother's voice sounded casual and soft, creating a frightening dissonance with the clanking of the chain.

Francoise stood by a small electric stove in the corner of the bunker, making pancakes and fragrant soup. In the dim light of the lamp, she seemed almost a ghost—pale, with huge eyes splashing with sickly concern.

"What does this mean?" Tyler asked hoarsely, jerking his leg. The metal clinked, as if mocking his helplessness. "You chained me up?"

"It's for your own good, Tyler," Francoise turned to him, wiping her hands on her apron. There was no threat in her movements, only suffocating care. "Yesterday you almost turned. And over what? Over a trifle. I simply didn't let you go to the girl, and you were ready to tear apart your own mother."

Tyler opened his mouth to object, but the words stuck in his throat. He remembered that black, hot wave of rage flooding his consciousness.

"I didn't mean to..." he whispered.

"I know," Francoise came closer and sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring how he recoiled slightly. "A Hyde isn't just a monster, Tyler. It's a concentrate of our darkest, unbridled emotions. Resentment, anger, fear. And right now, your control is hanging by a thread," with these words she reached out and touched his cheek.

"Laurel and Fairburn said a Hyde absolutely needs a master, or I'll go insane," he recalled, looking at his mother from under his brows. "That a Hyde can't live without one."

"That is true," Francoise nodded, and a shadow fell across her face. "Without a guiding hand, Hydes go mad, especially those awakened not by trauma, but by a master. The mind gradually shuts down, the animal part takes over, leaving only raw instincts. But there is an exception... One that neither Nevermore nor Willow Hill knew about."

She paused, as if gathering her strength:

"Hydes can stabilize each other. Especially those bound by blood ties, like a mother and son. We can serve as an anchor for other Hydes as long as we stay together. That's why Hydes used to always live in communities... But you and I were unlucky: my gene was passed down from a grandfather who died before I was born, and you... I was taken from you," she turned to the wall, barely holding back tears, and then looked at him again. "But everything is fine now... As long as I am near, I can stabilize your Hyde, and you—mine. We will become a fulcrum for each other. It's not a perfect solution, and it won't be forever, but it will give us time to find a way out that doesn't involve slavery."

"Is that why you didn't let me go to Wednesday?" Tyler smirked bitterly. "Did her mother tell you she intended to become my master?"

"Yes, Morticia mentioned it... And I definitely don't want you tying yourself to their family. The Addamses have a special charm and magnetic pull, but it's all an illusion. In reality, they only care about those they consider their own... And we will never enter that circle."

Tyler wanted to ask what history connected his mother to the Addamses, but changed his mind. He'd had enough of other people's pasts and old skeletons in closets. Meanwhile, she continued:

"But it's not just about the Addamses," Francoise's voice grew quieter, tragic notes sounding in it. "There is something else you don't know. Something almost no one knows because there are almost no Hydes left."

She took his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

"Transformation is not a gift, son, and not even a weapon. It's more like a disease. Every time you release the monster, it devours not only your enemies or the master's targets, but you as well. It feeds on your life force and burns through the years allotted to you."

Tyler's eyes widened. He remembered how he felt after every transformation—drained, shattered, as if all the warmth had been sucked out of him. He had written it off as shock and physical fatigue, but the truth turned out to be far more terrible.

"Hydes die early, Tyler," his mother continued ruthlessly, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Our bodies aren't designed for such power. The more often you give in to it, the more often you change form, the faster you bring your end closer. Every transformation takes weeks, or even months of life. I lived so long because my monster was suppressed at Willow Hill. Usually, Hydes rarely live past thirty..."

The words fell into the silence of the room like heavy stones, burying the remnants of hope beneath them. Just yesterday, Tyler had believed he had a future. Not eternal imprisonment at Willow Hill, not the prospect of descending into madness. But everything had changed too quickly.

"So there is no way out?" he asked dully.

"We will look for it," Francoise said firmly, squeezing his hand. "Together. I won't let you burn out, but for that, you must stay here."

Tyler swallowed. He still had a choice, but every option now seemed worse than the other. He could leave—return to Wednesday, bind himself to her, and depend completely on her will. But what would he be to her without the ability to transform? Even worse than just a normie—an outcast dying from his own abilities. What could be more pathetic?..

Tyler had thought that since eternal submission was encoded in his genes, he could at least keep the strength. He wanted to be her protector and most loyal accomplice. He thought they would complement each other like two pieces of a puzzle and do something truly worthwhile. Her mind and insight, his cunning and strength seemed like a perfect combination. He had told her in the Willow Hill cell that together they could pillage the world. Or save it... As they wished.

But now Tyler could only be a burden and inevitable pain for Wednesday.

He closed his eyes. Her face floated before his inner gaze—the impenetrable look, the moments of vulnerability rare as treasures, and that kiss in the hospital corridor that promised so much.

To break everything off without saying goodbye, after she had given him a second chance, was cruel. But perhaps it was the only way to save her from himself. Because to return to her, to bind their fates even tighter, meant making his inevitable death only more painful for both of them. He could no longer be her protection—only a curse. A future corpse in her collection, another trauma that would make her black heart harden even more.

The pain of this thought cut deeper than the bullets Wednesday had pulled from his body.

And, of course, he couldn't leave his mother to die. Even if right now they seemed more like strangers connected only by blood and faded memories, he would never do that to her.

"Alright," he exhaled, and the word sounded like the slam of a coffin lid. "I won't go to Wednesday."

Francoise exhaled in relief and pressed her forehead to his hand, but Tyler felt no warmth. An icy emptiness was growing inside him. He was in chains again, but this time he had thrown away the key himself.

***

Silence in the Addams family maisone usually resembled the cozy peace of a crypt, but this morning it was heavy, suffocating, and toxic. It was a silence you could cut glass with.

Wednesday sat at the dining table, mechanically separating her cuttlefish ink omelet into perfect squares, looking through her mother as if she were a transparent ghost.

"Wednesday, dear," Morticia began softly, placing a cup of magical herb tea on the table. "Your silence is more eloquent than any curses, but you must understand that I only wish you well."

The knife in Wednesday's hand clinked against the porcelain a little louder than usual. That was the only answer Morticia received.

Wednesday forgave her mother a lot as it was. She had even endured the fact that Morticia took Goody's Book of Shadows, hiding behind concern for her health. But the manipulation with Francoise was the last straw. Wednesday was certain her mother had orchestrated it all to ruin her plans and take Tyler out of the game.

At the thought of him, a coldness spread inside, somewhere under her ribs. Wednesday was angry with him. Angry that he had allowed himself to be led away, that his enchanting words about wanting to belong only to her turned out to be just words.

But somewhere on the periphery of her consciousness, where logic still held the defense against emotions, she understood she couldn't blame him.

Tyler chose family. It was logical and right—she would have done the same. But that didn't make it any easier.

His absence felt like phantom pain in an amputated limb. Wednesday hated this feeling. She was used to controlling everything, but these emotions defied control.

"I will spend the rest of the weekend at Nevermore," she finally said in an icy tone, rising from the table without even looking at her mother.

"Wednesday..." Morticia tried to stop her.

"Don't bother seeing me off."

Gomez caught up with her at the gate:

"Don't be angry with your mother, my little bombita. She just wants to protect you."

"I don't need protection. She's interfering in my affairs again and thinks she knows best. But she doesn't. You'd better stay out of this, Father," Wednesday turned and walked out the gate, hearing it slam loudly behind her.

On the way to Nevermore, she thought about what to do next, until she concluded that the only way to drown out this aching emptiness was an investigation. She had to return to the original goal—saving Enid. Wednesday had already been too distracted by the serum for Tyler, which, as it turned out, was a waste of time.

The vision in which her bright, noisy, and annoyingly cheerful friend lay dead still stood before her eyes, and the threat hadn't gone anywhere.

Returning to Nevermore brought no relief, but it gave her a purpose. Enid met her with suffocating hugs, which Wednesday dodged a little less abruptly than usual this time.

"You look even paler than usual," she noted, peering anxiously into her friend's face, under whose eyes dark circles lay.

"Tired of family dramas," Wednesday cut her off.

The calm didn't last long. In the evening, Sheriff Santiago appeared on the threshold of Nevermore and dryly informed her that she was summoned to give a statement regarding the incident at the asylum.

The next morning, Wednesday sat on a metal chair, her back perfectly straight, ready to coolly deflect any accusations. But to her surprise, the investigators didn't even try to find out the truth about what happened that night, asking only a few formal questions.

However, a meeting took place on the street that clarified a lot. Judy Stonehearst was sitting on a bench in front of the police station, as if waiting for her on purpose. Real monsters don't run through the woods; they wear fluffy cardigans and smile a sickly sweet, hypocritical smile. Judy reminded Wednesday of another monster in sheep's clothing—Laurel Gates. "Why are they all so alike?" flashed through her mind.

"Wednesday, dear!" Judy sang out, catching up to her almost at the exit of the station grounds. "I'm so glad you're alright. Such a terrible misunderstanding..."

Wednesday raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Misunderstanding?" she repeated. "You can stop acting, at least in front of me. You and I were in that basement. And Sheriff Santiago will soon receive an anonymous note with information about what you were doing there."

"Poor girl, the blow to your head has clouded your mind. It's such a pity you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh, that old wiring, the electricity went out at a very inconvenient time..." Judy sighed compassionately. "And you just came to visit your uncle, didn't you?"

Judy's eyes, resembling glass beads, bore into Wednesday's face, and she took a step forward.

"I didn't press charges against you, Wednesday," she continued, lowering her voice to a confidential whisper. "Why ruin a talented student's life over a technical glitch? The administration and I have settled everything, the case is closed. And let it stay that way."

"Such magnanimity," Wednesday remarked dryly. "Afraid the investigation will uncover what you were hiding in the basement?"

Judy's smile widened slightly, baring her teeth.

"There are only rats and old junk in the basement, Wednesday. You just imagined everything else."

When Judy left, Wednesday took a deep breath of the damp autumn air. She didn't understand what game the woman was playing, but she planned to find the answer as soon as possible.

She didn't have to wait long, because the very next day Wednesday met Judy again, and in a place she absolutely did not expect to see her—at Nevermore.

This time, the psychopath in pink didn't notice her, and Wednesday followed her all the way to the principal's office, where she disappeared and spent about half an hour. Unfortunately, she couldn't eavesdrop on their conversation. When the door opened, Wednesday hid behind a pillar, regretting she didn't have Agnes's abilities, and Thing had so inconveniently stayed in the room with Enid.

Judy came out of the principal's office and walked down the Nevermore corridor as if she owned the place. She was humming something under her breath, adjusting her handbag. Passing by, she didn't notice Wednesday, but she managed to notice her satisfied expression. Too satisfied for someone who had lost her life's work.

It was strange... Judy Stonehearst, the daughter of a man who experimented on outcasts, had just walked out of the office of the principal of a school for outcasts. The enemy was no longer just at the gates, but inside the walls.

Wednesday clenched her fists so hard her nails dug into her palms. The pain of losing Tyler receded for a moment, giving way to cold, crystal-clear rage.

This was a new round in their bizarre chess game. And she intended to dig up everything this woman was plotting, even if she had to turn Nevermore upside down to do it, and then destroy her. For Enid, for those tortured in the Willow Hill basements. And, perhaps, just a little—for Tyler. For whatever the case, it was his mother's disappearance through the Stonehearsts' fault that had launched the destructive chain in his life, leading to where he was now.

Wednesday didn't waste time knocking; instead, she abruptly threw open the massive oak doors of the principal's office.

Barry Dort didn't even flinch. He sat at the very desk Larissa Weems had once occupied, signing a stack of papers. The atmosphere here had subtly changed, although visually everything was almost the same as under the previous principal.

"Miss Addams," he said without raising his head. "I assume the concept of 'appointment' is absent from your vocabulary, just like the word 'politeness'?"

"Judy Stonehearst," Wednesday rapped out, ignoring his remark. She walked right up to the desk, leaning her palms on the tabletop. "What was she doing at Nevermore?"

Dort put down his pen and finally looked at her. His gaze held the weary condescension of an adult forced to explain elementary truths to a capricious child.

"Miss Stonehearst is a representative of the Willow Hill administration. We were discussing the details of our new partnership."

"Partnership?" Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "Since when does a school for outcasts collaborate with a prison for the insane?"

"Since our staff psychologist, Dr. Kinbott, was brutally murdered by a Hyde last year," Dort parried. "The school was left without a specialist, Miss Addams. And after last year's incident, the board of trustees requires us to strengthen control over the mental health of faculty and students, especially the 'problematic' ones."

He looked meaningfully at her personal file lying on the edge of the desk.

"We reached an agreement. Now students showing signs of instability or aggression will be sent to Willow Hill for diagnostics and short-term therapy. They have the best equipment and advanced methodologies."

Wednesday felt everything go cold inside. The puzzle came together instantly, and the picture was monstrous. Judy wasn't just covering her tracks; she was looking for new lab rats to replace the lost ones.

Her old "consumables" had scattered during the riot orchestrated by Wednesday and Fester. The "L.O.I.S." program was left without subjects, and now Judy, following her father's example, had found the perfect source of fresh blood: Nevermore.

And Dort, publicly opposing normies, turned out to be quite willing to sell out his declared principles when a profitable deal loomed on the horizon.

"This is a big mistake," Wednesday's voice became quiet and dangerous. "Judy Stonehearst cannot be trusted. In the basements of Willow Hill, she kept people in cages, tortured them, and drained their strength."

Dort sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Miss Addams, I've heard about your vivid imagination. And about your tendency to see conspiracies where there are none. Judy warned that you might react... emotionally. She said you were there during the accident and perhaps misinterpreted standard procedures for isolating violent patients."

"I saw them with my own eyes—people thought to be dead," Wednesday insisted, though she already realized she was banging her head against a brick wall.

"Enough!" Dort slapped his palm on the desk. "We don't have the budget to hire private specialists of that level. Willow Hill offered their services on extremely favorable terms. This will save the school from closure, which we were threatened with after last year's scandal."

He stood up, making it clear the conversation was over.

"I will not let stupid gossip and your personal grievances ruin a deal that will secure us new sponsors. Now leave my office, Miss Addams. And if I find out you are spreading these rumors among the students, your stay here will be very short."

Wednesday straightened up. There was no fear in her gaze, only cold contempt for the blindness of a man who, for the sake of the deals and money, was ready to feed his students to monsters.

"A profitable deal," she repeated, turning to the door. "That's usually what those say who sell their soul to the devil without reading the fine print."

She left the office knowing one thing: now Enid and the entire school were in even greater danger than before.

Once in Ophelia Hall, Wednesday summoned Thing.

"We have a new mission," she lowered her voice, though they were alone in the room. "I need all the documents from the Willow Hill basements. Everything concerning the 'L.O.I.S.' project, Dr. Stonehearst, and his daughter Judy. I want to know their every step and secret hidden in the archives. It seems this story is far from over..."

***

Tyler sat in the darkness of the bunker, listening to his mother's even breathing, and felt rage corroding him from the inside like acid.

Being a resident of a small provincial town known only for Pilgrim World and sponsored by a school for outcasts, Tyler had always wanted to break out of the greyness.

From childhood, he had felt superfluous, defective—a "normie" to outcasts, an outcast among normies. Subconsciously, Tyler knew something was wrong with him and craved power to stop being a nobody. And in the end, he got it, but the price turned out to be unbearable.

Fate had played a cruel joke on him: Tyler became the most dangerous predator and simultaneously the most dependent creature on the planet—a slave by his biology. One who cannot live without a master; a living weapon that kills itself with every shot.

"Don't transform, Tyler. Sit still, Tyler. We'll find a way out, Tyler."

His mother's words were steeped in care, but to him, they sounded suffocating. He hated being locked in another cage; that the mother he missed so much was, in her broken care, no better than his father. With him, at least, he didn't have to spend long days in a cramped space and could sometimes breathe freely...

But most of all, Tyler hated how much he missed Wednesday. Her image haunted him—cold, detached, but the only one that made his heart beat not from anger or despair.

Rage and hatred seethed inside him, demanding release. They bubbled beneath his skin, scratching against the inside of his skull with the Hyde’s claws.

Laurel's death had brought only temporary relief. But another architect of his nightmare—one of those who had turned their family's life into hell—was still out there. Judy Stonehearst. The woman who stole his mother. The woman who played with their lives like pawns. She was still breathing, walking the earth, and likely making new plans.

Tyler rose and slipped past the sleeping Francoise as silently as a shadow. The chain on his leg no longer held him back—his mother had removed it as a sign of trust after his promise not to leave. It was foolish. They both knew perfectly well that Hydes could not be trusted... It was simply their nature.

The night met him with cold rain, but Tyler didn't feel the chill. He was warmed by his goal: to let the Hyde out one last time, for a final farewell, and kill Judy. To break this vicious cycle, to regain control, even for just one night, even if this transformation took years off his life. He didn't care—better to burn out fast than to fade away slowly in chains.

Judy's house stood deep within an overgrown garden, and Tyler passed through the gate without obstruction. But something was wrong. He stopped at the porch, sniffing the air, and caught the thick, metallic scent of blood—fresh, but already beginning to cool. And something else... The smell of damp earth and rot.

The door was ajar. Tyler pushed it open and stepped inside.

Chaos reigned in the living room: furniture overturned, mirrors shattered. And in the center, on a blood-soaked rug, lay what remained of Judy Stonehearst. Her skull had been crushed, the brain removed, leaving only an empty shell.

Tyler froze, feeling disappointment mixed with shock, disgust, and nausea rising in his throat. He had never gotten used to the sight of blood when he wasn't in his Hyde form.

But stronger than anything was the anger that someone had beaten him to it, stealing his coveted revenge.

In the corner of the room, in a deep armchair, sat a man—or something trying very hard to appear as one. He was dressed in a long, old-fashioned coat. The stranger's face had a greenish tint; cadaveric spots and scars on the skin were barely visible, as if the flesh had recently knitted back together, regaining its integrity.

The man looked up, and Tyler met his gaze. The stranger's eyes were clear, frighteningly intelligent, but deep within them, the icy void of death still splashed.

"You're late, Tyler," he said. His voice was hoarse but clear, without the guttural moaning Tyler had heard at the hospital.

Tyler sucked in a breath and snarled. That smell... He would recognize it anywhere. Standing before him was the very zombie that had attacked Wednesday in the corridor of Willow Hill. The rage Tyler had been saving for Judy instantly found a new target.

"You!" Tyler spat. He didn't transform fully but allowed the Hyde to take partial control. His muscles swelled with inhuman strength, his pupils dilated. He darted across the room and slammed the zombie into the wall.

"I didn't finish you off then, but I will now!" Tyler roared, squeezing the creature's throat. "You tried to devour her!"

The zombie didn't resist. He looked at Tyler with an almost philosophical calm, even as the Hyde's claws dug into his neck.

"Nothing personal. I just needed her memories," he said calmly. "The thing is, the brain stores the last few hours of memory, and I can access them by consuming it. And your girl was in the basement where my sister was being kept. They took her away, and I needed to know where and why."

"What are you talking about?" Tyler loosened his grip but didn't let go.

"I am no longer who I was when we first met. I got answers from her and from Dr. Fairburn," he nodded at Judy's body. "We are not enemies, Tyler."

"How do you know my name?" Tyler asked, stunned, releasing the zombie but still ready to attack at any moment.

"How dense you are..." The zombie looked at him as if he were an uncomprehending child, and spoke slowly, emphasizing every word. "I consumed Dr. Fairburn's brain and gained her memories. She saw you the day she died. You talked about therapy for the Hyde. And a little about your mother."

Tyler blinked several times, shuddering with disgust and fear that some brain-eating zombie knew so much about him. It felt like an icy needle had been dragged down his spine.

The zombie stared at Tyler with his dead eyes, unblinking.

"I seek no hostility with you. I only want to find my sister and finish what was started years ago. So, I offer a truce."

"A truce?" Tyler sneered, still feeling the adrenaline pounding in his temples. "You just admitted to eating the brains of two people to get their memories. And before that, you wanted to kill the girl I... who I care about. Why should I trust you?"

"Because I have information you need. And you likely have what I need."

The zombie walked to the window, looking out at the rain.

"Take me to Francoise. You know where she is, don't you?"

"Like hell," Tyler snapped, blocking the way to the exit. "You're not getting near her."

"I'll find her sooner or later anyway. But it will be faster with you... She's not just your mother, Tyler," he turned, and the moonlight fell on his face. "She is my sister. I knew she'd eventually get mixed up with some pathetic normie and have a kid..." A strange bitterness flashed in his tone. But Tyler didn't pay attention to it, hearing nothing but the words about his sister. He froze, as if punched in the gut, and asked in confusion:

"What?"

"Francoise. She is my sister. Do I have to repeat everything twice?" the zombie chuckled. "I forgot a lot while I was dead, but these brains put everything in its place. By the way, I'm Isaac. Apparently, your uncle." With those words, he extended a hand to his nephew.

Tyler's thoughts were racing. It all sounded like the ravings of a madman, but after the events of the last few days, little could surprise him.

He peered into Isaac's face. Now that the skin had smoothed out and the eyes had gained intelligence, something elusively familiar really did show in his features. The shape of the cheekbones, the cut of the eyes, the curly hair... The same thing he saw in the mirror. The same thing he saw in his mother.

"If you're lying or planning to hurt us," Tyler said quietly, "I'll tear your head off, and no regeneration will help you."

"Fair enough," Isaac nodded.

Tyler cast one last look at Judy's body. His revenge was complete, albeit by someone else's hands, but he wasn't at all sure he was doing the right thing by agreeing to lead a mad zombie to the secret bunker he shared with his mother.

Chapter Text

When the heavy bunker door swung open with a clang, Francoise jumped up from her cot and snatched up her gun. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted toward the entrance, dreading to see the police or orderlies with tasers. But she saw Tyler. And behind him stood the one she had mourned for all the long years since his death.

Isaac stepped into the circle of dim lamplight. His coat was crumpled and stained in places, and his skin had an unnatural, waxy whiteness, but it was him. Her beloved brother, stolen from her and buried in an unmarked grave beneath the Skull Tree.

"Isaac?.." The name slipped from her lips in a barely audible, trembling whisper. "No... That’s impossible. You’re dead."

"Death turned out to be a less permanent state than generally accepted, Fran," he replied. Her brother’s voice sounded a little deeper than she remembered, but the intonations were frighteningly familiar.

Francoise had to be sure... In the outcast world, anything was possible, but safety came first. However, after a short dialogue about their shared past, all her doubts crumbled to dust.

She walked slowly toward him, reaching out as if to a ghost that might vanish at her touch. Her fingers brushed his cold cheek, tracing the line of his jaw. Isaac didn't pull away. He covered her hand with his own, and there was so much forgotten warmth in that gesture that Francoise let out a sob.

"It’s really you..." she breathed out, unable to hold back any longer, and threw her arms around his neck.

Tyler stood by the door, leaning his shoulder against the cold metal, watching. He saw his mother's face light up with a glow free of any shadow of sorrow. Her eyes shone when she looked at her brother. That never happened when she looked at him. In her embrace, in her tears, in the way she stroked Isaac’s hair, there was something achingly sincere and... joyful.

It seemed to him that she was happier about the brother risen from the grave than about the son she had found after fifteen years.

Tyler gritted his teeth, feeling a sting of poisonous jealousy. It was stupid, selfish, but he couldn't shake the unwanted feeling.

"How is this possible?" Francoise pulled back, looking her brother up and down, still not believing her eyes.

"Long story," Isaac gave a crooked smile.

***

With Isaac's arrival, the atmosphere in the bunker changed, becoming even more suffocating for Tyler. If before he had felt merely trapped in another cage, now he distinctly felt like a third wheel.

Francoise and her brother were constantly hugging and indulging in reminiscence, discussing happy moments from childhood, their studies at Nevermore, and much more. They had a shared past she so desperately wanted to return to. Tyler, conversely, became a living reminder of lost years, of pain and separation. He wasn’t the way Francoise remembered him. The toddler she had lost had grown up into a stranger. But Isaac... Isaac had returned exactly as he had left. Like a shard of her happy past preserved in time, unspoiled by years of suffering at Willow Hill.

As if wishing to turn back time, Francoise began to act like a sixteen-year-old girl. All her emotions seemed heightened—she laughed a lot, bouncing with joy at happy memories and the chances his return offered, then would get expressively angry or weep uncontrollably on her brother's shoulder, telling him about everything she had endured in the thirty years since his death.

Tyler, looking at his reunited relatives, was losing his grip on reality more and more, and at some point, began to regret bringing Isaac to the bunker. He had a distinct feeling that he was back in a cell at Willow Hill, only now he had cellmates, all the doctors had vanished, and nothing was stopping them from spiraling into madness together.

One evening, Isaac announced that he intended to finish the work he had started years ago. That was how Tyler learned that shortly before his death, Isaac had tried to cure his sister, ridding her of the Hyde. A few years later, Dr. Stonehurst had stolen Isaac's invention and modified it to transfer outcast powers to normies.

Isaac and Fran exchanged significant glances and looked askance at Tyler when discussing the events of that fatal night. They clearly weren’t telling him everything, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to pry for details.

Francoise's coughing fits were becoming more frequent. They were sitting at the table finishing dinner when she started coughing again, doubling over and pressing an old handkerchief to her lips. When she pulled it away, bright scarlet spots of blood were visible on the white fabric.

"Mom!" Tyler jerked toward her, but she put up a hand, stopping him.

"I'm fine," she wheezed, hiding the handkerchief, but the metallic scent of blood already hung in the air.

"You are not fine," Isaac stated harshly. "The Hyde is killing you. Your organs are failing. If we don't remove it, you'll burn out in a few months."

Tyler stared at the bloody spot disappearing into her sweater pocket. Fear for his mother squeezed his heart with an icy hand—he was so afraid of losing her again.

"I’ll do it," Isaac said firmly, addressing his sister. "We’ll go back to Willow Hill and rid you of this infection. You will become ordinary humans, just as you always dreamed."

"Ordinary?" The word grated on Tyler's ears, and he looked up at his uncle. "You want to turn us into normies?"

"I want to save your lives," Isaac parried. "The Hyde is a curse. Or a disease, however you prefer. Do you want to die at twenty-five, drowning in your own blood, the way your mother is dying now?"

Tyler stepped back into the shadows, away from the lamplight. His thoughts raced like trapped animals. He certainly wanted to save his mother and save himself. But... become a normie? Again?

Return to that state of worthlessness he had lived in for years? To be a weak barista who only knew how to make lattes and endure humiliation?

The Hyde was his curse, but it was also his gift—intoxicating power capable of breaking walls and bones, freedom from fear and any barriers. With the Hyde, he was someone to be feared, someone to be reckoned with.

And most importantly... Wednesday.

From their very first meeting, her eyes lit up with interest when they spoke of the Hyde. She fell in love with the monster, not the boring guy from the coffee shop; she was drawn to the monster inside him, to his darkness and danger. If he got rid of the Hyde, he could return to her, but he would become a nobody again—just a boring guy from a provincial town. Why would Wednesday Addams need someone like that? She, who collected monsters and mysteries, would hardly glance at him, and he would become just another boring stage of a journey already taken.

But the alternative looked no better. To be a slave, dependent on a master like a junkie on a fix. To die slowly, feeling the beast devour him from the inside.

Tyler looked at his hands. Right now, they were ordinary, human. But he felt the power slumbering beneath his skin, ready to burst out.

"I don't know..." he said quietly, his voice drowning in the heavy silence of the bunker. "I'm not sure I want to be... a normie."

Francoise looked at him with sadness, and Isaac—with the cold indifference of a scientist who sees only a complex problem before him and pays no attention to such insignificant things as the feelings of his test subjects.

Tyler fell silent, torn in two. Salvation looked like a betrayal of himself, and power—like slow suicide. And there was no right answer in this equation.

***

The next few evenings in the bunker resembled a prolonged wait for an execution or, conversely, a miraculous rescue—Tyler couldn't decide which. Time here flowed like thick, viscous molasses, measured only by the dripping of condensation from the ceiling and the scratching of Isaac's pencil on paper.

His uncle prepared for the sortie into Willow Hill with frightening methodicalness. He covered every scrap of paper he could find with formulas and diagrams, muttering under his breath about neural pathways and chemical blockers. Periodically, he would disappear—walking out into the night, coat wrapped tight, and returning by morning. Sometimes, after these trips, his appearance changed subtly.

First, the deathly green of his skin vanished, giving way to a pale but entirely human shade; then the scars on his neck and face healed, as if an invisible sculptor had smoothed the clay, restoring it to its original form. Isaac's movements became fluid, the stiffness characteristic of the living dead disappeared, and a cold, sharp intellect lit up in his eyes. Tyler understood the nature of this miraculous healing perfectly well. He remembered his uncle's words about a "diet" of brains and preferred not to think about whose lives Isaac had to consume to look human again. In a world where his mother had been kept in a cage for years and he had been turned into a monster, morality had long since become an unaffordable luxury.

The fateful day approached inexorably, and time for reflection was slipping through his fingers. The atmosphere in the bunker seemed electrified. Isaac announced that his calculations were complete, and he was ready to infiltrate Stonehurst’s laboratory to finish the work started years ago. To Francoise, this sounded like a promise of healing; to Tyler—like a sentence.

Somewhere outside, a full moon was shining.

Waiting for the twilight to thicken into impenetrable darkness, broken only by the moonlight, Tyler approached his mother. She sat on the edge of the cot, fingering old beads—the only sedative she had left.

"Mom," he called softly. "I'm going for a walk."

Francoise jerked her head up, habitual anxiety flashing in her eyes, but Tyler hurried to preempt her objections:

"The search for us has wound down. The police think we're either dead or left the state long ago. I need to walk a bit, let off some steam. I'll be careful, I promise. Just a breath of air, and I'll be back."

She looked at him for a long minute, then exhaled, touching his hand.

"Alright, Tyler," she finally breathed. "Just, I beg you, don't let anyone see you. We are so close to the cure... Don't ruin everything now."

Tyler nodded, feeling a cold lump of guilt tighten inside him. She believed he would return for "salvation." He was going to seek answers that could destroy her hopes.

Scrambling out, he inhaled the damp, ozone-soaked air. The rain was intensifying, washing away scents and muffling sounds—perfect weather for someone who doesn't want to be found. Somewhere in the distance, from the direction of the forest, came a long howl.

Tyler moved through the thicket, habitually taking the shortcut to the school. The Hyde scratched beneath his skin, but Tyler kept him on a leash. One thought beat in his head—an agonizing dilemma from which there was no escape.

And before making a decision, he needed to see her. Tyler walked toward the one with whom he had betrayed, saved, and wounded each other so many times already, to ask how he should live on.

Nevermore met him with silence and darkness, broken only by a few lit windows. Tyler glanced at the destroyed Iago tower, where his uncle had once died, and for a moment wondered what secret about that night Isaac and his mom were hiding from him.

During the full moon, the school seemed deserted: the werewolves were in the "wolf cages," and other students preferred not to stick their heads out. Ophelia Hall towered over the courtyard, and the familiar balcony with the round window beckoned like a lighthouse.

Tyler knew Enid wasn't there now, and Wednesday should be in the room alone.

The rain turned into a downpour as he began his ascent. The stones were slippery, but his fingers found purchase in the slightest cracks. He moved silently, like a shadow, blending with the wet stone of the wall.

Reaching the balcony, he froze for a second, listening. His heart hammered against his ribs, beating a ragged rhythm. Through the noise of the rain, he heard neither voices nor footsteps. Carefully, trying not to make a sound, he peered through the glass.

Only one desk lamp burned in the room, carving a stern silhouette out of the gloom. Wednesday wasn't sleeping; she sat at her desk, perfectly straight, like a statue, surrounded by a heap of papers and ancient tomes. Diagrams and documents were spread out on the table.

Trying not to creak the frame, Tyler pushed the balcony door.

Wednesday didn't even flinch at the gust of cold wind and rain that burst into the room. It seemed she had been expecting this visit, or perhaps her instincts were so sharp they detected the intruder's presence before he crossed the threshold.

"Stand where you are," she said coldly, glancing over her shoulder and sweeping her gaze over him.

Tyler froze; water streamed off him in rivulets, and his breath hitched at the mere sight of her. In this dim light, she seemed even more beautiful than ever.

"I hoped you weren't asleep. We need to talk," he said quietly, and his voice sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.

Wednesday slowly, with the grace of a predator, put down her pen and stood up. Her dark eyes met his gaze. There was no fear or surprise in them—only a cold, piercing abyss that seemed to see right through him.

"Leave," her voice cut the silence of the room like a cold blade, allowing not even a shadow of doubt. "You made your choice when you left with your mother without saying a word."

"I’m not going anywhere, Wednesday, until you hear me out."

"We have nothing to talk about. Go back to your mother and Uncle Isaac and disappear from my life," she hissed.

"How do you know about Isaac?" Tyler asked, astonished.

"I made inquiries," Wednesday stated impassively. "Ironically, my wayward brother revived your relative, and I freed you and your mother from the asylum. I think this will come back to bite us."

Tyler didn't have time to answer, because footsteps were heard somewhere below. A flash of annoyance mixed with caution flared in Wednesday's eyes, and she took a step toward the window.

"If any of those patrolling the grounds see you on my balcony, it will create problems not just for you, but for me. I am letting you in only for that reason."

Tyler smirked and climbed inside. The sash slammed shut, cutting off the external sounds and plunging the room into a silence diluted only by the beating of his own heart in his ears.

Now they stood frighteningly close. Water from Tyler’s clothes dripping onto the floor, forming a dark puddle. He was shivering—whether from the cold or from agitation.

Wednesday stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You're inside, satisfied? Now listen closely: you had a chance to be with me. You asked me yourself to become your master, and in a moment of unforgivable weakness, I agreed. But you missed that chance. My offer has an expiration date, and it expired the moment you stepped over the threshold to run away."

Tyler looked at her, and in his usually warm eyes, a dangerous fire now burned. He saw her anger, her resentment hidden behind a mask of indifference, and it gave him hope. Indifference looks different.

"You think I wanted to leave you?" his voice became quieter, deeper, vibrating with restrained emotion. "I thought about you every minute, Wednesday. Every damn second while I sat in that bunker. Since you appeared in my life, you've poisoned it. I can't forget you, can't get you out of my head. I tried time and again, but it doesn't work. And don't lie to me that it's not the same for you."

"You are in stupid delusions again, Tyler. I didn't think of you at all."

"Liar," he took a step toward her, ignoring her warning glare. "I told you once that you can push me away as much as you want—it won't work."

"Don't you dare come closer," she warned, but there was no firmness in her voice.

Tyler didn't listen; in two steps he crossed the distance separating them, and before Wednesday could draw the knife hidden in her sleeve or even push him away, he pinned her to the wall. His rain-damp, cold palms settled on her shoulders, and that cold burned through the fabric of her jacket.

"You are so angry," he breathed against her lips, leaning down so low their noses almost touched. "Because you wanted to possess me, Wednesday? Because the thought of binding yourself to me, making me yours, makes your blood run faster?"

As if confirming his words, her legs betrayed her, growing weak, and her stomach twisted with painful desire, but Wednesday had no intention of admitting it.

"I am angry because you are unreliable," she parried, tilting her chin up and looking him straight in the eyes. Her heart beat treacherously fast, echoing noisily in her ears. "You betrayed, tried to kill, abandoned me. You are chaos, Tyler, and I love order."

"And despite that, you are drawn to me, Wednesday," he chuckled. "To my chaos and my darkness."

He didn't let her say another word, simply covering her lips with his—hungrily, demandingly, without a shadow of the timidity that had once been between them.

It was a storm kiss, a kiss of claiming. Wednesday froze for only a moment, and then, surrendering to the uncontrollable avalanche washing over her, responded with the same fury. She fought him with her tongue, bit his lips until they bled, wanting to cause pain, punishing him for leaving her, for making her lose control, for how badly she wanted him. And he answered her in kind.

Her fingers buried themselves in his wet hair, pulling him closer and erasing boundaries.

"You want to possess me so much, Wednesday..." Tyler whispered, sliding his hand along her neck and feeling the frantic pulse beneath her pale skin. "But for that, you don't need a bond. I am already yours completely, without reserve. My monster and my life, however much is left of it."

"Those are loud words, Tyler," her voice trembled, losing its usual steel. "Don't promise what you cannot fulfill."

"I will never leave you again, Wednesday," he pressed against her, kissing her jawline, descending lower to the sensitive hollow of her throat. "I’d rather die than lose you again."

Wednesday felt her carefully built barriers crumbling one by one, like a house of cards in the wind. Anger, resentment, logic—everything dissolved in the hot wave rising from within.

The hunger born in her that night at Willow Hill, when she saw him naked, or even earlier—on the evening of their first kiss, became practically insurmountable.

She understood that she was likely making a mistake herself, but logic retreated when he kissed her so desperately, as if his life depended on it, when he slipped his hands under her shirt, touching her skin with fingers cold from the rain and causing shivers. She wanted to get rid of the clothing that was so in the way right now and lick every drop of rain glistening on his skin, count the moles scattered like constellations across his body.

Wednesday pushed him toward the bed, taking the initiative. Resisting the attraction was useless—she suddenly realized this all too clearly. With him, she was a moth flying into the fire, allowing herself to be burned to ashes once again, leaving only a handful of dust.

"If you break this promise," Wednesday whispered, undoing the buttons of his wet shirt, revealing the scars on his chest, each of which she remembered by heart from when she treated them at Pinecrest. Right now, she wanted to run her tongue over them. Wednesday smirked at the irrationality of that desire and everything happening in general. "I will find you and kill you personally. That is my oath."

"I didn't expect anything less from you," he chuckled, shedding his trousers and shirt, which immediately fell to the floor.

Wednesday bit her lip to keep from moaning too loudly. She had always craved control, but now she was rapidly losing it, completely at the mercy of Tyler and her own passion, and she discovered a strange, terrifying pleasure in surrendering to it. Tyler touched her with both reverence and dominance, exploring every curve, every response of her body.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice a soft command. “I want to hear your moans.”

His finger slipped inside her, gently stretching her tight entrance, preparing her for the impressive size of his cock. Wednesday gave in, exhaling his name, clutching the sheets and arching into his arms.

It wasn’t enough; her body demanded more. He added a second finger, pushing deeper, searching until he found her G-spot. It took only moments before she shattered in his hands, trembling with convulsions.

“This is only the beginning,” Tyler promised, his voice low and husky. “Are you ready to take me, darling… and become mine?”

She nodded desperately. The air between them crackled with electricity, as though one spark could ignite a wildfire. For a fleeting second, a strange thought crossed her mind: could the Hyde-submission ritual work without the serum—on physical intimacy alone? But Tyler’s kiss, followed by his slow, careful, yet desperate thrust, drove every thought from her head.

In the dim light of the room, with rain drumming against the window, their union felt like the collision of two elemental forces; fierce, ravenous, insatiable.

Tyler looked at her as if this were their last night on earth. At first he moved slowly, letting her adjust, but soon the rhythm built, hungry and unrestrained. She raked her nails down his back and tangled her fingers in his soft curls; he bit her neck, leaving marks, buried his hands in her hair—now more wildly disheveled than ever before. The world narrowed to sensation alone: the heat of his body, the cool air from the window, the scent of rain, the taste of his mouth. Pain and pleasure fused into a single intoxicating cocktail, more potent than any poison.

White light flashed behind her eyes, eclipsing the world like a total eclipse and leaving only the two of them—broken, perfectly matched souls trying to heal old wounds by melding into one. And in the moment they reached the peak together, Wednesday understood that this truly had been playing with fire.

But right now, she was ready to burn to ash.

***

The rain outside the window shifted from a furious rhythm to a monotonous drum, lulling Nevermore to sleep. Tyler lay on his back, staring up at the dark, sloping ceiling, while Wednesday settled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breathing had steadied, yet he knew she wasn’t asleep—her fingers mechanically traced invisible patterns across his chest, outlining his scars.

The silence, usually soothing, now pressed down on Tyler with the weight of unspoken fears. The euphoria of their intimacy was slowly fading, laying bare the cold reality awaiting him back in the bunker.

"My mother wants to rid me of the Hyde," he spoke into the void, his voice sounding hollow and brittle. "Isaac... my uncle... he has a way to cut out the monster, to make me normal. He wants to use the machine from Willow Hill..."

Wednesday went still, her fingers pausing directly over his heart.

"Isaac..." she repeated. "I still find it hard to believe that a brainless, pulseless zombie turned out to be your uncle and the genius from Nevermore’s ghost stories. What do you think of his idea?"

"I don't know," Tyler admitted honestly, turning his head to bury his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent that had become the most desirable thing in the world to him. "I hate what the Hyde does to me, I hate losing control and killing on command... But I’m terrified of losing this power."

He propped himself up on one elbow, gazing into her eyes. In the gloom, they looked like bottomless lakes of black water.

"I never wanted to be a killer, but the Hyde made me strong, special. And it was precisely because of the monster that you took an interest in me. If I become that boring guy from the Weathervane again, why would you want me?"

Wednesday sat up slowly, pulling the blanket up to her waist. Her gaze, usually piercing and cold, was now filled with genuine surprise.

"Your capacity for self-flagellation is admirable, but your conclusions are entirely erroneous," she said, touching his face. Her palm was cool, and the touch was more sobering than ice water. "You should have thought more carefully, Tyler."

"About what?" He frowned, not understanding what she meant.

"I never saw just the monster in you," Wednesday said firmly, enunciating every word. "You didn't attract me with fangs or claws. You were the only one who understood me, who accepted my nature without trying to fix it or running away in horror. You listened to me when others turned away."

She paused—discussing feelings did not come easily to her.

"After your betrayal, I convinced myself that it was all a lie. That you were playing a role. But now... now I have doubts. Your darkness appeals to me, Tyler, but precisely because it is your darkness. Not abstract evil, not a faceless monster, but a part of you."

"But my power..." he began.

"Power?" she interrupted. "It makes you more resilient than you appear at first glance, and I like that. But if I were interested only in the monster, I would have chosen Xavier Thorpe last year. Recall that for weeks I was certain he was the Hyde. Yet I didn't want him; I wasn't drawn to him the way I was to you."

Wednesday's words hit Tyler harder than any physical blow. He stared at her, stunned by this simple yet incredible truth.

"Even if you lose your claws and the ability to shred metal," she continued, tilting her head slightly, "it will change nothing. You will still be my Hyde. A personal nightmare I chose willingly."

Tyler reached for her, feeling warmth spreading within him, displacing the fear. He wanted to kiss her, to say something important in return, but Wednesday suddenly recoiled. Her face changed, becoming hard and focused, as if she had remembered something terrible.

"However, this sentimental conversation is pointless," she snapped, getting out of bed and throwing a silk robe over her shoulders. "Because your plan is doomed to failure. Neither you nor your mother can get into that machine."

"Why?" Tyler sat up, feeling anxiety constricting his throat again. "Isaac said he calculated everything..."

"Your uncle is a zombie who feeds on other people's brains. Perhaps he was once brilliant, but after thirty years in the ground, he has fallen behind modern science. Currently, his knowledge and cognitive faculties may be... peculiar," Wednesday scoffed.

She walked to the desk, where documents procured by Thing lay amidst a chaos of papers, and snatched a folder with yellowed pages from the stack. Tyler followed her, pulling on his trousers as he went.

"Look," she tossed the folder onto the bed beside him. "These are documents from Dr. Stonehurst’s project. What was kept in the restricted archives of Willow Hill."

Tyler opened the folder. In the dim light of the lamp, he saw tables, graphs, and lists of names.

"These are the early trials of the very machine your uncle intends to use," Wednesday explained, jabbing her finger at the results column. "Stonehurst stole his technology," she shifted her gaze to a page containing the earliest blueprints of the device, covered in Isaac's sweeping handwriting. "But even he, with all the resources of Willow Hill, could not make it work safely."

Tyler's eyes scanned the lines of the reports:

Subject 14. Hyde. Outcome: Cerebral hemorrhage. Death.

Subject 17. Hyde. Outcome: Cardiac arrest, irreversible tissue decay. Death.

Subject 21. Outcome: Insanity, followed by death.

Everywhere, next to every name, stood the same word.

"They all died, Tyler," Wednesday's voice sounded almost matter-of-fact, but Tyler heard a death sentence in it. "This machine won't save you. If you and your mother try to use it, you won't become normies. You will become corpses.”