Nero turned on the shower, and cold water rushed out. He stepped under it, letting it wash over him. He scrubbed away the dirt and dust, but as he closed his eyes, he tried—again—to remember something. Anything.
But the only thing that surfaced was the moment he met Dorne.
Everything before that was a void, as if sealed away by force.
Still, one thing was clear:
He wasn't human.
He could feel it in his body. In the way the water ran over the faint, dark cracks veined across his skin.
With a deep sigh, he shut off the water and stared at his reflection in the fogged mirror—half-expecting the cracks to wash away like mud.
But they remained. Unmoving. Permanent.
He dried off and changed into the clothes Dorne had given him. The jeans and long-sleeved shirt fit perfectly—not too tight, not too loose—like they'd been tailored for him.
Not bad for something collecting dust in an old closet.
He stepped into the dining room, where Dorne was already seated, waiting.
"Thanks for the clothes," Nero said.
Dorne looked up. "No need to thank me. They were just sitting there, gathering dust. Though I gotta say, they look like they were made for you."
Nero sat across from him. "Yeah. They fit perfectly."
"So," Dorne asked with a grin, "what'd you do with your 'super stylish' clothes?"
Nero sighed. "I left them in the basket. And you're not gonna drop that, are you?"
"Nope." Dorne smirked. "Too easy."
Then he gestured at the table. "What about the tracker? You leave that in the back pocket?"
"I still have it with me," Nero replied. "Why? Can you do anything with it?"
"I could ask Thom to take a look, but I doubt any of us can crack military tech. Still, we'll deal with that later. For now—eat. Food's getting cold."
Nero dug in and raised an eyebrow after the first bite.
"This is really good. Did you make it?"
"Me? Nah. Anika had some extra and shared it. She's got a soft spot for lost causes, I guess."
Just then, Nero heard the faint creak of a floorboard behind him. He turned slowly, already sensing the presence before confirming it with his eyes.
Captain Headbutt.
The old goat stood right behind his chair, staring at him like a disapproving landlord.
"Oh, come on," Nero muttered. "You really thought that'd work twice?"
Dorne looked up. "CH. Don't forget—he's our guest."
CH let out a low Maa, dripping with disdain.
"I still don't like this punk."
Then he turned and strutted off to his little house outside—which looked suspiciously like a doghouse.
Nero watched him go, then asked, "Hey, how is it the shower still works? No offense, but the whole town looks like it's held together by tape and luck."
Dorne leaned back in his chair. "Ah, that'd be Thom's work. He's the one keeping the water running. Restores old stuff, maintains the lines, fixes anything that leaks. Without him, this place would've completely fallen apart by now.
That said… the water's cold."
"Cold?" Nero blinked. "It didn't feel cold to me."
Dorne tilted his head. "What're you talking about? It's always cold."
He stood up and walked to the bathroom. Nero followed.
Dorne turned on the tap and stuck his hand under it. "See? Cold."
Nero stepped up and did the same.
"… What the hell?" Nero muttered. "It feels normal. Like room temperature."
Dorne frowned and grabbed a kettle of hot water from the stove, pouring some into a bowl.
"Try this."
Nero dipped a finger in. "Feels the same."
Dorne gave him a serious look. "Dude… something's seriously off with your body."
Nero looked down at his hand, the cracks still faintly visible on the surface of his skin.
Before he could speak, Dorne placed a hand on his shoulder and said,
"Don't worry too much. We'll figure it out. I'll take you to Anika in the morning.
For now—just get some rest."
Nero gave a quiet nod and made his way back to his room.
He laid down on the bed, the silence of the night settling in—but his mind was far from still.