Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The trees around Fowl Manor had begun their slow retreat into autumn, surrendering their crowns of gold and green to the damp earth below. Holly sat perched on the wide stone ledge of Artemis’s office window, one boot braced against the frame, the other dangling into the cool air. She watched as the mist threaded itself between the branches, ghostlike and unhurried,
swallowing the last scraps of color from the garden.

She wasn’t just visiting for Ireland’s autumn season, obviously. Foaly had sent her topside after reports of livestock killings in the surrounding farmland. Deep lacerations, bodies torn apart, senseless in their violence. The kind of mess that looked like a troll attack, except every test said otherwise. She’d hoped Artemis might have noticed something unusual or at least offer a theory. Instead, she’d found him holed up in his study again, pale as the fog outside and surrounded by papers that looked older than both of them.

“Funny,” she said softly, eyes following a drifting leaf as it spiraled down. “You forget how loud the world is when it’s dying. All the wind and wet earth and the smell of it.”

Artemis didn’t look up from his desk. The lamplight painted his face in sharp, uneven lines, one side warm, the other shadowed. His pen moved quickly, though his handwriting had grown slanted and uneven, as if his thoughts were racing faster than his hand could follow.

“I wouldn’t call it dying,” he murmured, without humor. “Just a seasonal reset. It always comes back in the spring.”

Holly smiled faintly. “You make it sound romantic.”

“Hardly.” He tsked, but the edge in his voice wasn’t sharp… it was tired.

He’d been tired a lot lately. The kind of weariness that clung even when he slept… which she suspected he didn’t do often anymore.

“Artemis,” she said after a pause, “when was the last time you went outside for something other than evidence collection?”

That finally drew his attention away from his papers. His eyes, gently mismatched again now that some time had passed since his resurrection, drifted toward the open window she’d thrown wide.

“I would rather not do little outings in this weather if it can be helped.” He pressed his lips together, then added, “Besides, I was under the impression the People did not care for the cold.”

He was being intentionally difficult. Fairies didn’t care for the blistering cold of a Russian ice cap, but Ireland’s late October chill hardly compared. And it wasn’t like Holly lacked options; she had a plethora of warm clothes stored at Fowl Manor, personally chosen and tailored to her size.

Holly rolled her eyes at him, an expression he was so used to it no longer registered. “I was under the impression humans needed vitamin D to survive.”

She earned herself the faintest smile. Even after all these years, after everything they’d endured, it was still a haunting expression. “I don’t think you even know what vitamin D does.” He crossed his hands on the desk and waited for her defense.

“Mm… it comes from the sun and cures depression? Something you could probably benefit from.”

He didn’t seem to think that was nearly as funny as she did.

“Honestly, Holly. This isn’t genius-level thinking. Ultraviolet rays from the sun hit a form of cholesterol in the—”

“Enough of that.” She turned away from him completely, leaning out the window at a dangerous angle once more, leaving his to sigh at the floor.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The wind outside had picked up, carrying the thin hiss of rain through the open pane. It brushed through Holly’s hair, lifting a few stray strands that glimmered faintly in the lamplight. Behind her, Artemis’s pen had gone still. The absence of its scratching felt heavier than sound.

“You should come down to the village with me,” she said finally, her voice half-lost to the wind. “A farmer’s missing three sheep. Foaly says it’s probably a stray troll.”

Artemis’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “I went this morning to examine the site. No residual venom, no stench. The claw marks are… inconsistent. Likely a rabid dog, or perhaps a feral boar. Foaly really should be quicker to gather information.”

Holly frowned. “And you went out alone?”

He looked up, and for a heartbeat something feral flickered behind his expression, gone before she could name it. “It was early, and trolls are mainly nocturnal. I didn’t think it warranted a team.”

“You didn’t think,” she countered, but the scolding came out softer than she intended. He looked so pale. Even under the lamplight, his skin had taken on a translucent quality, veins like faint blue ink beneath the surface. Holly’s concern wasn’t surface-level. She had lost him once, losing him again to something as avoidable as arrogance wasn’t an option.

“I’m fine,” he said. The words landed too quickly, rehearsed. “Merely under the weather.”

“Mm.” She squinted at him. “You don’t look fine.”

His reply was a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Perhaps I’m just not getting enough vitamin D.”

Suddenly, she didn’t think he was nearly as funny as she had a few moments ago. Artemis had a nasty habit of making her stomach twist in worry without even trying. Maybe it was her turn for therapy.

Holly turned, setting both boots firmly on the floor so he wouldn’t think he could evade the conversation about his health.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” she pressed.

“Yes, Holly, perhaps too—”

“Are you still following that nutrition plan?”

“Holly, yes, I’m—”

“Are you still visiting Argon or—”

“Holly.” He snapped, holding out a hand as if to physically push back the torrent of concern.

“Yes…” he breathed, instantly regretting the tone. “Yes, to all of it. I am tired, nothing more. No doubt some lingering neurological post-resurrection trauma. It will pass.”

A long silence followed. Holly just stared at him. She worried, he knew that, and he didn’t blame her. She never meant harm, but it was painfully clear she still didn’t trust his health in his own
hands.

“Okay,” she said at last, relenting. “Can you email Foaly what you found on the livestock carcasses? He made me promise I’d look into it.”

He managed a small smile then, relief softening the lines of his shoulders. “I’ll send him everything I’ve collected so far,” Artemis said, gesturing vaguely toward the stack of folders at his elbow. “Photographs, sample analyses, genetic scans. I took blood and tissue samples from the remains this morning, what little there was to work with. If there’s any pathogen or residue, Foaly can have the honor of finding it.”

Holly raised an eyebrow. “You’re actually letting someone else handle the data?”

“Delegation is an art, Holly, not a weakness.” He leaned back in his seat. “If you would like, I will ensure you receive the information as well. Although I must warn you, the photos are rather
uncomfortable to look at.”

Holly frowned, her ears twitching like a cat’s. “What do you mean by that?”

Artemis hesitated. For a moment, she thought he hadn’t heard her, his eyes distant, gaze drawn past her to the fog rolling across the lawn. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, slower.

“I mean the remains were… unusual.” He folded his hands together, the movement too deliberate. “Messy incisions along the abdomen. Muscle tissue shredded as though from within. But as I said before, no trace of troll venom. It’s almost as if the carcass imploded.”

Holly grimaced. “That’s graphic, even for you.”

He gave a small, distracted hum of agreement, though he wasn’t looking at her anymore. With his back to the monitor, his face shaded, his eyes were dark, almost black. He looked… off. Uncanny.

“You sure you didn’t pick up anything out there?” she asked. “A toxin, maybe?”

“Highly unlikely,” he said. “I wore a respirator.”

Holly frowned. “Then why—”

But she stopped, because Artemis had gone still again. Not in fear, more like he was bracing himself. His hand hovered midair, the muscles in his jaw tightening for a moment before he exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. His breathing sounded uneven, the way it did when he’d been awake too long. Then, just as suddenly, he blinked, smoothed his expression, and reached for his pen as though nothing had happened.

“Apologies,” he said smoothly. “A touch of dizziness I fear. It’s nothing. Perhaps I was up to early.”

She wanted to argue. Something was wrong with him, something he clearly didn’t intend to admit, but Holly had known him too long to push when he was in retreat mode. His tells were loud, even when his voice wasn’t.

Instead, she sighed and stood, brushing dust from her trousers. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“On the contrary,” he murmured, though his voice came out rougher than before. “I’m remarkably predictable.”

She gave him a look, half fond, half exasperated, then stepped away from the window just as something in her helmet dinged, as if to remind them both she couldn’t stay here for long.
“Predictable doesn’t make you healthy,” she said, softer now. “Try to rest, all right? I have to head back before Foaly starts crying about fairy kidnappings and filing complaints.”

“Now there’s an idea that could make someone some gold” Artemis hummed in response, already half-turned toward his notes again. The lamplight caught in his hair, outlining him in a thin halo of gold that looked more fragile than brilliant.

“Goodnight, Artemis.”

He didn’t answer until she was almost to the door. “Goodnight, Holly.”

Once more outside, the mist was thick enough to swallow her whole, and for a moment, the manor looked empty again, as if she’d never been there at all.

Chapter Text

Morning in Police Plaza came far too early. If it wasn’t recruits doing PT, running this way and that, it was some sergeant screaming about something outside his pay grade. It was like walking into an instant headache, one that you never really adjusted to.

Holly was halfway through her first cup of coffee when the lift doors slid open, revealing a wall of light and sound. Foaly’s lab looked as if someone had detonated a science fair inside it. Screens flickered with overlapping lines of code and data, audio alerts pinged in competing tones, and the centaur himself cantered from console to console, muttering under his breath like a mad man.

“Morning,” she sighed, rubbing one eye.

Foaly didn’t hear her, or pretended not to. His mane was frizzed, tail swishing in tight, agitated arcs as he pawed through a pile of disks that where clearly just pulled from storage if the dust on them where anything to go off of.

“Foaly,” she tried again, louder this time. “You’re going to rupture a vein if you don’t stop pacing.”

He finally spun toward her, eyes wide and frenzied. “Holly! You’ve got to see this. The samples Artemis sent, oh, Frond help us it is a disaster. Half the tissue’s scorched, the other half… well, mangled past the point of being useful.”

She grimaced and stepped closer, clutching her coffee like a shield. “You mean to tell me our mud man actually went elbows-deep into a mess for you?”

“Up to his sleeves,” Foaly said, a little too gleefully. “The blood analysis alone, Holly, it’s like nothing I’ve seen. Either those livestock tangled with something new, or evolution decided to play a very bad joke overnight.”

“Great,” she muttered. “And here I was hoping for an uneventful debrief.”

Foaly swiped a few windows into focus, lines of biometrics scrolling past. “No such luck. Whatever this is, it’s not just a rogue troll. I’ll need another few hours to untangle it, but…ugh, I’m almost glad you weren’t the one out there. It’s… grisly.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly. Holly wasn’t particularly fond of sending Artemis headfirst into trauma. Once, maybe it would’ve been funny. Now… people had died. Artemis had died.

“Remove that glare from your face, Captain. Did you even look at those photos?” Foaly huffed, swiveling toward her. Since Artemis’s resurrection, he and the centaur had developed an odd camaraderie, friendly enough Foaly thought it was hilarious to send him head first into trouble, respectful enough to still monitor Artys updates on the clone bodies progression.

“No… I didn’t. Figured there wasn’t much I could do with them,” she admitted, cheeks coloring as she pulled out her work phone.

“Right about that,” Foaly said with a laugh. “If we can’t figure it out, I doubt our fearless field officer can.”

He earned a steady glare. Clearly, he was pushing her buttons for sport today.

Holly sank into his specially designed centaur chair and opened Artemis’s email on her work phone. The blood and DNA analyses went unread, honestly she didn’t even know why he bothered sending them to her; they were incomprehensible for anyone aside Foaly. But the photos…

“Oh… oh, Frond…”

Three sheep. Or what was left of them. Torn open from throat to flank, ribs split like fragile twigs. The wooden barn floor beneath them was black with congealed blood. She’d seen her share of crime scenes, but this… this was different. Wild. Predatory.

Foaly’s voice droned behind her, theory spilling over theory.

“-not a troll, not a pack either. Bite radius doesn’t match, tissue damage inconsistent with blunt trauma-”

She barely heard him. Her stomach twisted as she swiped to the next photo: a tangle of wool and flesh. Something had fed here, strong enough to crush bone, careless enough not to finish.

Foaly kept talking, words clipping faster now. “No residual venom, no underground displacement. Whatever did this… it wasn’t from below.”

Holly’s fingers hovered, trembling slightly. The scent of iron and rot seemed to ghost through her memory. For a moment, she almost wished she hadn’t looked.

“Frond…” she whispered. “You have no clues at all?”

Foaly took a long breath, paused. “A big dog.”

Holly froze. That answer, too simple, too inadequate, twisted in her gut. Artemis had gone out there alone, taken dozens of photographs, stood in the fog-drenched fields… and all they had was “big dog.”

Foaly seemed to sense her reaction. “No, really! If it had been Felidae, the corpses wouldn’t have been found. Trolls? Venom would be present. It makes sense. Canidae are sloppy, eat prey where it drops.”

He shrugged. As if that somehow made it less horrifying.

Holly stared again at the mangled red blur on her screen. Artemis’s hand had framed these images perfectly, calm, detached, and precise in the midst of carnage.

“Big dog,” she repeated, lowering the phone. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Foaly glanced up, ears twitching. “Unless you think Artemis stumbled onto a giant bird… yes. Big dog.”

Holly didn’t answer. Her mind wandered to the night before, to Artemis’s dark eyes, bright in the strangest ways, the slow cadence of his voice that made it feel like she was underwater. He’d brushed it all off, of course. Always did.

The lab’s warm hum did little to chase away the chill creeping through her. Artemis had come back different. Something in the clone body, the fusion of magic and fairy science, had shifted him just off-center, made him almost human but not quite. He moved differently now, looked at the world with that same measured calm, yet his eyes lingered too long, as if translating reality through some unseen lens. She hadn’t minded, not since the day he returned. That quiet steadiness had comforted her once, proven in the precision of those photographs. But she doubted his hands were as steady now, when no one was watching. “I’m… going topside for a bit,” she said softly. No discussion needed.

“I’ll put in a request for your professional assistance,” Foaly said immediately. “If there’s something that big tearing up livestock, it’s not something humans have seen. It won’t be hard to get you on the surface for a few days to investigate.”

Holly’s stomach turned. Big or small, whatever had slaughtered those sheep could be dangerous. And Artemis might already be out there.

Foaly noticed the shadow crossing her face. “You do realize you sound alarmingly concerned about our human friend, yes?”

“I’m not-” Holly started, then froze.

Foaly’s tail flicked with amusement. “I didn’t mean professional concern. Emotional.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh really?” Foaly leaned closer, voice dripping with mock innocence. “Because it’s awfully convenient that you’re worried sick when, last I checked, your relationship with our humans was mostly… professional.”

She flushed. “He’s hardly human. And your relationship is hardly professional.”

“Point taken. But still,” Foaly tapped a finger against the screen, “don’t faint if he trips over a fence post, yeah?”

Holly groaned, rubbing her temples. “Thanks, Foaly. You're so much help.”

“Anytime, Captain,” he said, waving a hand with exaggerated courtesy. “Now go. Boots dirty, head clear. And try not to cry if Artemis loses sleep.”

Chapter Text

Artemis woke to the sound of wind threading through branches. Damp air clung to his skin, heavy with the scent of moss and something copper-sweet. It took him a moment to realize he was standing in the garden, cold earth under his feet, leaves tangled in his hair, his breath rising in uneven clouds before him.

He straightened too quickly. The world tilted, then righted itself in a rush of vertigo. His sleeves were stiff, darkened with mud and blood, not fresh, he noted, but it hadn’t been there before bed, he was certain. His bare feet were numb, caked in dirt.

For a long moment, he simply stared. His mind scrambled to arrange the facts into something logical, but the effort felt slippery. The last thing he remembered was curling up under heavy blankets, thinking over Holly’s last visit. Then… nothing.

Sleepwalking? Overexertion? Neurological aftereffects of the resurrection? The body, after all, was still adjusting to its unique reconstruction. He could explain this. He had to explain this.
He flexed his fingers, noting a faint tremor, then pressed a palm to his chest. His heartbeat was quick, restless, wrong. Artemis drew a slow breath, willing his mind to steady. The house wasn’t far. A short walk, a change of clothes, and no one would know.

He staggered down the path, swaying slightly, toward the faint glow of home through the trees.

It wasn’t until he stepped inside that Artemis realized how much his body ached. The cold had crawled up his legs, blistering his shins and stiffening his knees until even his hips protested every movement. How long had he been outside? And God, where had the blood come from?

He stripped as he walked, confident that no one was home anyway. Butler was still escorting the twins back from their weekend visit, Juliet was in Paris, and he needed to know where the blood had come from before it spiraled into a full-blown crisis.

Nothing. No open wounds. No blood when he spat into the sink. Not even a nosebleed he could blame on humidity, or exhaustion, or anything. He was completely clean. And that made him sick to his stomach.

He moved through the house in a blur, feet echoing softly against the stone floors. It wasn’t the manor he had grown up in, not anymore. After his return, Artemis had left his childhood home almost immediately. It had become clear that he unsettled his parents. Truthfully, he unsettled most people. Butler, Holly, his brothers — yes, they’d adapted. Juliet and Foaly, eventually. His family had not. So, he had gone.

Now he lived in a modest countryside estate, tucked a few miles from one of Haven’s chutes. Convenient for visitors. Convenient for privacy. And, tonight, convenient for panicking over the mysterious blood on his sleeves.

The kitchen lights buzzed faintly when he flipped the switch, harsh against the grey morning gloom. Everything looked… wrong. Drawers left half-open, a chair skewed from the table, faint bloody handprints smeared across the tile.

Artemis froze. He could smell iron , not the faint, clinical tang of lab blood, but the sharp, animal scent of meat.

His gaze drifted to the counter. A half-torn plastic package lay beside the sink, condensation pooled beneath it. Inside, what remained of a frozen roll of ground beef, now ragged as if clawed apart. The plastic had been ripped apart in bite sized pieces, covering the flood and counter like fabricated snow.

For a long moment, Artemis simply stared. His mind, the part of him that craved structure, offered theories in rapid succession: rodents. Break-in. Sleepwalking. Overexertion. Each explanation more absurd than the last, yet each easier to accept than the truth pressing at the edges of reason.

He reached out, dirty hands against his lips, then pulled back. His stomach gave a low, traitorous growl.

Artemis stepped away sharply, knocking into the counter. His pulse stuttered. “Ridiculous,” he muttered to no one, forcing the word through clenched teeth. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

But the smell lingered, rich, metallic, intoxicating.

He turned off the light, retreating to the hall like a man abandoning the scene of a crime, and tried very hard not to think about how hungry he was.

Holly arrived sometime in the afternoon, having needed to fill out the appropriate documents for this trip, work-related or not. Most of the things she needed, clothes and hygiene items, were already stashed in the fairy-sized spare bedroom attached to Artemis’s home. He had never outwardly said it was for her, but she liked to think it had been made with her in mind.

She could have entered through the office window, but she knew Artemis liked to open the door for visitors. She landed on the front steps with the excitement of a field officer on leave rather than on an active mission, and knocked.

Moments later, Artemis pulled the door open with a soft smile, eyes lighting up in that rare show of happiness she always noticed.

“Holly,” he breathed, like saying it was a relief. She pretended not to notice.

“Arty,” she chirped, passing under his arm to step inside. Over and over, documents had reinforced that Holly alone had permission to enter as if it were her own home. No longer did her magic suffer when entering the human dwelling.

The house was spotless. Holly noted the faint lemony tang of disinfectant clinging to surfaces. Floors gleamed; even brass handles were freshly polished.

“Did you hire a cleaning crew?” she teased. “Or finally cave to Juliet’s badgering?”

Artemis smiled faintly, tired but sincere. “Something like that,” he said, brushing past her toward the sitting room.

Holly followed, ears twitching. Something about that felt off, dulled, Artemis loved a chance to over explain simple things. His movements where too precise, as if playing the part of someone at ease.

She decided to keep things simple. “So, Foaly sent you the forms about me staying here, right? Official investigation, magical beast potential, no Council complaints. You don’t mind me taking over your guest room for a few days?”

Artemis turned, warmth rising in his mismatched eyes. “Mind?” he said softly. “Holly, I would love nothing more than for you to stay.”

The simplicity of it made her hesitate; there was earnestness in it she wasn’t yet used to hearing from him. He had been more honest since returning, recalling moments of cruelty and taking a silent vow: lying and scheming no longer against his friends. Their forgiveness had been almost absolute.

Holly breathed softly, almost saying something too delicate for her rank.

“Would you like something to eat?” She said instead, because caring for him was the closest she could get to showing him her heart.

For a heartbeat, Artemis froze. Her words struck him like a warning bell. Food. The thought of it, even just a simple meal, made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t recognize. He forced himself to swallow, throat dry, mind racing to rearrange logic around instinct.

“I… no,” he said finally, voice tight. Too tight. His hands flexed at his sides, almost clenching without meaning to. Normally, he would have insisted she sit, made tea, sliced fruit, prepared something perfectly for her. In this moment however, the very notion of preparing, of offering, of eating, felt suddenly wrong.

Holly’s brow lifted, a faint frown tugging at her expression. “Really? Because you look thin, Artemis. You’re still eating right?” If the sharpness in his face was anything to go by, he was not. Frond… had he been that fragile looking the day before?

He forced a smile, the kind meant to soothe. “I… wasn’t particularly inclined,” he said, voice careful, controlled. Not a lie, exactly, but not the whole truth. A faint flush crept over his pale cheeks.

Holly crossed her arms, unconvinced. “Inclined? Arty, that’s not how this works. Come on, just something small. You can’t not eat.”

Artemis’s gaze flicked down, then away, jaw tightening. The thought of food made a faint, primal unease curl in his gut, something older than reason, sharper than hunger. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally muttered, voice almost a whisper, “I… will consider it.”

Holly tilted her head, studying him. That was not the Artemis she knew.

There was a long tense moment where he couldn’t avoid her stare, one of his own eyes trying to peer into his soul and pick out the slivers of his troubles lodged there. She was suspicious, obviously, but worse she was scared for him.

“Okay, Im going to raid your fridge.” She finally appeared to relent.

“I would… only even encourage that.” He tried for a laugh, but it fell flat between them.

Holly took a single step away from him, paused, then finally turned completely to guide them both the kitchen. Everything gleamed, but something felt wrong. The faint bleach scent pricked her senses. Poison in the air that humans couldn’t seem to pick up on. This space wasn’t like the rest of the house. It was like he had tried to scrub out a crime scene.

Holly opened the fridge, letting the cool air wash over her, trying to ignore the faint tension radiating off Artemis. The shelves were immaculate, almost unnervingly so, everything organized and seemingly straightened with a ruler. She ran her fingers along the edges of neatly stacked containers, expecting the usual leftovers Buter always prepped before going away, but found none of that.

Her eyes settled on a small plate tucked behind a carton of eggs: a few slices of apple and pear, pale and carefully cut, arranged almost as if they’d been studied before being placed there. Holly raised a brow, lifting one of the slices between her fingers. “Well, I’ll be… someone’s trying very hard to pretend they eat.” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Artemis stayed perfectly still, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers pressed against the edge of the counter. Every instinct screamed at him not to reach for the fruit, not even to acknowledge it. The sight of it, so mundane, was almost unbearable, a reminder that his body wanted something he could no longer trust himself with.

Holly took another slice, chewing slowly, letting the silence stretch. She glanced at him. “You ahm… saving this for later?”

He blinked, jaw tightening, gaze flicking away. “I… lost interest after I made it,” he admitted, voice low, careful. “You are of course… welcome to it.”

“You’re strange today, Arty,” she said, pulling the plate out and taking it to the counter to snack on.

He smiled faintly. “Yes. I suppose I am most of the time, however.”

But Holly couldn’t shake the feeling he was avoiding something. A truth. She ate slowly while he kept his eyes everywhere but on her.

“I’ve changed the sheets in your room. No detergent, of course,” he was speaking slowly, the Fowl equivalent of stuttering.

“Will you be scouting tonight or-”

Holly glanced at the neatly arranged plate of fruit. “Would you like some?” she asked brightly.

Artemis froze. For a heartbeat, his stomach twisted and not with hunger, exactly, but with a strange, uneasy awareness of it. The idea of eating, even something innocuous, made the back of his throat dry, his mind racing with a sudden, inexplicable apprehension.

“No… no, I’m fine,” he said quickly, voice clipped, trying to sound casual.

Holly tilted her head. “Really? Because it looks like you haven’t eaten anything all morning.” Looks like he hadn’t eaten anything in weeks actually.

He swallowed hard, glancing at the plate as though it might bite back. “I… I haven’t felt particularly hungry,” he muttered. Almost immediately, he corrected himself, a faint flush creeping over his pale cheeks. “That is, not… nothing serious.”

Holly raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re serious?” she echoed, leaning forward. “You sound like you’re avoiding a shot. Come on, Arty. Have a slice. It’s just fruit.”

Artemis’s hand hovered above the plate, trembling slightly. He wanted to comply, he wanted to do nothing but sit with her, keep things normal, but the thought of biting into the fruit made a sick, primal unease curl in his gut. He forced himself to meet her eyes, and for the briefest instant, something like dread flashed there.

“I… yes,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll… try.”

“You trying to poison me?” she teased.

Ridiculous as the accusation was, Artemis finally took a bite.

“Frond. See, not so-” she began, but stopped almost immediately.

For a split second, Artemis bowed his head, and something passed over his face that made Holly’s breath hitch. It wasn’t relief, it was rapture. His eyes fluttered closed, lips parted faintly around the fruit, a low sound escaping his throat before he caught it, half a gasp, half a sigh. The kind of noise no one makes over food.

For that heartbeat, he wasn’t the careful, brilliant man she knew. He was consumed. His fingers trembled as if holding back from tearing into the rest, his whole body seeming to thrum with a terrible, almost desperate want.

Then it was gone. He blinked once, twice, as if surfacing from deep water, awareness crashing back in. His expression smoothed to something careful, embarrassed, composed. But Holly was still staring, jaw slack, pulse stuttering.

Whatever that had been, it was something far deeper than normal hunger.

“Artemis, you can just have them… why haven’t you eaten?”

He looked up, startled, almost wounded. “I told you,” he said smoothly, the armor back in place, “I haven’t been hungry.”

“Yeah?” Holly leaned forward. “Because that didn’t look like ‘not hungry.’ That looked like starving.”

His throat worked once. The hand holding the fruit trembled before he set it down with care.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “I hadn’t realized how much I’d forgotten to eat. I’ve been busy the last few days.”

“That’s not how the body works, Arty,” she said softly.

He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll make it up later.”

Holly stared a moment longer. The faint sheen of sweat along his hairline, the sharpness of his collarbone and cheeks, a paleness to his lips she swore she hadn’t noticed before… her gut twisted. Artemis was already always toeing the line as far as his health was concerned, she had seen her fair sure of his self-abuse, but this had come on so quickly despite constant vigilance over him.

“Do me a favor?” she spoke lightly. “Don’t make me monitor your meals again. I don’t have the patience to harp on you.”

A weak chuckle escaped him, fading too soon.

He straightened suddenly, as if remembering something “You must have a great deal to prepare for,” he said, voice calm but thin in a way that told her he was hiding a panic. “Settling in, planning your route, equipment checks. I’d hate to keep you.”

“Arty-”

“And I,” he cut in, already gathering stepping away and straightening his cuff links, not quite meeting her eyes, “should lie down for a bit. I didn’t sleep much.” His hands were steady now, unnaturally so, every movement deliberate, choreographed… like he thought control could erase what she’d just seen.

“Artemis.” Holly’s tone softened, warning and worry tangled together.

He flinched at his name, a near-imperceptible twitch, then forced another smile, this one painfully polite. “I’ll be better after some rest. Truly. You know how I get when I overwork myself.”

Before she could answer, he was already halfway to the hall, his retreat quick but not quite a run. The air he left behind seemed thinner, charged somehow, like whatever had flickered to life in him still lingered, hungry for more.

Holly sat frozen for a long moment, the fruit plate between them forgotten. She glanced toward the hallway, listening to his steps fade, then exhaled a low curse.

Something was very wrong, and for once, she had no idea how to fix it.

Chapter Text

Holly moved through the tall grass, the night whispering softly against her ears. The air smelled of wet earth and rain, the way it always did after midnight in the country. Above her, the stars stretched vast and silver with no ceiling, no hum of machinery, just clean, unfiltered quiet. It was the kind of silence she hadn’t realized she’d missed, pressing against her lungs until she forced to breath deep again, as if the whole world had never not belonged to her.

A small drone hovered behind her shoulder, its red light blinking as it mapped the slope and tagged movement across the pastures. Foaly chattered in her earpiece, half-focused, half-complaining about data speeds. She smiled despite herself.

And yet, no matter how peaceful the night, her mind kept circling back to Artemis.

He hadn’t slept like he said he would after the… fruit incident, whatever that had been. But when she’d left, his skin still looked stretched thin, a tired ghost trying to pass for human. He’d admitted quietly that he couldn’t seem to relax, that his heart wouldn’t slow, his mind wouldn’t still. That he’d try again while she was gone.

It had been the “try” that stuck with her. The raw, human defeat in the tone he used.

“Everything okay out there?” Foaly asked through static.

“Yeah,” she lied, eyes scanning the hills. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah,” he repeated. “Thinking about Artemis.” His tone carried that teasing lilt that usually earned an eye roll.

“Not right now, please,” Holly muttered, crouching to adjust a sensor node along the fence line. The grass kissed her knees. “Something’s wrong… again. He’s thin, Foaly. Thin in a way humans really shouldn’t be. I guess I… didn’t notice it the other night.”

A pause. Only the faint hum of the drone between them. Then Foaly sighed, heavy even through static. “He’s gotta be eating, Holly. He’s been logging meals. I’ve been watching.”

Her hand froze on the drone’s casing. “So either he’s lying… or his body’s rejecting it.”

“Neither option’s great,” Foaly said grimly.

Holly looked up at the stars, sharp and cold in the dark. The clone body had gotten the all-clear from N1 months ago. Artemis had been proud, pulse steady, vitals perfect. Whatever was happening now wasn’t supposed to be possible.

“I’ll keep an eye on him over the next few days,” she said softly. “Maybe I’ll make him eat in front of me.”

Foaly snorted. “Romantic.”

“Stop,” she countered.

He laughed, but it didn’t reach humor. “Just… be careful, Holly. Artemis isn’t the only thing you should worry about. Something’s out there with you.”

“Great. One thing after another,” she grumbled.

Foaly ignored her and launched into the useful part. “I reconstructed the damage to the sheep bodies digitally. Got some ideas for you. Definitely a very big dog.”

Holly came to a full stop, frustration bubbling over. “Foaly, if you say ‘big dog’ one more time—”

“I said! A very big dog,” he rushed to correct her. “Far bigger than anything on record. Teeth marks match a Gray Wolf, but the space between teeth… the skull alone would be seventy centimeters. Scale factor two point eight. Body length nearly ten feet.”

A long pause. Long enough for Holly to panic.

“Ten! Feet long?!” she cried.

“Yeah!” Foaly sounded frustratingly excited. “About the size of a large moose.”

“Foaly,” she hissed, half-whisper, half-growl. “You could try not to sound thrilled about the nightmare monster we’re dealing with!”

“I’m not thrilled,” he protested, a lie. “Just… fascinated. Evolution doesn’t make ten-foot wolves. I’m just shocked it stayed hidden this long.”

She rubbed her temple, eyes sweeping the quiet pasture. Shadows bled into the tree line. “Please tell me it’s not magical,” she muttered. “I don’t have the energy for another cursed cryptid this week.”

“Are you counting Artemis? Can’t rule it out yet,” Foaly admitted, serious now. “But what’s weird is how it’s eating. The bodies are ripped open, frantic, but otherwise they weren’t chewed on. Only the nutrient-rich organs: liver, kidneys, heart. Starving, but smart. That’s strategy. We only see that in higher-thinking predators.”

Holly’s skin pricked. Every small sound of the night made her twitch. “So we’ve got a starving, strategic ten-foot wolf running around the countryside.”

“And a sleep-deprived human genius who looks like he’s been fasting for weeks,” Foaly added.

“Foaly.”

“I’m just saying. You asked me to stop saying it was a big dog.”

“Well come up with theories in your head,” she snapped, voice cracking. She tried not to imagine Artemis bent over sheep, soaked in blood, reduced to instinct. She shuddered, sick.

Holly looked skyward again, trying to breathe through the knot in her chest. Stars, wind, open air, everything she loved, but tonight she felt like prey, hunted by something unseen.

Holly stayed out for hours, flying low over rolling hills and tagging livestock with trackers. Drones perched on barns, fences, tree lines, even cliff sides. She was thankful for the easy night, and grateful there was no sign of the beast. The urgency was there, but facing it alone in the dark was unnerving.

She returned to the Fowl home just as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Inside, silence pressed on all sides, ringing in her ears. Holly pulled off her wings, shaking off the lingering chill, and moved carefully through the sitting room toward her gear locker in the office. The air felt heavy, oppressive, like sin lurking beneath the faint bleach scent.

“Artemis?” she called softly.

No answer. Only a slow, uneven creak of pacing on wooden floors. He hadn’t slept at all.

She followed the sound to his room. Inside, Artemis moved restlessly, hair unkempt, collar half-buttoned, eyes ringed with bruised gray shadows. Sweat dampened his skin, cheeks flushed in that odd, unnatural way she’d learned to read as illness. Notes and old journals lay scattered across the floor, his handwriting jagged.

“I take it… you didn’t get any sleep,” she said gently.

“I did not,” he murmured, voice rough, not looking up. “The mind refuses stillness lately. Perhaps a side effect of the cloning process, triggered by stress. If I am… lucky.”

Holly crossed her arms, unconvinced. “And if we’re not lucky?”

He finally met her gaze, offering a half-smile that didn’t belong. “Then I suppose I’m simply unraveling. But gracefully, I’d hope… more so than in the past.”

His hands trembled.

Holly perched on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. She let silence stretch between them, giving him space to find words as he settled in at her side.

“I…” Artemis began, low, almost strangled. “I am… hungry.” He trailed off, swallowing hard, eyes flicking to the floor, shame in the truth. There was more to that than he was letting on, she could feel it buzz like electricity in the air “But the idea of… eating… makes me nauseous. I cannot…”

Holly’s hand hovered, then rested lightly on his arm. “I know,” she murmured. “I saw it this morning, Artemis. You didn’t hide it. And you’ve been on your feet since yesterday morning. You need rest.”

He shook his head, stiff, feverish. Sweat slicked his temples, skin flushed unnaturally. “Sleep… eludes me. I have tried many times. I am exhausted. But…”

She leaned closer, almost brushing her fingers against his. “Then lie down, even for a little while. Close your eyes. I’ll stay right here.” Her presence was warm, grounding, a tether to normalcy.

For a heartbeat, Artemis stared at her, raw exhaustion and desperation meeting calm. Something almost intimate in his vulnerability settled in her chest.

“I… I will try,” he whispered, panic softening as he sank back against the pillows. Limbs heavier than they should have been, breathing uneven and shallow.

Holly stayed, patient. She didn’t speak or prod. She let her eyes linger on the rise and fall of his chest, the pale curve of his wrists, the tousled hair.

He was absolutely thinner than he had been two days ago. She would have noticed the way his cheeks were hollowing and the way his eyes sank. Each subtle detail amplified in the dim morning light. His body was giving up, and the thought of that made her throat close. She had only had him back a few months, barely a year, and now? Now it was over? She simply could not accept that.

She let her hand hover over his, then laced their fingers gently. Not moving, not speaking, just… existing.

Artemis’s eyes fluttered closed, a long, shuddering exhale escaping him. Slowly, the rigid lines softened. Breathing evened slightly, fragile and unsteady, moving toward rest. Holly remained still, a quiet tether, hoping the storm inside him could find a moment’s calm — and that she could hold it steady.

Chapter Text

Holly eased the door closed behind her, careful not to let the latch click. Artemis had finally drifted off, if it could be called sleep. His breathing was shallow, uneven, like someone pretending to rest. She lingered a moment, listening through the door, before slipping down the hall toward the study.

The lights hummed faintly. Everything in this house felt too still. Even the air seemed to hold back, making it harder to breath.

She opened her communicator, keeping her voice low. “Foaly? You still there?”

The centaur yawned on the other end. “Course. Tell me you’re calling with good news.”

“I wish.” Holly rubbed her temples. “He’s getting worse. He’s lost weight since yesterday. He’s feverish, barely standing. And he says he’s starving, and can’t keep food down.”

There was a pause long enough for static to creep in. “That shouldn’t be possible,” Foaly muttered. “If his vitals are stable, he shouldn’t be burning through calories that fast. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless the clone’s metabolism is over working. Like it’s… digesting itself. I’ve seen something similar in regenerative failures, but never this fast.”

The words made Holly’s stomach twist. She turned toward the hall, suddenly aware of how quiet it was again. No footsteps. No creaks.

“Foaly… is he-“

She wasn’t given the chance to finish the sentence. There had always been a chance, they knew, that the clone body wouldn’t hold out. That it would fall apart before he had the chance to make anything of it.

“Not yet.” Foaly cut her off, his grief just as loud as anyone elses. “Ill call N1 to the lab. It might be deeper than biology. He needs to be eating, anything Holly, get something in his system.”

So much for tracking down a giant wolf. Now she almost wished she was facing that monster instead of whatever this was.

“Hes asleep… sorta… right now. I want him to rest as much as possible.” She mumbled, ears twitching back against her head.

“Rest isn’t going to fix this,” Foaly said quietly. “If he’s burning through mass at that rate, sleep might make it worse. His body will start—”

A sound cut him off.
Not the ordinary creak of a settling house.
A wet, guttural sound. Tearing.

Holly turned back toward the hall, listening.
Nothing. Not even the old clock ticking in the parlor. The air itself felt suspended, like the house was holding its breath.

“Foaly…” she started again, but the word came out thin, unsure.

Her hand brushed the wall as she moved, the cool plaster the only sense of stability she could find. Every step seemed too loud.

Then came the sound again.
A wet, dragging noise, soft at first, like someone wringing out cloth. Then a rip, close enough that she felt it in her teeth.

The kitchen lights were too bright, surgical, merciless. They hummed against the silence, washing every surface in sterile white that made shadows too sharp, too black.

Artemis was there.
Half-crouched in front of the open fridge, shoulders jerking with each breath. His back rose and fell like something that had forgotten how to breathe properly.

At first, her mind refused to name what she was seeing. There was only the sound, wet, steady, a tearing rhythm that didn’t fit the stillness of the house. Then the smell hit her: raw flesh, cold fat, the sour metallic sting of blood on air-conditioning.

He didn’t see her. His hands, slick and shaking, were buried wrist deep in something pale and stringy. Chicken meat. It glistened under the fluorescent light, a heap of flesh torn open by fingers instead of knives.

He tore at it with a kind of blind, mechanical hunger. No hesitation, no awareness. Each movement was too fast, too precise, too wrong. The sound of it… cartilage giving, skin peeling away… turned her stomach.

“Artemis.” Her voice barely made it out, caught somewhere between whisper and command.

He didn’t react. Didn’t even flinch. His eyes were open but glassy, pupils wide and flat, swallowing the color from them despite the bright lights. His breath came in ragged bursts through clenched teeth, a wet rasp that might once have been a word but wasn’t anymore.

And then that sound again, low in his throat, not voice, not even human. Hunger in the shape of a man.

“Foaly,” Holly hissed, fumbling for the communicator, fingers slipping on the sweat slick metal, “he’s… he’s eating raw food. I don’t think he’s awake.”

For a heartbeat, nothing. Just static crackling like breath on the line.

Then Foaly’s voice came through, low and strangled. “Holly, listen to me. Do not startle him. Keep your distance if you have to, but don’t let him hurt himself. Do you understand me?”

The sharpness in his tone jolted her more than the sight in front of her. Foaly never sounded like that. There was something else under the words, panic, and something close to guilt.

“Foaly-”

But she didn’t get the chance to finish.

Artemis moved.

Slow at first, like his body had to remember how to turn, then all at once, too fluid. His head lifted, mouth and hands painted in red. For half a second, confusion flickered in his eyes, small and childlike, before it shattered into horror.

He stood there, trembling, and the look that crossed his face didn’t belong to the boy genius or the strategist or even the resurrected miracle. It was raw, naked horror.

His breath hitched, shallow, uneven. His pupils shrank as his mind caught up with what his body had done, hands dripping, the metallic taste still on his tongue. The plate fragments glittered at his feet like evidence.

He swayed once, as though the air itself recoiled from him. Then his gaze snapped upward, searching the ceiling as if he might find forgiveness written there, before dropping sharply toward the trash can.

Holly saw the thought hit him before he moved-

Get it out. Get it out now.

“Don’t.” Her voice cut through the silence, low, steady, but trembling at the edges. “Artemis, don’t you dare.”

He froze halfway toward it, chest heaving. His mouth opened, then closed again. For a second he seemed to forget how to breathe. His shoulders shook.

The panic wasn’t loud. It was quiet, the kind that folded inward, collapsing in on itself. His lips moved soundlessly, like he was trying to count something, anchor himself to numbers that weren’t there.

She’d seen this before, during the Atlantis Complex, when his mind had turned on him, but this was different. This wasn’t the coldness of psychosis. This was grief wearing his face.

“I…” The word broke, scraped out of him. “I don’t know-”

Oh, how he hated that. Not knowing. The uncertainty carved through him worse than any wound could.

He stared at his hands again, the tremor spreading up his arms. “I don’t know why I did that,” he whispered, and the words seemed to cost him blood. His throat worked around them like they burned going down. “I don’t-” He swallowed hard, but there was nothing left to say.

Holly stepped closer, watching him unravel in the sterile light, and for not the first time, she was afraid, not of him, but for him.

Holly’s heart clenched. He was trembling now, trying to wipe his hands on a dish towel, only spreading the processed meat across his skin. His breath came in short bursts. He looked close to tears now, an expression that ripped her heart out spilled it a crossed the floor.

“It’s alright,” she said softly, stepping closer. “You’re okay. Just… stop thinking for a second.”

He gave a bitter laugh that died halfway out. “Thinking is all I’ve ever been good at.”

“Then let me think for both of us right now.” She placed a hand on his wrist, grounding him. His pulse bounced too fast beneath her fingers.

“I can’t… Holly, I ripped into it. Like an animal. I’ve done this before. The night before you came, I… ” His voice cracked. “It wasn’t even cooked. I woke up covered in blood… i-in the garden. I don’t remember any of it.”

Her stomach turned, but she held her ground. “Then we fix it,” she murmured. “Just like we always do. You can trust me with that.”

She guided him to sit on the floor, the way one might handle a wounded predator. Artemis obeyed, eyes vacant, skin too pale.

“Foaly said you need food. Real food.” Holly’s voice was soft but firm. She opened a can with trembling hands, the metallic click echoing in the otherwise still kitchen. Beans. Soup. Preserves. One after another, she placed them in front of him, watching his eyes flicker between the cans and the floor.

“So you’re going to eat,” she said, keeping her tone steady, “until you’re not tearing into raw meat in your sleep.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t even look at her. His movements were precise, almost ritualistic, lid lifted, spoon scooped, bite swallowed, repeat. There was no pause, no hesitation, only a relentless mechanical rhythm, as though he were trying to fill a hollow that no food could ever touch.

Holly sank to the floor across from him, chest tight, eyes fixed on the unnatural pace of his consumption. Each bite seemed to steal more life from him rather than restore it. She could see the tremor in his hands, the sweat clinging to his temples, the sharp line of his collarbone beneath pale, stretched skin. His lips pressed together as he swallowed, the faintest gagging sound barely audible beneath the scrape of metal on ceramic.

Can after can, he moved. Even a man starved for days would have had to pause, stomach contracted, body begging for rest. But Artemis did not. His jaw worked unceasing, eyes wide and unblinking.

Holly’s stomach churned at the sight. The smell of over processed food and metallic iron from his hands mingled with the faint copper tang still clinging to his wrists. Each breath he took was shallow, uneven, but his movements never slowed.

Foaly’s voice whispered in her ear, careful, taut with concern. “His temperature… it’s too high. Too high. You’ll need to cool him down soon. His pupils are blown, Holly look at em. Keep watching.”

Holly nodded, almost wordlessly, failing to realize Foaly must have gained access to the security system. Her gaze didn’t leave him. Every detail, the way his fingers trembled, the sheen of sweat, the faint tremor in his shoulders, built a slow, suffocating dread in her chest.

When he finally stopped, and he did eventually stop, he sat there staring at the cans with a look of true dissociation “I don’t understand…” He whispered.

Holly’s voice caught somewhere between pity and fear. “You don’t have to,” she said softly, crouching beside him. “Just breathe, okay? You’re done.”

He blinked at her, slow, uncomprehending. The tremor in his hands hadn’t stopped. “That shouldn’t be possible,” he murmured, staring down at the heap of empty cans, the streaks of food and blood and something darker across his cuffs. “I should be sick. I should…”

“Arty,” she warned gently, her hand hovering over his wrist again, afraid to startle him. His skin burned under her touch. “You’re running a fever. You need to lie down before you fall down.”

He looked at her then, really looked, pupils wide as coins. There was a flicker of something fragile there… shame, confusion, the breaking point between panic and exhaustion.

“I’m losing it,” he whispered.

Her throat tightened. “We’ll figure it out,” she said, and though her voice was steady, her heart was not. She guided him up from the floor, his balance unsteady, every step a tremor.

By the time she got him to the couch, Artemis was already fading, body giving in to the weight of whatever was eating him from the inside out. Holly brushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers trembling.

“Sleep,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a command.

Holly waited, counting each shallow rise and fall of Artemis’s chest, until the tremor in his fingers eased slightly and his breathing became just a fraction more even. She forced herself to step back, keeping her voice steady despite the panic curling in her chest.

“Foaly,” she whispered into the mic, almost afraid to disturb him further. “Get No1 to the lab. Tell him it’s an emergency.”

There was a pause on the other end, the faint hiss of static stretching out unbearably long. Then, Foaly’s voice came, tight and controlled, sharper than she’d ever heard. “How bad is it?”

Holly swallowed hard, eyes locked on Artemis. He lay slumped on the couch, lashes flickering over closed eyes, skin glistening with sweat, the faint tremor still riding through his fingers. Every instinct told her he was unraveling in a way she couldn’t help.

“Bad,” she admitted, voice low and urgent. “He’s burning up. He ate like… like he hadn’t seen food in days, and then… just stopped. It’s not normal sickness.”

Foaly was silent for a moment, the quiet stretching taut like a wire. Then he said, clipped, precise, almost brittle: “Understood. I’ll get No1 connected. Keep him stable. Don’t let him move until they arrive.”

“I won’t,” Holly said quickly, voice catching despite herself. She took a small step closer, hand hovering above his, ready to ground him if he stirred. “Just… help is on the way. Focus on breathing.” She whispered as if she could be heard.

The line clicked dead, leaving her alone in the oppressive stillness of the room. The hum of the lights felt loud, intrusive, and the air pressed against her chest as if it knew the panic she hadn’t allowed herself to feel yet.

Holly sank to the edge of the couch again, slow and deliberate, as though moving too quickly might shatter him further. She didn’t mean to reach for him, didn’t even realize she had, until her fingers brushed his hand. Large. Warm. Alive. Against his long, fragile fingers. The heat startled her, sharp as fire against the cold dread clutching her chest.

He shifted slightly, a faint, broken sound catching in his throat so fragile, so human, so impossibly alive. And gods help her, that was what finally did her in. The fear surged like a living thing, dizzying and sharp. She could lose him again. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not him. Not like this.

Her chest tightened, heart hammering with the weight of it. This wasn’t duty. This wasn’t a mission, or a problem to solve, or a beast to track. This was Artemis. And if she failed here, if she let the panic sweep her away, there would be no one left to fight for him, no one to stop the slow, merciless devouring of his body and mind.

She pressed her forehead against his arm, allowing herself a quiet, unsteady exhale, letting the terror pulse through her in waves she couldn’t suppress. But beneath it all was a quiet, ironclad refusal: she would not - could not - lose him again.

Even if she hadn’t yet admitted it to herself, even if she hadn’t named it, Holly’s fear was rooted in something far deeper than concern.

Chapter Text

Holly stirred in the dim morning light, eyelids heavy, body pressed against the warmth of Artemis. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but the rare, fragile quiet of him, his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek, had claimed her. His scent was intoxicating, a complex layering of familiar cologne, sweat, and something untamed beneath it, metallic and feral.

Her fingers traced the hard outline of his shoulder, memorizing the curve, the subtle tension in muscle and bone. For a heartbeat, everything was as normal as she would let it be. He murmured restlessly in his sleep, and she inhaled deeply, letting herself rest against him in a peace she hadn’t realized she craved.

Then she noticed the heat. At first, she thought it was the sunlight catching them both wrong, but it was far too intense… it was him. The warmth radiated in rolling waves, unnatural, like the sun had condensed inside his chest. Her skin prickled as if warning her to back away. Panic tightened in her stomach. His breathing was hitched, shallow, ragged, a shudder coursing along his spine. She felt it through her own chest, like a shockwave.

“Artemis?” she whispered, voice trembling, fragile.

She pushed up on one elbow, blinking through the haze of sleep, and the sight of him rooted her in place. His face was flushed, slick with sweat, the skin stretched too tight across sharp bones that hadn’t been there before. He was thinner, drastically thinner, as if something had eaten away at him from the inside out while she slept. Every breath seemed to cost him. His fingers twitched against the cushions, white-knuckled, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords.

The thought struck her, cold and clean: the clone body was breaking down. The magic that held him together was failing, unravelling cell by cell. It was the only possible answer for what was happening. Sickening fear ripped thought her, she was about to watch him fall apart in front of her, and there would be nothing left to save.

His back arched violently, and Holly was forced to roll to the ground, the sound a grotesque crack and splinter of bone and sinew making her gag. A strangled groan clawed from his throat, raw, guttural, and wet. Blood spattered his lips, slick and warm, and she stumbled backward, tumbling to the floor, heart slamming.

Healing? she thought. He needs healing… but can I even touch this?

The clone body, her Artemis, was falling apart in real time, and every second made her stomach turn.

Bones snapped and stretched like dry timber under a storm. Skin split along seams that shouldn’t exist, splashing blood and glistening tissue, pulsing as if alive. Each motion left a smear across the couch: crimson, thick, smelling of iron and scorching hair. Fabric tore next, his clothes ripping apart in sudden, violent bursts as the change outgrew them, cotton and thread curling in the heat before catching flame. Buttons scattered like shrapnel, seams unraveling faster than his body could reshape. Sparks hissed as his skin ignited in micro-flares, tiny flames crawling up his arms and across the couch, devouring fabric and flesh alike. The air shimmered around him, warping from the heat, body vibrating so fast it hummed like a song in the space around them. Smoke curled from his skin where it met the open air, the scent of burning hair and blood sharp enough to sting her eyes. His body had become a furnace, the change feeding on itself, burning hotter, faster. Every convulsion sent another spray of embers spinning through the room.

The smell hit her fully then: scorched meat, molten fat, burnt sinew, and something alien beneath it, something wild and ravenous. Her stomach lurched, bile rising. She pressed herself against the floor, wide-eyed, powerless, utterly trapped as the creature that had been Artemis convulsed, hunched, reshaping itself with an impossible.

“Arty…” she breathed, the name catching in her throat.

The figure rising from the couch wasn’t human, it wasn’t even close. When it straightened, it stood at a height that made Butler look small, the ceiling lights burning reflections across a hide of pitch-black fur slick with blood. Its front limbs were long, built for strength and reach, ending in hands that could have been human once, now tipped with claws that scored deep into the floorboards. The back legs were thick, jointed like a predator’s, muscles bunching and rolling beneath the skin with every heaving breath.

Steam rose from its body in slow, ghostly coils. And then those eyes, his eyes, flared open. Not the soft colors she knew, but burning mismatched eyes, electric and wrong, like the cores of dying stars. They cut through the room, too bright, too aware. The air around him shimmered with heat, the scent of scorched wood and fur thickening the room until she could barely breathe.

Her heart hammered. She knew what she had to do, and the choice terrified her. She stepped back, feet sliding against the tile, and ran.
The tiles where slick beneath her heels from blood and sweat, her lungs burning. The creature’s head snapped toward her, long jaw flexing, teeth glinting even in the dim light. He wasn’t merely hunting; he was calculating, gauging her speed, her hesitation, every shift in her stance.

“Artemis!” she shouted, the name tasting wrong in her mouth, torn between fear and love.

He lunged, a blur of fur and snapping limbs. Holly dove sideways, barely missing a clawed forepaw that smashed into the wall where she’d been standing. Glass from a shattered picture frame scattered, scraping her skin as she twisted under the low coffee table, breath rattling in her chest. Sparks from his flaring skin ignited the rug, curling edges smoldering, the smell of scorched wool stinging her nostrils.

Her hands scrabbled against the floor, trying to find traction as his heavy form crashed after her. Even half-transformed, half-mad, Artemis’ mind worked with horrifying precision: this wasn’t just some animal, he was him, every ounce of his cunning twisted by pain and hunger.

She vaulted over the overturned armchair, fingers scraping along the upholstery to keep balance, boots catching briefly on the slick floor before she landed hard and stumbled forward. The crash behind her was deafening, his claws shredding through furniture like parchment, splinters and fabric exploding into the air. The sitting room, once orderly and familiar, was now a war zone of fire and splintered wood, every reflective surface catching the flash of blue flame in his eyes.

He moved with accuracy that made her stomach turn. Each step of his massive paws avoided the worst debris, each lunge calculated, as though the creature’s predatory instincts had fused perfectly with Artemis’s intellect. When he ducked through a doorway, he didn’t crash blindly, he angled himself, turning his shoulders, slipping through tight spaces with an animal’s grace and a mathematician’s precision. Even now, he was thinking. Hunting.

Holly’s lungs burned as she sprinted through the hall, heat baking against her skin, the smell of charred wood and blood closing in. Sparks hissed across the tile where his claws struck, scorching trails into the floor. The air itself seemed to vibrate with his proximity, every impact a tremor that rattled the pictures on the walls.

The sound was unreal, a collision of power and speed. A roar tore from his chest, shaking the dust from the walls. Holly scrambled upright, kicking a chair into his path, but he was faster than thought; pivoting mid-leap, claws digging deep, gouging the floor in that should have broken bone.

Her back hit the office door. Trapped. The massive silhouette filled the hall, shoulders heaving, eyes burning in the dark space like forge fire. His breath came in wet, ragged bursts, steaming the air between them. A low growl rippled through the space, the sound vibrating in her ribs.

What a ridiculous way to die, she thought numbly. Eaten alive by Artemis Fowl.

And then her eyes caught it… the small, delicate gold earrings still dangling from his ears. For a heartbeat, the sight almost broke the terror. Holly nearly laughed, a cracked, breathless sound that never quite made it out. The absurdity of it, a monster draped in blood and fire, still wearing a pair of earrings, was so sharply, painfully him.

The moment hung, fragile and strange, before it shifted. The faint glint of gold drew something behind those blazing eyes. Recognition flickered, faint but real, breaking through the chaos. His massive shoulders stilled, chest heaving, head tilting with a terrible slowness. It was deliberate. Controlled. Human.

Holly’s breath caught. For one impossible instant, she saw him, Artemis, trapped inside the monster’s shape, not safely, not fully, but there all the same.

The creature’s head dipped, impossibly, and his hot, damp nose brushed against her hair, close enough to feel the wild, feral scent mixed with the familiar cologne she knew. Her heart slammed in her chest, an intimate, terrifying moment that no sane elf should share with something that could tear them apart in an instant.

He breathed steam, ragged and scorching, and his eyes... Frond those impossibly expressive mismatched eyes locked on hers. Pain radiated from them in waves she could feel, and in that instant she understood: he was there inside this violent body, hurting, fighting, and still recognizing her.

The chase faltered, as if the creature, as if Artemis remembered what he was supposed to be. In that split heartbeat, he looked terrifying, broken, and aching.

Chapter Text

Holly sank to her knees, chest heaving, eyes never truly leaving him. The monstrous shape before her trembled, not with rage this time, but with some deep aching exhaustion. Steam curled from his black fur and the smell of burnt iron still clung to the air, but his gaze… burning, fierce, and yet somehow desperate… was completely fixed on her.

“Artemis…” she whispered again, voice trembling. Her hands hovered, unsure if reaching out would soothe him or provoke a fresh attack. The creature’s ears twitched, tilting slightly toward her, the faintest flicker of recognition. She could see the human mind straining against the feral instincts, every muscle coiled in pain and hunger.

Slowly, Holly crept forward, trying to appear small, non-threatening. “It’s me,” she said, her words steadying despite the terror clawing at her chest. “Holly. You’re… you’re okay. I’m here.”

His head lowered fractionally, nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air between them. Every breath was a battle, and she could see it in the tension running down his limbs. The claws dug into the floor, tiny fissures marking their struggle.

The air between them pulsed with heat, and a low, trembling growl slipped past his lips. But those eyes softened, if only just, the storm behind them ebbing, recognition flickering stronger. She dared to hope –

Artemis turned suddenly, putting his back to her, as if that little rampage had been little more than a game. Holly sagged, ears still ringing from the adrenaline that now had nowhere to flow. Her gaze followed him, tracing the grotesque poetry of his movement.

Each step left a smear of dark, sticky blood across the polished wood, gleaming in the fractured light like molten copper. His shoulders were hunched, muscles rippling beneath slick black fur that clung to his frame like a heavy rug. Powerful back legs flexed with every motion, but fatigue made the movement jerky, uncoordinated, like a machine losing power mid-cycle. When he stumbled, he lowered himself onto all fours, limbs splaying, claws gouging deep into the floorboards with a wet scrape that made her stomach lurch.

Even in that bestial posture, traces of Artemis remained: the sharp angle of his jaw, now coated in blood but still ironically unmistakable; the intelligent tilt of his head as his mismatched eyes scanned the hallway, calculating, assessing. His ears twitched with awareness, rotating independently, picking up sounds she hadn’t realized had been muffled by her own panic. Steam rose from the joints of his limbs, and the fur along his spine bristled with every labored breath. The scent of scorched sinew and iron clung to him, sharp and metallic, but beneath it lingered something familiar, the faint, masculine scent of cologne he insisted on.

Holly sank lower against the oak, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them like a shield. Her lungs still burned, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t even think straight. The hallway felt impossibly long, every polished floorboard reflecting the dark blur of Artemis as he lumbered toward the kitchen. Each click of his claws was a clocks lament in her skull, a reminder of everything that had just happened.

She wanted to scream, to fight, to do something, but nothing came. Her mind refused to form words. One moment she’d been watching his clone body rip itself apart and she had barely begun to mourn, the next he was a living, breathing wolf, dragging gore through the home like a child with muddy boots. Too fast. Too unreal. Her chest tightened with the absurdity and the terror all at once, and she laughed quietly, short and hollow, and then immediately felt tears sting her eyes.

She should have been running after him, saving him, stopping him, but she couldn’t. All she could do was watch, frozen, as the curve of his back, the power in his haunches, the gleam of his teeth as he sniffed the air and followed some internal compass toward the kitchen made her feel like she’d been dropped into someone else’s nightmare.

Holly wasn’t sure how long she stayed curled up in the hall, trying to wrap her head around the impossibility of it all. Calling for help wasn’t an option, not because no one could come, but because she couldn’t even pull herself to her feet. She didn’t know how she had ended up here, in this moment, so there was no sense in trying to explain it to anyone else.

So she sat. She breathed. She counted. Tried to center herself, like she had a million times before in a million other impossible situations. Halfway through counting the grains of wood in the floor, a crash came from the kitchen. And for an absurd heartbeat, her mind leapt to the ridiculous thought that Artemis would be upset if there was a mess to clean up.

Finally, Holly forced herself up, knees shaky, heart hammering. Each step toward the kitchen felt unreal, as if she were moving through water, yet somehow the scent of iron and raw flesh guided her. The closer she got, the more chaotic the sounds became: tearing, crunching, wet smacks that made her stomach lurch.

She paused in the kitchen door for a second time in twelve hours and found Artemis there making a small snack of things he should not. He’d already cleared half the refrigerator: the raw chicken from earlier, cold bacon she could smell next to the smoke, eggs cracked under his teeth, a small roast shredded across the tile. The fish was next, swallowed nearly in one go. Then the calamari, the glass jar smashed against the floor and then lapped up with a wet tongue.  

Holly pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a gag. Her stomach twisted, a mix of nausea and disbelief. Even as revulsion clawed at her, she couldn’t look away. His eyes, still that impossible combination of burning feral hunger and human awareness, flicked to her briefly, scanning, acknowledging, but utterly focused on the feast before him. He tore another hunk of chicken with a brutal precision the sound of crunching bones made her knees weaken.

She swallowed hard, trying to summon the courage to step closer. “Artemis,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Maybe you should… slowdown”

She gave up almost as quickly as she stared. His ears flicked toward her once, a subtle acknowledgment, but otherwise he paid her no mind. Every motion was incredibly methodical, like he was working through a checklist only he understood. The kitchen was a disaster: splatters of blood and egg streaked across counters, which he of course cleaned up with his mouth.

Eventually, Artemis snorted, a deep, wet sound, and paused. Nothing else in the kitchen caught his attention. Satisfaction seemed to settle in as he licked his jaws, the wet sound echoing in the small room. His mismatched eyes flicked back to her, sharper now, assessing. She felt a shiver run through her, but this time met his gave in stubborn annoyance.

“Maybe you should… take an iron pill too. You lost a lot of blood,” she said, her voice echoing strangely in the room. She knew it was a stupid thing to say, almost laughable, but what else could she say? Advice, encouragement, a plea, a threat, none of it felt like it fit the moment. She stayed still, hands gripping the edge of the counter, breath shaky, trying to anchor herself while watching the creature that had once been Artemis settle, disturbingly content, on the carnage around him.

“If you’re finished… maybe we should do something about… this.” Her voice came out hoarse, half a whisper, half a sigh. She gestured weakly toward him, toward the blood-slick fur, the carnage-strewn kitchen, the utter ruin of everything, and his eyes followed the motion. Not understanding, not really, but listening. The attention alone was unnerving; there was intelligence behind it, a sharpness that hadn’t burned away with the transformation.

“Butler’s going to kill you,” she muttered, forcing a shaky breath that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so close to tears. “Actually, you might kill you. Did you see what you did to your damn Persian rug?”

He didn’t respond, of course. His head tilted slightly, ears pricking, but there was no human reaction, no flash of guilt, no snide remark, no biting wit to fill the space. Just the faint sound of his breathing, steady and low, and the soft drip of something, blood, oil, melted ice, from the counter to the tile.

He could transform into a creature twice his own size, she thought, muscles and bones rebuilt in seconds… but nature couldn’t be bothered to give him a voice. Typical. That would just be ridiculous.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Artemis sat amid the wreckage, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. His fur was matted with blood and grease, but the terrible, frantic energy had drained away. He only watched her now, eyes bright but strangely calm, as if the hunger had finally burnt itself out.

Holly didn’t trust it. Her every instinct screamed at her to stay still, to make no sudden moves, but exhaustion pulled her shoulders down until she leaned against the counter. The tile was cold through her uniform, grounding in a way nothing else had been tonight.

The sudden ping of her communicator made her flinch so hard she nearly toppled over. The tiny screen glowed from her pocket and she all but fumbled trying to pull it out. Foaly’s name flashing across it.

I got N1’s on standby for a little on call doctors app. Ring when you can : )

For a heartbeat she could only stare, half-laughing, half-crying. Backup. Real people. The idea felt distant, like someone else’s dream. Her gaze flicked back to Artemis, massive, silent, staring at her with those terrible, familiar eyes and a wild, impossible thought sparked through the haze.

Her thumbs moved before she could talk herself out of it.

Can you check Arty’s in-home cameras?

She hesitated, then added

I think I’m having a hallucination.