Morning light filtered through the Underground's ventition system, creating patterns of brightness in the medical area. Elena arrived early, having slept little, her mind occupied with the twins they'd rescued the previous day. She found Viktor already there, sitting quietly in a corner, observing the children as they slept.

  "How long have you been here?" she asked softly, joining him.

  "A few hours," Viktor replied. "Their sleep patterns were erratic—nightmares. I thought a familiar presence might help if they woke disoriented."

  Elena studied him briefly, noting the thoughtful expression as he watched over the twins. It was a side of Viktor she was still getting accustomed to—this protective instinct that seemed to have awakened in him.

  On the twin beds, Eva and Adam slept curled toward each other despite the space between them, as though even in sleep they sought their sibling's proximity. The medical staff had cleaned them up, repced their filthy clothes with donated items, and treated their minor injuries, but nothing could immediately erase the gauntness of their faces or the wariness that had settled in their young eyes.

  "Dr. Sandoval." Sophia Chen's voice came from the doorway. "I thought I might find you here."

  Elena turned. "Professor. How are they doing medically?"

  "Malnourished, dehydrated, but no serious physical injuries," Sophia reported, consulting her clipboard. "Blood work shows anemia and vitamin deficiencies, which we've started treating. Remarkably resilient, considering three weeks alone in those conditions."

  She gnced at Viktor, her expression showing mild surprise at his presence. "Dr. Novak. I wouldn't have expected you to take a personal interest in pediatric cases."

  Viktor met her gaze steadily. "Children often exhibit different response patterns to trauma than adults. Scientifically interesting."

  Elena recognized his deflection—framing compassion as clinical interest to maintain his carefully constructed persona. Sophia seemed to accept this, making a note on her clipboard.

  "The community leadership is meeting this morning to discuss pcement," Sophia continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "We have an established system for orphaned children—three communal caretaker groups that rotate responsibilities. The twins would typically be assigned to one of those groups."

  "Separating them would be counterproductive to psychological recovery," Viktor said, his analysis precise and clinical. "Their shared trauma experience has created a survival-dependent bond."

  Sophia raised an eyebrow. "The communal groups keep siblings together, Dr. Novak. We've had enough orphans since the outbreak to develop proper protocols. I assure you, we're not amateurs when it comes to traumatized children."

  "I'd like to oversee their medical recovery," Elena said, her practical nature coming through. "They're showing signs of mild malnutrition and post-traumatic stress. I'd prefer to monitor them directly, at least initially. They're already responding to us after the rescue."

  Viktor and Sophia both looked at her with different forms of surprise.

  "I could..." Viktor began, then recalibrated his approach. "The variable response patterns in recently traumatized children would provide valuable observational data. I could assist Dr. Sandoval while maintaining our research schedule."

  Sophia studied them both with the same evaluative gaze Elena remembered from graduate seminars. "It's unorthodox to pce children outside the established caretaker system, but given their unique circumstances and your medical qualifications..." She made a precise note on her clipboard. "I'll present your proposal to Captain Rivera. Understand that this would be temporary—purely for medical stabilization until they're ready to join the standard orphan care rotation."

  As Sophia left, Elena turned to Viktor. "You don't have to help with this. I know children weren't part of your research focus."

  "Neither were vampire transformations," he replied quietly. "Circumstances necessitate adaptation."

  Before Elena could respond, a small voice interrupted them.

  "Are you really doctors?"

  Adam was awake, watching them with cautious eyes. Eva stirred beside him, immediately alert at her brother's voice.

  Elena approached slowly, smiling. "Good morning. Yes, we're doctors. How are you feeling today?"

  "Hungry," Adam answered immediately.

  Eva nudged him. "You're supposed to say 'fine' first."

  This small glimpse of childhood social coaching made something catch in Elena's chest. Even in survival mode, they'd maintained these fragments of normal childhood interaction.

  "Hungry is an honest assessment of your condition," Viktor said, his tone gentler than usual. "And medically relevant. Shall we see about breakfast?"

  The twins watched him warily, but the mention of food had captured their full attention.

  An hour ter, they sat in a quiet corner of the community dining area. Elena had carefully selected foods that would be gentle on malnourished systems—oatmeal with a small amount of honey, diluted protein broth, soft-cooked vegetables. The twins approached the meal with different strategies: Adam eating quickly, as though the food might disappear, while Eva took tiny bites, watching the adults for any sign of disapproval.

  "Slowly," Elena cautioned Adam gently. "Your stomach needs time to adjust."

  He slowed marginally, eyes darting between his food and Viktor, who was expining the Underground's daily routine in simple terms.

  "Most children attend csses in the morning," Viktor was saying. "There's a recreational period after lunch, then skill-building activities in the afternoon."

  "What kind of skills?" Adam asked between careful spoonfuls.

  "Practical ones," Viktor replied. "Basic electronics, simple agriculture, water purification. Knowledge that helps the community function."

  Eva, who had barely spoken since waking, finally asked, "Do we have to go to these csses?"

  "Not immediately," Elena assured her. "You'll have time to recover first."

  "And then we'll join the other kids without parents?" Eva asked, her eyes sharp and assessing beyond her years.

  Elena exchanged a gnce with Viktor. "For now, you'll stay in the medical section where we can monitor your recovery. Dr. Novak and I will be looking after you during this transition."

  "After your condition stabilizes," Viktor added with clinical precision, "you would likely join one of the Underground's established childcare units."

  "What are those like?" Adam asked, curiosity overtaking his caution.

  "The Underground has organized systems for children in your situation," Elena expined, her tone gentle but straightforward. "Special areas where children stay together with trained caregivers who know how to help after everything that's happened."

  This information seemed to rex both children slightly. Whatever they had experienced during those three weeks alone had clearly created a powerful wariness of strangers.

  "Can you tell us more about yourselves?" Elena asked gently. "What did you like to do before... before you were in the tunnels?"

  The twins shared one of those silent communications that seemed to require no words.

  "I liked to draw," Eva said quietly. "And read. We had lots of books."

  "I built things," Adam added, animation entering his voice for the first time. "Dad helped me make a sor-powered car once. It was small, but it really worked."

  "Your father was an engineer?" Viktor asked.

  Adam nodded. "He fixed things for everyone in our building. Mom was a teacher."

  Past tense. So the children understood, at some level, that their parents weren't coming back. Elena felt a pang of sadness but kept her expression encouraging.

  "Perhaps you could help me fix some equipment sometime," Viktor suggested. "We have a mechanical workshop here."

  Adam's eyes widened with interest, while Eva watched the interaction carefully, as though evaluating Viktor's trustworthiness.

  "What kind of doctor are you?" she asked suddenly.

  "I specialized in cellur biology," Viktor answered. "Studying how the smallest parts of our bodies work."

  "And you?" she turned to Elena.

  "Immunology—how our bodies fight diseases."

  Eva considered this. "So you're not doctors who fix people when they're sick?"

  "We have those skills too," Elena assured her. "Medicine requires understanding how bodies work before you can help them heal."

  This seemed to satisfy Eva for the moment, though Elena noted how the little girl continued to observe everything with careful attention.

  The days settled into a routine. Each morning, Elena would check the twins' physical condition, documenting their gradual improvement. Viktor would join them for breakfast, often bringing small educational projects—simple experiments with water and light, basic electrical circuits, or mechanical puzzles he'd constructed.

  In the afternoons, they introduced the twins to other children in the Underground, facilitating carefully supervised py sessions. The twins' integration was challenging at first—they stayed close together, watching rather than participating—but gradually, Adam began to engage, particurly when activities involved building or problem-solving.

  Eva remained more reserved, her protective instinct toward her brother evident in how she monitored his interactions. Elena recognized the behavior of a child forced into a caregiving role too young—the hypervigince, the reluctance to rex her guard.

  "She's carrying too much responsibility," Elena observed one evening as they watched the children from across the recreation area. Adam was helping to construct a fort from scavenged materials with three other boys, while Eva sat nearby, ostensibly reading but clearly monitoring her brother.

  "A common adaptation in survival situations," Viktor noted. "The protective role gives her purpose and control in an uncertain environment."

  "She's seven years old," Elena said softly. "She should be pying, not watching for threats."

  Viktor's expression grew contemptive. "Children adapt to the world they're given, not the one they deserve."

  The simple truth of this statement hung between them. After a moment, Viktor rose from his seat. "Perhaps a different approach might help."

  Elena watched with interest as he approached Eva, sitting beside her without immediately speaking. The little girl gnced up warily but didn't retreat. After a moment, Viktor removed something from his pocket—a small prism he had recovered from the boratory section.

  "Light contains more than what we can see," he said, holding the prism up to a beam of illumination from the ceiling fixture. The resulting rainbow spilled across the table between them.

  Eva's eyes widened slightly at the dispy. "How does it do that?"

  "The prism separates the wavelengths—the colors that together appear white to our eyes," Viktor expined. "Each color travels at a slightly different angle through the gss."

  He pced the prism on the table between them. "Would you like to try?"

  Elena watched as Eva cautiously took the prism, experimenting with different angles to create rainbow patterns. The simple scientific demonstration had engaged her curiosity in a way that traditional py hadn't. Viktor continued the impromptu physics lesson, expining light properties in terms a child could understand but without the condescension adults often used with children.

  By the time Adam wandered over to see what they were doing, Eva was smiling—a real smile that transformed her serious face into that of a typical seven-year-old. Something in Elena's chest tightened at the sight.

  "Can I try?" Adam asked eagerly.

  "Eva will show you," Viktor said, deliberately creating an opportunity for her to transition from being protected to sharing knowledge.

  Eva's expnation to her brother was precise and thoughtful, using several of the terms Viktor had taught her. Elena caught Viktor's gaze across the room, sharing a moment of quiet satisfaction at this small breakthrough.

  On the fifth evening after the rescue, Adam asked Viktor for a story before bed.

  "I don't know many children's stories," Viktor admitted, looking momentarily uncertain.

  "Tell us about when you were a scientist," Adam suggested, already in his bed in the small recovery room that had become the twins' temporary home. "Before everything changed."

  Viktor gnced at Elena, who was checking Eva's healing scrapes from the tunnel. They had been careful about how much of the pre-outbreak world they discussed with the children, not wanting to emphasize all they had lost.

  "Well," Viktor began carefully, "I worked in a boratory with many other scientists. We had special equipment that let us see things too small for normal eyes to detect."

  "Like germs?" Adam asked.

  "Even smaller. The tiny building blocks that make up everything in our bodies," Viktor expined. "We were trying to understand how these building blocks could be repaired when they were damaged."

  "To help sick people?" Eva asked, her interest caught despite her usual reserve.

  Viktor's expression flickered briefly with something complex. "That was the hope. To help people live longer, healthier lives."

  "Did you have friends at your boratory?" Adam asked, settling deeper into his bnkets.

  A shadow crossed Viktor's features, so brief the children wouldn't notice, but Elena caught it. "Yes. One colleague—Dr. Reeves—would bring homemade cookies to share during te research sessions. Another—Dr. Lin—would tell jokes that only scientists would understand."

  "Tell us one," Adam prompted.

  Viktor appeared to search his memory. "Dr. Lin once asked why the physicist brought a dder to the bar." He paused. "Because he heard the drinks were on the house."

  It wasn't particurly funny, but Adam giggled appreciatively while Eva rolled her eyes in a startlingly adult gesture.

  "Dr. Lin sounds nice," Adam said, his eyelids growing heavy.

  "He was," Viktor said quietly. "He cared about his research making a difference in people's lives."

  As Viktor continued sharing carefully edited memories of boratory life—the competitions to grow the most interesting crystals, the time someone accidentally set off the emergency shower system—Elena observed how naturally he adjusted his vocabury and concepts for the children's understanding.

  By the time he finished, Adam had drifted to sleep, his breathing deep and even. Eva fought her own fatigue longer, but eventually her eyes closed as well. Viktor rose carefully from his seat between their beds.

  "You're good with them," Elena said softly as they moved toward the door.

  Viktor looked momentarily surprised by the observation. "Children respond to honesty. They know when adults are being disingenuous, even if they can't articute it."

  "Most people would find it challenging to connect with traumatized children after just a few days," she persisted. "You make it look effortless."

  "Hardly effortless," Viktor demurred. "But perhaps predictable patterns exist in child psychology that can be identified and addressed, just like any scientific problem."

  Elena smiled at his characteristic deflection of the personal into the scientific. "Of course. Purely analytical."

  Viktor caught her gentle teasing and acknowledged it with a slight upturn of his lips. "The research applications are fascinating."

  They had reached the corridor outside the recovery room when Viktor paused, his expression shifting to concern.

  "What is it?" Elena asked.

  "Adam's temperature was elevated tonight," he said quietly. "Not significantly, but noticeable to me. And his respiratory rate increased slightly during rest periods."

  Elena frowned. "I didn't notice anything during this morning's examination."

  "It's recent," Viktor said. "And subtle. I wouldn't have detected it without..." He didn't need to finish the sentence. His enhanced senses had picked up what normal human perception would miss.

  "I'll run a more thorough check tomorrow," Elena promised. "It could be a simple cold or fatigue from increased activity."

  Viktor nodded, but she could see lingering concern in his eyes. "There's something else. His lymph nodes showed minor swelling consistent with early infection response. The pattern reminds me of..." He hesitated.

  "Of what?" Elena prompted.

  "Some of the early transformation cases I observed in the first days after the outbreak," Viktor said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Before the more dramatic symptoms appeared."

  A chill ran through Elena. "You think he might have been exposed to the virus?"

  "It's unlikely," Viktor said quickly. "The symptoms could indicate many common infections. But given the twins' time in the tunnels, the possibility should be monitored."

  Elena nodded, appreciating his caution while sharing his concern. "We'll watch him closely. Run additional tests tomorrow."

  They stood in silent worry for a moment, the sleeping children just beyond the door creating a shared focal point for their concern.

  "If it is virus-reted," Elena said carefully, "your experience might be crucial in identifying it early."

  Viktor nodded, his expression grave. "Let's hope it's nothing more than a child's ordinary illness."

  But as they parted ways for the night, the shared gnce between them carried a weight of worry neither could fully voice. In their short time as caretakers, the twins had become more than research subjects or rescue cases. They had become children under their protection—a responsibility neither had anticipated but both had embraced.

  And now, with the shadow of possible illness hanging over Adam, that sense of responsibility deepened into something that transcended their carefully maintained scientific detachment.

  They had become, in every way that mattered, the twins' protectors against a world that had already taken too much from them.