Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

Night in the Phantom Dimension always carried an eerie sameness, yet it never failed to unsettle. The sky bled crimson, casting an unnatural glow over the desolate cityscape. A thick, cloying silence reigned, pressing down like an unspoken decree of dominance.

The air itself was an assault—rancid, acrid, searing through the nostrils like a toxic fog, twisting the stomach with an unrelenting urge to retch.

Cold humidity clung to every surface, seeping into clothes and skin alike, making warmth a fleeting illusion. The atmosphere hummed with something indescribable—an inaudible shriek of dread, frustration, and quiet, suffocating panic.

For an entire year, they had been trapped in this dimension, seven hours each night, every night. Logic dictated that they should have adjusted by now, but the Phantom Dimension had a way of unraveling the mind.

Every expedition unearthed something worse than before—things that gnawed at sanity, discoveries that twisted the stomach with primal fear. Each night was a gamble, each step forward a wager against death.

Tonight, was no different. The six of them sat in a tight circle, backs straight, eyes closed—not in sleep, but in strained composure.

Tomorrow, they would take the jeep to Savannah, as they planned.

Logan’s wristwatch ticked down, its mechanical rhythm the only measure of time in a place where it barely seemed to exist. A few more seconds, and the shift would begin.

The plan for the night was simple: gather supplies. Weapons, medical kits, food, and mattresses—anything that could make their rare moments of rest more bearable.

Ashlyn had been insistent on splitting up, a precaution against disaster. If something went wrong, they couldn’t afford to be clustered in one place, an easy target for whatever horrors lurked in the ruins.

They would take separate buses for each supply, scatter throughout the city, and regroup at dawn. It was a strategy born from experience, from too many nights of things going wrong in ways they hadn’t foreseen.

Each of them knew what was at stake. The Phantom Dimension was not merciful, and hesitation could mean death. The moment Logan’s watch rang, they would move—into the safe, comforting warmth of their world.

BEEP!

The shrill, familiar sound cut through the heavy silence, a signal of salvation. Relief washed over them like a wave, the beeping watch marking the moment they had waited for—the moment they would finally be pulled back home.

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEE—

The sound stopped.

Their eyes snapped open in unison, synchronized by a feeling none of them dared to voice. The source of the interruption was clear—Logan had silenced the watch himself.

His fingers hovered stiffly over the device, his face locked in an expression that made their stomachs twist. Something was wrong.

Terribly, inexplicably wrong.

The air around them felt heavier, thick with an oppressive stillness that gnawed at the edges of reason.

Logan’s throat bobbed as he struggled to force words past the lump forming there. His gaze remained glued to the watch, as if staring at it hard enough might alter the truth it was spelling out.

“It usually only beeps three times before the shift back…” His voice was tight, uncertain. “Back—” The word barely left his lips before his thoughts tangled, his mind racing too fast for speech to keep up.

Taylor swallowed hard. She hated this—hated the way unease spread between them like wildfire, how it wrapped around her lungs and squeezed. “Are we stuck in here?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough weight to make the thought real. A terrible, suffocating possibility.

No one answered. They didn’t have to. The fear in their eyes spoke louder than words. It passed between them in an instant—like a current, an unspoken confirmation that they were all thinking the same thing.

The shift hadn’t happened.

And they were still here.

“Okay, let’s just—let’s chill out first.” Tyler’s voice broke through the rising panic, strained but firm. His fingers brushed over Taylor’s hand, an attempt to steady her, to steady himself.

His leg bounced slightly, betraying his own unease, but he forced his tone into something resembling control. “Guys, get your shit together. Maybe Logan didn’t start the timer right away. We should just wai—”

But horror had a way of shattering both logic and denial.

Their heads snapped toward the graveyard’s gates as the first scream ripped through the air. A single, piercing shriek—raw and primal, the kind wrenched from a throat drowning in agony. Then another. And another. A chorus of torment, some closer, others distant, all merging into a grotesque symphony of suffering.

Then came the other sounds.

Tearing. The sickening wet rip of flesh being shredded apart, peeled away as if by eager, hungry hands. Choking.

The desperate, ragged gasps of throats flooding with their own vital fluids, gargled and broken. Bones cracked like dry twigs beneath relentless force, and somewhere in the distance, something was gnawing, a wet, slurping noise that churned the stomach.

None of them moved.

They had spent countless nights in this hell, had witnessed horrors beyond comprehension, had fought tooth and nail just to see the sunrise—but this was different.

This was something new. For an entire year, they had never encountered another soul. Only the black creatures with their twisted, endless smiles.

So why were there people here now?

Ashlyn was the first to move, though her legs betrayed her, trembling despite her effort to keep steady. “We’re not the ones stuck here…” Her voice wavered, breath shallow, barely audible over the carnage.

Without another word, she grabbed onto the side of the bus closest to the wall, hoisting herself up with hands just as unsteady as her steps.

The others followed.

The climb felt harder than usual, as if the weight of what lay below dragged them down.

Logan nearly lost his grip, his footing slipping against the metal, and would have fallen back first onto the pavement if Ben hadn’t caught him at the last second.

Then, standing tall above the lighted barrier, they saw it.

Hell.

Bodies were strewn across the street like discarded meat, twisted in unnatural shapes, torn open with stomachs hollowed out, their organs unspooled like rotting fruit left to the elements.

Some were missing entire limbs, jagged stumps still oozing, pooling into glistening puddles of crimson.

Others had been flayed down to the bone, their exposed ribs gleaming under the hellish red sky, empty sockets gaping up at nothing.

But worse were the ones still alive.

Figures scrambled through the streets, shrieking, wailing, their bodies slick with fresh blood as they stumbled and fell—only to be pounced upon by the horde of Phantoms chasing them.

The creatures were merciless, moving with unnatural grace, razor-sharp fingers slicing through flesh as if it were nothing more than damp paper.

One unfortunate soul was tackled mid-run, their body pinned down as bony hands tore into their stomach, ripping out intestines in long, glistening loops.

The victim convulsed, their hands clawing at the pavement, fingers scraping until their nails peeled away from the skin. Their mouth opened in a silent scream as a Phantom leaned down, its jagged teeth sinking into their throat, tearing flesh away in a single, sickening pull.

And then there was the body near the graveyard.

It hung from a tree Aiden had once used to set up a beatbox to distract the Phantoms.

Only now, there was no music. Only silence. The corpse’s mouth gaped unnaturally wide, lips torn at the corners, blood still running down its chin in thick, glistening streams.

A branch had impaled through the roof of its mouth, jutting out grotesquely from the back of its skull like some cruel display. The expression frozen on its face was one of eternal, petrified horror.

Taylor gagged. She turned away, bile rising in her throat, her body trembling with the effort of keeping it down.

A Phantom stood just beyond the corpse, its gaping maw stretched into that impossible, twisted grin.

Its hollow eyes bore into them, an unnatural hunger radiating from its stare. For a moment, it was utterly still, like a predator sizing up its prey, ready to pounce. The only thing holding it back was the light—those strong, blinding lights around the graveyard that kept them at bay.

But it didn’t leave.

Not immediately.

It lingered, that sickening grin never faltering, before suddenly jerking its head toward the sound of another bloodcurdling scream. And just like that, it was gone, vanishing into the chaos to claim another victim.

Ashlyn exhaled, a breath that sounded almost like a sob, like she didn’t even want to give words to the realization forming in her mind. But when she finally spoke, her voice was hollow, resolute.

“It’s this place that’s stuck in our world.”

II.

Logan’s breath hitched as he glanced down at his watch.

12:09 AM.

His blood ran cold. The realization hit them like ice spreading through his veins. This was wrong. It was all wrong. The shift had already passed, and yet they were still here, trapped in the same nightmarish dimension they had suffered through for the past year. The weight of it settled in his chest, thick and suffocating, like an unseen force had clenched around his lungs.

Tyler stood stiffly beside him, his fingers twitching, his breath uneven. He had spent every waking moment forcing himself into composure, erecting walls of steel around his emotions, but now—now those walls were crumbling.

His feet shifted backward, inch by inch, his body wound tight like a coiled spring ready to snap. His mind wasn’t here anymore; it was outside these walls, running through the blood-streaked streets, searching for someone who might already be gone.

“Ma..”

The word rasped from his throat, brittle and desperate. He barely registered the way his voice cracked at the edges, barely acknowledged the stares burning into him as he pivoted on his heel and leaped off the ten-foot wall without hesitation.

His landing was near silent, his body absorbing the impact with trained ease. He didn’t pause. He didn’t wait for logic or reason to take hold. He ran.

The bus was barely held together, its rusted exterior glinting under the crimson sky. He tore inside without a second thought, lungs burning, hands shaking as he dug through the storage crates.

Sharp metal bit into his skin, thin lines of red pooling across his fingers, but he paid them no mind. He shoved aside useless scraps of debris, reaching deeper, pulling out anything that could help.

His hands wrapped around the handle of his bladed bat, fingers clenching so tightly around it that his knuckles turned white.

The familiar weight of it grounded him, but it wasn’t enough to smother the anxiety clawing at his insides.

If this nightmare had truly bled into their world, if the phantoms had found a way to seep into the place they had fought so desperately to return to—then his mother was in danger.

A sharp inhale.

He turned—and nearly collided with Aiden, Ben standing right behind him.

For a moment, none of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding.

They weren’t just standing there—they were caught in the same storm, bound by the same sickening realization.

Their families, their loved ones, were out there. And if there was even the slightest chance they could reach them in time, then they had no choice but to move.

Without a word, they followed his lead, their movements swift and calculated.

Aiden reached for a machete, testing its weight in his hand, while Ben pulled an axe from the pile of discarded weapons. The three of them worked in sync, no orders needed, no time to waste.

Tyler turned toward the doorway, his grip tightening around his bat. He took in a slow breath, attempting to steady the erratic pounding of his heart.

The cold metal of the flashlight in his other hand was reassuring, but the thought of what lay beyond those doors twisted something deep inside him.

Still, he couldn’t hesitate.

He pressed his fingers against the red button near the door, ready to throw it open, ready to face whatever horrors awaited beyond the threshold. But before he could push it, something shifted beside him.

Taylor.

She stood next to him, her posture rigid, both hands firmly gripping a gun. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her expression didn’t waver. But her eyes—they told him everything. Determination burned behind them, unwavering, unrelenting. She had made her choice, just as he had.

His fingers twitched away from the button. He turned, scanning the others, taking in their expressions. Each one was prepared, weapons at the ready, minds set on the same goal. They were going. There was no stopping them.

But Taylor—

His stomach twisted violently.

She couldn’t come with him.

He could face the monsters. He could charge headfirst into the unknown, into the blood-drenched streets filled with horrors beyond comprehension. But he couldn’t bear the thought of Taylor being at his side, of her getting caught in the nightmare, of her being torn apart because of him.

If something happened to her, how could he live with himself?

He exhaled shakily, the battle between logic and instinct waging war in his mind. He needed to act, needed to come up with something—because no matter how resolute she looked, no matter how tightly she gripped that gun, no matter how much she had already made up her mind—he wasn’t letting her go out there.

Tyler moved to rest a hand on Taylor’s shoulder, his fingers pressing lightly against the fabric of her jacket.

He caught the way her eyes flickered toward his hand before shifting up to meet his gaze, a silent plea already forming in the glistening depths of her stare. As if she could predict the words before he could even speak them, she shook her head furiously.

“No—don’t even think about it, Ty!”

Her voice wavered, but the determination in it was unshakable. She knew exactly what he was about to say, and she wasn’t having any of it.

The thought of staying behind was completely out of the question for her. He could see it in the way her chest rose and fell, the way her breath hitched as panic clawed at her throat.

She wouldn’t allow him to go alone—because, deep down, she feared he wouldn’t come back if she wasn’t there to drag him home herself.

But Tyler had already made up his mind.

From his point of view, that was a preferable outcome to both of them walking into hell together, only to never return at all.

His jaw clenched as he adjusted his stance, his fingers tightening around her shoulders. The weapons he had gathered clattered to the ground, but he didn’t care. He needed to shake some sense into her.

“Tay, listen to me,” he tried, his voice firm but gentle, shaking her slightly as if he could physically pull her out of her spiraling thoughts. But she refused to listen.

She just kept shaking her head, back and forth, her body trembling as tears pooled at the edges of her eyes.

She wasn’t sobbing—at least, not yet—but the way her chest stuttered with each breath told him she was barely keeping it together. The sight of her like this twisted something deep in his gut.

And for a moment—just a fleeting second—he wanted to stay.

He wanted to let his arms drop, to pull her into the hug she so obviously needed, to tell her that everything would be okay, that they’d figure this out together.

But he couldn’t.

Not when his mother was out there. Not when every second wasted could be the difference between saving her or finding nothing but the bloodstained remnants of her body.

“Taylor!”

His voice cut through the chaos, sharper this time, louder. The sudden force of it startled her enough to make her freeze.

He could see the shift in her expression, the hesitation, the way her mind suddenly became flooded with a million different thoughts.

She was slipping, drowning in fear, unable to focus.

He shook her again, more urgently this time.

“Listen carefully,” he said, lowering his voice just slightly. He leaned in, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’m going to get Mom back. Safe and sound. I promise.”

She blinked, but she didn’t respond. Her lips parted, her breath hitching, but her mind seemed to be drifting further away with each passing second.

Tyler grit his teeth, feeling exhaustion creeping into his limbs. He didn’t have time for this.

“Am I understood?”

His voice wasn’t sharp this time—it was desperate.

Finally, after a painfully long moment, she gave a slow, reluctant nod. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. A fraction of the weight crushing his chest lifted, just enough for him to breathe again.

It took him a few more seconds to release his grip on her, and even then, he hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to keep holding on, to make sure she was safe, to promise her that everything would be alright.

But he couldn’t make that promise.

And deep down, they both knew it.

With a clenched jaw, he turned to Ashlyn, eyes burning with an unspoken plea. “Take her with you,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Check on Mr. and Mrs. Banner. We’ll meet back here.”

Ashlyn nodded, already moving to take Taylor’s hand in hers, her grip firm yet careful.

Tyler crouched down, quickly gathering the supplies he had dropped, but his mind was already elsewhere. His stomach twisted at the thought of leaving Taylor’s safety in someone else’s hands, even Ashlyn’s. But if anyone could ensure his sister made it out of this alive, it was her.

With their weapons gripped tightly and their bodies tense, they gathered in front of the graveyard’s only exit.

Each of them took a deep breath, inhaling the stale, blood-tinged air as if it might be their last. Exhaling in unison, they silently agreed—it was time.

Out of nowhere, Aiden lunged forward, throwing a fist straight into the gate’s emergency release button before Tyler could reach it. The force of the punch sent a sharp clang echoing into the night, and the gate lurched into motion.

Tyler scoffed, shaking his head at Aiden’s signature recklessness. Even in the middle of hell itself, that adrenaline-fueled addiction to chaos never wavered.

As soon as the gate opened just enough to let three of them through at once, Tyler, Aiden, Ben, and Logan surged forward, sprinting into the night without hesitation. Meanwhile, Ashlyn and Taylor peeled off in the opposite direction, heading for the Banners’ house.

Tyler felt a lump form in his throat, his mind clawing at every worst-case scenario.

What if a phantom had already reached their home? What if his mother was lying there in pieces, her remains indistinguishable from the carnage they had passed on the way? What if, by the time they returned, neither Taylor nor Ashlyn was still standing?

He forced the thoughts down, grinding his teeth as his feet pounded against the pavement. There was no time for doubt.

The city was chaos, a never-ending gauntlet of horrors. The moment they stepped outside the graveyard’s protective lights, it was as if the darkness itself had been waiting for them.

Shadows twisted in the streets, shifting unnaturally in the flickering remnants of streetlights. The creatures came in waves, their grinning, inky black forms lunging from alleyways and rooftops alike.

There was no counting how many they killed—every strike, every swing of their weapons was met with another ambush from the opposite direction. Their arms burned, their bodies ached, but there was no stopping. Not now.

They ran for what felt like hours, their breathing ragged, their muscles screaming for relief. The blood-spattered streets blurred past them in a never-ending nightmare of carnage. Tyler barely registered the corpses lining the roads—some fresh, their wounds still oozing, others stripped to the bone.

III.

It wasn’t until the towering outline of trees loomed in the distance that Tyler’s steps faltered.

The forest.

His gut clenched at the sight of it. No matter how many times they had ventured through, he had never grown accustomed to it.

Something about those woods always unsettled him—the way the trees seemed to breathe, the way the shadows moved even when the wind was still. But right now, he could afford to be grateful.

At the very least, the thick foliage would give them a chance to rest, if only for a moment.

They slowed to a stop beneath the dense canopy, bodies sagging with exhaustion.

Tyler pressed a hand to his waist, stretching to ease the sharp pain shooting through his ribs. The others did the same, their chests heaving as they finally allowed themselves a sliver of relief.

The advantage of stopping here, at least, was that whatever had been following them—or whatever happened to cross their path—would have a harder time pinpointing their exact location.

The forest was alive with noise, a chorus of rustling leaves, chirping insects, and distant howls that could have been either wind or something far worse. The sounds bounced between the trees, distorting direction and depth.

Tyler sank onto the damp grass, pressing a hand against his forehead, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling out of control.

His body ached from relentless movement, his muscles screaming in protest, but he couldn’t afford to let exhaustion catch up with him now.

He needed a moment—just one—to force his mind into some semblance of order. If he didn’t, he would end up making a mistake, and mistakes in a situation like this meant death.

His breaths came unevenly, chest rising and falling as he fought to steady himself.

But even this brief moment of stillness was fleeting.

A shadow moved in his peripheral vision, and before he could react, Aiden’s curly blond head popped into view, a smug grin already plastered across his face.

Tyler blinked, trying to make sense of what he was looking at.

Aiden had knelt down in front of him at some point, and in his outstretched hand, he held a roll of brightly colored string, the kind a child might use for arts and crafts. Tyler frowned, his exhausted brain struggling to connect the dots.

"Aaand you take the red one," Aiden announced, as if that explained everything.

Tyler barely had the energy to furrow his brows. His confusion slipped past his lips before he could catch it. "…Huh?"

Aiden gasped dramatically, his free hand waving in front of Tyler’s face like he was checking for signs of life. "Shit, are you having a stroke?"

Tyler grunted and swatted the hand away before Aiden could poke him in the eye. "Fuck off. What is this?"

"I brought these little colorful thingies along," Aiden explained, twirling the roll between his fingers as if it was a prized possession. "Figured we could use them to mark our way back. You know, in case we get lost and don’t wanna end up wandering around in circles like a bunch of morons."

His scarlet eyes locked onto Tyler’s brown ones, a rare moment of direct eye contact that Tyler found himself instinctively avoiding.

He didn’t like holding anyone’s gaze for too long—especially not Aiden’s, which had the unsettling ability to make him feel like he was being read like an open book.

Instead, Tyler glanced at the string, still half-skeptical but unable to deny that it was, admittedly, a smart idea.

Aiden stretched his arm out further, his hand hovering in front of Tyler’s chest. "Sooo, are you taking it, or are you waiting for me to get muscle cramps? Lol."

Before Tyler could respond, Logan’s voice sliced through the conversation like a blade.

"Phantom incoming."

Tyler’s attention snapped to Logan, who was already pointing toward the treeline. A long, sinewy figure slithered forward from the shadows, its hollow, grinning face barely distinguishable from the darkness behind it.

The air around it seemed to shift unnaturally, distorting in a way that made Tyler’s stomach churn.

Aiden’s grin widened, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. The anticipation in his eyes was unmistakable—this was what he lived for.

Without hesitation, he rose to his feet, one hand dropping to the knife strapped to his belt. He twirled it effortlessly between his fingers, the blade catching the dim light in flashes of silver.

The phantom's head jerked unnaturally in their direction, as if it had finally detected them. Then, with a sharp, disjointed movement, it lunged.

Most people, when faced with a creature sprinting toward them at breakneck speed, would instinctively step back, buy themselves a few precious seconds to analyze their opponent’s movements. But

Aiden had never been most people. Instead of retreating, he shot forward, his knife a blur in the low light.

The moment the creature was close enough, he struck, driving the blade straight into the joint between its neck and shoulder.

The phantom convulsed violently, a guttural screech tearing from its throat as thick, tar-like blood gushed from the wound.

Aiden’s brows furrowed in confusion as he twisted the blade, eyes gleaming with something wild and untamed along their widened state, before yanking it free in a single, fluid motion.

Wasn’t Ashlyn the only one who could hear them? Was the thought all of them shared, glancing at one another in mutual understanding.

The phantom went limp against him.

For a moment, Aiden simply held it there, savoring the kill, before letting the body drop unceremoniously to the ground. A pool of black ichor spread out beneath it, seeping into the grass like spilled ink.

But the fight was far from over.

The fallen phantom had not been alone.

Four more figures emerged from the darkness, moving with the same unnatural gait, their faces frozen in grotesque, permanent grins.

Logan wasted no time. He raised his gun, the silencer ensuring that the shot was no more than a whisper in the night. The bullet struck the nearest phantom clean through the head, and it crumpled to the ground instantly.

Another let out a garbled, inhuman shriek as a second bullet tore through its leg, sending it toppling forward.

Before it could recover, Ben stepped in, his axe gleaming as he swung it overhead with brutal force. The blade met its mark, slicing straight through the creature’s skull.

Even as its body collapsed, its sickening smile remained frozen in place, black blood bubbling from the wound.

That left two.

Aiden, still high on adrenaline, barely took a breath before lunging toward the nearest one. He ducked low, narrowly avoiding a swipe from its clawed hand, and pivoted on his heel to slide behind it.

In one fluid motion, he leapt onto its back, his arms locking around its neck.

"Nighty night," he whispered, yanking its head back to expose its throat. The knife in his hand flashed once before it slit deeply through the phantom’s flesh.

The creature let out a strangled noise, its entire body seizing up before thrashing wildly. Aiden held on, laughing under his breath as the phantom’s spasms grew weaker.

Black blood sprayed in violent arcs, coating the trees, the grass, his hands, his clothes—everything.

Then, without warning, its legs buckled.

Aiden barely had time to react before the phantom collapsed backward, slamming him into the ground with crushing weight.

The breath was knocked from his lungs, and for a split second, he saw nothing but darkness.

By the time his vision cleared, his heart lurched in his chest.

A final phantom loomed over him, its grin impossibly wide as it reached down for his head.

Aiden’s fingers scrambled against the dirt, desperately searching for his knife. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but still, he smiled—because of course he did. Even staring death in the face, Aiden was Aiden.

Then, suddenly—A sharp whistle of air.

The side of the phantom’s head caved inward as Tyler’s bladed bat struck with devastating force, sending the creature flying into a nearby tree with a sickening crunch.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Aiden exhaled sharply, his limbs feeling heavier than before. Pushing the dead weight of the phantom off him, he turned his head slightly and found a hand waiting for him—an invitation to get back on his feet.

He smirked, gripping Tyler’s hand as he was effortlessly pulled upright. "Guess I owe ya one, halfwit," he muttered, shaking off the lingering adrenaline.

Tyler barely looked impressed, his bat still slick with black ichor. "Next time, try thinking a bit more rationally, dipshit."

Aiden’s smirk widened. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Tyler looked like he had half a mind to drop him right back on the ground.

IV.

After agreeing to split up, each heading their own way, they wasted no time setting off, selecting a tree as their rendezvous point.

Tyler chose a sturdy branch, first testing its strength with a firm tug before securing a knot, ensuring the string would hold even if pulled.

Satisfied, he unrolled the remaining length of the red thread as he moved, letting it trail behind him while he made his way home.

His heart pounded, though not from fear of the creatures lurking in the dark—he had already accepted that danger was inevitable.

No, what unsettled him most was the gnawing anxiety of being late. He shouldn’t have taken that break.

He shouldn’t have allowed his thoughts to spiral into endless what-ifs. Every second lost weighed heavily on him.

It wasn’t long before he emerged from the treeline, his house finally coming into view. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slipped from his lips, and he shoved the roll of string into his pocket, letting it unravel as he crossed the eerily silent street.

The neighborhood was unsettlingly still, no signs of life, no distant hum of cars, no murmured conversations from behind closed doors.

He could only hope that this unnatural quiet wasn’t a prelude to something worse.

At first, he moved cautiously, careful not to draw attention to the house in case any nearby phantoms were lurking. But the moment he noticed the front window—shattered, jagged glass glinting in the faint light—his hesitation vanished.

His pace quickened.

Reaching the door, he pushed inside, mindful not to slam it shut behind him. The house felt unnervingly empty. The air was thick with dust and something fouler—a scent he couldn’t quite place but made his stomach lurch.

His gaze swept across the room, taking in the broken plates and scattered glass on the floor, signs of a struggle. His pulse hammered against his ribs as his mind scrambled for explanations, but none of them were comforting.

Swallowing down the unease clawing at his throat, he flicked on his flashlight, its weak glow barely cutting through the dimness. His fingers tightened around the handle of his bat, the weight reassuring yet insufficient against the growing dread curling in his chest.

His mother. He had to find her.

She had been asleep when he and Taylor left—he was sure of it. If she hadn’t left the house, then there was only one place she could be.

The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he ascended, each step deliberate, every breath held.

Then, just as he neared the top, the sound of ragged breathing reached his ears—heavy, uneven gasps. His body tensed. His fingers adjusted around the bat’s handle, ready to swing.

Then, in the dim glow of his flashlight, he saw something.

A pair of long, lifeless black legs stretched across the hallway, the rest of the body blending into the darkness.

His stomach twisted. He swallowed hard, forcing himself forward despite the way his hands trembled with every step. His mind braced for the worst as he turned the light fully onto the scene.

The phantom was dead.

Its head had been reduced to an unrecognizable mess, thick black blood pooled beneath its corpse, staining the wooden floor like spilled ink.

The stench hit him in full force, bile rising in his throat as his body threatened to reject the sight. He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the sharp, uneven inhales echoing through the hallway.

His flashlight beam swept forward, and there she was.

His mother sat against the wall, arms wrapped around herself, eyes wide and unfocused. Her hands trembled violently as she clutched the jagged remains of a broken glass bottle, knuckles white from the grip.

Relief crashed over him like a wave, nearly staggering him. “Ma!”

At the sound of his voice, her body stiffened. For a brief moment, she seemed frozen in place, as if unsure whether what she heard was real. Then, recognition flickered in her eyes.

"Ty?" Her voice was hoarse, uncertain, as though she didn’t quite believe he was standing there.

The moment reality settled in, she moved. Clumsily, desperately, she pushed herself to her feet, reaching for him. "Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Her weapon clattered to the floor, shattering upon impact, but she didn’t seem to notice. She barely gave him time to answer before she was grasping his arms, scanning him as if expecting to find wounds. "I heard screaming—I couldn’t find you or Tay—where is Taylor?"

Tyler gently gripped her shoulders, trying to steady her. "We’re okay, Mom," he assured her, his voice steady despite the lump forming in his throat. He had to believe it. "She’s in a safe place."

His mother’s face was a storm of emotions—fear, hope, uncertainty.

He swallowed hard.? The thought gnawed at him. If they returned to the meeting point and Taylor was nowhere to be found… He wasn’t certain his mother would be able to live it down any better than their father.

"They’re all in a safe place," he repeated, forcing conviction into his words. "Let me take you there." He reached for her hand, ready to pull her away from this nightmare of a house, but she suddenly jerked back.

“I have to wake your father.”

Tyler’s heart skipped a beat. “Ma—”

She turned toward their bedroom door, as if she could still find him there, asleep, untouched by the chaos that had torn through their world.

"Ma!" His voice came sharper than he had intended, the sheer urgency behind it cutting through the haze clouding her mind.

It was probably the loudest he had ever spoken to her—maybe the loudest he had ever spoken, period. But there was no time for hesitation, no room for false hope.

That moment seemed to cut through her usual state of delusion, grounding her in a reality she had been desperately trying to avoid.

She blinked a few times, her gaze flickering between Tyler’s face and the way his breath trembled ever so slightly. It was only then that she noticed the sheen in his eyes, the quiet way he struggled to keep it together. 

Her hands, which had tensed in resistance moments ago, slowly loosened before falling back onto his shoulders.

Gently, she tilted his face upward, her thumbs brushing away the few stray tears that had begun to slip down his cheeks.

The sight of them—small, silent reminders of everything he had endured—twisted something deep inside her. He had been through so much. Too much. And despite his best efforts to stay strong, it was beginning to show.

The faint shadows beneath his eyes, the barely-there quiver in his lips, the stiffness in his posture as though he were forcing himself to stand just a little taller for her sake. 

She exhaled softly, her expression easing into something warm, something familiar. Tired, yes, but still hers. 

“Okay, sweetie,” she murmured, the ghost of a smile curling her lips. It wasn’t the same as before—not quite as full, not quite as bright—but it was real. “Let’s go.”

V.

The trip back to the meeting spot was surprisingly uneventful, a stark contrast to the chaos that had been consuming their night.

Tyler had only encountered a single phantom along the way, and though he dispatched it quickly, his focus remained on his mother.

Every step she took beside him, unharmed, was a quiet relief. The last thing he needed was for their reunion to be cut short by another attack.  

When they arrived at the designated spot, only Aiden and Ben were there. The other strings, which Tyler had carefully memorized the placements of, were gone—meaning everyone else had already returned.

Judging by Ben slumped against a tree, barely holding himself upright as he dozed, and Aiden lazily tossing his knife into the air only to catch it perfectly by the handle every time, Tyler had been the last to make it back.  

Not wanting to startle them, he let out a sharp whistle. Aiden, of course, was the first to react, his head snapping up almost instantly.

He nudged Ben’s leg with his foot, jostling him awake. Ben blinked drowsily before noticing Tyler and raising a hand to sign, Glad you’re safe. His usual soft smile accompanied the gesture, a small but meaningful reassurance in the midst of everything.

The simple expression of relief made Tyler feel slightly better, a brief respite from the gnawing anxiety still sitting heavy in his chest.  

That feeling, however, was short-lived the moment Aiden opened his mouth.  

“What Beny is trying to say,” he drawled, still spinning his knife between his fingers with an almost theatrical nonchalance, “is that your slow, halfwit ass took so long we almost just assumed you were dead.” 

Tyler shot him a flat look before simply mouthing, Fuck you. He didn’t even put in the effort to say it out loud, rolling his eyes as he moved past him. Aiden only laughed, twirling the blade one last time before slipping it back into his belt.  

Without much delay, they started moving, following whatever path Aiden had already deemed safe enough.

The man talked the entire way, rambling about how many phantoms he had killed and in what precise and unnecessarily dramatic ways he had done so.

Tyler tried to ignore it, but against his better judgment, he still listened. There was something oddly grounding about Aiden’s endless chatter, no matter how ridiculous.  

Eventually, though, he veered onto a topic of actual importance.  

“My parents insisted on taking a car,” Aiden explained, his tone shifting into something a little more serious.

“Logan and company are waiting for us there, and he’s probably trying his best to handle my mother’s hysterical shouts. But at least this way, we’ll have a safer way of getting back to the graveyard.” 

That was a relief. The safer, the better. Tyler had been mentally preparing for another grueling trip through the streets, fully expecting the possibility of encountering a horde.

But if they had access to a car, that risk was significantly reduced. He wasn’t sure if his mother could handle another run-in with those creatures, even if she had managed to take one down with nothing more than a broken bottle.

That moment had been sheer desperation, a fight for survival. He didn’t know if she could go through that again. And honestly, he didn’t want to find out.

Thus, he turned to his mother, who had been trailing just a few steps behind him.

She paused when he faced her, offering a quiet, reassuring smile—the same soft expression he had longed to see for so many years.

For the first time since he was a child, she looked okay. Not just physically unharmed, but present, like the mother he had spent so long missing.

He reached his hand out for her to take, needing to feel that warmth again. That safe, comforting touch he had once known so well.

His heart ached for it, for the security it used to bring, for the feeling that, even just for a second, everything was okay.

She reached out in return, her fingers moving toward his own, closing the small gap between them.

For a fleeting moment, everything was perfect—more than he could have ever asked for.

Until the wet, sickening sound of flesh being torn apart shattered the moment.

His mother’s face twisted—not in pain at first, but in shock. In confusion. Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to say something, but nothing came. Her body jolted, her movements stiffening, and Tyler’s growing smile faded instantly.

Then, the red began to spread.

A long, jagged black limb had pierced clean through her stomach, protruding from her lower back in a grotesque display. Dark, viscous blood began seeping from her mouth, dribbling from her lips in thick droplets, her breaths coming out in sharp, pained gasps.

Her eyes, still locked onto his, remained wide with disbelief, as if her mind had yet to catch up with what had happened.

“Ma..?” The word barely left his throat, strangled and broken.

It was enough to draw the attention of the others. Aiden and Ben both halted mid-step, their heads snapping toward him, only to be met with the same horrifying sight.

For a second—just a second—her hand remained where it had been before the attack, still hovering so close to his own, mere centimeters away.

His fingers twitched, the instinct to grab onto it overwhelming, as if holding her hand could somehow undo this—could turn this into nothing more than a cruel hallucination.

But before he could move, the phantom jerked its limb back, dragging her away in a swift, brutal motion.

Blood trailed in thick, wet streaks across the ground as she was yanked backward, her body lurching with the force of it.

A grotesque, towering creature, its body made up of twisting, blackened limbs that contorted in unnatural ways. It loomed over them, shifting as it prepared to strike again. The moment Tyler took a step forward, it turned its soulless gaze onto him, lifting one of its jagged arms to strike—

The next thing he knew, the creature’s arm was severed in one clean motion.

Aiden had moved so fast that Tyler barely registered him stepping forward. His knife, now coated in thick, oozing black liquid, spun once in his grip before he lunged again, slashing deep into the creature’s neck.

A single sharp breath later, and the phantom crumbled. Its twisted form convulsed for a moment before it collapsed in a heap of tar-like remains, its body disintegrating as it died.

Tyler barely noticed any of it.

His eyes remained locked on his mother, who lay sprawled on the blood-stained ground, motionless. His knees nearly gave out beneath him.

“Ma…” The word escaped in a whisper, barely audible over the hammering of his heartbeat. His entire body felt like it was shutting down, his mind incapable of processing what had just happened.

Then, as if something inside him finally snapped, he took a slow, staggering step forward. His feet moved before his mind could catch up.

The moment the phantom collapsed into nothing more than a pile of dissolving tar and gore, Tyler was running. His legs nearly buckled beneath him as he threw himself forward, stumbling on the blood-slick grass before landing hard on his knees beside her.

“No, no, no—” His voice wavered, coming out in short, panicked breaths. His hands hovered over her form, trembling violently, unsure where to touch, unsure where to start. There was so much damage.

Her stomach was torn open—split wide by the jagged limb that had impaled her. Blood bubbled from the wound, thick, viscous, and endlessly seeping into the ground beneath her.

Pieces of shredded flesh clung to the edges of the gaping hole, her insides barely held together by fragile strands of tissue, exposed in a gruesome display.

A dark, wet mass of intestines peeked through the torn muscle, twitching slightly before settling in sickening stillness.

Her hands, once so full of warmth, so steady and comforting, twitched only slightly before falling limp at her sides.

Tyler grasped one of them desperately, fingers tightening around hers as if his grip alone could bring back the strength they once carried. They were still warm—still so warm—but that warmth was fading.

Her face was even worse. Blood had poured from her mouth, running in dark rivers from her lips, streaking down her chin, staining her throat.

It had already begun to congeal in places, sticking in thick, tar-like clumps along the contours of her skin. Her eyes—those gentle, tired eyes—remained half-open, unfocused, staring at something he couldn’t see.

And then, something inside him shattered.

His body wracked with tremors as he squeezed her hand tighter, his breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps. “Ma,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. He shook her slightly. No response. Another shake. “Ma, please—”

His voice cracked, raw and desperate, but she didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

His trembling fingers reached for her face, brushing strands of hair away from her blood-slick forehead, feeling the cooling skin beneath his touch. “Come on, you’re okay,” he rasped, more to himself than to her. His throat burned. “Te tengo, okay? You’re going to be fine, we just need to—”

His voice faltered.

Tyler barely registered the moment Aiden’s arms locked around his torso, yanking him backward. His vision was clouded—blurred by the relentless flood of tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut.

His mother’s body lay there, barely a few feet away, twisted, lifeless, already growing cold. The blood pooled in a thick, dark puddle around her, sinking into the earth, seeping into the cracks of the dirt as though the ground itself was hungrily drinking her in.

His fingers clawed at the grass, nails digging into the soil, trying to drag himself forward, desperate to reach her, to hold her one last time.

But Aiden’s grip was firm, unyielding, and as much as he struggled, as much as he thrashed and kicked and fought with everything he had left in his shattering body, he couldn’t break free.

“Let me go—!” His voice was raw, thick with emotion, barely coherent between choked sobs. He swung his arms back wildly, hitting whatever he could reach, fists slamming against Aiden’s ribs, elbows catching him in the chest. It didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except getting to her.

He barely felt the weight of Aiden’s body colliding with his as they both hit the ground with a heavy thud, pain jolting through his shoulder upon impact.

The air was knocked out of his lungs, but even that wasn’t enough to stop him from trying, fingers scraping against the grass in a desperate attempt to crawl forward.

His vision flickered—one moment, he could see her, her body still, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly parted as if she had one last word caught in her throat.

The next, she was gone, obscured by Aiden’s relentless hold as he dragged him back. The moment she vanished from his sight, something inside him fractured, shattered beyond repair.

“No! No!” His voice cracked violently as he continued struggling, though his movements were growing more frantic, more reckless, mindless.

His knee jerked upward in his wild flailing, hitting the pocket where Aiden’s knife was tucked. The sharp edge sliced cleanly through his waistline, a hot, searing pain cutting through his side. Aiden hissed, wincing as he fought to keep his grip.

“Ben!” Aiden’s voice was strained, breathless, carrying an urgency that Tyler couldn’t hear past the relentless ringing in his ears. “I need a damn hand over here!”

Ben was still frozen in place, his face pale, drenched in sweat, lips slightly parted in stunned horror. His eyes refused to leave the grotesque sight of Tyler’s mother lying motionless in the dirt. The thick stench of blood clogged the air, metallic and nauseating, filling his nose and throat with every inhale.

But the moment Aiden shouted his name, the trance broke. Ben moved without thinking, crossing the bloodstained ground in long, quick strides, his hesitation vanishing the instant he reached Tyler’s violently trembling form.

Without a word, he bent down, wrapping his arms around Tyler’s legs, lifting him effortlessly. Aiden tightened his grip on his upper half, securing him in place as they struggled to keep him still.

Tyler’s screams never ceased.

"Let go of me, Let me go!" His voice ripped through the thick silence of the graveyard, hoarse and agonized, broken by sobs that shook his entire frame. His fingers clawed at their arms, nails digging into skin hard enough to leave scratches, but neither of them faltered.

They didn’t stop.

By the time they reached the car, his voice had weakened, reduced to raw, choked whimpers. His body felt drained, exhaustion settling into every muscle as his resistance grew sluggish, his thrashing fading into trembling. His head lolled against Aiden’s chest, his breathing ragged, uneven.

Ben and Aiden exchanged a quick, silent glance before shifting him into the backseat.

His weight pressed against Aiden, who settled behind him, arms still loosely wrapped around his underarms, more to keep him steady than to restrain him now. Ben took a seat beside them, closing the door with a heavy click that echoed in the hushed air.

The car was silent.

No one spoke.

The only sound was Tyler’s uneven breathing, the occasional broken sob slipping past his lips as he curled in on himself, hands clutching at the fabric of his own shirt as if trying to hold himself together.

His fingers trembled violently, coated in blood—his mother’s blood. It had dried in patches along his skin, crusting beneath his nails, staining his clothes in dark, ugly smears.

The others remained quiet, glancing at each other but saying nothing. There was nothing to say.

VI.

The ride back was slow, almost surreal, the weight of loss suffocating the air inside the vehicle. Every bump in the road sent a dull ache through Tyler’s body, but he hardly noticed. His head leaned against Aiden’s shoulder, his tired, unfocused eyes staring out the window.

The sky outside was painted in shades of deep crimson, streaks of orange and purple bleeding through the clouds, stretching endlessly beyond the horizon.

It was eerie, unnatural, something out of a nightmare—but at the same time, hauntingly beautiful. If he hadn’t been drowning in grief, he might’ve admired it longer, might’ve let himself be hypnotized by the way the colors melted together in a breathtakingly tragic display.

A shift in his legs brought his attention back to reality, followed by the soft metallic click of the car door unlocking.

"Ben, you take him," Aiden muttered from behind, his voice edged with fatigue. It was probably because Tyler had been crushing him the entire ride—an unintentional dead weight.

He barely registered it when he was shifted, Ben’s arms supporting him from the front. It was pathetic. He wasn’t even injured. So why the hell did he need help standing?

He was just weak. 

Through the haze in his head, he made out Ashlyn standing nearby, no more than a faint scratch marking her cheek. Relief pricked at him like a dull knife—her parents were there, too, meaning Taylor was unharmed. He had kept her safe, at least. 

"Tyler! You're back!" 

That familiar voice sliced through the fog. 

Taylor came running toward him, all bright eyes and boundless energy, the way she always did—her movements full of reckless excitement, like she was planning to squeeze the life out of him in an embrace. Normally, it would have made him laugh, would have made him feel home. 

Now, it only made him want to cry. 

Still, as she closed the distance, he weakly pushed off Ben’s arms, staggering forward to meet her halfway. “Taylor…” he mumbled, but his voice was so hoarse, so frayed at the edges, it barely came out. He wasn’t sure she even heard it. He was so tired. 

She crashed into him, harder than expected, or maybe he just hadn’t braced himself at all. He swayed under the force, but his arms still managed to lift, to wrap around her, trying—trying—to take in her warmth, her breath, her life. To convince himself that, even in this nightmare, she was real. 

But then, it happened. 

The moment had to come, sooner or later. 

She pulled away just enough to peer up at him, and that bright, joyful expression faltered. Confusion flickered in her brown eyes, her brows furrowing as she glanced past him.

She took in the others emerging from the car—Aiden’s parents, hesitant, reluctant; Logan’s grandparents, a little too numb to fear what they should; Ben’s mother, Lilly— 

Her gaze landed on the car. 

She watched as the last door closed. 

Her smile slowly withered, her fingers slipping from his arms as if she was physically unraveling. 

“Wait…” she whispered. 

Something clenched inside Tyler’s chest, a slow, crushing force like an iron grip squeezing the air from his lungs. 

Taylor’s voice wavered, her lips parting, breath growing unsteady. She was shaking now. 

“Ty… where’s Ma?” 

The question shouldn’t have hit like a blade. It was inevitable. He knew it was coming. 

But still, it gutted him. 

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Silence swallowed him whole. What could he say? How could he say it? That he failed? That he lost the one person they swore they’d never lose? That the promise—the one promise they had grown up gripping like a lifeline—had been shattered beyond repair? 

But he didn’t have to say it. 

The realization struck her in waves, crashing violently, mercilessly. Her pupils dilated, her breath hitched, and the tears started falling before she could stop them. 

"No… she can't be—" Her voice quivered.

Then came the push. 

Her hands pressed against his chest with no real strength, barely enough to make him stumble back a step, but it still landed sharper than any blade ever could. The impact wasn’t in his body—it was in his soul, digging through his ribs, dragging across his bones, cold and relentless. 

She lifted her hands again, like she was going to hit him, but they just hovered there, trembling in midair, before falling limp at her sides.

Instead, her knees buckled beneath her, her whole frame collapsing against him, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his pants like he was the last thing keeping her from disappearing altogether. 

She broke. 

Fully, completely, irreversibly. 

"You promised…" she choked out, barely getting the words past a sob. 

That was it. The final nail in the coffin.

He had. 

He had promised. 

And he broke it. 

The weight of it all was too much. It sank into his bones, into his very existence, until all he could do was stand there, his shoulders convulsing, his body trembling under the force of the emotions he tried—and failed—to contain.

His jaw clenched so tight it ached, his lips pressing together in a useless attempt to stop the sob that clawed its way out of his throat. 

But he couldn't. 

He couldn't hold it anymore. 

Tears spilled, silent but unstoppable, burning down his cheeks, mixing with the blood that had long since dried on his skin. He couldn't bear to look around, to acknowledge the others who stood there in their own silent grief, their quiet support. 

All he could do was stand there, drowning in the aftermath of his own failure, exhausted beyond repair.

VII.

By 4 AM, hardly anyone was asleep.

Except for Ben’s mother and Lilly, who had taken refuge in one of the buses, choosing to rest until morning.

The rest remained restless, their exhaustion overridden by grief, fear, or something in between.

Logan’s grandparents had brought a bag containing six tents—a thoughtful act, though setting them up was proving to be more complicated than expected. With no instructions or model to follow, the process was slow and clumsy.

They had only managed to get one standing so far.

Taylor was placed in that one, with Ashlyn as her company in an effort to keep her company, to keep watch over whatever storm she was battling inside.

Tyler didn’t protest. He knew there was nothing he could say or do that would be better for her than that.

He wanted to help with the remaining tents, wanted something—anything—to keep his hands busy, to pull his mind away from the pit it was sinking into. But Mike had insisted they handle it, claiming that after everything Tyler had done to get them all here safe, he had earned the right to rest.

Tyler didn’t argue.

Not because he agreed, but because he hadn’t gotten them here safe.

The others had.

So, he had planned, at first, to get some sleep in one of the buses, alongside the others who had managed to lie down and force their eyes shut.

But every time he tried, the moment his eyelids closed, he saw her. His mother. The last sight he had of her.

The blood. The wound. The way her body—her lifeless body—had been dragged away.

So, he gave up.

That’s how he ended up there again, perched atop the wall, sitting in a spot where he knew none of the adults would catch him awake when he should be resting.

His feet dangled over the edge, above the abyss that stretched into pure darkness below.

The longer he stared into it, the clearer he saw it again—her body being torn open, the monster’s claws carving into her like she was nothing more than a carcass. The scene played on a loop, his mind trapping him in a downward spiral of suffocating guilt.

 “Holy shit, you’re not about to jump, are you?”

Tyler jolted, his whole body tensing as he whipped around, only to find Aiden standing there, one brow raised.

He hadn’t even heard him climb up.

That should have been concerning, but Tyler just turned back around, rolling his shoulders, willing the residual tension away. “It wasn’t in my to-do list as far as I’m aware,” he muttered, voice flat, though the slight prickle of lingering adrenaline in his veins made his words a little rougher than intended.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing at the other boy from the corner of his eye. “But you could’ve thrown me right at it just now.”

Aiden scoffed, shaking his head. “Right. Because that’s how I’d want to spend my night. Cleaning up your mess.”

The joke was dry, but it worked. Something in Tyler’s chest—something tight and suffocating—eased just a little.

The blonde didn’t ask before sitting down beside him, lowering himself onto the wall with an ease that made Tyler wonder just how long he’d been climbing things like this.

Aiden pulled one leg up, propping his arm against it, while the other dangled loosely over the edge, mirroring Tyler’s.

And then, just as he settled, he winced.

It was barely noticeable—just a faint twitch of his brows, a short breath through his nose—but Tyler caught it.

He hadn’t forgotten. The memory of Aiden wrestling him back into the car, the way he struggled to hold him down as he thrashed and fought and screamed, came rushing back like a bad taste in his mouth.

Tyler hadn’t thought much of it at the time, too lost in his own hysteria, but now…

Without a word, he shifted, twisting slightly until he was kneeling behind Aiden instead of sitting beside him. Aiden barely had time to react before Tyler’s hands were on his shoulders.

He felt the way the other boy tensed beneath his fingers, instinctual, probably from years of being on guard, but Tyler didn’t pull away.

He just pressed his thumbs into the knots of muscle, massaging the tension out with slow, steady movements.

He wasn’t sure why he did it. There was no real thought behind it, no deliberate intention of comfort. It just… made sense.

Aiden exhaled after a moment, some of the stiffness bleeding from his posture. His voice, when he spoke, carried a small, amused scoff. “Damn. If I’d known losing my patience with your crazy ass would earn me a free massage, I would’ve let you kick me harder.”

Tyler huffed, neither entertained nor particularly annoyed, though the sharp pang of guilt in his chest grew heavier. He worked through another knot, the quiet settling between them like an unspoken truce.

After another moment, he sat back down beside him.

He didn’t say anything for a while. But then, as his gaze wandered, his eyes landed on Aiden’s side.

“…Let me see.”

Aiden blinked, following his gaze down to his own waist.

He hesitated.

Tyler understood why. Even after everything, after all the blood and death and destruction they’d seen, scars still carried weight. They weren’t just wounds. They were reminders. They were proof of pain, proof of suffering, proof of survival.

But after a long pause, Aiden exhaled through his nose and wordlessly shrugged off his jacket.

The fabric rustled as he peeled it from his shoulders, and then he grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up just enough to expose the wound beneath.

Tyler had seen plenty of injuries before, but something about this one made his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t used to.

The scar was deep, the stitches still fresh, holding the jagged edges of torn flesh together with a precise yet almost hurried neatness.

The skin around it was still an angry red, the kind that told him it hadn’t had the time to heal properly yet. And looking at it—seeing the proof of the damage—made Tyler’s throat feel tight.

He had been aware, in some part of his mind, that he had hurt Aiden in his panic. That in his blind desperation, his mindless thrashing, he had done this.

But knowing and seeing were two different things.

His hand moved before his mind fully processed it.

Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers ghosting over the damaged skin before finally pressing against it, tracing the line of the scar with a slow, barely-there touch.

Aiden flinched.

It wasn’t a dramatic reaction, but it was enough. A quick, subtle tensing of his muscles, a sharp intake of breath. He immediately let go of his shirt, letting the fabric fall back into place, and grabbed his jacket, pulling it back on in a swift, practiced movement.

“Still sore,” he said, as if that was the only explanation needed.

His grin never wavered.

It was the same smile he always had, that stupid, cocky smirk that never seemed to leave his face, like it had been permanently stitched onto his skin along with the wound beneath his clothes.

Tyler’s hand curled into a fist against his thigh.

Aiden fumbled slightly in his pocket before pulling out a small, weathered MP3 player, his fingers curling around it almost protectively.

The device had clearly seen better days, but the fact that Aiden still kept it in working order spoke volumes. Tyler glanced at him, a bit puzzled, as Aiden extended the player toward him, his face holding a strange mixture of hesitation and anticipation.

“This… was supposed to be for your sixteenth birthday,” Aiden explained, his voice quiet, almost as if he was unsure how Tyler would react. “I made it for you back then, but… well, you know.” He shrugged, almost sheepishly, but Tyler could tell it was something that mattered more than he was letting on.

Tyler stared at the MP3 player for a moment, his brow furrowed, trying to piece it all together. He hadn’t exactly been expecting this—a gift of any kind from Aiden, let alone something personal, something like this. It felt strange, even a little out of place, considering where they were now, the space between them heavy with unspoken tension.

But despite his confusion, he reached out and took the device, feeling the weight of it in his hand. It was far from fancy, far from new, but there was something oddly comforting about it.

“Wait, you made this?” Tyler asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Aiden, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his voice. “You actually made this for me?”

Aiden gave him a wry grin, leaning back slightly, and the familiar spark of mischief in his eyes returned, even though it was laced with something else.

Something softer.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly have much else to do,” he replied with a slight shrug. “I thought it’d be a cool thing. A mix of music, y’know? Stuff you’d like. Not that I ever thought you’d actually want it after... well, after everything else.”

Tyler’s mind clicked into place, recalling bits and pieces from the past. “I thought you didn’t come to my birthday because you were busy, or something.”

He laughed lightly, though there was an edge to it, trying to mask the old bitterness that he still felt about the whole situation. “But instead, you were busy surfing down your stairs with a mattress and dislocating your shoulder. Real smooth move, Aiden.”

Aiden chuckled, but the sound was self-deprecating, his grin widening as he rubbed at the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed by the memory. “Yeah, alright, fine,” he admitted, playfully nudging Tyler’s shoulder with his own.

“I wasn’t exactly in the best state to come to your sleepover. But, hey, at least I’m here now, right?”

Tyler rolled his eyes, though the tension in his chest seemed to ease just a little at the banter. For a brief moment, it felt like they were back to the way things used to be—before everything had changed. Before the weight of everything had settled on their shoulders.

He shook his head, still holding the MP3 player in his hands, not sure exactly what to do with it. A part of him wanted to tell Aiden that it didn’t matter, that he didn’t need a gift after all the crap they’d been through.

But another part of him—one he wasn’t willing to admit to himself—was touched. Maybe even more than he should’ve been.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” Tyler muttered, breaking the silence as he reached for the earphones that had been tucked into the MP3 player’s small compartment. He plugged them in, feeling a sense of anticipation build in his chest as he placed them into his ears.

For a moment, everything was still. Tyler hit play, and the first notes of Aviation by The Last Shadow Puppets filled his ears. The song was instantly familiar, like a warm embrace he hadn’t realized he missed.

The smooth, hypnotic rhythm washed over him, and for a few seconds, Tyler simply closed his eyes, letting the music wrap around him. It was like he could breathe again.

The steady, velvety sound of the song eased the tightness in his chest, replacing it with something lighter, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He opened his eyes and glanced at Aiden, who was watching him with a slight smile tugging at his lips.

Tyler felt his expression shift as the realization hit him like a wave. The song—the album—was one they’d talked about months ago during that ridiculous round of Truth or Dare.

He had mentioned liking the new album, and Aiden had apparently paid enough attention to remember it. Tyler blinked, his mouth slightly ajar, as he processed what this meant.

“You remember that?” Tyler asked, his voice almost too quiet, as if the question itself felt too vulnerable.

Aiden’s grin widened, and there was something almost secretive about the way he responded. “Yeah. I thought it’d be a good idea to include it. Figured you’d give up that boring frown for a few seconds with it.”

Tyler couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out, a mix of surprise and a faint, almost bitter sweetness. “I thought I was the only one who actually cared about that stupid game.” He couldn’t keep the chuckle from escaping, though his words were laced with something more, something heavier.

Aiden’s eyes softened for just a moment before he gave Tyler another playful nudge. “Yeah, well, I’m not as oblivious as you think. I pay attention.”

Tyler’s breath caught slightly, and for the first time in what felt like days, he allowed himself to relax just a little. “Do that again and you might actually throw me off you wit” It was a simple gesture, one that might have seemed insignificant to anyone else, but to him, it felt like a lifeline.

He looked back at Aiden, his gaze lingering just a moment longer than usual, before he turned his attention back to the music.

The song continued to play, filling his mind with the sounds of something more than just notes—something that felt like a connection, something that reminded him of who he used to be before everything went wrong.

He let the music take him for a while, losing himself in the familiar melody, feeling the weight of the world lighten, just for a little while.

Chapter Text

I.

“Can I come in?”

Ashlyn’s voice was soft but steady, cutting through the thick silence inside the tent. She stood outside, fingers idly twisting the hem of her sleeve, waiting for an answer she already knew would come.

A few seconds passed before a raspy, almost broken voice finally responded, “Yeah…”

That was all the permission Ashlyn needed. She crouched down, careful not to let too much of the cool night air seep in, and unzipped the entrance from the bottom, pulling it halfway up before slipping inside. The space was dimly lit by the faint glow of a lantern placed at the farthest corner, casting elongated shadows against the fabric walls. The air was thick, slightly warmer than outside but carrying the stale scent of someone who hadn’t moved much in days.

Taylor was exactly where she’d left her earlier—curled up on the thin mattress, knees pulled tightly to her chest, arms locked around them in a way that made her seem even smaller than she was. Her cheek rested against her kneecap, dark brown hair falling in messy waves around her face, partially obscuring her half-lidded eyes. It was the same position she’d been sitting in since morning, the same one she had spent most of the last four days in.

Ashlyn hesitated for a moment before settling down beside her, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap. “How are you feeling?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

No response. Just the slow rise and fall of Taylor’s shoulders as she breathed.

She had fallen sick two days ago—nothing extreme, but enough to weaken her more than she already was. A fever that refused to break, a constant headache that had her wincing every time someone spoke too loudly, the unmistakable signs of exhaustion that were both physical and emotional. They all knew what had caused it. The sights she had been forced to witness. The weight of what had happened, what she had lost. The stress and grief had settled deep into her bones, manifesting in ways no medicine could fix.

They had tried everything. Logan’s grandmother had spent hours preparing soups, warm meals, anything that might tempt Taylor into eating, but nothing seemed to work. She refused most of it, barely managing a few bites here and there when Ashlyn sat beside her for hours, gently coaxing her into swallowing something. Even then, it was never enough.

The others came to see her, offering quiet words of comfort or just their silent presence, but Taylor barely acknowledged them. She never turned them away, but she never really paid attention either. She would sit there, listening without listening, nodding without really reacting.

And Tyler…

He never showed his face.

For four days, Taylor hadn’t seen him. Not once.

She had expected it, maybe even understood it. Still, it didn’t stop the hollow ache that settled in her chest every time she thought about it. She never asked for him, just as he never tried to approach her while she was awake. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

Ben had told her, almost offhandedly, how Tyler would sit by her mattress when he thought she was asleep. How he would hum a soft lullaby—one he had taught Ben on guitar a long time ago. She never knew what to say when Ben brought it up. Sometimes, she asked him to play it for her, just to hear the familiarity of it. And when he did, it felt awful. But at the same time, it was comforting in a way she couldn’t explain.

It was the closest she had been to her brother in days.

And yet, it wasn’t enough.

Because she missed him.

Despite the pain, the guilt, the anger tangled inside of her, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. She had every reason to—God knew she had tried to convince herself she did—but deep down, she knew the truth. She had never hated him. Not even now.

“Is your headache still bad?”

Ashlyn’s voice was quiet, almost careful, as if she were afraid of startling her. Taylor barely reacted when she felt cool fingers press lightly against her forehead, only the faintest twitch in her brows betraying the way her skin burned in contrast. Normally, someone might have thought Ashlyn’s hand was freezing, almost lifeless, but Taylor knew it was just the fever making everything else feel unnaturally cold.

She didn’t answer, but Ashlyn didn’t seem to expect her to. Instead, the ginger hummed softly under her breath, a small, thoughtful sound as she pulled her hand away. It was strange how that tiny gesture—a simple touch—made her feel somewhat grounded. Taylor would be lying if she said Ashlyn’s presence was unwelcome. Even though the headache that had taken root in her skull only seemed to worsen by the hour, making it harder to stay upright, she still found some comfort in not being left alone.

But then came the words she had been dreading.

“You should talk to him.”

They were spoken gently, without pressure, yet they still struck something deep inside her, making her chest twist unpleasantly. Taylor’s fingers curled slightly against the fabric of the blanket draped over her lap. She had known this conversation would come sooner or later—had braced herself for it—but that didn’t mean she was ready.

Not now.

“He’s really worried about you, Tay,” Ashlyn continued, moving to sit at the edge of the mattress. Her hands were firm but gentle as she guided Taylor to lie down properly, as if sensing how much effort it took for her to sit up in the first place. There was no force behind the gesture, only quiet insistence, and Taylor was too drained to resist.

“I know,” she murmured after a long pause, staring somewhere past Ashlyn’s shoulder. Her voice was hoarse, but her tone was certain. “He always is.”

It was more than what she usually said. Most of her conversations over the last few days had been reduced to nods, shrugs, and the occasional one-word response. But this—this was different.

Ashlyn didn’t say anything right away. She didn’t push, didn’t argue. She simply waited, her presence as steady as always, giving Taylor the space to say something more if she wanted to. But Taylor didn’t know what to say. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, her emotions even worse. There was no simple way to explain how lost she felt, no words that could properly capture the war raging inside her.

“I don’t know…” she finally mumbled, turning her face slightly against the pillow. It was the best she could come up with, the only thing that felt true.

Ashlyn let out a quiet breath and, after a moment, ran her fingers through Taylor’s hair, combing through the messy strands with a gentle rhythm. The soothing motion helped, even if only a little. It gave her something to focus on, something that wasn’t the storm of emotions churning inside her.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

Then Ashlyn’s voice broke the silence again, her tone shifting slightly, as if steering the conversation elsewhere.

“I sent him out this morning,” she said, her fingers still threading through Taylor’s hair. “To check on the lights’ charging in Aiden’s room and to the closest pharmacy so we’d have some decent medicine for you.”

At first, the words barely registered. But then something clicked.

Taylor’s eyes snapped open, the exhaustion that weighed her down momentarily overridden by a sharp spike of anxiety.

“You sent him out there?” Her voice was no longer sluggish or detached—it was laced with alarm, her body tensing as if she might force herself up despite the weakness pinning her down.

She would have, too, if not for Ashlyn’s hands pressing lightly but firmly against her shoulders, keeping her in place.

The panic in her voice was unmistakable.

The other girl nodded, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she was wary of pushing too hard. She let her hand drift to Taylor’s head, rubbing it in slow, soothing motions. It was a simple gesture, one Taylor had once yapped about—how her mother or Tyler would always do it when she fell ill, their hands warm and familiar, a silent promise that things would be okay. 

“I sent him with Logan and Aiden,” Ashlyn murmured, her voice careful, measured, trying to ease the tension coiling in Taylor’s body. “They left an hour ago, while everyone was asleep—just to avoid stirring up attention.”

For the first time since the conversation had begun, some of the worry jamming Taylor’s chest loosened. The idea of her brother being out there alone had sent her heart racing, but knowing he wasn’t made it a little easier to breathe. Aiden and Logan were capable. They’d keep him safe.

Still, even with that reassurance, there was a part of her that felt unsettled, an unease that sat at the base of her throat.

Ashlyn must have sensed it because she sighed softly, her fingers momentarily stilling in Taylor’s hair. 

“Just… try talking to him when he gets back?” Her voice was quiet but firm. “Cut him some slack. It wasn’t easy for him either.”

Taylor wanted to say something. She really did.

But nothing came.

She was exhausted, more than she had ever been, her body heavy, her limbs limp as if they weren’t her own. The room seemed distant, the weight of her fever pressing her down like a fog. She barely registered it when Ashlyn’s hand pressed against her forehead again, the familiar coolness seeping into her burning skin.

She closed her eyes.

Let him come back.

II.

As Tyler ascended the grand staircase of the Clark estate, his footsteps echoed through the vast, empty halls. The mansion loomed around them, its high ceilings and towering windows allowing only faint crimsons of moonlight to slip through the thick curtains. The air was stale, laced with dust and the faint remnants of something once opulent but now long abandoned.

Logan remained downstairs, standing near the entrance with his gun in hand, his sharp eyes sweeping the dimly lit corridors like a sentinel on watch. Tyler didn’t envy him—the mansion was unsettling enough without the added weight of keeping guard alone.

As they made their way up the grand, intricately carved staircase, Tyler’s patience thinned at the sluggish pace Aiden was keeping. His irritation finally boiled over. "Could you walk any slower?" he snapped, narrowing his eyes at the other boy.

Aiden, who had been moving at a deliberate pace, barely spared him a glance before answering flatly, “Yeah.” And then, just to be an ass, he slowed down even more, taking exaggeratedly sluggish steps as if he were savoring every inch of the climb.

Tyler groaned, rolling his eyes before giving Aiden a sharp shove forward. The force sent the blonde stumbling, and he barely caught himself before his knee slammed into the polished floor at the top of the stairs. He turned his head, shooting Tyler a halfhearted glare. "You almost made me eat shit."

"Almost," Tyler retorted, smirking as he stepped past him, walking through the long, ornate hallway leading to Aiden’s room.

The second floor of the Clark estate felt eerily untouched, the heavy wooden doors lining the hallway standing like silent sentinels. Dust clung to the golden chandeliers above them, and old paintings of long-dead family members stared down at them from their frames, their expressions frozen in an air of disapproval. At the very end of the corridor, Aiden’s door was ajar, a faint bluish-white glow spilling from inside.

As they stepped inside, the contrast was jarring. The rest of the mansion felt like a relic from another time—forgotten, decayed, stuck in limbo. But here, Aiden’s room was still… lived in. There was a slight mess, the lingering scent of cologne, an unmade bed, and clothes draped over the back of a chair, as if he had left in a hurry and was planning to come back.

Tyler’s gaze landed on the desk, where the charging lights were laid out in a tangle of wires, their small flickering glow casting faint shadows on the walls. His brows furrowed as he took in the sight.

“Okay, real question—why the hell are the charging lights actually still in your room?” he asked, crossing his arms. “Shouldn’t they be somewhere more… I don’t know, logical?”

Aiden leaned against the desk, crossing one ankle over the other. He glanced at the lights before looking back at Tyler, a slow, knowing smirk forming on his lips. “Beats me,” he said with a shrug. “But considering they still work in the graveyard after the two worlds blended, I think ‘logical’ stopped existing a while ago.”

Tyler’s stomach twisted at the reminder, the unnatural shift in reality settling heavy in his mind. The graveyard, the things they had seen, the way the two worlds had begun to blur—it was all wrong, and yet, they were stuck in it. He exhaled, forcing himself to shake off the unease, but his eyes lingered on the soft flicker of the charging lights.

Yeah. Logical didn’t mean much anymore.

A few minutes later, the sound of careful but firm footsteps signaled Logan’s arrival. He stepped into the room, gun still in hand, his sharp gaze sweeping over Aiden and Tyler before shifting to the faintly glowing charging lights on the desk. His expression was unreadable, but the slight tension in his shoulders gave away just how much his mind was working beneath the surface.

“All clear for now,” he muttered, locking the door behind him more out of habit than necessity. He made his way toward the desk, setting his gun down beside the tangled cables before kneeling to inspect the lights more closely. “Let’s see if we can figure out how long these damn things are gonna keep us safe.”

Tyler leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed, watching as Logan worked. “Got any big revelations yet, or do we start panicking now?” His voice carried its usual edge of sarcasm, but there was an underlying restlessness that he couldn’t fully suppress.

Logan didn’t answer immediately. He carefully ran his fingers along the wiring, checking for any signs of wear or degradation before glancing at the small meter screen attached to one of the battery packs. His brows furrowed in concentration as he calculated the power output against their known usage.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally exhaled, pushing himself back onto his feet. “If we’re lucky,” he started, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “these’ll last us about two years. Maybe a few months more if we stretch it right.”

Aiden let out a low whistle, rocking back on his heels. “Two years, huh? That’s either good news or the worst news I’ve ever heard.”

Tyler’s frown deepened. “What happens after that?” He already knew the answer, but hearing it aloud felt like a necessity.

Logan met his gaze, steady and unwavering. “After that, we either find another power source… or we lose the only thing keeping the phantoms from closing in.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of reality pressing down on all of them. The glow of the charging lights suddenly felt dimmer, weaker, as if mocking the fragile sense of security they provided. Two years. It sounded like a long time, but in the grand scheme of survival, it wasn’t nearly long enough.

Tyler rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Well,” he muttered, voice laced with a tired sort of resignation, “guess we better make those years count.”

The three of them moved quickly, not wasting time lingering in the Clark estate. As they stepped outside, the cold night air pressed against them, the eerie silence of the world around them only interrupted by the distant, almost imperceptible howls of phantoms lurking in the shadows. Their presence was always there, always waiting.

Logan took the lead, scanning their surroundings with his gun raised, while Aiden followed closely behind, casually rolling his shoulders as if the night’s mission was nothing more than an errand run. Tyler trailed after them, keys in hand, heading straight for the car parked a short distance away.

They moved like clockwork, each step measured, each breath controlled. By now, they had done this enough times to understand the drill: stay quiet, stay fast, and don’t waste a bullet unless absolutely necessary.

Tyler slid into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition as quietly as possible. The engine hummed to life, a sound that felt both comforting and dangerous in a world where noise could be a death sentence. Aiden and Logan took their positions, rolling down the windows just enough to have their weapons ready, silencers already screwed onto the barrels.

The ride to the pharmacy was tense but smooth—at least at first.

Then the first phantom came into view, its emaciated form dragging itself across the road, head twitching at the sudden movement of their car. Before it could react further, a single suppressed shot from Logan sent it collapsing to the ground.

“Six more,” Aiden noted casually, spotting the shifting figures further up ahead. He leaned out slightly, steadying his aim. “Think you can keep it steady, Ty?”

Tyler’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Just don’t shoot me in the head.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur of calculated movements and whispered gunfire. Logan and Aiden worked in sync, picking off phantoms one by one before they could get too close, their silencers making each kill eerily quiet. Tyler maneuvered the car through the abandoned streets with practiced ease, avoiding debris and keeping them moving at just the right pace—not too fast to lose control, but not slow enough to get surrounded.

By the time they pulled up near the pharmacy, seven phantoms lay lifeless in their wake, and the tension in the air had lifted—if only slightly.

Tyler put the car in park, exhaling as he turned to the others. “Alright, let’s make this quick.”

Aiden smirked, reloading his gun with a fresh magazine. “Quick is my middle name.”

Logan rolled his eyes, already stepping out of the car. “Yeah? Tell that to the stairs you almost tripped over earlier.”

Ignoring Aiden’s exaggerated scoff, they moved toward the pharmacy, weapons raised, ready for whatever was waiting inside.

The streets outside remained unsettlingly quiet, an emptiness that felt unnatural. It wasn’t just abandoned—it was stripped of life itself, as if the world had taken its final breath and left only remnants of what once was. The shattered windows of distant buildings glared at them like hollow eyes, and the distant wind carried the faint scent of decay, thick and nauseating.

As they approached the pharmacy’s entrance, Logan was the first to test the door, gripping the handle and pushing against it, only for it to remain firmly in place. “It’s stuck,” he muttered, giving it another shove to no avail.

“Figures,” Tyler sighed, glancing toward the shattered windows, already considering an alternative way in.

Before either of them could move toward the jagged glass entry points, Aiden stepped forward, rolling his shoulders back with exaggerated confidence. “Step aside, gentlemen,” he declared, waiting just long enough for them to move before drawing his leg back and slamming a heavy kick into the door. The force of it echoed loudly in the silence, the metal handle snapping under the impact as the door swung open violently, colliding against the wall with a resounding bang.

The sharp ring of a bell above the entrance followed, the chime unnervingly cheerful in contrast to their surroundings.

Aiden planted his hands on his hips, a smug grin stretching across his face as he admired his own handiwork—until a sharp smack landed against the back of his neck, the sharp sound of it cutting through the air. “Ow! What the fuck, halfwit?!” he hissed, reaching back to rub at the sting.

Tyler didn’t even spare him a glance as he stepped inside. “If any phantom comes sniffing around, I’m throwing them at you for attracting them.”

Aiden muttered something under his breath, undoubtedly paired with an eye roll and an impolite hand gesture, but he followed suit nonetheless.

The inside of the pharmacy looked almost untouched—almost. The shelves still held a decent stock of supplies, but the floor was littered with toppled products, shattered glass, and the occasional ominous stain. The air inside was thick, stagnant with the scent of dust and something medicinal, barely masking the underlying stench of decay.

Logan surveyed the aisles before pulling out a crumpled list from his pocket. “We need Paracetamol or Ibuprofen for Taylor,” he instructed, scanning the items in front of him. “I’ll check the rest of the list.”

With that, he disappeared deeper into the pharmacy, leaving Aiden and Tyler to their own search.

Aiden gave an exaggerated shrug before casually reaching up to grab a box of bandages from a higher shelf, opening it just enough to check the quality before stuffing it into his pocket. Tyler, on the other hand, wasted no time scouring the shelves within his reach, his focus razor-sharp, hands flipping through bottles and boxes with growing urgency. The longer it took, the tighter his chest felt.

“Hey, Ty.”

The voice drew his attention away from the shelves, and when he turned around, his eyes landed on the sight of a grinning Aiden, peeking out from behind a disheveled skeleton display. The bony figure’s grumpy expression was frozen in an almost mocking scowl, making the entire scene ridiculously absurd.

For a brief moment, Tyler forgot where they were, forgot what they were doing, and a quiet laugh escaped him.

Even now, at the world’s end, he still found himself unable to go a day without Aiden’s antics. It was as if every catastrophe only worked to push them closer together, threading their lives into an unspoken understanding neither of them dared to define. He wasn’t unfamiliar with warmth—he felt it in his sister’s embrace, in his mother’s gentle hands combing through his hair—but the warmth that settled in his chest when Aiden was around was different. Undefined. Uncharted.

It set his blood alight in ways he didn’t know how to navigate.

“Stop being stupid and keep searching, dipshit,” he snapped, pushing the thoughts aside before they could settle any further, redirecting his focus back to the shelves.

It took time, but they eventually gathered enough medicine to last Taylor a good while—more than what was needed, just in case. Better to have too much than too little. With the bag now secured on Tyler’s back, heavier than he would’ve liked but nothing unbearable, they made their way back outside, heading straight for the car.

Nevertheless, what were their plans if not bound to be shattered? Luck had never been a close ally, and fate rarely showed them mercy. The illusion of an easy escape dissolved the second they stepped outside the ruined pharmacy, only to be met with an uncountable horde of phantoms.

The air was thick with the scent of decay, the stillness of the night broken only by the eerie rustling of unseen movements in the distance. They had no time to hesitate.

Tyler was the first to react, gripping Aiden’s wrist and yanking him toward the car. Logan was already in the driver’s seat, his gun steady against the open window as he fired at anything that moved. They only needed to make it a few meters. Just a few meters.

For a moment, it seemed possible—until the phantoms moved.

They were fast. Too fast. Shadows twisting and lunging with unnatural speed, clawed hands reaching out hungrily. One of them nearly caught Aiden’s side, but before it could sink its talons into his flesh, his knife flashed in the dim moonlight, embedding itself into the creature’s skull. A sickening crunch followed as it collapsed to the ground.

But the momentary victory cost him. The brief pause left him distanced from Tyler and Logan—isolated, vulnerable. More shadows surged forward, closing in.

Logan was shouting something, his gun clicking empty before he cursed and reloaded in record time. “Get in the damn car!”

Tyler stood frozen for a heartbeat. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to keep going, to throw himself into the safety of the vehicle and leave before it was too late. He had what they came for. Taylor needed him alive. He couldn’t afford to fail her.

Yet, when Aiden took a sharp turn back toward the pharmacy—outnumbered, unarmed, running straight into certain death—Tyler didn’t think.

He acted.

Without hesitation, he yanked the strap of the supply bag over his head and threw it towards the open passenger door, barely catching Logan’s glare of confusion before he took off at full speed back into the ruined building.

The phantoms screeched in unison, drawn to his sudden movement, but he weaved through the chaos, barely dodging the creatures lunging at him from either side. A sharp claw grazed his arm, tearing through fabric and skin, but he barely registered the pain. His focus was locked on Aiden, whose stumble over a fallen shelf sent him crashing onto the shattered remains of a glass display case.

“Get up, get up!” Tyler reached him just as Aiden struggled onto his elbows, his face contorted in pain, yet still wearing his ever present smile. The glass had cut through his sleeve, a thin line of crimson soaking into the fabric. He was moving too slowly. Too weak. The weight of him slowed Tyler’s pace as he hauled him up.

The idea of making a run back to the car was no longer an option. The doors were blocked by the flood of creatures, the outside world darkened by their numbers. They needed another way.

Panic flared in Tyler’s chest as he scanned their surroundings, his gaze landing on a rusted metal door at the back of the pharmacy. “Storage room,” he breathed, and without another word, he threw his arm around Aiden’s waist, dragging him toward it.

They were halfway there when Aiden suddenly pushed against him, breaking free of his grip.

“Wait, Tyler—” His voice was strained, but there was something in it that made Tyler’s stomach drop.

He watched in disbelief as Aiden turned back, stumbling toward the very spot where he had fallen.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Tyler shouted, panic lacing his voice.

Aiden dropped to one knee, fingers scrambling against the debris until he found what he was looking for—a small, black object, its dull surface catching the faintest glimmer of moonlight.

Tyler didn’t have time to process what he was seeing. A figure loomed in the darkness behind Aiden. His breath caught.

The phantom was close—too close.

Tyler grabbed the first thing his fingers found—a jagged shard of glass—and drove it forward, stabbing it through the creature’s eye socket. The sharp sting of his own flesh splitting open was immediate, but he gritted his teeth, ignoring the fresh burn of pain as blood trickled down his wrist. Kicking the creature off, he reached Aiden just in time to yank him upright.

“Not another word,” he growled, half dragging, half carrying him toward the storage room.

The door barely budged when he slammed against it, his shoulder throbbing at the impact. He could hear them getting closer. The screeches, the pounding of clawed feet against the floor.

Adrenaline burned through his veins as he braced himself against the wood, pushing with all his strength. It moved—but not fast enough.

Aiden, despite the limp in his step, pushed himself forward, shoving against it alongside him. Their combined strength finally forced it open just enough for them to squeeze inside.

The moment they were in, Tyler threw his full weight against the door, and with a heavy thud, it slammed shut just as the first phantom collided against it.

Silence was a foreign concept in moments like these. The hammering of his heart, the rasp of his breath, and the scratching of phantom claws against the wooden surface filled the space between them.

Aiden slid down against the nearest shelf, pointing at Tyler with whatever he had on his hand, and let out a breathless chuckle. “You,” he panted, shaking his head. “Are fucking insane.”

Tyler, still leaning against the door, eyes shut tight, could only let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah?” He lifted his injured hand, his bloodied palm burning. “Look who’s talking.”

It took them countless minutes to regain their breath, sliding down the wall until they were sat on the floor, panting wildly as if they had just run a thousand-mile marathon—which, technically, they had.

“What in the loving fuck did you do that for?!” Tyler scolded, his voice still heavy with exhaustion. He expected a response, but Aiden had gone unusually quiet. His breathing had slowed into uneven wheezes, his usual sharp-witted remarks absent. It wasn’t until something nudged against Tyler’s side that his attention fully snapped to the other. A walkie-talkie. One of the devices Ashlyn had convinced them to bring along.

“Dropped it when I fell,” Aiden murmured, his voice oddly tired, restrained even. “Figured we could use it to call for help.” His words ended with a hiss, pain cutting through his voice despite his effort to keep it steady. That was when Tyler saw it—the way Aiden clutched his left arm, blood trailing from beneath his shoulder to just below his elbow.

Tyler’s stomach twisted. Had he gotten that from the glass? Or something worse?

Ignoring the prickling unease in his chest, Tyler moved closer, kneeling beside Aiden’s left side.

“Let me see,” he said, reaching out, but Aiden leaned back, his usual lopsided grin in place despite the sweat beading his forehead.

“Relax, Ty,” he quipped, his voice lacking its usual energy. “It’s just a scratch.”

Tyler’s jaw clenched. “You’re bleeding through your damn sleeve. Let me see it.”

“I said I’m fine,” Aiden countered, shifting slightly to hide the wound, but the movement made him wince. Still, he didn’t let his body jerk, didn’t allow himself to curl inward from the pain. His smile didn’t waver, even as his knuckles went white gripping his sleeve.

Tyler exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to argue. Instead, he looked around the darkened storage room, barely able to make out the shapes of the scattered supplies. Disinfectant. He needed disinfectant and bandages, but in this suffocating darkness, he could barely tell what was what.

“There’s a flashlight in my pocket,” Aiden said suddenly, his voice quieter now.

Tyler turned back to him, reaching out before pausing. Aiden looked pale, his breathing heavier, his expression strained despite that ever-present smirk. His lips were parted slightly, as if just breathing was a chore.

“Aiden,” Tyler said, trying to meet his eyes, “which pocket?”

The blonde blinked, clearly thinking, before muttering, “I don’t remember.”

With a frustrated sigh, Tyler checked the left pocket first, pulling out a pack of bandages. That would help later. He reached into the right and finally found the small flashlight, flicking it on and directing the beam across the room.

It didn’t take long to find what he needed—sterile dressings, a bottle of antiseptic, and two dry towels. Good enough. He returned to Aiden’s side, kneeling again, setting the flashlight facing upward to illuminate their small space.

“Alright, we need to clean that wound,” Tyler muttered, peeling away Aiden’s sleeve to properly see the damage. The gash was deep, the edges jagged from whatever had cut him.

Aiden didn’t even look at it. He just let out a huff of breath. “Damn. I thought it was just a paper cut.”

Tyler glared at him, but Aiden’s smile remained, unwavering even as sweat dripped down his temple. Stubborn idiot.

“Listen,” Tyler said, pressing a clean towel near the wound, feeling the muscle beneath twitch despite Aiden’s forced stillness. “This is going to hurt like hell.”

“You’re just trying to make me feel better about it,” Aiden mused, his grin tilting. “It’s gonna hurt like a bitch, isn’t it?”

Tyler hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. It will.”

Aiden sighed dramatically, though his shoulders were tense. He still refused to let his body betray the pain clawing through him.

Tyler held up the folded towel. “Bite this.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “Kinky.”

Tyler shoved it toward him harder. “If you scream, the phantoms will get more agitated. Maybe even draw in more. We don’t know how long this door will hold.”

For a moment, Aiden simply stared at him, the grin never leaving his face. Then, with an exaggerated eye roll, he took the towel and bit down on it.

Tyler exhaled, trying to ignore the way his own hands trembled. He popped the cap off the antiseptic bottle, took one last steadying breath, and poured.

Aiden’s entire body went rigid, his back arching slightly, muscles locking—but he didn’t scream. Not a single noise left him. His fingers curled into the fabric of his jeans, his jaw clenched tight around the towel, his nails digging half-moons into his palms. Even as fresh sweat dripped down the side of his face, his lips still fought to pull into a smirk.

“See?” Aiden rasped around the fabric in his mouth, his voice shaking only slightly. “Didn’t even flinch.”

Tyler scowled, pressing a fresh towel against the wound to stop the bleeding. “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, you’d be lost without me.”

Despite himself, despite the tension still tight in his chest, Tyler let out a quiet huff of laughter.

“Shut up, Aiden.”

With Aiden patched up—or as close to patched up as they could manage in this dimly lit supply room—Tyler finally turned his attention to his own injuries. His palm throbbed, but in the heat of the moment, he’d barely acknowledged it. Now, as he poured the last few drops of disinfectant over the gash, a sharp hiss slipped through his teeth. The sting was instant, burning its way up his wrist as he clumsily wrapped a bandage around it. His fingers fumbled, the ache making his movements stiff, but he tied it tight enough to hold.

With that handled, he let himself slide down to the floor, back resting against the wall, exhaustion pressing against his shoulders. He flexed his fingers, testing the tightness of the bandage before shifting his focus elsewhere—his arm. He remembered the phantom’s claws ripping through his jacket, the flash of pain that followed. Slowly, he tugged at the torn fabric, peeling it away to assess the damage.

Only to find nothing.

His brow furrowed. That didn’t make sense. He could’ve sworn—no, he knew—he’d been hit. He saw the way the creature’s claws slashed through, felt the sting as they raked against his skin. But now? Not even a scratch. No dried blood, no torn flesh. Just untouched, unblemished skin beneath the ruined sleeve. It was as if he’d never been attacked at all.

Odd.

III.

SLAP!

The sharp crack of skin against skin echoed through the graveyard, slicing through the tense evening air like a whip. Heads snapped in their direction, conversations fell into stunned silence, and the flickering glow of campfires cast uneasy shadows across the horrified faces of the gathered survivors.

“What do you mean my son is out there?!” Mrs. Clark’s voice, raw with rage and panic, tore through the stillness. She made a move to strike again, but her sister caught her wrist just in time, restraining her before the second blow could land.

“Deary, please, calm down! I’m sure there’s an explanation for this,” the older woman pleaded, her grip firm yet gentle, her wide eyes flickering with uncertainty as she turned toward the one person who could provide that explanation.

Ashlyn stood unmoving, head still tilted from the impact, the side of her face burning with a deepening red imprint of the slap. Her gaze, however, remained steady, unwavering. She didn’t flinch, didn’t raise a hand to her stinging cheek, didn’t step back when Ben instinctively placed himself between her and Jessica. She exhaled slowly through her nose, regaining her breath before she finally spoke, her voice level, controlled.

“Aiden and two more of us are our best options to go out there,” she stated matter-of-factly, her words deliberate, chosen with care. “I apologize for not informing you sooner, but this was the main cause. I hope you understand.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew they wouldn’t be received well.

Jessica’s expression twisted with fury, her face turning a deeper shade of red. “What do you mean you hope I understand?!” she shrieked, her voice climbing into hysteria. “All I understand is that you—crazy witch—sent my child out there to die!”

Her husband stood beside her, tense as stone, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t speak—pride kept his lips sealed—but his silence was heavy, his presence just as damning.

Ashlyn clenched her jaw, forcing herself to remain calm, though she could feel the migraine creeping in, pounding at her temples with each syllable that woman spat. She had counterarguments—rational, reasonable ones—but before she could respond, her father’s voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

“Okay, let’s stay calm for a moment,” Mike interjected, stepping between them with the practiced authority of someone used to de-escalating conflict. “Shouting won’t bring them back.”

Jessica’s breath hitched, her chest rising and falling with frantic energy. Her husband took that as his cue to step forward, gripping her shoulders gently yet firmly, guiding her away before the situation could spiral further.

Ashlyn exhaled, slow and measured, trying to shake the lingering tension off her shoulders. Her head throbbed—not just from the slap but from the sheer noise. The weight of all the eyes still on her only made it worse. She wanted to shut them out, to sink into silence, but she knew better. That woman was really something, but she wasn’t the first, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Trooper.”

She looked up at the sound of her father’s voice, already knowing what was coming. The expression he wore—one she’d rarely seen before—set her on edge more than the slap had.

“Can we talk for a minute?”

It wasn’t a question. He was already turning toward the tent he shared with her mother, his stride deliberate, expecting her to follow.

Ashlyn swallowed the lump of exhaustion in her throat and did exactly that.

The moment she stepped inside, the sounds of the camp muffled, but the tension didn’t lessen. She pulled the tent flap shut behind her, then lowered herself onto a chair, propping her head against the palm of her hand.

Her father sat across from her, his breathing slow but measured. She could hear the shift in his heartbeat—steady, but laced with something heavier. Concern. Frustration. Worry.

This was one of those rare times she felt awkward under his gaze.

She knew what was coming. A lecture. A confrontation. And worst of all, the weight of a parent’s fear, one she could hear in the beat of his heart before he even spoke.

“Those kids look up to you, you know.”

Mike’s voice was steady, firm, yet carried the weight of something softer beneath it—concern. A reminder, not a reprimand. But to Ashlyn, it was something so obvious it hardly needed to be said. It had been obvious months ago, ever since she unwillingly took her first step into leadership.

Back then, she thought it was a mistake. A ruin to her life and mentality. Yet somehow, here she was, still standing, still leading. It hadn’t broken her—at least, not completely.

“Yeah, I know—” she started, but he cut her off.

“You do, but you don’t.”

His eyes hadn’t left her face once, not even when she tilted her head up from resting on her palm. The intensity of his gaze made her hold his stare, unwilling to look away.

“If you ever told them, ‘Let’s jump into a horde of phantoms and fight them off,’” he continued, leaning forward slightly, “they’d show up with guns they’ve never even held before.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration.

Ashlyn had seen it—over and over again. Their trust in her was unwavering, almost blind. No matter how reckless, how terrifying a plan was, they believed in her. Even if they were afraid, they would follow.

It wasn’t comforting.

It was terrifying.

She exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “What were you thinking, Trooper?” Mike sighed, exhaustion seeping into his voice. Not directed at her—no, she could tell his exhaustion came from Jessica’s yelling—but she knew, in a way, that meant it was still about her.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, rubbing her temples before answering.

“That it’s stupid,” she admitted, voice quieter now, but not hesitant. “How we’ve been going through all this until we memorized it—until it became routine—only to be forced to feel like it’s the first time all over again.”

She saw it in his expression—he understood.

He agreed, even.

But that didn’t mean it was completely right.

“You were alone back then,” he reminded her, his voice softer this time. “You’re not anymore.”

That was the issue.

She didn’t say it aloud, but it weighed heavy on her mind. Because now, I have more lives to carry atop my shoulders.

More lives to protect.

More lives to lose.

Mike leaned back slightly, watching her closely before speaking again. “I’m not saying sending people out for supplies was the wrong choice—that’s something we’re going to have to do more of in the days ahead. But from now on, you should talk it through with us first.”

A pause.

“You’re not alone anymore, Trooper.”

She wanted to argue. To push back, say she knew that already.

But something in her settled.

The tension in her shoulders, the weight pressing against her ribcage—it didn’t disappear, but it eased.

She looked up at him, at the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips—the same smile that had always cheered her on, no matter what.

And without thinking, she smiled back.

The tension coiling in Ashlyn’s chest hadn’t fully settled before she heard it—the groan of the yard’s heavy gates being pushed open, followed immediately by the restless shuffle of feet and the sharp murmur of voices, their tones edged with something close to panic. It was enough to set her entire body on high alert, enough to send her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.

Her breath caught in her throat, panic creeping up her spine as her mind processed what she had just heard, but her body was already moving before she could stop herself. She shoved past the tent’s opening, boots pounding against the earth as she ran toward the gate, her pulse roaring in her ears loud enough to drown out everything else.

The gates were nearly closed by the time she reached them, her fingers grazing the rusted metal before her focus snapped to the single vehicle that had managed to make it through.

Just one shadow in the car.

Only one.

A cold, sinking feeling settled deep in her stomach. She barely registered her own voice when it tore past her lips.

“Logan!”

Her eyes frantically searched the space behind him, hoping—praying—that she had somehow missed them, that they were simply hidden by the flickering lamplight or obscured by the restless crowd shifting along the camp’s perimeter. But no matter how many times she blinked, no matter how many times she looked again, she only saw him.

Tyler and Aiden were not there.

Her breath stilled in her lungs, the weight of that realization pressing against her ribcage like a crushing force.

Logan was already moving, his steps hurried but precise as he pulled a strapped bag from the car and shoved it into his grandmother’s hands, barely taking a second to steady himself. The absence of his glasses didn’t escape her notice—whether they had been lost or broken along the way, she didn’t know, but it only added to the unease curling in her gut.

“This contains what’s needed to attend to Taylor’s state,” he told his grandmother, his voice firm despite the exhaustion weighing down his features. He leaned in just enough to press a quick kiss to her forehead, an unspoken reassurance that, for now, she was his priority. She nodded, gripping the bag tightly before disappearing into the nearest tent.

Ashlyn didn’t waste another second.

“Logan, where are Tyler and Aiden?”

The words left her in a single breath, too sharp, too rushed, the panic creeping into her tone no matter how much she tried to suppress it. She saw the way his eyes flickered slightly, the way his jaw tensed for just a fraction of a second before he turned toward her fully, gripping her shoulders with a steadiness she couldn’t quite find in herself at that moment.

“We got attacked by a horde of phantoms,” he explained, his words coming out fast, the urgency pushing them past his lips before he could filter them down to anything softer. “I’m sure they’re alright. I saw them get locked in a room before I had to get out, but we need to go back for them. Now.”

Even before he had finished speaking, he was already moving to grab his gun, already turning back toward the vehicle as if he was planning to leave that very second.

Ashlyn stepped in his way before he could go any further.

“No,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m going. You stay here and get some rest.”

She was fully prepared for him to fight her on this, fully prepared for the stubborn rebuttal she knew would follow, but before Logan could even open his mouth, another voice broke through the tension between them.

“We’re going, Trooper.”

It was a tone she had learned never to argue with.

Ashlyn turned just in time to see her father approaching, a rifle already slung across his chest, his expression set in firm resolution. The way he held himself, the way he looked at her—it was clear that no amount of protest would change his mind. This wasn’t up for discussion.

“I’m coming too,” Logan said, his voice quieter now, but there was something solid in the way he said it, something final that told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “I can’t sit here knowing I left them there.”

Ashlyn felt her pulse hammering against her throat, a part of her instinctively wanting to argue, to force him to stay, to make him rest. But she wasn’t foolish enough to think he would listen.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself before giving a short nod.

No more wasting time.

Spinning on her heel, she sprinted toward the bus where they kept their gear, her hands moving quickly, almost on instinct as she grabbed her bow and secured the quiver across her shoulder, fingers tightening around the grip as she turned back toward the vehicle.

By the time she slid into the passenger seat, Logan had already climbed into the back, his hands resting tensely against his thighs as he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Mike was the last to move, his grip firm on the steering wheel as he turned toward the gates, voice loud and clear.

“Ben! Open the gate!”

There was no hesitation.

The metal groaned as it was pulled back just enough for them to slip through, the narrow space barely enough for the car to fit.

The second it was clear, Mike hit the gas.

IV.

“Aiden?”

Tyler’s voice was barely a whisper, cautious yet pressing, cutting through the heavy silence that had settled over the room. He didn’t expect much of a response—maybe a faint shift, a small sound, just something to reassure him that Aiden was still there. When the other finally hummed in acknowledgment, Tyler released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Aiden looked better—marginally so, but better. The sickly pallor that had clung to his face earlier had faded just enough to make him seem less like he was knocking on death’s door. His breathing was steady, the rise and fall of his chest no longer erratic or labored, and when he finally cracked his eyes open, they weren’t nearly as dull as before.

“How are you feeling?”

Aiden blinked sluggishly, as if testing his vision, then finally let out a slow breath. “Alive,” he muttered, voice rough but intact. He shifted slightly against the wall, limbs moving less sluggishly than before. “Not as tired, though. Thanks, halfwit.”

Tyler scoffed, rolling his eyes before reaching out to ruffle Aiden’s messy hair, the familiar gesture earning a halfhearted grumble in response. But there was no bite to it, and that was enough to make Tyler’s chest feel just a little lighter.

Pushing himself to his feet, he retrieved the walkie-talkie Aiden had nearly gotten himself killed for. It was heavier in his hands than it should have been, the plastic cracked along one side, the screen scratched and dim. Tyler felt his frustration creeping up with every imperfection he noticed, his mind already bracing for the possibility that it wouldn’t work.

Still, he pressed the button on the side, listening for any sign of static or distortion. The small crackle that followed was enough to reignite a spark of hope.

“Hello?” His voice was controlled, though his grip tightened around the device. He released the button, waiting. Silence. His heartbeat ticked up.

He tried again. “Hello? Ashlyn? Anyone there?”

Nothing.

His stomach churned. He could feel Aiden’s eyes on him, could hear the slow shuffle of movement as the other sat up straighter, more alert now that the device was in play. Tyler stared at the walkie-talkie, willing it to respond.

“...ler?”

A voice, faint and fragmented, cut through the static. Tyler straightened immediately, as did Aiden, both of them focusing every ounce of their attention on the device. The signal was weak, barely decipherable, but there was no mistaking that voice.

“Ashlyn!” Tyler called, relief flooding his system all at once. “Can you hear me?”

The shadows beyond the door shifted at his raised volume, a few faint thuds echoing from outside. Aiden shot him a warning look. “Tyler, you don’t need to shout into it for her to hear you—”

“...Ty…Tyle…what’s…going on?”

The words were scrambled, cutting in and out, but it was enough to push Tyler into a frenzied state. His grip on the device tightened.

“We’re stuck in the pharmacy—did Logan make it back? How’s Taylor?” The questions tumbled out of his mouth, one after the other, with no sense of order.

“We’re…cl—”

A loud burst of static erupted, then silence.

Tyler’s stomach dropped. He pressed the button again, harder this time, as if sheer force alone would bring the connection back. “Ashlyn? Ashlyn, can you hear me? Answer me!”

Nothing.

Aiden watched as Tyler frantically tried over and over, his thumb jamming into the button with growing desperation. But the walkie-talkie was unresponsive now, as if their last sliver of connection had been completely severed.

And then, without warning, Tyler let out a sharp, frustrated curse and hurled the device across the room. It collided against the wall with a dull crack, shattering further upon impact, pieces scattering to the floor.

Aiden flinched, but kept quiet. He watched as Tyler dropped his head into his hands, his breathing ragged, his shoulders rising and falling with each shallow inhale. The silence in the room thickened, though it wasn’t entirely void of sound—the relentless banging from the other side of the door remained steady, a chilling reminder that their time was limited.

Aiden let the quiet settle between them for a few moments before finally speaking.

“Do you regret it?” His voice was softer than usual, though it carried the same blunt edge as always.

Tyler lifted his head slightly, glancing at him through his fingers. “Regret what?”

Aiden turned his gaze toward the battered door, the scratches along its surface illuminated by the dim lighting. His fingers curled over his own wounded arm, squeezing faintly as he spoke.

“Running back for me.”

The words lingered, heavy in the air. Tyler didn’t answer immediately, which only made Aiden more aware of the ache in his chest—the one that had nothing to do with his injuries.

Finally, after a long breath, Tyler shook his head.

“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. He turned fully to look at Aiden now, his dark eyes unwavering. “In fact, I’d do it again if I had to.”

Aiden stared at him, searching for even the slightest trace of insincerity, but there was none. He nodded faintly, shifting his gaze downward in an attempt to mask the warmth that spread through his chest.

Neither of them spoke after that. They sat in silence, but it wasn’t an empty or uncomfortable one. It was strange—being on the verge of death, yet feeling almost at peace. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was the lack of other options, or maybe it was just the simple comfort of knowing they weren’t facing it alone.

“…Do you think Logan made it out?” Aiden asked, breaking the quiet.

Tyler exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back slightly. “I don’t know. Probably? The guy’s full of wonders.”

Aiden hummed at that, acknowledging the logic behind it. Logan had started as the outcast—the bullied nerd who barely spoke—but there was no denying his intelligence had kept him alive this long. If anyone could make it out of a situation like this, it was him.

“We’re going to die, right?” Aiden asked, his tone flat, but not entirely emotionless.

Tyler smirked faintly, mirroring his own words back at him.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

Aiden snorted, a small, genuine laugh escaping before he could stop it. Tyler chuckled along with him, the sound light despite the circumstances. It was absurd, really—laughing in the face of what could very well be their last moments—but somehow, it made it all feel a little less terrifying.

The air inside the small, dimly lit pharmacy was thick, heavy with dust, the scent of spilled antiseptic barely masking the underlying staleness of decay. The rhythmic pounding on the door hadn’t stopped—it was relentless, an erratic drumbeat against the metal that only promised one thing. Sooner or later, it was going to give. The barricade wouldn’t hold forever, and when it fell, so would they.

Tyler sat on the edge of the low table, elbows pressed against his knees, fingers laced together as he stared at the ground, as if willing a solution to materialize in the cracks of the old tiles. His breathing had evened out, but his mind was anything but calm. Aiden, sitting just a few feet away against the wall, had gone quiet as well, though Tyler could tell by the way his fingers twitched against his knee that he was still awake, still thinking.

Then, in the middle of the suffocating silence, Aiden spoke.

“Tyler?”

His voice wasn’t urgent. If anything, it sounded almost lazy, like they were just sitting around a campfire instead of being one reinforced door away from a gruesome end. Tyler lifted his head slightly, running a hand through his front hair out of sheer habit, pushing back strands that had already fallen loose again.

“What?”

Aiden hesitated for only a second before asking, “Have you ever questioned your sexuality?”

Tyler blinked, frozen mid-motion, fingers still tangled in his hair before he let his hand drop. Of all the things he had expected Aiden to say—that sure as hell wasn’t one of them.

For a moment, he just stared at him, eyes narrowed slightly, trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke. But Aiden was looking at him, waiting, expression unreadable except for the faintest hint of curiosity flickering behind his tired eyes.

Tyler exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He let his hands rest on his thighs before tilting his head back against the wall, eyes momentarily shutting as a dry chuckle escaped him.

“You’re serious?”

Aiden didn’t answer, which was enough of an answer.

Tyler opened his eyes, sighing through his nose. “Out of all the things you could ask me right now, that’s what you want to talk about? We’re literally sitting here waiting for death to come crashing through that door, and you wanna discuss sexual identity?”

Aiden shrugged, shifting slightly against the wall, wincing as he adjusted his injured arm. “Well,” he said, voice carrying an almost amused lilt to it, “if I don’t ask now, I probably never will.”

Tyler huffed, rubbing a hand over his face before resting his forearm against his knee. He stared at the floor again, this time with a distant look, like he was trying to recall something long buried under years of more pressing concerns.

“…Maybe,” he admitted eventually, the word slow, careful, like he wasn’t even sure how much weight he wanted to give it. “Once or twice. But it’s not like I sat around thinking about it for long.”

Aiden turned his head slightly toward him, watching his expression shift under the dim light. “And?” he prompted, voice softer now, the teasing edge gone.

Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And then the world went to shit,” he muttered. “Kinda hard to sit around contemplating identity when you’re busy trying not to die every five seconds.”

Aiden hummed, as if he understood, though he didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he let his head fall back against the wall, a small smirk tugging at his lips, something almost knowing in his gaze as he stared at the ceiling.

“Fair enough.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t as heavy this time. It wasn’t the same kind of suffocating quiet as before—it was lighter, strangely grounding.

After a moment, Tyler tilted his head slightly toward him. “Why?” he asked, voice quieter now. “You questioning yours?”

Aiden didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just breathed out a soft laugh, shutting his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, gaze unfocused, distant.

“I don’t know,” he murmured “…Probably.”

The pounding on the door hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had become worse—a ceaseless, maddening rhythm that rattled the hinges and made the whole room feel smaller, like the walls were slowly pressing in. But there was nothing they could do about it. Nothing except wait.

Aiden shifted against the wall, drawing in a slow, uneven breath, his fingers curling slightly against his knee. Tyler could tell he was exhausted—had been for a while now—but there was something different about it now. It wasn’t just physical weariness. It was the kind of bone-deep fatigue that settled in after too many nights spent on edge, too many close calls, too many battles fought with nothing to show for it except more bruises, more losses.

“Tyler,” Aiden mumbled, voice quieter now, softer, like he was already halfway to sleep just by speaking the words.

Tyler turned his head slightly, feeling the familiar headache creeping in from the series of calls, eyes flicking over to him. “What?”

Aiden hesitated, lips pressing together for a second before he sighed, shifting uncomfortably as he looked down at his hands. “I, uh…” he started, then paused again, as if debating whether or not to continue. Eventually, he let out another breath, heavier this time. “Can we lay down?”

Tyler blinked, momentarily thrown by the request. “…What?”

Aiden swallowed, shifting again, as if embarrassed to even ask. “I just mean—like how we do with the others, when we all—” he gestured vaguely, as if that was enough to explain it. And in a way, it was.

The nights spent huddled together for warmth, bodies pressed close under the weight of shared exhaustion, had become second nature to all of them. When the nights were too cold, or the fear too overwhelming, they sought comfort in each other the way pack animals did—wordlessly, instinctively. It was something they all did without thinking. But here, in this small, isolated room, with just the two of them, it suddenly felt different.

Tyler hesitated, feeling something unfamiliar tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure why this felt different—it was the same thing they’d always done, wasn’t it? Just to keep warm. Just to make the loneliness and fear a little more bearable.

But still, he hesitated.

Aiden must have taken the silence the wrong way because he quickly looked away, lips pressing into a tight line. “Forget it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It was a dumb—”

“No,” Tyler interrupted, surprising even himself. Aiden looked back at him, eyebrows raising slightly, and Tyler exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck before sighing. “It’s fine. Just—yeah. Come on.”

He shifted slightly, tugging his jacket off before unfolding it, draping it over the both of them as best as he could before laying down on the cold floor. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Aiden hesitated for just a second longer before moving closer, carefully lowering himself down beside him. The space was tight, barely enough for both of them, but Aiden still managed to fit himself against Tyler’s side, resting his head against the other’s arm where it lay beneath him like a makeshift pillow.

Tyler felt his entire body tense at the contact.

It wasn’t that this was new. They’d done this before. Hell, they’d done this a hundred times. But something about it felt different now—he could feel Aiden’s warmth against his side, feel the way his breath fanned against his shoulder, the subtle weight of him pressed close. And more than anything, he could feel the way his own heart had started hammering against his ribs, so loud he was almost certain Aiden could hear it too.

Aiden shifted slightly, getting comfortable, before releasing a slow sigh. “You’re tense,” he murmured sleepily, voice already thick with drowsiness.

Tyler scoffed, forcing himself to relax just a little, though it didn’t do much to settle the erratic rhythm of his heart. “Yeah, well. Can’t imagine why.”

Aiden huffed a quiet laugh at that, and for some reason, it made Tyler’s chest feel even tighter.

The pounding outside continued, the phantoms still relentless in their assault against the door. The knowledge that they were still out there, that this could very well be their last night, should have made it impossible to rest.

And yet, with the weight of Aiden against him, the warmth of another person keeping the worst of the cold away, Tyler found it difficult to mind.

The cold floor was unforgiving against their bodies, but exhaustion was slowly winning over discomfort. The relentless pounding against the door had faded into background noise, muffled beneath the quiet of their breathing, the rhythmic inhales and exhales filling the small space between them. Tyler felt every inch of it—every shift of weight, every stray movement, every inch of warmth that Aiden’s presence provided.

Aiden shifted first. A slow, drowsy movement, his body turning as he rolled onto his side, facing Tyler. He was careful, mindful not to put too much pressure on his injured arm as he adjusted, his other hand settling against the floor between them, fingers loosely curled. His exhaustion was evident in the way his body seemed to melt into the ground, the heaviness of his limbs betraying just how little energy he had left to fight sleep.

Tyler hesitated before mirroring the movement, turning onto his own side until their eyes met in the dim light. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was just easier than lying flat on the cold ground staring at the ceiling, waiting for something neither of them wanted to name. Either way, the second their gazes locked, he felt something shift.

Aiden’s eyes, heavy with exhaustion, were still open, but only just. There was something unreadable in them, something Tyler wasn’t sure he wanted to figure out. He exhaled slowly, breaking eye contact first, tilting his head upward to stare at a patch of peeling paint on the ceiling. Anything to keep his mind occupied, anything to distract himself from the way Aiden’s presence felt a little too close, a little too much.

He focused on the sound of breathing instead—the slow, steady rhythm of it. Aiden’s was growing softer, more even. Tyler risked a glance down, only to find that the other boy’s eyes had finally slipped shut, the weight of exhaustion pulling him under. His expression was peaceful now, the tension that usually clung to his features finally melting away, leaving behind something softer. There was even the faintest upward tug at the corner of his lips, barely noticeable, like a ghost of a smile that lingered in sleep.

Tyler swallowed.

Something about it made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was the contrast—the quiet, the stillness—so different from the way Aiden usually carried himself, with sharp remarks and unfiltered thoughts, always moving, always restless. Or maybe it was something else, something Tyler wasn’t ready to examine too closely.

His fingers twitched against the floor before he even registered the movement. Almost without thinking, his hand lifted, hesitating for only a second before brushing a few strands of messy blond hair away from Aiden’s face, tucking them carefully behind his ear.

The touch was light. Brief. Barely more than a whisper of contact.

And yet, Tyler felt his own heartbeat stutter in response.

His hand lingered for a second longer than it should have before he pulled back, curling his fingers into a loose fist against the floor. He exhaled slowly through his nose, willing his chest to stop its quiet drumming.

Sleep wouldn't come easy for him, not with his mind this loud. But at the very least, he could take comfort in the quiet steadiness of Aiden’s breathing, in the warmth between them, in the fact that—if only for now—neither of them were alone.

V.

Tyler didn’t know how long he had been teetering between sleep and wakefulness, caught in that strange limbo where time felt distorted and reality blurred at the edges. His body was exhausted, yet his mind refused to quiet, trapped in an endless cycle of thoughts he didn’t want to dwell on. The warmth beside him, the sound of Aiden’s slow, steady breathing, the way his own heartbeat had finally begun to settle—it was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Then, in an instant, everything shattered.

The sharp, echoing crack of gunfire tore through the heavy silence like a blade. It wasn’t just one shot—multiple rounds fired in rapid succession, the sound bouncing off the walls and sending adrenaline surging through Tyler’s veins before he was even fully conscious. The distant murmur of voices followed, barely distinguishable over the ringing in his ears, but he could hear the urgency in them, the unmistakable tension of a fight just barely won.

Before either of them had time to react, before they could even process the sudden shift from quiet to chaos, they were already moving. The moment of stillness between them, the warmth they had shared, vanished as if it had never existed. Aiden was jolted awake, his body tensing as his senses caught up to reality, and Tyler instinctively pushed himself upright, muscles coiled, breath coming fast.

They both turned toward the door at the same time, eyes locked onto the worn wood that had barely held against the phantoms’ relentless pounding. But now, the pounding had stopped. The gunfire had ceased. And instead of the frantic, animalistic sounds that had haunted them through the night, there was silence.

A dangerous, unsettling silence.

Tyler barely had time to reach for the door handle before it was thrown open from the outside.

A flood of dim, crimson light spilled into the room, momentarily blinding them. It was always there—the eerie glow of the never-fading scarlet sky, casting long shadows and making the world feel permanently suspended in twilight—but after so long in darkness, the sudden exposure made them flinch, their vision struggling to adjust.

As their eyes focused, two familiar figures came into view.

Ashlyn stood in front of them, gun still raised, her expression hard but filled with unmistakable relief. She barely hesitated before turning over her shoulder, calling out to the others with urgency.

“We found them!” Her voice carried, cutting through the silence and echoing toward the car parked just outside the broken doorway.

Logan stood beside it, his stance tense, gun held ready as his eyes scanned their surroundings for any sign of movement. The air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder, and the evidence of a recent struggle was clear—phantoms lay motionless across the pavement, their forms twisted and unnatural, dark ichor pooling beneath them.

Tyler swallowed hard, forcing himself to push past the shock, past the lingering haze of sleep and the pounding in his chest. They were safe—at least, for now.

They didn’t address each other on the way back, didn’t even steal a glance. The silence between them was heavier than the air after a storm, thick with something neither of them was ready to name. It sat between them like a wall, a barrier built in the span of mere moments, yet impossible to break down as quickly. The awkwardness of it all hit harder than the deaths they had suffered months ago—those had been sharp, sudden, like a blade carving through flesh. But this? This was slow, creeping, a dull ache settling deep into their bones.

Even when they finally reached the graveyard, they didn’t acknowledge each other. Aiden was immediately pulled away to have his wound properly stitched, Logan at his side, ensuring he didn’t protest too much. Tyler only stood there, rooted in place, watching as Aiden was dragged into a tent not far from his own. The flap closed behind him, shutting Tyler out—not just from the tent, but from whatever space he had been allowed beside Aiden before the night’s events had forced them apart.

He barely had time to process the sudden emptiness beside him before another presence slipped into the void. Ashlyn appeared next to him, her arms crossed, her stance casual but her gaze sharp, like she had been waiting for him to shake himself free from his own thoughts.

Tyler exhaled, rubbing at his face before turning slightly toward her. “Carrot top, how’s Tay?” His voice came out rougher than intended, but the concern in it was genuine. He knew Logan had made it back in time, had delivered what she needed—but still, he needed to hear it. He needed to know for sure.

At his words, Ashlyn’s expression shifted. A faint smile tugged at her lips, something weary but relieved. “Her state got worse this morning,” she admitted, watching as Tyler tensed beside her. “It was worrisome, but thankfully, the stuff you guys gathered helped. It lessened it an effective amount.” She turned her head toward one of the tents, gaze lingering for a moment, her ears catching the quiet sigh of relief from the brunette beside her.

Tyler ran a hand through his hair, nodding to himself as though trying to make peace with that answer. “Okay, that’s good to know,” he muttered. “I’ll rest up in my tent for a while.” He turned on his heel, ready to slip away, to find some semblance of peace in the quiet of his own space.

But before he could take more than two steps, a firm grip wrapped around his wrist.

He blinked, glancing down at the smaller hand that had stopped him before looking back up at Ashlyn. His brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across his features. “What?”

Ashlyn held his gaze, her expression unreadable for a moment before she spoke. “Go talk to her.”

The simplicity of her words made them hit harder than if she had said anything else. His breath caught, and his fingers twitched at his side. “But she doesn’t—”

“It was not a question, Tyler.”

There was no room for argument. Her tone made sure of that. He could have ignored her, could have shaken her off and gone about his day like he hadn’t heard anything. But this was Ashlyn. She was shorter than him, but her authority over them all was undeniable, a presence stronger than her size should allow. She had been the glue keeping them together when everything else threatened to tear them apart.

And she was right.

This wasn’t supposed to be hard.

Tyler had imagined this moment countless times over the past few days, rehearsed the words he’d say, the way he’d stand, the tone he’d use. He had convinced himself that all he had to do was step forward and speak—that was it. No hesitation, no overthinking. Yet, here he was, standing just outside the tent, hands trembling at his sides, paralyzed by the weight of everything left unspoken.

Never once would he have imagined himself like this, a step away from seeing his sister and feeling utterly frozen, overthinking every possible way this encounter could go wrong. It had only been four days. That shouldn’t have felt long—not after everything they had been through—but this time, it did. This time, it felt different.

They had never gone this long without talking. Even when life had pulled them in separate directions, when different classes or plans had kept them apart, it had never been more than a few hours before they checked in with each other. But now? Now it felt like an eternity. The only times he had seen her were in passing—when he would check on her as she slept, lingering at the tent’s entrance long enough to reassure himself that she was still there, still breathing. But she hadn’t seen him, not really.

And now, he wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

Taking a breath, he steeled himself and reached for the zipper, slowly unzipping the tent’s entrance. He pulled it just high enough to peek inside, his arm keeping the flap raised as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The first thing he saw was Logan’s grandmother sitting in a chair near the mattress on the floor. Then his gaze drifted downward, taking in the hand clasped gently around Taylor’s. His breath hitched, following the familiar fingers up to the equally familiar brown eyes that were already locked onto his.

She was awake.

She was watching him.

And her expression was unreadable.

For a moment, Tyler thought about leaving. He thought about mumbling a quick apology, coming up with some last-second excuse, and walking away before either of them had to confront whatever this was. His mouth even parted, ready to form some half-hearted explanation—

But before he could get a single word out, she moved.

The tent flap was barely halfway open when Taylor shot forward, pushing past the space between them and throwing her arms around him. The force of it sent them both tumbling out of the tent, and he barely managed to catch himself with one hand, his other instinctively wrapping around her back to steady her.

“Taylor—”

He barely got her name out before she buried her face against his chest, clutching onto him like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. It took him a moment to register the quiet, muffled sobs against his shirt. The way her body shook in his hold.

His heart clenched, something raw and aching spreading through his ribs.

She was crying.

And before he could stop himself, so was he.

His grip tightened, his arms fully encircling her as he let his forehead rest lightly against the top of her head. His breath was unsteady, words falling from his lips in a rushed whisper—apologies, reassurances, anything to soothe her shaking frame.

“I’m here,” he murmured, voice breaking between syllables. “I’m so sorry, Tay. I’m here.”

He hadn’t held her like this since that day in the hospital.

Back then, it had felt like holding onto shattered glass—every second of it sharp, painful, impossible to bear for too long. But now, with her arms gripping onto him like she never wanted to let go, with the weight of everything they had been through pressing into this moment—he didn’t care about the pain.

VI.

The school bus was far from comfortable, but compared to the cold, open air outside, it might as well have been a five-star hotel. The windows were covered with sheets and tarps, blocking out most of the eerie red glow of the sky. Inside, the group had done their best to turn the cramped space into something more livable, laying out mattresses scavenged from their tents, piling on blankets that still carried the faint scent of rain and dirt.

It wasn’t perfect—not even close—but it was theirs. And after everything, after the fear and the exhaustion and the ever-present weight of survival pressing down on them, it was enough.

They had all settled in for the night, curling into whatever corners of warmth they could find. Tyler had ended up on the far side of the bus, resting against his sister, his head carefully placed on the comfort of her lap. The plan had been for Taylor to sleep separately, to give her a chance to rest without anyone disturbing her, but she had refused. No matter how many times they had tried to reason with her, no matter how many reassurances they had thrown her way, she wouldn’t budge.

So here they were, tangled together in a mess of limbs and shared breaths, clinging to each other in a way that spoke more of necessity than anything else.

Sleep came in waves, threatening to pull Tyler under before retreating just as quickly. He could hear the steady rhythm of Taylor’s breathing above him, the occasional shift of the others settling into the quiet. The world outside was silent—too silent—but for now, he didn’t let himself think about it.

Then, just as his mind began to drift, he felt it—a faint nudge behind him, just barely noticeable at first.

His brows furrowed slightly, sleep still clouding his thoughts. It happened again, more deliberate this time, legs shifting against his own in a way that sent a shiver up his spine. He tried to turn, to glance over his shoulder and see what Aiden was doing, but before he could move, an arm suddenly looped around his waist.

Tyler tensed as fingers curled tightly into his shirt, as a warm weight pressed against his back. Aiden's face buried itself against his shoulder blades, breath warm even through the fabric of his hoodie.

It was an odd action—unexpected, unfamiliar—but Tyler didn’t pull away.

Didn’t push him off.

Didn’t say anything.

Because really, wasn’t this the whole point? The reason they had all ended up here, sleeping in a space barely big enough for them, seeking out comfort in whatever way they could?

It wasn’t about warmth. Not really.

It was about feeling real.

About knowing, without a doubt, that they were still here. That they had made it through another day.

Tyler swallowed hard, feeling the steady rise and fall of Aiden’s chest against his back, the way his grip didn’t loosen even as his breathing evened out. His fingers twitched slightly before settling over Aiden’s hand where it rested against his stomach, giving it a small, silent squeeze.

He didn’t know what it meant. Didn’t know if it meant anything at all.

But as he exhaled slowly, letting himself sink further into the warmth surrounding him, he decided he didn’t need to.

Chapter Text

I.

Two years.

It had been two long years since the world as they knew it collapsed into a waking nightmare. Two years of running, fighting, and barely holding on. What had once been a desperate struggle for survival had slowly evolved into something more—something structured, something close to sustainable.

They had gathered as many survivors as they could along the way. Some were children, left orphaned in the chaos, their parents having died protecting them. Others were men and women with undeniable skills, each bringing something vital to the table—sharp shooters, medics, strategists, mechanics, and fighters. Each life saved was another piece of the fragile puzzle they were trying to keep together.

Over time, they’d managed to construct a semblance of home within the graveyard walls. They found extra tents and repurposed old furniture, stuffing it into the emptied school buses they had cleared out, making them into temporary homes. The seats had been ripped out to create more space, mattresses and blankets replacing what was once a space for traveling students. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was safer than most places left in this ruined world.

Everything was structured. Routines were put in place, schedules were carefully thought through, and every person was trained to fend for themselves. They had built something that could last. And yet, through all the careful planning and reinforced walls, there was one growing flaw, one that no one could afford to ignore.

The lights.

For three years, those towering floodlights had stood unchallenged, shining down on them like their own artificial sun. They were the only thing keeping the phantoms at bay, the one true line of defense that didn’t rely on human endurance. But now, those very same lights were beginning to dim, flickering with an uneasy inconsistency that had set a new kind of fear into the people’s hearts. It wasn’t just a minor concern—it was a slow countdown to disaster.

The people of the graveyard had begun to change. Their eyes lingered on the lights longer than they should, their bodies tensing each time they flickered. Conversations grew hushed, heads snapping upward at even the slightest shift in brightness. It wasn’t paranoia—it was preparation. Because they all knew that when those lights went out for good, the phantoms would come.

Meetings became a daily necessity, sometimes even occurring multiple times after each outing. The leaders of their group gathered in the designated planning tent, its interior cluttered with notes, scavenged maps, and whatever markers they could still find. On this particular day, the tension in the room was heavier than usual. The map spread across the table was a chaotic mess of markings—red Xs for places deemed too dangerous, blue circles for resource spots, and a single long green line stretching from the graveyard to a location they had barely dared consider.

An old prison.

Ashlyn broke the silence first, her sharp eyes scanning the map before her, fingers pressing against the worn edges as if she could somehow force it to provide a better answer.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the weight it carried. “Let’s gather everything we have in mind—anything we might need for this to work.”

The others leaned in, following her gaze to the crude green path traced on the paper. It led directly to the abandoned prison—one of the few places that might still have the power sources they needed. One of the survivors they had taken in had mentioned it before. He and his wife had tried to take refuge there, believing that the permanent lighting system inside could serve as protection. But things had gone wrong. He had lost her before he could reach safety, and any hope he had of staying there had vanished with her.

The problem wasn’t just getting to the prison. The real issue lay in the lights themselves. Though the outer barriers still glowed faintly, the main lights inside had been shut off long before the disaster struck. If they wanted to use them, they would have to go inside, find the power source, and turn them on themselves. And that meant navigating whatever was left lurking in the dark.

Reports from the scouting team had given them a clearer picture of what they were dealing with. The first set of gates—tall, rusted, and chained—encircled what had once been the prisoners’ outdoor yard. It was a vast, open space, long overgrown with weeds, but otherwise empty. The second set of gates, however, was a different story. These surrounded the main building, a massive, looming structure with thick stone walls and an eerie quietness that set nerves on edge.

The worst part? The main entrance was wide open.

The lights beyond that threshold had gone out long ago, and with them, so had any hope of keeping the creatures inside contained. If they had been trapped there before, they weren’t anymore. Anything—any number of phantoms—could have moved freely from the building into the prison yard. And if they were to proceed, they would be walking straight into it.

The room remained quiet, each person lost in their own calculations of risk versus necessity. The gravity of the task ahead loomed over them all.

Ashlyn exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on her shoulders. The flickering lanterns cast long shadows across the wrinkled map, the lines and markings a chaotic mess of color-coded paths, exes, and hastily scribbled notes. She let her gaze drift over the faces around her—each of them waiting for her to take charge, to provide them with the next step forward. The responsibility of twenty-six lives sat heavy in her chest, but she forced herself to focus. There was no room for doubt.

“So, Logan,” she finally asked, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of apprehension, “how much time do we have?”

Logan, who had been adjusting the fit of his contacts, stiffened at the sudden shift of attention. His usual glasses were absent, making him look somehow smaller without the familiar frames. He cleared his throat, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table before he answered.

“Well, uhm,” he hesitated, his gaze flickering around the room before settling back on the map. “I couldn’t get a precise estimate. The generators are old, and I don’t have the tools to run a full diagnostic, but… we should have at least a week. Maybe a little longer.”

A week.

The word hung in the air, sinking into each of them differently. For some, it was barely a whisper of time, a fragile thread stretched too thin to hold any real hope. For others, it was just another deadline in a life now defined by constant survival. To Ashlyn, it was both. A week was hardly enough time to come up with a plan, to prepare the others, to ensure that those who had spent years finding fragile comfort in this graveyard would be willing to step beyond its boundaries. But they had no other choice, did they?

Tyler shifted his weight, arms crossed over his chest as he nodded toward Ben. “Ben and I found an easy path on our last scout,” he began, voice calm but certain. “A few minutes’ walk through the forest behind us leads to an old railway. I won’t say it’s definitely safe, but it’s open enough that we’d see any phantoms coming from a distance. What matters is that it runs directly to the prison.”

Ashlyn absorbed his words, scanning the map for the green path that traced their proposed route. The railway was an old supply line, long abandoned even before the world had fallen apart. If it was still mostly intact, it would be their best shot at reaching the prison with minimal risk. She chewed the inside of her cheek, weighing the possibility of unseen dangers lurking in the trees or hidden within the railway’s rusted remains.

“Yeah, and we might actually stand more than a chance with the guns and knives Taylor and I recruited,” Aiden chimed in, ever the optimist, his grin as easy as the worn fabric of his hoodie. “The others have been training. They know how to handle themselves.”

Taylor gave a small nod beside him, her arms crossed, though she said nothing to confirm or deny his confidence.

The silence that followed pressed against Ashlyn’s ribcage like a tightening vice. Their expectant eyes—Logan, Tyler, Aiden, Ben, Taylor, her parents—burned into her, waiting for a decision she wasn’t sure she could make. No matter how she framed it, no version of this plan guaranteed safety. There were too many unknowns. Too many risks. And yet, to hesitate now meant to let fear dictate their survival.

She ran a hand through her unruly orange locks, her fingers catching in the strands that had grown too long again. She really needed to cut it. A meaningless thought, but one that distracted her from the spiraling chaos in her mind. Her breathing felt shallow, her pulse uneven—until she felt it.

A firm but gentle squeeze on her shoulder.

Her father’s hand, solid and grounding, pressed just enough to remind her that she wasn’t alone in this. She glanced up to find her mother offering a small thumbs-up from across the table, her expression warm yet unwavering.

Ashlyn swallowed, willing herself to steady. “Let’s talk this through with the others first,” she decided, forcing her voice to remain even. “Get their thoughts, their opinions. Then we’ll finalize a plan based on what we have.”

No one objected. No one argued. Perhaps they were too used to this routine by now, too familiar with these impossible choices.

But as Ashlyn let her eyes drift across the group one last time, they landed on Taylor’s gaze. Soft. Understanding. Reassuring in a way she hadn’t expected. And for the briefest moment, the pressure in her chest eased, even as the weight of their survival remained.

II.

It didn’t take long before everyone drifted into their daily routines, seamlessly slipping into the roles they had carved out for themselves over time. Some were focused on cooking, the scent of boiling broth mixing with the faint aroma of wood burning in makeshift stoves. Others took to rearranging furniture, shifting around salvaged chairs and mattresses to create a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos. A few were tending to the younger ones, their presence acting as a fragile barrier between innocence and the cruel world outside.

Aiden had taken to the latter, sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground with three children gathered around him. Two of them, a boy and a girl, looked to be around ten or twelve, their expressions filled with the kind of boredom that only children who had seen too much too soon could wear. The third, a smaller girl who couldn’t have been older than eight or nine, sat in the middle, her big, curious eyes locked on the intricate movements of Aiden’s hands as he speed-ran a Rubik's cube. Her lips parted slightly, fingers twitching as if she was trying to follow along, to somehow memorize the way his fingers twisted and turned the colors into place. The older kids, however, quickly lost interest, standing up with a shared huff before trudging off to wherever they usually spent their time.

Tyler stood a few feet away, leaning against the side of the school bus that cast a long shadow under the lighter red sky. He watched as Aiden’s fingers moved with effortless ease, twisting the cube until all the colors aligned in perfect rows. Twenty-five seconds. That was his record. He grinned, triumphant, before setting the cube down and turning his attention to the little girl, who had shot up to her feet, clapping wildly in pure delight. Her laughter rang out, a rare and precious sound in a world that had long since been drained of such innocence.

Aiden barely spared the retreating children a glance, his attention instead fixated on the girl as he scooped her up into his arms. Without a second thought, he spun her around, her small arms flailing as shrieks of laughter erupted from her tiny frame. Tyler found himself smiling at the sight, his chest warming in a way that was both familiar and unwanted. Aiden always had that effect—turning moments that should have been fleeting into something permanent, something that stuck in the back of his mind long after they ended.

When Aiden finally set the girl down, his expression softened. “Alright, Octopus, go check on your mom, okay? I’ll stop by later and read you a new book.” She nodded enthusiastically, barely able to contain her excitement before scurrying off in the direction of a blonde woman waiting a few feet away.

Tyler let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Octopus? Really?”

Aiden turned toward him, wiping imaginary dust from his black hoodie—the same one with a pink smiley face emblazoned in the center. The movement caused a faint smudge on his cheek to catch Tyler’s eye, an obviously failed attempt at drawing a smiley face, likely the work of one of the kids. Without thinking, Tyler reached out and wiped it away with his thumb.

“What? It fits,” Aiden defended, shrugging. “Her name’s Octavia, and she’s obsessed with this book I found about octopuses. Thought she’d like it if I made her feel special.”

Tyler huffed a laugh, falling into step beside him as they wandered through the camp. “So what, you’re a big softie now? Fond of kids?”

Before he could react, Aiden’s elbow dug sharply into his side, nearly sending him stumbling into a table of freshly washed clothes. He barely managed to right himself, laughter spilling from his lips at Aiden’s unamused glare. But there was something different about his expression—his usual sharp smirk had softened into something more relaxed, something more real. And that was the part that got to Tyler the most. Two years, and still, Aiden had the ability to make his chest tighten with things he never wanted to name.

His thoughts scattered when something heavy was pressed against his chest. A gun. He barely caught it in time, fingers tightening around the weapon as he glanced up, startled. Aiden had already turned away, flipping a knife in each hand before sheathing them in his belt.

“Fond of kids? No. Fond of Octavia? Yes,” Aiden clarified, his voice tinged with amusement. Then, with a dramatic stretch of his arms over his head, his hoodie lifted just enough to reveal the barest hint of his stomach. “Now quit messing around and grab what you need. Ashlyn wants us to scout another location, and I’m itching to get out there. If I stay here any longer, I might just jump the wall at night.”

And just like that, he was gone, slipping out of the tent with his usual effortless confidence, leaving Tyler standing there, chuckling under his breath. He looked down at the gun now resting in his grip, then at the bandages wrapped around his hand. It had been a while since he last held a gun—he’d grown too accustomed to the solid weight of his bat, to the feeling of his fists connecting with something tangible. Now, holding a firearm again, it felt heavier than it should.

Still, he wasn’t about to complain. Not if it meant spending more time with Aiden. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times he tried to push it down, there was no denying the confusion haunting his nights.

Exhaustion had no place in his mind. Only the thrill of what was to come.

It was around midnight when Taylor stepped quietly into the tent she shared with Ashlyn. The air inside was still, carrying the scent of fabric warmed by the day’s sun and the faintest trace of Ashlyn’s presence—a mix of earth, metal, and something uniquely her own. She moved carefully, mindful of not disturbing the girl who sat hunched over their makeshift table, utterly lost in thought.

Even in the dim lantern light, Taylor could see the tension in Ashlyn’s posture, the way her shoulders curved inward, her freckled hand buried in her now-loosened orange locks. Her hair was longer now, freed from the usual ponytail, and it cascaded over her shoulders, unruly and unbothered by the night air. Her elbows dug into the tabletop, fingers occasionally twitching as she absentmindedly held herself up, the map before her covered in hastily drawn lines and markings that only added to the weight pressing on her shoulders.

Taylor lingered in the entrance, unwilling to startle her. She let herself watch for a moment, absorbing the quiet intensity of the girl she loved. Ashlyn looked beautiful when she was deep in thought, beautiful always, really. An unordinary angel, Taylor often mused.

When green eyes finally lifted to meet her own, Taylor offered a soft, knowing smile. Relief flickered across Ashlyn’s tired face, though she barely let it settle before turning back to her map, pen twirling idly in her fingers.

“Ah, Taylor, sorry—I didn’t hear you come in,” she murmured, voice laced with exhaustion but carrying the quiet warmth that always made Taylor feel at home.

“No worries, dear,” Taylor responded, stepping forward with measured ease. She reached out hesitantly, fingertips brushing the base of Ashlyn’s hair—a tentative test of comfort, a silent question. Taylor never took physical contact for granted, knowing how hard it had been for Ashlyn to let anyone in. The fact that she was an exception was something she held close, something she cherished.

Ashlyn didn’t flinch away. Instead, she let out the softest sigh, almost imperceptible, and Taylor took that as her answer. Her hands moved to Ashlyn’s shoulders, fingers pressing gently into the tense muscles beneath the fabric of her shirt. She worked slowly, applying just the right amount of pressure, coaxing the stress from Ashlyn’s frame with practiced ease.

A shuddering breath left Ashlyn’s lips, her body finally beginning to ease into the touch. Taylor could feel her gradually let go, her shoulders sinking, the stiffness giving way beneath her hands. The map was momentarily forgotten, the worries of the night pushed just far enough aside to let a sliver of peace settle in.

Taylor leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to the crown of Ashlyn’s head, lingering just for a moment. “Get some rest, love,” she whispered against the orange strands, letting her lips brush against them as she pulled away.

Ashlyn hummed in acknowledgment, a sound that was neither protest nor agreement, but Taylor knew her well enough to hear the gratitude in it. With one last, affectionate squeeze to her shoulders, Taylor stepped back, letting the quiet between them settle in as she moved toward her own spot in the tent.

The night was far from over, the weight of their reality still looming, but in this moment, Taylor hoped she had helped lighten the burden, even if just a little.

III.

Tyler woke up early the following day, an unusual occurrence for him. Typically, if he was up at dawn, it was due to restless nights or persistent nightmares, but today was different. Today, his impatience had stolen the possibility of extra sleep. He had been standing by the graveyard’s tall iron gates for the past thirty-five minutes, scanning the settlement for a familiar figure. Any second now, Aiden would either stroll out of his tent or appear out of nowhere to scare the living hell out of him—his favorite pastime, apparently.

He sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers tapping idly against the handle of his bat. Fifteen more minutes passed, the crisp morning air nipping at his exposed skin, before movement finally caught his eye. There he was.

Aiden sauntered towards him, twirling his knife between dexterous fingers, the blade catching the dim light of the rising red sun. His expression was as lively as ever, that ever-present grin playing on his lips. If anything were to jump at them during their trip, Tyler had no doubt Aiden would be the first to launch himself at it, knives first, questions later.

“Morning, sunshine,” Aiden greeted, his voice still rough from sleep but filled with amusement. “Didn’t peg you for an early riser.”

“I’m not,” Tyler admitted, turning towards the dirt road they’d be taking. “But I wasn’t about to let you march off without me.”

Aiden snickered, flipping his knife once before tucking it into his belt. “Guess you just can’t get enough of me.”

Tyler rolled his eyes and shoved him lightly before leading the way. The route they had mapped out to the gas station was one of the safer ones, free of any recent phantom sightings. It was still eerie, though, the emptiness of the world pressing against them as they walked. To distract themselves from the unease, they fell into easy conversation—specifically, music.

“Alright, answer wisely,” Aiden started, glancing at Tyler with a mock-serious expression. “Best band pre-world-ending?”

Tyler smirked, already knowing his answer. “Nirvana.”

Aiden let out a dramatic gasp, placing a hand over his chest as if physically wounded. “Nirvana? C’mon, dude. I knew you had that broody, tortured soul thing going on, but you had the whole world of music and went straight for the classic sad boys?”

Tyler scoffed, kicking a stray rock ahead of them. “And who would you pick, then?”

Aiden’s expression shifted into something smug. “Green Day. No hesitation.”

Tyler groaned. “You did not just say Green Day.”

“What? You don’t respect the classics?”

“I respect them,” Tyler said, dragging the word out. “But ‘Boulevard of Broken Dreams’ being your anthem explains so much about you.”

Aiden cackled, nudging Tyler’s arm. “Oh, shut up. Like you haven’t belted that song at least once.”

Their conversation carried them all the way to the station, making the journey feel shorter than it was. The place was as desolate as expected, shelves mostly stripped bare from looters, the air stale with abandonment. They worked efficiently, moving through the aisles to gather whatever was left—some canned food, a few packs of water, and other non-perishables that would help sustain them a little longer. It wasn’t much, but every bit counted.

While Aiden busied himself near the toy aisle, Tyler scanned a dusty display near the counter and spotted something unexpected—bottles of hair dye. Most of them were useless colors, faded labels making it difficult to read, but his fingers stilled over one particular bottle. Blond.

His mind immediately flashed back to Aiden’s endless complaints about his roots growing back over the years, about how he missed the brighter color of his hair before everything went to hell. It was a small thing, but Tyler knew it meant something to him. Without a second thought, he grabbed the bottle and slipped it into his bag before Aiden could notice.

When he turned back, he found Aiden kneeling near the bottom shelf, grabbing a couple of small toys—a stuffed animal, a little car, things that were undoubtedly for Octavia. The sight made something warm settle in Tyler’s chest.

Aiden glanced up, catching him staring, and grinned. “What? Don’t tell me you think I’m soft too now.”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head as he swung his bag over his shoulder. “Nah,” he said, watching as Aiden added one more toy to his collection. “Not soft. Just... different.”

Aiden hummed at that, rising to his feet and dusting off his hands. “Different’s good.” Tyler only nodded, following him out of the store.

The road ahead stretched long and empty, lined with rusting husks of cars that had long since been abandoned to time and the elements. Glass shards from shattered windshields glinted weakly in the dim sunlight, catching the light between growing patches of moss and weeds that had begun reclaiming the land. The air smelled faintly of damp asphalt, though it hadn't rained in days, and the ever-present rust tainted the scent with something metallic and old. It was quiet. Almost unnervingly so.

Tyler had walked this route before, more times than he could count, but something about the silence this morning felt different—like the world was holding its breath, waiting. He kept his pace steady, his boots scuffing lightly against the cracked pavement, ears tuned to the soft, rustling whispers of the wind threading through the trees.

Beside him, Aiden moved with the usual energy of someone who couldn’t quite sit still for long, twirling his knife between deft fingers in an endless, absentminded motion. The small blade caught the muted light each time it spun, reflecting glimmers of silver against his tanned skin. It was a habit, one Tyler had gotten used to over the years, a telltale sign that Aiden was either deep in thought or just itching for something to do with his hands.

After a while, Aiden reached into his bag, rummaging blindly before pulling out a bottle of water. He twisted the cap off one-handed, bringing it halfway to his lips before—without warning—it slipped from his grasp.

The plastic hit the ground with a dull, almost anticlimactic thud, the clear liquid spilling freely across the pavement, seeping into the thirsty cracks of the road. Aiden barely reacted. He didn’t curse, didn’t make any move to grab for it. Instead, he merely tilted his head, watching the water pool before shrugging with an almost dismissive air.

“Whoops,” he muttered, stepping over the mess like it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Tyler stopped dead in his tracks.

His gaze flicked between the puddle of wasted water and the back of Aiden’s head, his disbelief momentarily rendering him speechless. He blinked, processing what had just happened before his brows drew together, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Whoops?” he echoed, incredulity creeping into his tone.

Aiden, already a few steps ahead, let out a long-suffering sigh before throwing a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah? What, you want me to cry about it?”

Tyler stared at him, then at the ground again, as if trying to comprehend how the hell this idiot could be so casual about wasting something as valuable as clean water.

“That was perfectly good water, dumbass,” he snapped, irritation bleeding into his voice.

Aiden scoffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was an accident, man.”

“You didn’t even try to pick it up!”

“Oh my god.” Aiden dragged a hand down his face in frustration, making his smile momentarily turn into a grimace before waving a dismissive hand. “What do you expect me to do, Tyler? Get down on my knees and drink it out of the dirt?”

Tyler’s jaw tensed. “I expect you to not be an idiot,” he bit out.

Aiden rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of his skull. He turned away again, making a point to walk off, voice full of exaggerated exasperation. “You’re so dramatic. It was just a bottle.”

That did it. Tyler surged forward, shoving Aiden’s shoulder—not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to get his point across.

Aiden didn’t hesitate to shove him right back, and that was all it took.

They squared up without a second thought, too much pride between them to let it go now. There was no real anger behind it, not really, but neither of them had ever been particularly good at backing down from a challenge. And when Aiden suddenly threw a punch, Tyler barely had time to register it before the force snapped his head to the side.

For a moment, there was only ringing in his ears. Then a slow, amused smirk curled across his lips.

“Oh, you are so dead,” he muttered.

And he swung back.

What started as a minor scuffle quickly devolved into something far more ridiculous. Within moments, they were a tangle of limbs on the pavement, rolling over dirt and cracked asphalt like a couple of overgrown children fighting over a toy, while being practical grown-ups. Fists swung without real intent, elbows jabbed, grunts and curses filled the space between them, but neither of them seemed to be aiming for any actual damage. It was more of a game—a contest of who would break first.

Aiden had speed, but Tyler had strength, and eventually, strength won out.

With a sharp twist, Tyler flipped Aiden onto his stomach, forcing his arm behind his back and pinning him down with practiced ease. Aiden let out a muffled curse as his face was pressed against the rough pavement, his free arm struggling against the weight pressing him down.

“Get the hell off me!” Aiden growled, voice muffled by the ground.

Tyler let out a breathless chuckle, keeping his knee firmly planted in the middle of Aiden’s back. “You forget,” he panted, a victorious smirk creeping onto his face, “I’m the athlete here. Just give up already.”

Aiden, predictably, did not give up. He writhed beneath him, kicking his heels back in an attempt to nail Tyler in the ribs, cursing him to hell and back.

Then—suddenly—he stilled.

His body went rigid beneath Tyler’s grip, the change so abrupt that it sent a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

Tyler, still smug in his victory, didn’t notice right away. He was too caught up in pinning Aiden down, in catching his breath, in reveling in the win. “Oh, so now you’re—”

“Tyler,” Aiden hissed.

Something in his voice made Tyler pause. The sharp edge of urgency—panic, even. It was so unlike him that Tyler actually hesitated, his grip loosening slightly. “What?”

Aiden jerked beneath him again, but it wasn’t out of stubbornness this time. He wasn’t trying to win anymore—he was trying to get free. “Get off,” he said, lower this time, voice barely above a whisper.

Tyler frowned, about to ask what the hell his problem was, when he heard it.

Uneven footsteps.

Not the smooth, calculated movement of a phantom—no, this was different. Slower. Almost… aimless.

He let go immediately, scrambling off of Aiden and onto his feet. Aiden was up just as fast, eyes darting toward the sound as they both instinctively pressed their backs to the nearest car, ducking low.

The air felt heavier, the usual distant chirping of birds eerily absent.

They barely breathed.

Tyler risked a glance through the dirty window of the car they were hiding behind, squinting past the grime and dust. A figure was moving in the distance, its shape barely defined in the hazy morning light.

His first thought was that it was a person. Someone lost, maybe. Someone who needed help. But then, as the figure limped closer, he saw it properly—and his stomach turned.

It wasn’t right.

The clothes were shredded, barely hanging onto a body that was… wrong. Skin marred with decay, peeling, grayish and sagging as if death had long since claimed it, and yet—somehow—it still walked.

Tyler’s breath hitched, heart hammering.

Then, without warning, the thing’s head snapped in their direction.

They both immediately ducked, pressing themselves lower behind the car. Tyler’s hand instinctively went to Aiden’s head, forcing him down further as if that would somehow make them invisible.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

The only sound was the erratic pounding of their own hearts.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours but was probably just minutes.

Eventually, Tyler dared another glance, peeking just enough to see over the car’s dashboard. The thing was moving again—but not toward them. It was shuffling away, disappearing into the thick forest beyond the road, swallowed by the trees.

His grip on Aiden’s head loosened.

They sat there for a moment, still frozen.

Aiden was the first to move, slowly sitting up as if worried any sudden movement would bring it back. “That wasn’t a phantom,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” Tyler agreed, swallowing hard. “No, it wasn’t.”

They exchanged a look, one that didn’t need words.

This was something new.

Something worse.

Tyler exhaled, running a hand down his face as he pushed himself to his feet. “Screw today’s scout,” he muttered under his breath. “We need to get back. Now.” Aiden didn’t argue. He just nodded, already moving.

They didn’t waste another second. They ran.

IV.

Ashlyn sat across from them, the dim lantern flickering between them casting long shadows across the tent’s walls. The air inside was thick with the scent of old fabric and the faint, lingering burn of candle wax, but the tension pressing down on the three of them was heavier than anything else. She hadn’t wasted time gathering the rest of the council for this conversation. Not yet. The moment Aiden and Tyler had returned, looking pale and uncharacteristically shaken, she had pulled them aside, her voice firm but measured. If what they claimed to have seen was real, then they had an entirely new kind of problem on their hands—one she wasn’t sure they were prepared for.

Ashlyn leaned forward, fingers steepled together, her green eyes sharp as she studied the two men in front of her. “A phantom,” she repeated, voice slow and deliberate, as if testing the weight of the words on her tongue. “One that looked like a human?”

Across from her, Aiden nodded so aggressively it was a miracle his head didn’t snap off. Tyler, in contrast, simply gave a single, firm nod, his expression unreadable.

That was what worried her.

If it had just been Aiden rambling about seeing something strange, she might’ve dismissed it, chalking it up to fatigue or his tendency to get overly dramatic about things. But Tyler wasn’t like that. He didn’t exaggerate, didn’t get spooked easily, and sure as hell didn’t waste his time entertaining nonsense. The fact that he was sitting there, arms crossed, jaw tight, looking just as troubled as Aiden—it meant something. And that something was very, very bad.

She exhaled slowly, running a hand through her loose red hair. This couldn’t get out. If people caught wind that they were up against something new, something they didn’t understand, their already fragile morale would crack like thin ice. It was already hard enough convincing people to venture outside the walls for supply runs, and that was with the phantoms they knew. If word got out that there was something else lurking out there, something worse, fewer would be willing to take that risk.

Ashlyn leveled them both with a careful look. “Are you absolutely sure of what you saw?” she asked, though she already knew the answer. “You might’ve come across a living person and just—”

“No, Ash.”

Aiden cut her off before she could finish, his voice uncharacteristically firm. His hands moved as he spoke, as if trying to physically shape his words into something tangible, something undeniable. “It looked human, yeah, but its skin was rotting. Like, actually falling apart. It was like—” He hesitated, brows furrowing, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Like it had been dead for years.”

The way he said it sent a cold shiver crawling up her spine.

She had known Aiden for long enough to tell when he was messing around and when he was serious. And right now, there wasn’t a trace of humor in him. Ever-present smirk sure, but no teasing lilt to his voice. Just pure, unfiltered belief in what he had seen.

She turned her gaze to Tyler, hoping for some kind of doubt, some kind of hesitation in his stance, but she found none. He was just as rigid, just as sure. His arms remained locked over his chest, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly as if his mind was still replaying the moment over and over again, trying to make sense of it.

Ashlyn let out a slow, measured breath. She opened her mouth, preparing to say something—though what, she wasn’t entirely sure—

Then a scream tore through the air outside the tent.

The sound sliced through the night like a blade, raw and panicked, and the three of them moved instantly. There was no hesitation, no pausing to look at one another for confirmation—just pure instinct. The same instinct that had been carved into them two years ago, when everything had first gone to hell.

Ashlyn pushed past the tent’s entrance, her heart already hammering against her ribs, each beat pounding in her ears like a war drum.

The second she stepped outside, her stomach dropped.

The lights.

Every single one of the floodlights that had been protecting their camp for the past three years—every single barrier of security that had kept the nightmares at bay—

They were off.

Crimson darkness swallowed the entire compound, thick and suffocating, stretching out in every direction like a living, breathing entity. The stars above flickered weakly, but they did little to illuminate the sudden, horrifying vastness of the night.

Chapter Text

I.

The shift from order to chaos was instantaneous.

One moment, there was quiet—fragile, uneasy, but present. A false sense of peace that had kept them afloat, like a raft drifting in a sea of uncertainty. And then, in a single breath, it was gone.

The compound erupted into madness.

Screams tore through the air, a raw and unrestrained panic that spread like wildfire. People darted in all directions, some desperately trying to find shelter while others stood frozen, overwhelmed by the sheer incomprehensibility of what was happening. The floodlights that had stood as their shield against the night were dead, swallowed by the abyss above. The walls, once reassuring in their silent vigilance, now loomed like towering tombstones in the darkness.

It made no sense.

Logan had assured them the lights would last at least another week—at least. They weren’t just a precaution; they were a necessity, a line of defense between them and whatever still lurked in the world beyond their gates. Their sudden failure was more than just an inconvenience—it was a disaster.

Aiden, Tyler, and Ashlyn remained rooted in place, their eyes fixed on the now-empty red sky where light had once been. The absence of illumination turned everything unfamiliar, distorting the place they had called home into something menacing, unrecognizable.

For several agonizing seconds, no one moved.

Then, a voice cut through the panic.

"Everyone! Quit screaming and hide in one spot!"

Emma’s sharp command rang out over the mayhem, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "Shouting will only make you an easy target!"

The effect was immediate. The shrieks faded into hushed whimpers, the scrambling of feet slowed, and the collective pulse of the group steadied just enough to keep them from spiraling further into disorder. Mike took over next, ushering people into a single location, ensuring no one was left behind. It was a precaution drilled into them through months—years—of survival. Fragmentation was death.

Tyler exhaled, his breath shaky, forcing himself to focus. The panic around him was stifling, pressing in from all sides, but there was no time to drown in it.

He turned to Ashlyn.

She hadn’t moved.

Her green eyes were distant, unfocused—not scanning for danger, not calculating the next step, but caught somewhere else entirely. Her expression was slack, unreadable at first glance, but Tyler knew what he was seeing. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t shock.

It was fear.

His stomach clenched.

He had never seen Ashlyn this afraid.

"Ashlyn!" His voice was low but firm, cutting through whatever spiral she was falling into. The sound of her name dragged her back just enough for their gazes to lock. She blinked, as if shaking off a haze, and with a small, stiff nod, signaled that she was back.

That was all he needed.

"Focus," he pressed. "Do you hear anything?"

It took a second for her to understand, but when she did, her features shifted—sharp, calculating. The world around them was drowned in darkness, making sight unreliable. Sound was their only advantage now.

Ashlyn closed her eyes, tilting her head slightly, listening. “No, I don’t hear—".

Then—Her breath hitched.

Her eyes snapped open, but before Tyler could even ask what she’d heard, her hands flew up to clutch the sides of her head.

Her entire body recoiled.

A strangled, breathless noise escaped her lips, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper. Her knees gave out, hitting the ground hard, but she didn’t seem to notice, her fingers digging into her skull as though trying to physically block something out.

"Too… loud!"

The words were choked, barely coherent, but they sent ice down Tyler’s spine. The silence after Ashlyn’s agonized cry didn’t last long. It never did. 

A horrific screech—inhuman, high-pitched, and metallic—shattered the stillness as the walls, those very walls meant to protect them, came alive with movement. Something slithered, then scratched, then pounded, as if the graveyard itself was breathing. Then, the Phantoms came. 

They poured over the top like monstrous insects, clawed fingers scraping against rusted metal as they launched themselves toward the nearest bodies.

The first victim barely had time to scream before jagged, unnaturally elongated fingers latched onto his jaw. The Phantom’s face was a featureless void, its stretched, oily skin twitching with hunger as it yanked upward. The sickening pop of tendons snapping was drowned out by a guttural rip—the lower half of the man’s face torn clean off, flesh and bone dangling from the creature’s grip like a grotesque prize. He gurgled, hands shaking violently over his exposed throat, crimson spilling between his fingers as his knees buckled and he collapsed, twitching. 

Another Phantom moved like a blur, lunging at a second victim. Before the woman could even turn to flee, its clawed arm shot forward—impaling her midsection. The force lifted her clean off her feet, her body convulsing as her ribs audibly cracked against the intrusion. She gasped, blood bubbling from her lips, hands gripping uselessly at the Phantom’s arm that had skewered her like a doll. The creature didn’t even hesitate before lifting her higher, twisting its wrist sharply—her torso split apart with a wet, tearing noise, spilling intestines onto the ground below. 

A third scream was cut short when another Phantom pounced, this one more animalistic. Its elongated limbs moved unnaturally fast, jagged claws digging into the man’s shoulders before its massive, gnashing maw clamped down around his neck. With one brutal wrench, the head detached from his body. Veins and sinew stretched for a second before snapping, sending a fresh arc of blood spraying against the side of the school bus like a grotesque mural. The Phantom chucked the head aside, letting it roll to a stop at someone’s feet—unseeing eyes frozen in shock. 

Ashlyn couldn’t see any of it. She was still on her knees, hands pressed over her ears, breath heaving in shallow gasps. The sound—it was too loud. The world itself felt like it was splitting apart, an unbearable ringing crushing her skull from the inside out. 

"Get her headphones!" Aiden hissed, his own hands clasped over hers, desperately trying to muffle the noise. 

Ben moved fast, his boots crunching against the bloodied gravel as he rushed toward their tent. A Phantom landed not too far from him, its long fingers twitching as it sniffed the air, but before it could react, Ben was already back, shoving the battered pair of noise-canceling headphones over Ashlyn’s ears. Her breath hitched as the unbearable shrieking dimmed, her body still shaking, but at least she could breathe again. 

Tyler grabbed Aiden’s arm and gave a sharp tug, eyes scanning the carnage. "Move!" 

Aiden and Ben lifted Ashlyn, dragging her behind one of the buses, the rusted metal barely offering any protection. They crouched low, their breath controlled but panicked. The three victims had been the only ones so far—by some miracle, the others had shaken out of their shock, following Emma and Mike’s orders and huddling together in silence, Lily held onto the children behind her mother and father. 

Near the gate, Emma and Mike exchanged glances, eyes flicking between the remaining kids and the surrounding chaos. It was unspoken, but Tyler saw it—the silent agreement. As soon as they had an opening, they’d make a break for it. The prison. That was the plan now. 

Taylor was with them. Tyler caught her glance from across the lot, the tension in her body screaming reluctance. She didn’t want to leave without him. He felt it too, that same gnawing fear, but he gave her a slow nod. Go. You’ll be okay.

Aiden’s breath tickled his ear as he whispered, “Ben should go with them.” 

Ben hesitated for only a second before nodding. He wasn’t just an extra set of hands—he was a necessity. He’d make sure the kids got to safety.

The air was thick with the stench of blood, rust, and something far worse—the acrid, decayed scent of the Phantoms themselves. It clung to the inside of their noses, made the back of their throats burn with the taste of copper and rot. The ground was slick with fresh blood, bodies torn apart like discarded meat, and for a long, stretching moment, nobody moved. Even those who had managed to flee to the safety of cover barely dared to breathe.

But after a while of even breathing and shaking muscles, something changed.

It started subtly—a shift in the air, a ripple in the Phantoms' unnatural, jittering movements. One by one, some of them began to withdraw. Not all of them, no, but a handful started slinking away, dragging themselves back into the shadows beyond the broken walls. The way they moved was unsettling; their bodies twitching in erratic bursts, limbs bending in ways they shouldn’t as they slithered into the black. It wasn’t an immediate retreat, nor was it complete, but they were leaving, satisfied, perhaps, with the carnage they’d inflicted or simply growing restless from the lack of further victims.

The ones that remained, however, were still dangerous—still poised, still hungry for blood. Their smiling faces twitched, as if sensing something just beyond their perception, long claws clicking against the ground, but they didn't make a move just yet. They lingered, waiting for something unseen.

Ben watched them carefully, heart hammering in his chest as he positioned himself behind the bus, partially crouched with his hands clenched against his thighs. His fingers twitched against the peeling paint of the bus as he inched his way toward the others. Slow, calculated movements. Any sudden shift could attract the wrong kind of attention. He knew that well.

Aiden and Tyler stayed locked in place, eyes flicking between him and the nearest Phantom, whose clawed hands flexed as if it was about to punch at the air, its white eyes tilting slightly as if sensing something just out of reach. Ben swallowed the bile in his throat and took another step.

A shard of glass cracked under his boot. The sound was deafening in the silence.

For a split second, time seemed to fracture. The Phantom nearest to him snapped its head in his direction so fast that its vertebrae cracked, a sound that sent ice shooting through his veins. Its body jerked, shoulders rising unnaturally high as it tensed to lunge—

But then, from somewhere deep in the forest, something else moved. A distant sound, guttural and low, a noise that rumbled like something dragging itself across the earth, and just like that, the Phantom hesitated. It twitched, claws retracting slightly, head turning toward the noise instead.

Ben didn’t waste the opportunity.

With a sharp intake of breath, he pushed himself forward, keeping low as he moved toward the others, every nerve in his body screaming at him to run, to bolt—but he didn’t. If he ran, they would hear. If they heard, they would chase.

And they never stopped chasing.

By the time he reached the others, slipping behind the makeshift barricade near the entrance where Emma and Mike were crouched, his breath was ragged, and his hands trembled from the adrenaline still surging through his veins.

He turned back, just in time to see Tyler watching him, his expression unreadable, but his eyes were sharp—focused. A silent acknowledgment.

Everything felt like it was happening too fast, yet at the same time, each second stretched endlessly. Ashlyn’s ears still rang from the overwhelming flood of sound she’d been forced to endure, but as the screams and chaos settled, her focus gradually returned. The Phantoms had thinned out—what had been an onslaught of death was now reduced to only three of them, still lingering in the crimson like grotesque, twitching silhouettes.

She forced herself to take a breath. Three was still dangerous, but it was manageable. If they moved carefully, they could slip away unnoticed.

Tyler was already shifting his weight, getting ready to move, when something made Aiden freeze.

"Wait." His voice was hushed, urgent, as his head snapped toward Tyler. “Did you see Octavia with them? Was she with the others?”

Tyler blinked, his brain scrambling to replay the last frantic moments—Emma, Mike, the parents, the kids—he hadn’t gotten a proper count, hadn’t been able to.

Before he could say anything, a sound cut through the night like a blade through flesh. A cry.

Thin. Distant. But unmistakably real.

Aiden’s expression barely shifted, but Tyler caught the twitch in his smile—the way his fingers tensed slightly at his sides.

“Oct—” He barely got the first syllable out before Ashlyn’s hand clamped over his mouth, shoving him back before the sound could fully escape his throat. His eyes flared in irritation, but she didn’t let go, not until she was sure he understood.

Tyler could feel his heart slamming against his ribs. His thoughts spiraled violently, weighing every possibility, every potential outcome.

The Phantoms were still here. The others were already leaving, making their way to the prison with barely any defense. They needed Ashlyn to sense if anything was coming, and Aiden for protection—if something ambushed them, there was no guarantee Emma and Mike would be able to fight them off alone.

But then there was Octavia. The cry had been loud enough to draw attention, but no tearing. No wet sounds of flesh being ripped apart. That meant she was still alive.

He turned to Ashlyn and Aiden, his voice low but firm. “Go with the others.”

Aiden’s head snapped toward him instantly. “Like hell I’m—”

“Aiden,” Tyler cut in, his voice sharper this time, not leaving room for argument. “Go.”

There was a war in Aiden’s expression—frustration, reluctance, the urge to fight against it—but Tyler held his ground. Aiden clenched his jaw but, after a long moment, finally exhaled.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, digging out one of his twin knives from his belt and handing it to Tyler. Then crouched lower, glancing at Ashlyn before nodding toward the exit. “Let’s go.” Ashlyn hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before nodding back. She didn’t like this either, but there wasn’t time to argue.

Tyler watched as they crept away, moving swiftly toward where the others had disappeared beyond the gates. He only allowed himself a breath of relief when they were far enough.

Tyler moved quickly but carefully, keeping his breathing steady as he maneuvered through the graveyard of rusted buses. The towering hulks of metal provided just enough cover to slip past the wandering Phantoms undetected, their grotesque forms twitching and shifting in the dim light. Each movement had to be calculated—one wrong step, one accidental noise, and he’d have them on him in an instant.

His fingers flexed around the handle of Aiden’s knife, the weight of it familiar yet suffocating in moments like these. His grip tightened as he pressed his back against the cool metal of a bus, peeking around the corner to check the path ahead. Two Phantoms stood in the open, their forms barely human—elongated limbs, their teeth bared in unsettling grins that stretched too far.

Tyler inhaled through his nose. Exhaled silently.

Swift and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the distance before either of them could register his presence. The first barely had time to twitch before the knife sank into its throat, the creature spasmed violently, dark liquid spilling down its chest in sickening rivulets, before going limp.

The second turned—too late.

Tyler yanked the knife free and plunged it into the side of its head, feeling the sickening slide of black mud beneath the blade. A sharp breath left his lips as he pulled back, the body collapsing unceremoniously to the dirt.

He listened.

Nothing. No other movement. No hissing breaths. No clicking of jaws.

The space was clear—for now.

Without wasting another second, he started his search, methodically moving between the buses, checking inside each one he could pry open without making too much noise. Most were empty, the seats covered in dust and torn fabric, their interiors long since abandoned. But then—a sound.

Muffled, shaky sobs.

Tyler froze, his ears straining. It was faint, but definitely there. He followed the sound, stepping lightly as he approached one of the older buses, its door rusted slightly ajar. Carefully, he pulled it open, wincing at the soft creak, and stepped inside.

There, curled up on one of the seats, was a small girl with messy blonde hair, her knees drawn tightly to her chest as she trembled. She was trying to stifle her cries, but the occasional hiccup still broke through.

Tyler exhaled softly, willing himself to move slowly so he wouldn’t startle her. He crouched down slightly, his voice quiet but steady as he spoke.

“You’re Octavia, right?” His tone was gentler than usual, as if afraid anything louder would shatter her completely. “I’m Aiden’s friend.”

At the sound of Aiden’s name, the girl blinked away tears, her red-rimmed eyes looking up at him. Her lips moved, but the words that came out were too faint to catch.

Tyler furrowed his brows, leaning in a little closer. “Try again?”

She sniffled, rubbing at her face with the sleeve of her too-big hoodie before mumbling, “M-Mr. Grumpy…”

Tyler felt the words hit him like a slap to the face. Of course, Aiden had burned such a ridiculous nickname into the kid’s brain. A quiet huff of amusement almost left him, but instead, he shoved that aside and refocused. He knelt in front of her, careful not to crowd her too much, his expression softening in a way it rarely did.

“You did good, Octavia,” he said, his voice carrying the kind of quiet reassurance Aiden often used when he was serious. “You stayed strong, just like Aiden would.”

The words seemed to cut through the fog of fear weighing her down, her small fingers uncurling slightly from the fabric of her hoodie. A tiny spark of something—relief, maybe even pride—flickered in her tired eyes.

Tyler offered her a small nod. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Before he could scoop Octavia up and get them the hell out of there, the sound of something fast, something heavy, something unnatural running toward the bus sent ice straight through his veins.

The third Phantom.

He barely had time to react, his instincts kicking in as he shoved Octavia under the row of bus seats. “Stay put,” he whispered, urgent but quiet, before dropping to the floor and sliding himself under the seats on the opposite side.

His heartbeat pounded against his ribs as he tried to steady his breathing, forcing himself to inhale slowly, silently, as the sound of clawed feet scraping against the ground grew louder.

The bus door creaked open.

The Phantom’s blackened, twisted legs stepped inside, its jagged, too-long toes scraping against the rusted metal floor with each uneven step. It moved like something that had forgotten how to be human, jerking forward in unnatural motions, its arms twitching at its sides.

Tyler watched through the slits between the seats, barely daring to blink as he followed its movements. His muscles coiled like a spring, ready to strike if it caught wind of them.

Then his gaze flickered to Octavia.

The little girl was trembling, her small form practically folded in on itself, wide, tear-filled eyes locked on the abomination before her. Her breathing had turned shallow and quick—too quick. If she panicked now, if she made even a single noise—

Tyler moved his hand just enough to lift a single finger to his lips. A silent signal.

Octavia’s watery gaze snapped to his, and she sucked in a shuddering breath before pressing both hands over her mouth, trying her hardest to muffle the frightened whimpers threatening to escape.

The Phantom stopped.

Tyler froze.

It stood there for a moment, head twitching unnaturally, its body lurching in odd, disjointed movements as if sniffing out something unseen.

Tyler forced himself to breathe slow, steadying the frantic rhythm of his pulse as he kept his gaze locked onto Octavia. Her tiny body was curled in on itself, pressed against the seat frame with her hands clamped so tightly over her mouth that her knuckles had gone pale. Her wide, tear-brimmed eyes flicked to him, shimmering in the dim light filtering through the grime-streaked bus windows. She was scared out of her mind, but she was still listening. That was all he needed.

He swallowed, shifting just enough to mouth the words to her, exaggerating each movement so she could make them out clearly. “I’m going to run.”

Her eyes went impossibly wider, fear tightening the already trembling lines of her small frame. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stared, as if willing him to say he was joking.

 “I’ll distract it,” he continued, keeping his movements deliberate, controlled. “When it’s clear, you run. Find Aiden. He can’t be far.”

Octavia's breath hitched, her fingers curling tighter into the fabric of her dirt-streaked clothes. A hesitant shake of her head. Tyler’s chest clenched, but he couldn’t afford to waver. He gave her a slow, confident nod, trying to instill even a fraction of steadiness into her fragile form. “You can do this.”

She was still for a moment, lips parting just slightly, but then, after what felt like eternity, she nodded back.

With a single, sharp movement, he threw himself out from under the seat.

His foot smashed into the row of chair as he lunged up. The sound was deafening, a violent crash of metal against metal. The Phantom’s head snapped toward him, hollow sockets stretching wide, and it let out a sound—a horrific, gurgling screech, like bone scraping against metal.

Tyler didn’t wait.

“Hey, ugly!” He bellowed, voice crashing through the bus with all the force he could muster. The Phantom reeled back, shrieking in response, but he was already running.

He threw himself through the doors, nearly stumbling over the first step before catching his balance and tearing forward. The cold air burned his lungs, the gravel beneath his feet shifting dangerously, but he didn’t slow down.

Behind him, the Phantom was in pursuit.

Its long, twisted limbs crashed against the ground, every lurching step faster than it had any right to be. Its shrieks filled the night air, blending with the distant howls of others, but Tyler didn’t stop, didn’t look back.

He could only run. Because as long as it was chasing him, it wasn’t looking for Octavia.

II.

Tyler tore through the underbrush, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he weaved between the skeletal remains of trees, their branches clawing at him like desperate hands. Each footfall sent up sprays of damp, rotting leaves, the forest floor slick with the remnants of past storms. The humid air burned his lungs, his heart hammering against his ribs in protest as he pushed himself forward. He couldn’t afford to slow down—not with that thing on his heels.

His head jerked over his shoulder, eyes flickering wildly to track the phantom’s pursuit. It moved in jagged, unnatural bursts, its elongated limbs twitching erratically as if each movement were a struggle against its own form. He caught a glimpse of Octavia in the distance, her small frame a pale blur as she darted in the opposite direction, her tiny feet desperately following the trampled path left by the others. A pit formed in his stomach. Letting a child find her way alone in this nightmare felt like shoving her into the jaws of death, but there was no alternative. He had to trust that she would make it.

The sound of rushing footsteps came too fast, too close. Before he could react, a shadow launched at him from his left, slamming into his side like a freight train. The impact sent him sprawling, his back crashing against the damp grass as his breath was forced from his lungs in a sharp wheeze. A new phantom had ambushed him. Its limbs coiled around his torso like barbed wire, its mouth an abyss of jagged, shifting teeth. His fingers tightened around the hilt of the knife Aiden had given him, his knuckles bone-white as he drove the blade into the creature’s temple—or where a temple should have been beneath the pulsating darkness of its form.

The phantom convulsed violently, its gurgling screech splitting the air before its body collapsed against him, a lifeless, oozing husk. Tyler barely had time to register the victory before a crushing grip seized his throat, his body yanked off the ground as easily as a ragdoll. His feet kicked out instinctively, but his desperation only cost him his weapon—the knife slipping from his grasp and landing with a muted thud somewhere in the grass below.

The phantom hoisted him higher, its clawed fingers tightening until his airways were completely severed. A brutal force slammed him backward against a tree, the impact jarring every bone in his body. A sharp, raw pain flared from his side as something splintered into his flesh. A branch. His skin tore against the jagged wood, his nerves igniting like wildfire as he felt warm blood seep into his shirt. The agony was horrible, but what was worse was the sudden familiarity of it all.

Pinned against the tree, his vision blurred, and for a moment, he wasn’t here—not anymore. He was back there, years ago, when he had died the first time. Impaled, suffocating, helpless. The same unbearable fire gnawed at his lungs, his arms trembling, his fingers barely able to twitch. Maybe this was how it was meant to end for him—hanging off the ground like some forsaken marionette, eyes rolling back into his skull as the last of his oxygen slipped away. He could feel himself slipping, drowning in the creeping embrace of unconsciousness.

His sister’s face flashed before him, her soft, knowing gaze piercing through the haze of his dwindling awareness. His heart clenched so violently it hurt. And then, through the blur, a different face emerged—messy, bleach-damaged blonde hair, a cocky grin that always carried something unspoken beneath it. Aiden.

The thought of never seeing that idiot again—of dying before he could figure out whatever the hell was constantly swirling behind his unreadable eyes—sent a violent rush of adrenaline surging through Tyler’s veins. He didn’t know why, out of all people, he was the one birthing this feeling into him, but there was no time for self-theorizing.

His fingers twitched, then curled. Then, with a last burst of desperation, he clawed at the phantom’s limbs, his nails digging into its sickly, oily skin. The creature let out an unnatural chittering sound, tilting its head in amusement as its grip tightened.

Then, suddenly, it exploded.

A sickening eruption of black, viscous ichor burst like a ruptured dam, splattering across the trees, the ground, and Tyler himself. He hit the forest floor like a discarded puppet, his body limp and trembling. His face was pressed against the dirt, the scent of grass mixing with the pungent stench of phantom residue. For several moments, he lay motionless, half-convinced that death had already taken him, that he had failed, that his body was nothing more than another corpse absorbed by this hellish world.

Then his fingers twitched.

A painful, ragged wheeze tore from his throat, air flooding back into his burning lungs in a series of violent coughs. The sound was raw, guttural, like a newborn gasping for its first breath. He could barely hear it over the blood pounding in his ears. His chest heaved, his limbs shuddering as he forced himself up onto his elbows. It was pure instinct—some animalistic refusal to die. His throat throbbed, each inhale scraping against bruised tissue, but he didn’t care. He was alive.

He staggered, forcing himself to sit up, his back pressing against the very tree that had nearly been his grave. The dizziness swam in his head like a tide, but he grit his teeth and rode the waves. One hand clutched at his wounded side, warm blood seeping between his fingers, the other reaching out blindly to steady himself. He glanced around, scanning the carnage, his foggy mind piecing things together in slow, painful fragments.

The phantoms were gone. The one he had stabbed was nothing more than a sludgy stain on the grass, and Aiden’s knife lay discarded next to it, the blade slick with black filth. Tyler reached for it, biting back a sharp hiss as the motion tugged at his injury. He shook the weapon lightly, attempting to dislodge the grime before wiping the rest on the hem of his already-ruined shirt.

Breathing heavily, he finally tilted his head back, his gaze locking onto the sky. The same sky he had woken up to after dying the first time—the same blood-drenched expanse that had haunted him since that day. He had always hated it, always despised the oppressive, burning crimson that loomed over them like an eternal omen of doom. But now, sitting there covered in phantom remains and his own blood, barely alive but still breathing, he found himself staring at it differently.

For the first time, he thought it was beautiful.

III.

Aiden walked in silence, his steps falling in rhythm with the others as they moved through the overgrown path leading toward the prison. The air felt heavier than usual, thick with the weight of unspoken anxieties, pressing down on his chest like a vice. Each step forward only deepened the unease curling in his stomach, an instinct he had learned to trust over the years, one that had kept him alive through countless nights of uncertainty. His fingers twitched restlessly by his sides, his gaze flicking between the group ahead and the shifting shadows between the skeletal trees that lined their route. Every rustling leaf, every distant creak of metal from the abandoned structures sent his nerves sparking.

It was too quiet.

His skin prickled with unease, muscles coiled tight like a spring about to snap. Something was wrong.

Then—small, frantic footsteps.

He froze mid-step, his head snapping toward the sound before his body fully registered the movement. The others kept walking, oblivious, their silhouettes growing smaller in the distance, but Ben stayed beside him, his grip firm against Aiden’s shoulder—a silent question. He barely acknowledged it, his focus locked on the figure breaking through the trees.

Octavia.

Tears streaked down her face, dirt smudged across her skin, her breath ragged as she ran straight toward him, a hiccupping mess of fear and exhaustion. The second her small body collided with his, he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against his chest. She clung to him like a lifeline, sobbing against his shoulder, her tiny hands gripping fistfuls of his jacket as if letting go would mean the world would swallow her whole.

Aiden rocked her gently, swaying side to side, his voice a quiet murmur against the crown of her blonde head. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe now. I got you.” His hand moved up and down her back, fingers brushing through the ends of her tangled hair in slow, soothing strokes. Relief, sharp and overwhelming, crashed over him like a wave, loosening the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. She was here. She was safe.

But Tyler—

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs, hard enough to hurt. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat, his eyes flickering to the direction she had come from, scanning the empty stretch of trees, the looming shapes of rusted-out buses in the distance. His stomach twisted painfully.

Tyler wasn’t there.

The realization bore into his bones like ice, settling deep into the marrow, into the spaces between his ribs where breath should have been steady but wasn’t. He swallowed against the thick, constricting weight in his throat, forcing himself to keep looking forward, forcing himself to move when every nerve in his body demanded him to turn back. His shoulders felt stiff, locked with an unnatural tension, but it was his face—his goddamn face—that betrayed him most.

His smile remained.

It was a reflex at this point, something honed from years of feigning easy amusement in the face of hell itself. A lie so thoroughly ingrained into his muscles that even now, when his chest felt too tight to breathe, when panic clawed at the edges of his rationality, his lips still twitched upward. A thin, stretched thing. Hollow.

His cheeks ached.

A slow, numbing pain settled there, like something bruising just beneath the skin, each second making the act of keeping it in place more unbearable. The moment Octavia had reached him, he had smiled, because that’s what she needed. That’s what everyone always needed. He let his voice drip with certainty even when said certainty was the farthest thing from his grasp. Tyler should have been right behind her. He had to be.

Aiden shifted, preparing to move before his thoughts could spiral any further, before the worst possible scenarios could cement themselves in his mind, but Ben’s grip on his shoulder tightened, anchoring him in place.

Aiden turned sharply, glaring, his body practically vibrating with tension. “Ben, we can’t just—”

Ben shook his head, his expression unreadable, but his hands spoke in his place. We need to stay with the others.

Aiden’s jaw clenched, the words scraping against his resolve like broken glass. His fingers curled tighter around Octavia, his pulse roaring in his ears. “But Tyler—”

We have to cling to the hope that he's okay, Ben signed again, his movements slower, firmer, as if grounding both of them in those words. And wait for him at the railway.

Aiden’s breath hitched, everything in him screaming to do the opposite, to run back and find him, to make sure he wasn’t alone in that damn graveyard. But Tyler had been the one to insist on this plan, to send them ahead. Aiden had to trust that he knew what he was doing.

Even if it killed him inside to do so.

His hands curled into fists for a brief second before he exhaled sharply through his nose, turning his back on the trees with a reluctant nod.

“…Fine.” The word felt foreign, bitter in his mouth. He adjusted his grip on Octavia, glancing back at Ben before starting forward again, though the tension in his shoulders never eased. His mind refused to quiet, thoughts drowning in every possibility, every awful what if.

Because no matter how much he told himself Tyler was going to be okay…

He wouldn’t believe it until he saw him again.

Chapter Text

I.

“Let’s wait a few more minutes.”

Taylor’s voice, steady but firm, barely cut through the restless murmur of the crowd. Frustration thickened the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic scent of rust that clung to the railway. The group had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, perched on the sloped terrain that gave them a slight advantage in case anything—or anyone—came for them. The position was strategic, smart, yet logic held no weight against the rising tides of fear. Anxiety slithered through the survivors like a living thing, whispering doubts, feeding impatience.

If anyone had kept track of the time, they would have known that Octavia had arrived ages ago, trembling and breathless, so shaken she had barely been able to speak. Now, she sat hunched against the metal side of the railway, knees pulled up to her chest, small fingers gripping the fabric of her sleeves as if she could disappear into herself.

Aiden and Ben flanked her, two silent sentinels, the former’s hand moving in slow, deliberate circles against the small of her back. His touch was gentle, absentminded, meant to comfort—but his own tension betrayed him. The unease in his gut made it impossible to keep his usual easy-going mask intact, and the result was something stiff and unnatural. His lips, so used to forcing a grin, twitched at the corners, but the weight of his worry transformed it into a strange, almost grimacing expression.

The murmurs of the group grew louder, the air thick with apprehension and bubbling resentment. The longer they waited, the more the unease festered, turning patience into something jagged, something desperate. Taylor felt the pressure gathering behind her temples, a dull, persistent ache from the endless complaints. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, inhaling slowly through her nostrils. It didn’t help.

“I say we get going.”

The moment Daniel’s voice cut through the noise, the grumbling stopped. Heads turned, attention snapping toward the man who stood a few feet away, his back pressed against the rough bark of a tree. His arms were crossed over his chest, expression unreadable save for the barest hint of impatience shadowing his features. His words carried weight, if only because he was loud enough to make people listen.

Taylor ignored him. She turned on her heel, moving toward Aiden, who hadn’t so much as lifted his head at Daniel’s suggestion. His focus remained on Octavia, gaze distant, troubled. Taylor crouched beside him, her voice quieter than before.

“Aiden, can I borrow your knife for a bit?”

There was no hesitation. No question. Without a word, Aiden reached beneath his shirt, fingers brushing over the worn handle before unsheathing the blade from his belt, the absence of his second one a heavy weight on his shoulders. He passed it to Taylor with the same thoughtless ease one might use when handing over a pencil—though his grip lingered a second too long before letting go.

Taylor took it, flipping the blade between her fingers before pressing the tip lightly against her fingertip. She twisted it, watching how the edge caught the dim light, testing its sharpness with idle concentration.

“And why is that, exactly?”

The voice came from the edge of the slope. Ashlyn, standing guard like she had at the graveyard, keeping an ear out for any approaching danger. She hadn’t moved much since they arrived, her stance rigid, alert, but now she was staring at Taylor with mild intrigue. Then, her gaze slid lazily to Daniel, amusement flashing in her eyes as she smirked.

“Scared he might shut you up again if he gets back?” Her words carried a mockery sharp enough to cut.

Daniel’s jaw tightened. His posture stiffened, though he tried to mask it with indifference. The faint pink coloring his cheeks, however, betrayed him. Humiliated.

They had gathered under the largest tent, lanterns casting flickering shadows along the tarp as the night air pressed in around them. A fire crackled low outside, its embers barely enough to keep the cold at bay. They sat in a loose circle, the exhaustion of the day’s hunt settling into their bones, but none of them could afford rest, not until they figured out their next move.

Mike sat with his arms crossed, rubbing at his jaw as he stared at the roughly drawn map spread out on the dirt floor. It was old, worn, and water-damaged, but still legible. The prison was marked in bold ink, a potential safe haven—high walls, thick fences, something that could actually last.

The discussion had started civil. At first.

But then Daniel had opened his mouth.

“I’m just saying it’s a terrible idea,” he muttered, arms folded tightly over his chest. “We don’t know what’s in there. We don’t know how many of those phantoms we’d be dealing with. We don’t even know if the damn gates are closed! It could be a death trap for all we know.”

“It could be,” William admitted, running a tired hand over his face. “But it’s a risk worth taking.”

“No, it’s a risk that could kill us,” Daniel snapped. His voice had an edge now, his frustration building, sharp enough to cut through the tense air. “Have we already forgotten what happened at the hospital? At the station? The minute we think we’ve found something safe, it turns into a fucking nightmare!”

A few nods went around. No one could deny that truth. They’d lost people to bad calls before.

Daniel leaned forward, pressing his fingers into the dirt for emphasis. “We cannot keep rushing into places just because they seem promising. We have kids with us. Families. We need to think smart, not desperate.”

Heavy silence followed.

Then, Ashlyn sighed, rolling her eyes as she shifted her weight. “And what do you suggest, Mr. Clark? Lay low and wait for the lights to cut off?”

Daniel’s jaw clenched. “It’s worked so far.”

“That’s not an answer,” Mike muttered.

The tension in the tent thickened, everyone waiting to see where the argument would go.

Daniel exhaled sharply, frustration spilling out with his breath. “I’m saying we should take more time to plan. Scout more. Look for other options instead of throwing ourselves into some prison that could already be crawling with corpses. We don’t even know if it has supplies left.”

“And how much longer do you want to wait?” Tyler finally spoke up, his voice laced with irritation. He had been quiet up until now, watching, listening, but Daniel’s stubbornness was grating on his nerves. “You think we have months to sit around and hope something better comes along?”

Daniel glared at him. “I think we have more than enough reason to be cautious.”

“And I think we don’t have the luxury of dragging our feet until people start starving,” Tyler shot back.

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

Tyler scoffed, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, sir, all you do is talk. You shoot down every idea, every damn suggestion, but do you ever offer a plan? No. You just sit there and argue while the rest of us actually try to figure out how to survive.”

Daniel’s glare darkened, but before he could respond, Tyler leaned forward, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he delivered the final blow.

“If you have any better plan, be my guest, Mr. Clark. If not, well… your wife could use some company.”

The words hung in the air for half a second.

Then, laughter.

Aiden practically howled, doubling over as his laughter echoed through the tent. A few others chuckled, even Logan cracked a small smirk. The smugness on Tyler’s face only deepened as Daniel’s expression darkened with embarrassment.

Naomi, sitting beside him, covered her face with one hand, clearly exasperated. “For God’s sake, Tyler,” she muttered under her breath.

Daniel clenched his jaw, fists curling in his lap as his face burned with both anger and humiliation. “Go to hell.”

“I’ll see you there,” Tyler shot back with a lazy grin.

More snickers followed, but eventually, Mike cleared his throat, cutting through the moment. “Alright, enough. Let’s stay focused.” His voice carried that firm, no-nonsense tone that shut down further banter.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, voice rougher, tinged with a defensive edge. “I’m only speaking out of logic here. The kid’s dead for all we know.”

Before anyone could process the words—before Aiden could react, before Ben could grip his shoulder again—there was a sharp whistle in the air. A whisper of wind, fast, cutting—

Then, a thunk.

A blade embedded itself into the tree mere inches from Daniel’s head. A single bead of sweat slipped down the side of his face, slow, deliberate, like a delayed reaction to what had just happened. He exhaled shakily, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Every eye was on Taylor.

Her hand was still extended midair, fingers curled from the throw. She hadn’t so much as flinched. Her face remained as calm as the wind that had carried the blade.

A sharp snort broke the silence.

Aiden, slouched beside Octavia, his cousin staring wide-eyed beside him, bit down on his lower lip, failing to suppress the burst of laughter clawing its way up his throat. His shoulders shook, his hand coming up to hide his grin, but the amusement glimmering in his eyes was unmistakable.

Taylor barely acknowledged it. She rolled her shoulder, flexing it slightly, testing for any strain from the throw before finally speaking again.

“We’re all scared.” Her voice, quiet but unwavering, carried through the clearing like a cold wind. Her gaze moved over the group, settling on the ones who had been complaining mere minutes ago. “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. For us. Every single one of you.”

No one argued.

No one even met her gaze.

Shame settled in like a heavy fog, thick and suffocating. Some shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the wooden rails beneath them, hands tightening into fists.

“No matter how scared we are, no one stays behind,” Taylor continued, tone firmer, sharper, like a blade pressed to their throats. “If anyone has a problem with that, you’re free to take your own journey and leave.”

Silence.

The only sounds were the distant rustling of leaves, the chorus of insects hidden in the brush, the faint hum of wind threading through the trees.

Daniel hadn’t moved an inch. He was still standing there, still processing the fact that he had been a feather’s weight away from having a knife buried into his skull. The color had drained from his face, his hands twitching slightly at his sides.

It wasn’t until the knife was pulled free from the tree that he snapped out of it, blinking rapidly as he turned to see Mike holding it.

“Can’t defend you on this one, buddy.” Mike clapped a heavy hand on Daniel’s shoulder, the weight of it almost making him stumble. Then, without much ceremony, he turned and handed the knife back to Aiden.

II.

The red-covered day stretched long and quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves and the occasional murmur of the wind threading through the trees. The railway remained still beneath them, the cold metal humming faintly with the weight of so many waiting bodies. Most had settled into an uneasy silence, their voices worn down by exhaustion, their patience thin. The air held a strange kind of stillness, a lull before the next inevitable storm.

Aiden sat with his back against the rusted steel, legs stretched out, arms resting over his bent knees. The warmth of Octavia’s presence beside him had long since been replaced by a dull emptiness, a void filled only with the rhythmic rocking of his own body as he tried not to think too much. It was second nature at this point—don’t think, don’t feel, just keep smiling—but the longer he sat there, the harder it became to ignore the familiar weight pressing down on him, wrapping around his chest like an iron vice.

And then, someone sat beside him.

The shift of weight on the railway was subtle, but the presence wasn’t.

His mother.

Aiden didn’t look at her, not at first. He could feel her, though. The quiet tension settled between them like a thick, suffocating blanket in the middle of a scorching summer night—too warm, too heavy, pressing down on his lungs and making it just a little bit harder to breathe.

“You like that boy a lot, don’t you?”

Her voice, once sharp with authority, always carrying that unmistakable undertone of pride, was different now. The edges had dulled, softened, smoothed out into something normal—something almost human. It lacked the usual weight she used to throw around before the world ended. Before the chaos, before the fear, before everything shifted into this new, twisted reality.

Aiden still didn’t answer.

His lips remained curved into that same ever-present smile, the one carved into his face like it had been stitched there, stretched taut over something far less pleasant. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just let the silence hang between them like an untouchable wall.

Jessica didn’t seem to mind.

With a quiet exhale, she dropped her hands between her thighs, fingers laced together, gaze wandering toward the treetops. The red glow from the distant sky painted the world in shades of blood and rust, flickering against the trunks like something alive. The scene was hauntingly beautiful in a way that didn’t make sense, like a painting left too long in the rain—melting, warping, changing into something else entirely.

“I’ve been traveling so long,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I didn’t even realize how much my little boy has grown.”

The words stung.

Not in the way a slap across the face stings—not immediate, not sharp—but in the way an old wound aches when it’s pressed too hard, a dull and lingering throb beneath the skin. Aiden didn’t react, but something inside him twisted, deep and visceral.

She said it like she had missed something.

Like she hadn’t been there to see it happen.

Like she wasn’t the reason that distance had formed in the first place.

It wasn’t her fault, not entirely. He knew that. But knowing didn’t make it easier. It didn’t erase the years of space between them, didn’t erase the bitter taste left in his mouth when he thought of Daniel—his father—who had been so much more absent, so much more distant in ways that were colder, sharper.

Before the thoughts could sink in too deep, before the weight of it could drown him, movement caught his attention. Something was placed in front of him, small and simple, resting in the center of his mother’s outstretched palm.

A little plastic shark.

Aiden stared at it, eyes locked onto the tiny thing as it bobbed ever so slightly in her hand, its head swaying from side to side with each shift of the breeze.

For several stretched-out seconds, he just looked at it.

Then, slowly, his gaze flickered upward, meeting his mother’s face.

Then back to the toy.

His fingers twitched before hesitantly, almost cautiously, reaching out. He plucked it from her grasp with the same carefulness one might use when handling something fragile, turning it over in his fingers as his lips parted slightly.

“I thought…I lost this when I was eight,” he murmured, disbelief thick in his voice. The words felt strange on his tongue, like he wasn’t sure if they belonged to him.

Beside him, Jessica smiled—not the kind of smile she used to give in public, the polite, restrained ones meant for maintaining appearances. No, this one was softer, smaller, real.

“You did,” she admitted, voice light with something almost teasing, though not quite. Her eyes drifted back toward the treetops, watching as the glow of distant fires flickered against the leaves. “You dropped it somewhere. I found it a few weeks later, but…you’d already moved on.”

Aiden’s breath hitched, something heavy pressing against his ribs.

He had cried over this thing. He remembered the way his chest had ached with the loss, the way he had searched for it tirelessly, as if losing it had taken something much bigger than just a toy from him. And when he hadn’t found it, he had forced himself to let it go, to shove it deep down into that ever-growing pile of things he wasn’t allowed to care about anymore.

And all this time, it had been with her.

“I took it with me,” Jessica continued, her voice distant, like she was remembering something she hadn’t thought about in years. “On all of our travels. Your father and I.”

Aiden wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It was like having a weight lifted off his shoulders—only to have another, heavier one dropped in its place. The knowledge that she had kept it was something warm, something almost comforting. But the reminder that they had traveled, that they had left, that they had been gone for so much of his life, made that warmth ache in a way he couldn’t put into words.

Jessica must have noticed the way his fingers trembled around the toy because she let out a quiet giggle—a sound that felt so wrong coming from her, so unlike the woman he had grown up with.

Then, she bumped her shoulder lightly against his.

“You cried so much over it, I thought you were going to choke on your own snot.”

Aiden blinked.

Then, a sharp laugh burst from his throat before he could stop it.

It was sudden, almost foreign, like something unfamiliar scraping against his ribs. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had laughed at something she had said, but here he was—shoulders shaking slightly, fingers still curled around the stupid little shark, grinning in a way that didn’t hurt as much anymore.

“I didn’t,” he denied, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

Jessica hummed, unconvinced.

Aiden exhaled, turning the toy between his fingers. His smile softened, just a little. For once, it wasn’t something he had to force.

Jessica hesitated before she moved, her fingers twitching in the space between them, as though reaching out was a request rather than a choice. Her touch, when it finally came, was tentative, gentle—careful in a way she had never been before. She smoothed a hand over Aiden’s unruly blonde hair, fingers threading lightly through strands dulled by dirt and dried sweat.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t lean away.

So, she pressed forward, closing the last bit of distance and bowing her head just enough to press a feather-light kiss to his crown. The warmth of it lingered even after she pulled away, the ghost of a touch settling against his scalp like something fragile, something precious.

And for a fleeting moment, Aiden wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry or not.

The feeling curled deep in his chest, raw and unfamiliar, a quiet kind of ache that neither hurt nor healed—it simply existed, nestled somewhere between comfort and grief. It was nice in a way he hadn’t expected. Nice in a way he needed.

He almost let himself melt into it.

Almost.

Then his gaze lifted, and through the wavering glow of the firelight, he met his father’s eyes.

Daniel was watching from a short distance away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were like ice, sharp and unforgiving. They pierced through Aiden’s skull like jagged blades, sinking deep beneath his skin with the kind of silent disapproval he had long since familiarized himself with.

Aiden’s smile faltered.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for the moment to crack.

But he caught himself before it could truly break, before anyone else could see it slip. The edges of his mouth lifted again, curling back into place like it had never wavered at all. The mask slid on seamlessly, perfectly—like it had been stitched there, like it was made for him.

III.

Octavia’s abrupt movement shattered the fragile stillness that had settled over them, her sudden weight shift knocking Aiden’s hand from her back before he even had the chance to react. His lips parted, a question already forming at the back of his throat, but before he could even attempt to voice it, she was already calling out—

"Mr. Grumpy!"

The force behind her words cut through the air like a blade, sharp enough to make every single head in the group snap toward her, and then beyond, toward the dense tree line where her trembling finger was pointing. The tension, already thick from the hours of waiting, pulled taut like a wire stretched to its limit, a collective breath caught in a moment of uncertainty.

Then, something moved.

At first, the figure was little more than a silhouette against the dimming sky, a shape swallowed by the deepening hues of sunset, the thick canopy above casting shifting shadows over the ground. But as seconds crawled forward in agonizing slowness, as the faintest shift of light exposed more details, the person stepping from the tree line took form.

A man, his stance unsteady, his steps sluggish, dragging himself forward with slow, deliberate motions. His posture was hunched, weighed down by exhaustion or pain—perhaps both. His left hand was pressed firmly against his side, fingers curling into bloodied fabric, gripping tightly as though he were the only thing keeping himself from unraveling completely.

It took Ben a fraction of a second to break from his spot, feet kicking up dust and loose gravel as he bolted down the slope, no hesitation in his movement. Taylor was only half a step behind him, her voice slicing through the tension as she called out, her tone sharp with worry—

"Tyler!"

The sound of his name, the sheer force of emotion wrapped within it, nearly knocked the breath from Tyler’s lungs.

Tyler had spent what felt like a lifetime stumbling through the trees, every nerve in his body screaming at him to stop, to just give in. He had lost count of how many times his vision blurred, how many times he swayed too hard to the left or nearly collapsed against a tree, how many times he had convinced himself that this was it—that this time, he really wouldn't make it.

But then, warmth.

Taylor’s weight collided with him, arms encircling his torso in a grip so tight it almost forced a pained grunt from his lips. The ache flared instantly, a sharp, brutal reminder that his body had endured far too much, but he barely registered it over the overwhelming sensation of her presence, grounding him, anchoring him to reality in a way nothing else had since he’d first stumbled away from danger.

"Agh—easy there, Tay..."

He exhaled, forcing a weary grin onto his lips despite the strain in his muscles. As quickly as she had thrown herself at him, Taylor pulled back, just enough to grasp his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over dirt-streaked skin, her sharp eyes darting over every visible inch of him with a frantic precision. He could see the worry etched into every inch of her expression, the tight press of her lips, the way her fingers trembled slightly against his jaw—

Then her gaze landed on his throat.

Dark red marks, shaped unmistakably like fingers, stood stark against his skin, bruises already blooming from the force that had left them behind.

Taylor stiffened, her expression shifting in an instant, the breath in her lungs catching as her fingers ghosted just above the wounds, not quite touching, but close enough to make the unspoken question blisteringly clear.

Tyler held her gaze, the weight of her silent demand pressing against him like a vice, but he simply exhaled again, slower this time, his exhaustion bleeding into his voice as he forced a reassuring smile.

"I’ll explain later, don’t worry, sis."

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded anyway, her grip lingering just a second longer before she finally let him go, stepping back with reluctant hesitance.

Only then did Tyler let his gaze lift to the ridge above, where the others stood watching.

Not a single person missing.

A quiet, staggering relief crashed over him, thick and overwhelming, his body slackening beneath its weight. He could feel the tension in his chest easing slightly, the knot in his gut loosening just enough for the exhaustion to settle in a little deeper. But more than anything—

Octavia.

She stood just a few feet higher up the slope, her small frame barely containing the raw emotion that radiated from her as she waved wildly at him, her eyes shining with a mixture of joy and disbelief. She was alive. She was safe. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

But then, something else drew his attention.

Or rather, someone.

Messy blonde hair, barely tamed by any attempt at order, strands curling wildly in the soft glow of red sunset. A familiar smirk playing at the corners of lips that never seemed to still. Blue eyes, bright and alight with unmistakable mischief.

Aiden.

His hands were already moving before Tyler could even process it, cutting through the air in an exaggerated performance that immediately made no sense. His arms shifted fluidly, mimicking the rhythmic sway of waves in the ocean before his fingers pinched his nose shut, his cheeks puffing out in a ridiculous impression of someone sinking beneath the surface.

Tyler blinked.

Then, as if that absurd display wasn’t enough, Aiden’s hands moved to his belt—grasping at nothing, yet putting on the most theatrical show of unsheathing an invisible knife. He twirled the nonexistent blade between his fingers, flipping his wrist with the unnecessary flourish of a showman who had absolutely no reason to be as cocky as he was.

Then, he pulled back.

His arm swung wide, as if gathering momentum, before launching the imaginary dagger across the empty field, his entire body twisting with the force of the throw. He didn’t stop there. Aiden raised his hand to his brow, shielding his eyes as if tracking the nonexistent weapon’s flight through the sky.

Then—he jumped. A burst of movement, arms shooting into the air in exaggerated celebration, a ridiculous, victorious bounce that could only belong to him.

For a long moment, Tyler simply stared.

His body was wrecked, his mind fogged from exhaustion, pain still laced through his every movement, and yet—his shoulders shook.

A laugh, soft at first, barely a tremor in his chest, then stronger, pushing past the rawness in his throat, past the ache lingering in his ribs. The kind that made his body feel weightless for just a moment. The kind that carved a grin onto his face so wide it nearly hurt. His head shook, amusement glinting in his tired eyes as he mouthed a single word, just for Aiden.

"Imbecile."

And from where he stood, the blonde only grinned wider, a smug, insufferable thing that somehow managed to carry more warmth than Tyler felt like admitting. His previous panicked state fully dissolving upon seeing his face again, for reasons he didn’t acknowledge much. The light squeeze of his chest confusing him more than the events he had just witnessed moments ago.

Ben shifted his weight, adjusting his stance to better support the injured man beside him, the movement practiced and effortless despite the strain of hoisting Tyler’s battered form up the uneven slope. Every muscle in Ben’s body worked in precise synchronization, his grip steady, his posture unwavering. There was no hesitation, no faltering in his steps—only the smooth, instinctual assurance of someone who had long since adapted to carrying the weight of others.

Tyler, for his part, barely resisted the assistance, though pride still made him want to. His body ached with every step, his limbs screaming their protest, but he swallowed down the discomfort and let himself be guided. The sharp sting in his side where his hand pressed against the wound had dulled into something deeper, a persistent throbbing that pulsed with every beat of his heart. He refused to acknowledge it beyond keeping pressure there, unwilling to let his injuries slow them down any more than they already had.

The uneven ground beneath them proved treacherous, loose gravel and damp earth threatening to betray their footing, but Ben was unfazed. With practiced ease, he maneuvered them both over the last incline, his free hand gripping a stable portion of the railway to keep them from slipping. Tyler felt the shift in elevation more acutely as they reached the top, the slight change in air pressure doing nothing to ease the tension already settled in his chest.

And then, as they finally leveled onto stable ground, his gaze landed on Octavia.

The little girl stood just a few steps away, her small frame unusually still, her usual energy momentarily subdued. Her hands fidgeted by her sides, her fingers curling and uncurling into the fabric of her sleeves. There was something hesitant in the way she held herself, as if unsure whether she was allowed to move closer, unsure of how to act now that he was here in front of her—injured, exhausted, but alive.

Tyler’s lips curved into a tired smile, one that barely reached his eyes but carried warmth nonetheless. Without a word, he lifted his hand, palm open, fingers stretched toward her in an unmistakable invitation.

A high-five.

Octavia’s expression shifted in an instant, the hesitation melting away like snow under sunlight. Her eyes lit up, her lips splitting into a grin as she took a single, decisive step forward. Then, without warning, she jumped, her feet leaving the ground as she swung her arm up with all the force of her tiny frame.

Their palms met in a sharp, satisfying clap that echoed in the quiet space around them, louder than it had any right to be.

Tyler chuckled, the sound low and rough at the edges, but undeniably genuine. His arm fell back to his side, the brief surge of energy from the exchange enough to ease some of the weight pressing on his shoulders. He could still feel the lingering sting from the impact, a faint warmth where her hand had met his, a simple but undeniable proof of being here.

But beneath the lightness of the moment, a darker current swirled beneath the surface of his mind. The relief of seeing everyone safe, of knowing they had made it through another day, was quickly overshadowed by the deeper, gnawing worry of what had transpired before he had reached them. The memories played back in fragmented pieces—flashes of grasping hands, of unrelenting pressure against his throat, of shadows moving in ways they shouldn’t. The red marks burned against his skin as a grim reminder of how close things had come.

He knew what this meant. Knew that whatever had taken place tonight was more than just another close call. It was something worse. Something bigger. And the implications of it settled over him like a thick, suffocating fog.

But now wasn’t the time to talk about it.

Not here, not out in the open where fear had already taken root in too many hearts, where paranoia could so easily spread like wildfire, driving someone into reckless, desperate action. He had seen it happen before. People panicked. They ran. And out there, in the vast unknown, running blind was as good as a death sentence.

He had to hold onto this information, carry the burden of it in silence until they were somewhere safe. Somewhere enclosed by walls, somewhere they could think, plan, without the ever-present dread of something watching from the trees.

IV.

Fifteen minutes. That was all they allowed themselves. No more, no less. It was a fragile compromise between urgency and necessity—just enough time to shake the tension from their bodies, to let their burning lungs settle, to tend to the wounds they could afford to stop for.

But never long enough to grow comfortable. Comfort was a death sentence. Comfort meant lingering, waiting too long, giving the dark enough time to settle into the world around them, to seep into their bones, to remind them that there was no safety, nowhere they could stop for good.

The sun was sinking, slow but steady, dragging streaks of crimson and purple across the sky like fresh wounds torn into the horizon. That bleeding light painted their surroundings in long, stretching shadows, distorting their figures into something unrecognizable.

Even the trees, once familiar sentinels of the forest, seemed twisted in the failing light—elongated limbs reaching hungrily toward them, grasping, curling like skeletal fingers around the fading remains of the sun.

Logan worked quickly, hands moving with efficient precision as he rewrapped the bandages around Tyler’s waist, fingers pressing firmly to secure the gauze. The old wrappings had been peeled away, exposing raw, torn flesh that stung viciously against the night air, a fresh burn licking its way up Tyler’s ribs. He didn’t make a sound, didn’t flinch—not because it didn’t hurt, but because pain meant he was still here.

Logan’s expression was unreadable in the dim light, but his jaw was set, his movements careful yet practiced. “This’ll hold,” he murmured, tucking the last piece of cloth into place. “Once we get inside, I’ll do a proper check. Clean it, make sure nothing’s getting infected.”

Tyler gave a short nod, pulling his shirt back down over the dressing. No point in wasting words.

The moment Logan was done, they moved.

The prison wasn’t far now. The night pressed in around them, thick and suffocating, but the facility’s floodlights carved brutal lines of illumination across the open ground. The beams cut through the blackness in harsh, sterile streaks, sweeping in wide, methodical patterns. Every few seconds, their bodies flickered in and out of the light—exposed, then hidden. Seen, then unseen.

No one spoke as they closed in, their steps quiet, controlled, wary. The prison loomed in the near distance, a hulking mass of steel and stone rising from the earth, its presence heavier than the darkness itself.

They came to a halt a fair distance from the outermost fence, just beyond the reach of the lights. No one needed to say it—they all knew rushing in blind was out of the question. They needed to think. They needed a plan.

Mike took charge, as he always did. His voice was low but firm, words steady despite the quiet tension laced beneath them.

“Ben’s got the wire cutters. He’ll get us through the first fence.” His gaze flicked to Ben, who gave a short nod, already reaching for the tool strapped to his back.

“Taylor,” Mike continued, shifting his attention. “You close the opening behind us with the red wire once we’re through. No exceptions.”

Taylor pulled a thumbs-up, grip tightening around the coil of wire in her hands.

“Aiden, Trooper.” Mike’s eyes snapped to them next. “You two check the guard towers. Closest ones first. We’ll sleep there for the night and make a plan in the morning.”

Aiden grinned, nudging Ashlyn’s shoulder with a light bump. “Guess it’s you and me, huh?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. She had half a mind to shove him back, half a mind to remind him they weren’t here to mess around. But something shifted.

A sound.

It wasn’t loud. Wasn’t obvious.

She heard it before she understood she was hearing it, a faint disturbance buried beneath the rustling of trees, the distant hum of the wind. It wasn’t the snap of a branch underfoot, wasn’t the call of an animal moving through the brush. It was something else. Something unfamiliar.

She stiffened.

Aiden was still talking—probably rambling about how they’d make a great team—but his voice had already faded into the background. Her head turned sharply, eyes narrowing into the darkness beyond the fence. The forest lay stretched out behind them, its tangled depths now swallowed in pure black.

Something was there.

She couldn’t see it. She couldn’t place it. But she felt it.

"Ash?"

Aiden’s voice barely registered.

"Ashlyn?"

Still, she didn’t answer.

Her pulse pounded.

She took a slow step back, her breath catching. "We need to move. We should go—hurry."

Aiden grabbed her shoulders before she could turn away. “Wait, wait—Ash, what’s wrong?”

She struggled for words. “The sounds—I—something’s wrong.”

"Guys."

Emma’s voice sliced through the air like a knife.

They all turned.

She was pointing Straight toward the forest. Every muscle in Ashlyn’s body locked into place.

Logan lifted his binoculars, adjusting them with a quick twist of the lens. The world sharpened, dark shadows shifting into something clearer—something moving.

At first, it was just one.

A single figure emerging from the depths of the trees, stumbling forward with slow, uneven steps.

Logan lifted the binoculars to his eyes. The world blurred, then sharpened, the dark shadows between the trees shifting, moving, spilling forward.

One figure. Then another.

Then ten.

Then more.

His breath caught.

They didn’t walk naturally. Their steps were uneven, stumbling, wrong. Their limbs twitched with delayed responses, heads jerking side to side as if struggling to remember how to move. Their clothes—if they could still be called that—were little more than hanging scraps of fabric, torn and caked with mud and grime. But their faces. God, their faces.

They had once been human.

Now, their flesh sagged, discolored and peeling, in some places rotting down to exposed bone. Lips had curled back, gums blackened, teeth jagged and chipped. The ones that still had eyes sported nothing but milky, empty voids. Others had lost them entirely, their sockets hollow, gaping.

And they were coming.

Logan lowered the binoculars, his voice strangled in his throat.

“…Run.” The command shattered the silence.

Tyler was the first to move, shoving himself to his feet despite the sharp stab of pain lancing through his side. "move!"

Ben’s hands fumbled at his back, searching, grasping for the wire cutters with fingers that wouldn’t stay still, trembling despite every attempt to steady them. His breath came short and sharp, the weight of the moment pressing down on his shoulders like a hand squeezing around his throat. The cutters finally came loose, the worn metal cold against his sweaty palms as he pulled them forward, the familiar shape grounding him for only the briefest second before his pulse began hammering against his ribs again.

Beside him, Taylor stood rigid, her grip locked around the red coil of wire so tightly her knuckles blanched white. Her gaze flickered between Ben’s shaking hands and the oncoming horde, her breath coming uneven and shallow. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on both of them—he had to cut the way through, she had to close it behind them. There was no room for mistakes.

Just beyond them, Aiden moved with a speed that defied the chaos, hoisting Octavia onto his back with a practiced ease, his arms locking around her legs as she clung desperately to his shoulders. Her breath hitched with each unsteady step, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, but he didn’t slow. He barely paused. His legs pushed forward, pounding against the earth with brutal force, his breaths ragged as he drove himself toward the fence, toward any semblance of safety that still existed beyond it.

Ashlyn was close behind, her body moving on pure instinct, her mind a blur of urgency and adrenaline as she sprinted. Her boots slammed against the dirt, every impact jarring through her bones, but she didn’t let herself feel it. Didn’t let herself stop. The wind cut at her face, her lungs burned, but she kept running.

Diana—one of the survivors they were acquainted to—was just behind her, so close that Ashlyn could hear her breath, fast and panicked, hear the way her boots scraped against the ground in uneven, desperate strides. Neither of them looked back.

They didn’t need to.

They felt them.

The creatures—those things—were slow, their movements unnatural, dragging, disjointed. Their bodies lurched forward as if they weren’t entirely sure how to use their own limbs, their balance thrown off by some unseen force. They twitched, jerked, staggered.

But there were so many of them.

And they were getting closer.

Ben was the first to reach the fence, the looming structure stretching high above them, an unyielding barrier of chain-link steel laced with cruel twists of barbed wire. The floodlights from the prison cast harsh beams across its surface, highlighting every intricate, interwoven strand of metal—each one an obstacle standing between them and survival.

Ben didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t afford to.

His hands locked around the handles of the wire cutters, gripping them so tightly his knuckles ached. He positioned the blades against the thick, tightly wound metal of the fence and squeezed.

The cutters groaned under the pressure, the blades biting into the steel.

Barely.

The wire was thick. Strong. Designed to keep people in.

Not to let them out.

A ragged curse tore from Taylor’s throat, frustration and panic colliding inside her chest. Ben’s fingers clenched tighter, the muscles in his arms straining as he forced the handles together with everything he had. The cutters pressed deeper, crushing into the fence’s resistance. A small snap. A fraction of progress. But not enough.

Taylor was beside him in an instant, one hand flying to his shoulder—part comfort, part warning. "Ben, come on—"

Her voice was taut, fraying at the edges.

She was trying not to look behind them. Trying not to acknowledge how little space there was left.

Her other hand clenched tighter around the red wire, the responsibility of closing the gap weighing heavier with each passing second.

A single second could either mean life or death.

Logan was already moving, stepping forward with a sharp, decisive motion, his fingers wrapping around the grip of his gun in a smooth, practiced movement. His body was tense, but his hands were steady as he lifted the weapon, his focus locking onto the approaching figures.

“Buy us time!” The order left no room for argument.

The creatures let out a chorus of guttural snarls, a sound so deep it rattled through the air, vibrating in the bones of anyone who heard it. It was a noise that didn’t belong in the throat of anything human. A sound so raw, so guttural, so filled with a hunger that it churned the stomach, made the skin crawl with something primal and instinctual.

Logan pulled the trigger.

The explosion of sound split the night apart, shattering through the tension like glass. The crack of gunfire echoed, bouncing off the steel of the fence, rippling through the air in sharp, violent waves.

A single shot.

Then another.

And another.

The force of it kicked back against Logan’s arm, but he held steady, his stance unwavering, his focus sharp. A bullet ripped through the skull of the closest creature, snapping its head backward with an unnatural jolt before it crumpled, its rotting limbs folding beneath it.

Another shot struck another one in the chest—useless. They barely reacted to body wounds, staggering only slightly before continuing forward, unfazed by anything less than a clean, precise kill to the head.

And still, they kept coming.

More emerged from the darkness, their rotting forms pushing forward, eyes void of life, jaws snapping open and closed in slow, mechanical motions.

The fence had to be cut.

They had seconds left.

Ben growled through gritted teeth, putting every ounce of strength he had into squeezing the cutters tighter, forcing them deeper into the steel, his arms shaking with exertion.

The fence groaned, the metal beginning to bend, to snap under the relentless pressure.

One more push.

The wire gave. A harsh snap, the sudden parting of metal, the briefest gap.

The distance between Ashlyn, Diana, and the approaching horde was just barely safe enough—a sliver of space that separated them from a slow, agonizing death.

Their bodies were still moving, still fueled by pure survival, every step propelling them further away from the monsters that trailed relentlessly behind them. It should have been enough. It should have been safe.

But fate had a cruel way of slipping through the cracks of safety.

Diana’s foot caught on something—maybe a gnarled root, maybe a loose patch of dirt—but the effect was instantaneous. Her balance shattered, her body lurching forward with nothing to catch her, her limbs flailing in a desperate, silent attempt to correct herself. It was useless.

She hit the ground with a dull, muted thud, the impact softened only by the damp grass beneath her.

For a moment, there was nothing. No cry of pain, no frantic shouts—just a barely audible grunt, so soft, so subtle that no one would have noticed.

No one, except Ashlyn.

Her hearing had always been sharp, heightened in a way that set her apart from others, and at that moment, it was both a blessing and a curse. Because as soon as that quiet sound reached her ears, it was as if an invisible force yanked her body into action. Her boots skidded against the dirt as she spun, her breath catching, her gaze locking onto the shape of Diana sprawled across the ground.

Aiden didn’t notice. He couldn’t. He was too focused on running, on getting Octavia to safety, on making sure they all got through the fence.

Her body moved before her mind could process the risk, her feet slamming against the ground as she bolted toward the fallen woman, pushing herself harder, faster. Her muscles screamed in protest, her lungs burned, but none of it mattered.

But she was too late.

The creatures descended like starving animals that had just found fresh meat, their skeletal, decaying hands clawing into Diana’s flesh before she even had the chance to scramble away. Three of them. Their bodies crashed down on her with the weight of something inhuman, their jagged teeth gnashing, their fingers tightening like iron vices around her limbs.

She could still save her.

She had to.

Her foot sliding to reveal the blade hidden in. Her breath ragged, her heart slamming against her ribs like a caged animal as she lunged.

The closest one—its mouth cracked wide, jagged blackened teeth poised to sink into Diana’s exposed throat—became her target. Ashlyn swung, the blade flashing under the dim light, aiming to drive the steel deep into its rotting skull.

But before she could land the strike—Diana screamed.

The sound was piercing, deafening, a screech so gut-wrenchingly loud that it felt like it was physically tearing through the air. It wasn’t just noise—it was pain manifested, a sound that vibrated through the bones, that stabbed into the skull like a thousand burning needles, burrowing deep into the flesh of Ashlyn’s mind.

Her vision blurred, her balance faltering as the scream drilled into her skull, sharp and merciless. Her body jerked back, her instincts forcing her hands to fly up, clutching her ears in a desperate attempt to shield herself from the unbearable sound.

But it was inside her head.

A splitting, searing pain bloomed behind her eyes, ricocheting through her skull like glass shattering within her brain. The agony was overwhelming, drowning out every thought, every movement. It was like a thousand daggers carving into her eardrums, ripping through nerves, grinding bone to dust beneath the weight of something she couldn’t escape.

She staggered back, her knees buckling.

Then a grip, fingers latched onto her ankle, bruising and desperate, a plea made through touch even as the woman’s body was being torn apart.

"P—Please…” The word was choked, gurgled—drenched in thick, bubbling blood that spilled freely from Diana’s lips. Her mouth struggled to form words, but it was barely functioning anymore, barely human anymore. Blood poured in crimson rivers from the open wounds across her body, pooling in her throat, trickling from the corners of her mouth like a grotesque mimicry of drool.

Her grip on Ashlyn’s leg tightened.

"H—Help me…"

Ashlyn’s stomach twisted violently, nausea clawing up her throat at the sheer horror of what she was witnessing.

Diana’s face—

It was being bitten through.

One of the creatures had latched onto her cheek, its jagged teeth sinking deep into the soft tissue. The flesh was peeling away, stretching before it ripped, the sickening tear of muscle and skin splitting apart filling the air. Blood spurted, thick and dark, dripping from the monster’s mouth as it ripped away a chunk of her face.

Diana’s remaining eye was wide, blown out with terror, rolling wildly as if searching for something—someone—to save her. But the agony was all-consuming. Her body convulsed, her limbs trembling, jerking as fresh waves of pain sent violent spasms through her broken form.

One of the creatures had its teeth buried deep into her forearm, gnawing through the muscle, ripping at the tendons, pulling at the ligaments like a ravenous dog with a fresh kill. The skin was being stripped away, exposing raw, glistening bone beneath, the sickening crunch of teeth against it sending another surge of nausea through Ashlyn’s gut.

Blood sprayed, splattering in thick droplets against the ground, against the creatures, against Ashlyn.

Her breath hitched.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t think.

Diana’s screams turned into ragged, choking gasps, her body twitching, convulsing as her life poured out of her. The hand that gripped Ashlyn’s ankle trembled, her fingers still grasping, still begging.

Still pleading.

But there was nothing left to save.

Ashlyn’s mind was screaming at her to move, to pull away, to run—but her body was frozen. Her limbs were locked in place, trapped in the sheer nightmare of the moment.

V.

The moment the scream shattered the night, Aiden’s instincts overtook rational thought, his body reacting before his mind could even register what was happening. His head snapped toward the sound, his pulse slamming against his ribs as he saw Ashlyn collapse onto the grass, her entire form trembling violently, fingers digging into her scalp as if trying to claw her own skull open.

Her breathing was ragged, uneven, coming in sharp, painful gasps, her chest rising and falling as if she had been suddenly robbed of all air. The way her body tensed, muscles coiling like a trapped animal, told him everything—she was down and she wasn’t getting up.

His reaction was immediate. He hardly registered the weight of Octavia on his back as he swung her off, barely bothering to steady her on her feet before shoving her forward with more force than he intended, his voice sharp and edged with urgency.

“Run. Get past Ty, don’t stop until you reach him—go!”

The girl’s breath hitched, hesitation flashing through her expression, her wide, fearful eyes flicking toward Ashlyn, uncertainty rooting her feet in place for half a second too long.

Aiden didn’t have time for hesitation.

“go!” His voice cracked like a whip through the thick, rotting air, and finally, Octavia turned and bolted, disappearing into the dark.

He didn’t watch her go. He was already sprinting toward Ashlyn, skidding to his knees beside her just in time to see what was holding her down.

Diana—or what was left of her.

The woman’s face was a ruin of torn flesh and exposed bone, the skin peeled back in long, jagged ribbons, raw muscle and sinew glistening wetly beneath the dim light. Her left eye had been completely gouged out, leaving nothing but a dark, oozing socket where it had once been, the surrounding skin shredded and curling inward, jagged like the edges of torn paper.

The exposed cartilage of her nose gleamed through the blood-soaked ruin of her features, her lips trembling around the bubbling froth of crimson seeping from her mouth, her ruined throat choking on every ragged, gurgling breath she still attempted to take.

Even as her body twitched violently beneath the relentless feeding of the creatures that had descended upon her, even as her convulsions grew weaker, more sluggish, she would not let go.

Her fingers, slick with the warmth of her own spilling insides, remained locked tight around Ashlyn’s ankle, nails digging deep enough into the fabric of her pants to nearly tear through the skin beneath. The grip, though trembling, was filled with desperation, fueled by some primal, animalistic need to survive, her instincts clinging to the only remaining thread of life she could grasp, unwilling to surrender to the inevitable.

Aiden immediately grabbed Ashlyn beneath the arms, straining to pull her backward, his muscles coiling as he put every ounce of strength into the effort.

She wouldn’t budge.

Her legs kicked violently, feet slamming against the dirt, but Diana’s grip held firm, fingers digging in with such force it was as if rigor mortis had already set in.

A strangled gasp tore from Ashlyn’s throat, her back arching in raw panic, head snapping back, her breath coming in short, erratic bursts that held the edge of hysteria.

And they were out of time.

Aiden barely had a chance to process before Tyler reached them, the brunette’s footsteps skidding against the dirt as he took in the situation with wide, frantic eyes. His gaze darted to Aiden, then to Ashlyn, and finally, to the creatures that had closed the distance, their bloated, rotting bodies lurching toward them with slack-jawed hunger, the stench of putrefying flesh thick in the air.

Then the axe.

Lying in the dirt just within reach, the handle darkened with fresh, slick blood, the steel blade gleaming with a wet sheen beneath the dim moonlight. The weapon was with no doubt, the dead woman’s.

Before Aiden could utter a single word, Tyler lunged for it.

He adjusted his grip in a single, fluid motion before raising it high, the muscles in his arms tensing as he swung.

The first blow buried deep into Diana’s arm, splitting through the flesh with a sickening, wet crack, the edge of the blade sinking into muscle and sinew, severing through layers of tissue but stopping just short of the bone. A thick, pulsing spray of blood erupted from the wound, splattering across the dirt, the ground greedily drinking it up as the severed muscle fibers twitched violently beneath the sudden trauma.

She didn’t even scream.

The second strike carved deeper, the blade biting into the bone this time, the force of the impact sending a jarring shudder through her entire arm, yet still, the fingers held tight.

The third blow was the worst. The steel crunched through bone, splintering it apart in jagged shards, tearing through the remaining tendons with an ugly, squelching sound as the limb finally gave way, the severed hand still clutching at Ashlyn’s ankle even in death.

Aiden wasted no time.

The moment the grip loosened, he ripped Ashlyn backward with all the strength he had left, sending them both stumbling over the damp, blood-slick grass, their breaths ragged and uneven.

And just as Ashlyn turned back to steal one last look—

The creatures descended.

They dropped onto Diana’s body in a frenzied, chaotic mass, their bony fingers tearing into her exposed torso, their jagged teeth ripping through what little remained of her ruined flesh, the wet, slurping sounds of feasting filling the air.

One of them plunged its rotting hands straight into the gaping cavity of her stomach, fingers curling around the coils of her intestines before yanking them free, a glistening mass of bloody entrails spilling onto the ground, steam rising from the warmth of her still-dying body.

Another forced its face into the raw, gaping wound where her throat had once been, its teeth clamping down onto the exposed windpipe, tearing it away in a wet, jerking motion, the ragged piece of tissue hanging between its jaws like a grotesque trophy.

With the time they had wasted, the others had already reached the fence, waiting, their panic palpable, their eyes darting wildly between the approaching horde and the narrow opening they still had to squeeze through. Ben remained outside, taking the risk of holding the fence open, his knuckles white from gripping the metal, his entire frame trembling from the effort, but he didn’t move, his wide, frantic eyes locked onto them.

Aiden shoved Ashlyn forward.

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Her legs burned as she pushed forward, barely registering the searing pain in her lungs, barely aware of anything beyond the sheer, mind-numbing instinct to survive.

Ben held the fence long enough for them all to slip through before scrambling in after them, and the moment his feet hit solid ground, Taylor was already there, hands shaking as she fought to loop the red wire through the opening, her fingers trembling too violently to grip it properly.

"Taylor, you gotta hurry," Logan’s voice was tight, sharp, his bullets still cutting through the night.

Her fingers fumbled, breath coming in frantic, desperate gasps as she pulled the wire tight, forcing it through, twisting it shut just as—

The creatures slammed against the fence. It rattled beneath the weight of their bodies, the metal groaning in protest, but it held.

VI.

The moment they were through the fence, it was as if the weight of the world finally collapsed onto their shoulders. Muscles that had been burning with tension, bodies pushed to the brink of collapse, all suddenly seemed to give in under the sheer exhaustion of it all.

One by one, they let out long, shaking breaths, the kind that had been trapped in their chests for far too long, as if releasing them would finally convince their lungs that they were, at least for now, still alive.

Some of them dropped where they stood, knees buckling beneath the strain, palms pressing into the rocky ground as they tried to gather themselves, to slow the thunderous pounding of their hearts, to let the adrenaline settle before it crushed them.

Tyler barely noticed as his back hit the second fence behind them, his body leaning heavily against it, the jagged metal digging into the sweat-drenched fabric of his shirt. His fingers remained curled around the axe’s handle, knuckles white with tension, as if his body refused to believe that the fight was over. It was only when the dull, pulsating ache in his side made itself known that he registered the injury at all, a fresh wave of pain rippling through the numbed haze of his exhaustion.

The bandage wrapped around his torso was damp now, darkened in places where fresh blood had seeped through. But even then, it was nothing compared to the chaos still roaring inside his skull, his thoughts a tangled mess of images—Diana’s face, the creatures feeding, the crunch of the axe against bone, Ashlyn’s trembling hands.

Ashlyn.

She was still beside Aiden, sitting on the cold, uneven ground, curled in on herself like something small and fragile, something afraid. Her hands were twisted into the fabric of his jacket, fingers gripping so tightly her knuckles had gone pale, like a child holding onto their last tether to safety.

No one seemed to notice—not in the haze of relief, in the frantic need to collect themselves—but Aiden did. His arm was already draped around her, his hand moving in slow, steady motions against her back, offering silent reassurance. He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. He just let her hold on.

For a moment, silence settled among them, thick and suffocating, the only sounds being their uneven breathing, the faint ringing still echoing in their ears from the gunfire, and the ever-present groaning of the things still clawing at the fence.

Then Naomi’s voice cut through it.

“Tyler—behind you!”

His entire body jerked forward, instinct throwing him off the fence before he even processed the warning. His fingers clenched tighter around the axe as he spun on his heel, breath catching in his throat as he aimed the flashlight toward whatever had been about to touch him.

Another one of them.

Different body. Different face. But the same unnatural, rotting form. The same sluggish yet unrelenting movement. A corpse that had no right still moving.

And it wasn’t alone.

As the beam of light cut through the dark, more figures materialized behind it, shifting in that eerie, unsteady manner, their heads twitching with unnatural jerks, their hollowed-out eyes staring through them with something beyond hunger.

“Holy shit—” Jessica’s voice was barely above a breath, but the horror in it was unmistakable.

She was standing next to Aiden now, her movements unsteady, her hands balled into fists at her sides. At first, she had been too relieved to see him slip through that fence alive, too focused on the way his breath came in sharp, rattling gasps, on the blood smeared across his sleeves, the exhaustion carved into his features. But now—now that relief was dying as quickly as it had come, swallowed by the nightmarish reality of what was happening.

Jessica had never been one to curse. Never been one to let words like that slip from her mouth, not when the world had once been normal. But normal had been torn to pieces, shredded into something unrecognizable, and how many of those old habits had been buried alongside it?

Tyler ran a hand through his damp, sweat-matted hair, fingers threading through the mess of curls before gripping at the roots, his head pounding in rhythm with his own pulse. The bandage on his side tugged uncomfortably against his skin, reminding him of the pain he had barely acknowledged before. His gaze remained fixed on the creatures, watching the way their mouths opened and closed in that ever-so-horrifying way, as if testing their own ability to consume.

It was unnatural.

“First the Phantoms explode out of existence,” Tyler muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “and now these things show up… nothing makes sense anymore.”

The words barely registered as they left his mouth, a raw, hoarse admission that he hadn’t even meant to say aloud.

“Exploded?” Mary’s head snapped up, her focus torn away from where she had been checking over Logan. Her hands, once steady, tensed over the makeshift bandage she had been securing, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Tyler in quiet scrutiny.

He froze.

Yeah. That was still something that needed explaining.

And Mary wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“What do you mean, Phantoms exploded?” Daniel echoed, and this time, more heads turned.

Lily was already distracting the younger kids, keeping their attention away, but the rest of them—every single one of them—was now staring at Tyler, as if it had only just hit them how bruised and bloodied he had returned.

How he had been alone.

How something had happened out there.

With the attention now firmly set on him, and their current location offering at least some semblance of safety, Tyler knew there was no reason not to explain. No reason to keep the details locked inside his own skull, swirling in that ever-growing pit of confusion and dread.

Dragging in a breath, he let it out slow, gathering the words before forcing them through dry lips.

“I was attacked. In the forest.” His voice was rough, strained, like he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Two Phantoms.”

A pause. A breath. He didn’t want to think about it too much. Didn’t want the details to claw their way too deep into his mind.

“I managed to take one down,” he continued, forcing his voice steady, “but I was too slow for the second one’s attack.”

His hand unconsciously lifted to his neck, fingers ghosting over the deep red marks that still stained his skin. He didn’t need to specify—didn’t need to tell them how close it had been, how the cold grip of death had nearly wrapped itself around his throat.

“But then it just… burst.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face, his brows furrowing as he tried to find the right words.

“It—it just exploded, into nothing.” His hands moved vaguely, as if trying to mimic what had happened, but how did you gesture the impossible? How did you explain something that defied everything?

“Even the dead one wasn’t there anymore.”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. Wrong.

"Now that I think about it," Aiden muttered, his voice quieter now, as if his mind was only just catching up to the realization. He finally let go of Ashlyn’s still trembling form when Mike, her father, stepped in to take over, his large hands settling protectively over her shoulders. Aiden’s lips pressed together, his brows furrowing as something unsettling worked its way into his thoughts.

"We didn’t encounter a single Phantom on our way—" Before he could finish, a sharp voice cut through the air, rough and demanding.

"Wait—"

Jamal pushed past the others with urgency, his movements frantic, searching. His eyes flicked across their small group, scanning, counting, checking. But then his breath hitched, a tremor slipping into it, his shoulders stiffening as his gaze locked onto empty space where someone should have been.

"Where’s—where’s Diana?"

The words landed like a punch to Tyler’s ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.

The axe in his hand suddenly felt heavier, like it was made of something denser than steel, something impossibly thick and suffocating. His fingers clenched around the wooden handle, but he barely felt it. What he did feel, however, was the blood.

Warm. Thick. Sticky where it had splattered up his arm, smeared across his skin in deep, streaked reds, dripping from the blade in sluggish, wet rivulets.

Not blackened, rotted blood.

Not the dried, caked filth of the dead.

Human.

Tyler’s breath stuttered, his pulse hammering inside his skull.

Jamal turned to him, eyes dark and wide, full of something dangerous, something rising. The moment his gaze landed on the blood—the undeniable, fresh evidence smeared across Tyler’s hands and forearms—his entire body went rigid.

"You—what did you do to her?"

The accusation shot through Tyler like ice water poured directly into his veins.

Tyler’s lips parted, but no sound came. No words, no excuses, no defense. His throat felt locked, sealed shut by something thick and suffocating, something heavy that pressed down on his chest like lead. He should have said something, anything, but the truth curled inside him like a parasite, gnawing, writhing, eating him from the inside out.

Jamal’s breath caught—sharp, ragged, uneven—his hands twitching at his sides before his entire body snapped forward. His fingers clamped onto the front of Tyler’s jacket, the fabric bunching in his grasp as he yanked him close, his grip iron-tight, his knuckles white with pressure. It wasn’t just anger. It was something deeper, something desperate.

His hands shook, but his grip never faltered, as if by sheer force alone, he could tear the truth from Tyler’s silence.

Jamal shoved him, hard.

Tyler barely moved.

Not because he wasn’t strong enough to push back, not because he was afraid of what Jamal might do next, but because—what could he even say?

The truth had already settled in, wrapping around his spine like rusted chains, binding him to the weight of his own actions. The memory played in his mind, unbidden, unwilling to let go, the moment repeating over and over like a broken reel of film stuck on its worst frame.

He had seen Diana’s fingers still clinging to Ashlyn’s leg, grasping, weak but present, searching for something—someone—to save her.

And then he had butchered her.

The axe had bitten into her limb, not once, not twice, but three times, hacking, cleaving, tearing through skin and flesh, splintering bone beneath the force of his desperate swings. The blade had not sliced cleanly—it had ripped, catching on tendons that stretched and snapped like over-strained cords, on muscle that refused to part without resistance, on bone that cracked, then fractured, then finally split apart.

Locked onto him, flickering, a silent, pleading question frozen in that final moment between life and death.

And Tyler had been the one to take that moment away.

His stomach twisted, nausea rising thick and heavy in the back of his throat, his breath hitching, catching in his lungs like barbed wire.

The second shove came harder, the impact jolting him back a step, his boots scraping against gravel. But still, Tyler didn’t move to defend himself. He barely felt the force of it, barely registered the burn in his arms from the strain of his grip on the axe, his fingers locked around the handle in an unrelenting clench. He couldn’t let go. He wasn’t sure he knew how to.

"You son of a—"

Jamal’s voice broke, his hand drawing back, fingers curling into a fist.

The space between them disappeared in an instant as Aiden stepped forward, his hand pressing firmly against Jamal’s chest, stopping him cold. The motion was smooth, effortless, as if Aiden had already predicted what was coming, had already seen the next move before it even happened.

Jamal’s breath hitched, his muscles locking beneath the pressure of Aiden’s touch, but he didn’t shove forward again. He didn’t push past him.

Aiden was smaller, shorter, but in that moment, he was something immovable, something solid and unshaken. His presence carried a weight beyond physicality, something unspoken but undeniable, something that warned—without a single shift in expression—that he would not allow this to continue.

“She was already gone, Jamie.”

His voice was steady. Not cold. Not cruel. Just final.

Jamal’s breathing was erratic, his shoulders tense, his hands still clenched into trembling fists at his sides. His expression twisted, contorting beneath the weight of too many emotions colliding at once—grief, fury, denial. His chest rose and fell in uneven, sharp breaths, his eyes flickering between Aiden and Tyler, his mind screaming for something—anything—to latch onto, some excuse, some reason, some way to rewrite what had happened into something less unbearable.

But there was nothing.

Because the truth had already dug its way into his skull, slithering into the cracks, taking root in the spaces between rage and loss.

And knowing—truly knowing—didn’t make it hurt any less.

"Ty only did what was necessary to save me and Ashlyn," Aiden continued, his voice unwavering, his gaze never leaving Jamal’s. "There was nothing that could’ve been done."

Jamal’s breath caught, his hands twitching, shaking at his sides. His eyes burned with something raw, something unspoken, something too heavy to carry alone. He shook his head once, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but he didn’t argue.

VII.

The night air was thick and heavy, clinging to Tyler’s skin like damp cloth, but it did nothing to cool the feverish heat crawling beneath it. He gripped the rusted railing of the watchtower, knuckles white, fingers trembling as another violent wave of nausea twisted his insides into knots. His stomach was already empty—had been for hours—but that didn’t stop his body from trying to purge itself of something that wasn’t even there.

His entire frame shuddered as he leaned forward, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. And then—

Wretch.

The sound was wet, hollow, miserable. His stomach clenched, his ribs ached, but nothing came up except a thin trail of saliva and bile that burned the back of his throat like acid. The force of it sent another ripple of pain through his stomach, his body demanding release from something that wasn’t physical, something he couldn’t just cough up and be rid of.

It wouldn’t stop.

The memory, the sound, kept replaying in his head, looping over and over like a broken tape stuck on the worst part. The sound of flesh tearing, of muscle splitting apart, of bone cracking, of her blood hitting the ground in thick, warm splatters, still so vivid, so fresh—like it had just happened.

Like it was still happening.

His breath hitched, and before he could stop it, another heave wracked his body. His stomach lurched again, bile rushing up his throat, and he gagged, spit trailing from his lips as another dry retch rattled through him. His legs felt weak, the strain pulling at his ribs, his throat raw and burning from the constant effort. His fingers tightened on the railing, trying to steady himself, but his body wouldn’t stop trembling.

And no one was coming to check on him.

No one was asking if he was okay.

Because they didn’t want to be near him.

Jamal had made that clear—his voice cold, his gaze sharp and cutting. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t screamed, but his words had dug in deep when he told Tyler that he couldn’t sleep next to someone who had hacked through one of their own like she was already dead.

And the others? They hadn’t protested.

Some had quietly made their way downstairs, away from him—not with anger, not with disgust, but with a thick, understanding silence that said enough. Some just needed space. Others, like Jamal, wanted nothing to do with him.

So, he was here.

Alone.

Stupidly isolated in the upper part of one of the two watchtowers, forced into a self-imposed exile that wasn’t really self-imposed at all.

His breath shuddered, another sick wave rolling through his gut, but he didn’t have the energy to brace for it this time. His knees buckled slightly, his grip slipping just enough to send him staggering forward. He caught himself at the last second, slamming his forearm against the railing, his head hanging low, stomach twisting in sharp, miserable spasms—

A soft touch.

Fingers ghosting through his hair, gathering the longer strands at the nape of his neck with careful precision.

Tyler tensed instinctively, breath hitching—but the moment passed, and he realized who it was before he even turned.

Taylor.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask if he was okay, because they both knew the answer. Didn’t offer empty reassurances, because she knew they wouldn’t help. She just stood behind him, her fingers moving slowly, brushing through his hair, her other hand rubbing slow, gentle circles against his back.

It was grounding.

Taylor didn’t speak, didn’t rush him, didn’t tell him to breathe or try to force words into the silence that hung between them. She just stayed there, fingers combing gently through his hair, the slow, rhythmic motion grounding him even as his stomach continued to twist itself into painful knots.

Then, after a few moments, she shifted, pressing a cool plastic bottle into his shaking hand.

"Drink," she murmured, her voice quiet but firm, the weight of it settling into the thick, suffocating air around them.

Tyler didn’t resist. His fingers curled weakly around the bottle, the condensation slick against his fever-warm skin. He barely had the strength to lift it, so Taylor steadied his grip, her own hand firm around his wrist, guiding it up until the bottle met his lips.

The first sip was jarring—cold liquid rushing into his parched mouth, flooding over his dry tongue, soothing the raw burn in his throat. He swallowed thickly, the water sliding down his gullet in a way that was almost foreign after hours of convulsing, of choking on nothing but bile and air. He took another sip, then another, his throat bobbing with each swallow.

It helped. Just barely.

The water dulled the rawness in his throat, washed away the bitter taste of acid still clinging to his tongue, eased the painful dryness that had settled deep into his chest. But it didn’t get rid of the nausea, didn’t erase the phantom feeling of blood clinging to his skin, didn’t stop the memory from looping over and over inside his skull, her wide, terrified eyes seared into the back of his mind.

It wasn’t enough.

The moment the bottle emptied, his stomach rebelled against the sudden rush of liquid, a deep, sickening churn rolling through him like a slow-building storm. His fingers slackened, the plastic bottle slipping from his grip, bouncing against the wooden floor with a hollow thud.

And then it hit him.

A violent, stomach-wrenching heave, so sudden and forceful that he barely had time to turn his head before his body finally expelled what it had been trying to purge all night.

He lurched forward, but Taylor was already there, already steadying him, one hand braced against his back, the other gripping his shoulder to keep him from collapsing under the force of it.

The water didn’t come back up—not entirely—but the moment his stomach clenched, he felt the sickening burn in his throat, the wet, choking sound of his own breath catching between dry retches. His ribs ached, his chest tightened, and his entire body trembled with the effort.

It felt endless.

Each heave dragged another miserable, shuddering gasp from his lungs, another wave of sickness that left him dizzy, lightheaded, hollow.

As the last violent heave passed and his stomach finally stopped twisting itself into knots, Tyler let his body go slack, exhaustion pulling him down like dead weight. His limbs ached, his head spun, and every muscle in his body felt like it had been wrung dry. He let himself slide down, slumping onto the rough wooden floor, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

His hand still gripped the edge of the platform, fingers curled tight against the splintered wood, as if holding on to something solid would keep him from sinking any further into himself. But the moment his wound tugged—just slightly, just enough to remind him it was there, stitched and barely holding together—he let go. His fingers twitched once before going still at his side.

Everything was quiet except for the low, guttural snarls drifting up from below. Not frantic anymore, not clawing and desperate like before. Just idle, wandering. They had lost interest now that he had stopped making noise.

For now.

Taylor moved carefully, kneeling beside him, watching him with quiet patience. She didn’t reach for him, didn’t force anything, just waited. And when he didn’t flinch away, didn’t protest, she shifted closer, silent permission granted.

Her hands were gentle as she guided him forward, pulling him into her warmth, letting his head rest in the curve of her shoulder, right at the junction of her neck. The scent of her—faint sweat, gunpowder, the lingering trace of something softer buried beneath—was grounding, something real in a world that had become nothing but blood and decay.

He didn’t cry.

He wouldn’t let himself.

Didn’t feel like he deserved to.

But his body still trembled, just slightly, an involuntary reaction he had no control over. Whether from exhaustion, sickness, or something deeper—something cold and clawing its way into his ribs—he wasn’t sure.

Taylor didn’t comment on it. She just ran her hand slowly up and down his back, steady, reassuring. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke, her words smoothing over the raw edges of his thoughts like a balm.

“Todo va a estar bien,” she murmured. “You did what you had to do.”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

She meant well. He knew that. Knew she was only trying to ease the weight pressing down on his shoulders, the burden that felt like it was sinking into his bones, making a home there.

But no words, no reassurance, would ever change the truth.

He had taken an axe to a person’s limb. He had looked into her terrified eyes and chosen to end her life, to spare her from something worse.

It didn’t matter if it was necessary.

It didn’t change the fact that it had been him who did it.

“It’s not fair, lo sé,” Taylor continued, her voice softer now, thumb tracing slow circles against his shoulder blade. “But Ashlyn will talk some sense into them once she gets her head straight. They won’t stay pissed at you forever, hermano.”

Tyler exhaled sharply through his nose, barely more than a breath.

It wouldn’t matter.

No matter what Ashlyn said, no matter how much time passed, nothing would ease the knot of guilt twisting in his chest.

VIII.

Aiden’s footsteps were soft against the wooden planks of the watchtower as he made his way up, the faint creak of the boards blending into the distant snarls of the Phantoms below. The wind was sharper at this height, whistling through the gaps in the structure, wrapping its icy fingers around anything warm. But Aiden didn’t seem to mind.

He carried a thick blanket under one arm, his other hand tucked into his pocket, moving with an easy, familiar confidence despite the darkness around him.

When he reached the top, he pushed open the door to the cabin with a casual nudge of his shoulder, stepping inside without hesitation. His gaze landed on Tyler instantly, his form hunched forward, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers interlocked as he stared at the ground.

The way he sat made it seem like the weight of everything pressing down on his shoulders was something physical, something tangible, something that might eventually break him if it hadn’t already started to.

Aiden, of course, was never one for silence—not for too long, anyway.

Without a word, he unfolded the blanket and draped it over Tyler’s shoulders, letting the thick fabric settle around him before sitting down beside him. The warmth of it did little to thaw the chill in his bones, but the gesture alone was enough to make something tighten in Tyler’s chest.

Aiden let the quiet settle for a moment before speaking, his tone light, teasing, as if trying to pry Tyler out of whatever dark place his thoughts had dragged him into.

“So,” he mused, leaning back slightly, arms resting against his bent knees. “You think Jamal’s planning your murder, or just a casual homicide?”

The words took a second to register, but when they did, they dragged a sharp exhale out of Tyler—something too tired to be a laugh, too dry to be anything real. Aiden took what he could get.

“Shut up,” Tyler muttered, his voice lacking any real bite as he lifted one hand to give Aiden a half-hearted shove to the shoulder.

Aiden grinned at the reaction, clearly satisfied with himself, but he didn’t push any further. He let the silence stretch between them again, though this time, it felt a little less suffocating.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time didn’t feel real up here, away from the others, away from anything that mattered beyond the thoughts festering in Tyler’s mind.

And then, out of nowhere, Aiden broke the quiet again, his voice softer this time, lacking the teasing edge from before.

“That injury of yours,” he murmured, and there was something unreadable in his expression as he glanced sideways at Tyler. “The one from before. Back in the first… y’know.”

He didn’t say it outright, but he didn’t have to. Tyler knew exactly what he meant.

His fingers curled slightly against his palms, jaw tightening instinctively at the memory—at the weightlessness of the fall, at the sickening crunch of his body colliding with the branches, at the way the jagged wood had torn through him, pinning him in place like some grotesque puppet.

The pain had been unimaginable, searing, something that had burned itself so deep into his nerves that even now, he swore he could still feel echoes of it sometimes, phantom aches that never truly faded.

And yet, despite how long ago that had been, the mark it left on him hadn’t disappeared. It was still there, carved into his skin like a cruel reminder of what had happened.

He knew he had discarded it, that both of them did, so he found to reason to question Aiden’s sudden mention of it. They needed to face it one way or another.

Without thinking too much about it, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, the cold air instantly biting at his skin. The blanket slipped from his shoulders, pooling around his waist, but he didn’t bother adjusting it. He shifted slightly to show Aiden his torso, his bandaged side where Ben had patched him up, but more than that—the scar.

He had ignored—avoided—it’s presence for years now, the comfort of their past world being the only place where the scar wasn’t visible stripped away from him since the day the two dimensions blended. But looking at it now, after so long, felt like it was the first time all over again.

It was unmistakable, running across his stomach, jagged and uneven, like the flesh had been torn apart and forced to knit itself back together in the wrong way. It had healed, but not cleanly, not the way it should have. There was something wrong about it, something unnatural, like it had been left behind as a permanent mark by that world, refusing to let go of him even now.

Aiden didn’t speak immediately. He just looked at it, his expression unreadable, before lifting a hand and reaching out.

The moment his fingers pressed against the scar, Tyler shuddered.

It wasn’t the cold.

It wasn’t pain.

It was something else. Something familiar and unfamiliar all in the same box.

Aiden’s touch was light at first, cautious, fingertips tracing the ridges, following the uneven edges before flattening his palm against it completely. His skin was warm, firm, the pressure solid enough to remind Tyler that this was real, that they were real, that despite everything they had been through, they were still here.

Tyler felt his heartbeat pick up, a dull, unsteady thud against his ribs, a stuttering rhythm that made his breath hitch before he could stop it. Logan and Ben had touched the scar before, had examined it with clinical detachment, had prodded and tested to make sure it hadn’t worsened. But this—this was different.

There was nothing medical about the way Aiden was touching him, nothing detached or indifferent. He wasn’t just feeling the scar, he was memorizing it, mapping it out like it meant something.

And for some reason, Tyler couldn’t breathe.

His mind drifted back to the forest, to the moment he had thought he was about to die again, to the way his thoughts had latched onto Aiden in those final moments. The way his mind hadn’t gone to anyone else other than his sister, and him. And then it hit.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

The realization struck him with an intensity that made his stomach twist, made his entire body go rigid beneath Aiden’s touch. It wasn’t a slow, creeping thing—it was immediate, undeniable, something that had probably been lurking in the background for a long time, waiting for him to finally see it.

He liked Aiden.

Not just as a friend.

Not just as someone he trusted.

He liked him.

And now that the thought had settled into his mind, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get rid of it.

Before he could spiral any further, before he could even begin to process what that meant, Aiden pulled back, either oblivious to Tyler’s sudden shift or simply choosing not to acknowledge it.

“At least I’m not the only one with an ugly scar left,” Aiden muttered, his tone casual as he raked a hand through his messy hair, pushing it away from his forehead. The movement revealed that scar of his own, barely visible beneath the strands but still there—a mark from his death, the one that had left him broken on the school’s  pavement.

Tyler stared at it, at the faint lines marring his skin, at the proof that neither of them had come out of that world unscathed.

They had both died.

And yet, somehow, they were still here.

Tyler pulled his shirt back on slowly, the fabric dragging over his skin, rough against the bandages wound tightly around his side. The material bunched awkwardly over the injury, pressing in just enough to be uncomfortable, but he didn’t adjust it. It barely mattered. The dull throb beneath the gauze was already a constant presence, blending into the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.

The cold air bit at the back of his neck where sweat had dried, leaving him clammy, and the ache in his muscles reminded him how little rest he’d gotten. He exhaled through his nose, letting his hands drop limply into his lap, fingers twitching against the hem of his shirt before finally going still.

Aiden was lying beside him on the wooden floor, arms folded behind his head, one leg bent slightly at the knee as he stared up at the ceiling. His breathing was slow and steady, but Tyler could tell it was forced. Aiden was good at holding himself still, at keeping everything bottled up behind that half-lidded, unreadable expression.

But Tyler had spent enough time around him to recognize when his mind was somewhere else, somewhere distant.

The watchtower wasn’t exactly the best place to sleep. The walls were thin, the wind slipping through the cracks in the wood, and the air inside carried a deep, lingering chill, making every breath feel sharper than it should have. There were no real beds, just the floor and whatever blankets they had managed to grab in their rush to get out of the house. But it was still safer than being downstairs.

Tyler shifted, rolling his shoulders before adjusting the blanket he had wrapped around himself. The heavy fabric pooled over his lap, providing some warmth, though it did little against the ache settled deep in his bones. He glanced toward Aiden again, noting how he hadn’t moved an inch, his eyes still fixed blankly on the ceiling.

“You aren’t going to sleep downstairs with the others?” Tyler’s voice came out rougher than expected, hoarse with exhaustion.

Aiden didn’t answer right away. He didn’t turn his head, didn’t break his gaze from the ceiling, just gave a small shake of his head.

Tyler frowned slightly, shifting where he sat. “Why not?”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was the kind that carried weight, like something unspoken had slipped between them, thick and lingering. It wasn’t hesitation, not really. It was consideration. The kind of pause that meant Aiden was choosing his words carefully.

When he finally did speak, his voice was quiet, level. “My father’s down there.”

Tyler froze.

Not visibly. Not in a way that would be noticeable. But inside, something in his chest tightened, locking into place.

He didn’t react outwardly, didn’t let his expression change, didn’t shift or tense or do anything that would make it seem like he was paying too much attention to that answer. He just nodded slightly, a barely-there movement, accepting the words for what they were.

Because he understood.

There were two things Tyler had learned when it came to Aiden and his parents. First, if Aiden ever brought them up, don’t press—wait, listen, and let him speak if he wanted to. Second, if he didn’t elaborate, if he gave nothing more than a statement, then that was the end of it. No pushing. No asking. Just let it go.

So, Tyler let it go.

He adjusted the blanket over his shoulders again, tucking it more securely against the chill that never quite left his skin. His body felt like it was on the verge of shutting down from exhaustion, but his mind wouldn’t stop. The memories wouldn’t stop. The sound of tearing flesh, of bones splintering beneath an axe, of breathless, drowning gasps—

He forced himself to focus on the present, dragging his thoughts away from that pit before he could slip too far into it. Instead, his attention settled back on Aiden, on the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, on the way his fingers curled slightly against his bicep, as if gripping onto something unseen. Tyler blinked, his gaze flickering down toward the blanket around his own shoulders before realization finally struck.

“You don’t have a blanket, do you?”

Aiden still didn’t move. “There weren’t enough for everyone. We left in a hurry. Most of the others are sharing.”

Tyler stared at him for a long moment, processing those words, before glancing back down at the thick fabric wrapped around him. He gripped it absently, feeling the weight of it, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth it provided. Something settled uncomfortably in his chest, curling tight and nagging at the edges of his exhaustion-clouded thoughts.

His gaze snapped back up. “Wait a second.” His voice was quieter now, almost cautious. “This is yours, isn’t it?”

Aiden let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, but it was barely more than a huff of air. “Not like you were gonna grab one for yourself.”

Tyler exhaled sharply, shaking his head. A mixture of irritation and something else—something softer, something reluctant—bubbled up inside him. “You’re a reckless dumbass.”

Aiden only smirked, amusement flickering behind his tired eyes.

Tyler rolled his eyes, shifting slightly to make room. He hesitated, his fingers tightening on the edge of the blanket before he lifted it slightly, just enough to gesture toward the empty space beside him. His voice came out lower, rougher, almost hesitant. “Get over here.”

He didn’t move at first.

For a moment, he just lay there, eyes locked onto Tyler’s face, unreadable in the dim light. The hesitation stretched between them, thick and weighted, and for a second, Tyler thought he might just ignore the offer entirely.

He almost regretted saying it. Almost dropped the blanket and told Aiden to fuck off before he could feel stupid about it.

But before he could, Aiden shifted.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t make a big deal out of it—just moved closer, slipping beneath the shared warmth without another word. The motion was smooth, natural, as if it had never been a question, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

But Tyler’s body reacted before his brain could catch up.

The warmth hit him like a shock to his system, sending a violent shiver rolling down his spine. It wasn’t from the cold. Not entirely. He clenched his jaw, willing his muscles to relax, but it was impossible to ignore the way his heart suddenly pounded a little too fast against his ribs, the way the heat spread through him, settling into his skin. His breath caught for a second too long before he forced himself to exhale slowly, grounding himself.

Aiden didn’t say anything about it.

Didn’t comment on the way Tyler had instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around them, sealing in the warmth.

They just lay there, side by side, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the wind outside and the distant snarls below.

Tyler closed his eyes briefly, letting out a slow breath, trying not to think too hard about the way his skin still tingled where their arms brushed beneath the fabric.

It was just warmth.

Just a blanket.

Nothing else.

Chapter Text

I.

The morning came cloaked in an eerie red glow, the sky bleeding hues of crimson and deep orange, as if the world itself had been set ablaze. The sun hung low, casting long shadows through the cracks in the watchtower, illuminating dust motes in the still, heavy air. The light painted everything in shades of rust and ember, making the worn wooden walls seem soaked in something almost unnatural. Tyler stirred, his body sluggish with exhaustion, his limbs aching with the stiffness of an uneasy rest. 

But before he could shift fully into awareness, he registered something—pressure, solid and warm, weighing down on his chest and legs. A frown creased his brows, confusion surfacing as he tried to lift himself up, only for a sharp twinge of pain to radiate from his side where his injury had been patched up. His breath hitched, and his muscles instinctively tensed, but the real issue wasn’t the wound—it was the dead weight practically draped over him. 

Aiden. 

Somehow, during the night, he had all but melted against him, his head pressed against Tyler’s chest, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing completely undisturbed. His legs were tangled with Tyler’s in a way that felt too natural, like he’d been there for hours, sinking further into the warmth, heedless of personal space or the fact that he was basically suffocating Tyler under his weight. 

Tyler didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second too long, his body going rigid, unsure of what to do with the situation. His heart, much to his dismay, picked up a beat—something he tried to blame on the uncomfortable position rather than the fact that Aiden’s breath was warm against his collarbone, his presence entirely too close. 

Seconds stretched into what felt like eternity, his pulse hammering against his ribs as he willed himself to think of a way out of this without making things weird. But before he could act, Aiden finally stirred, shifting just slightly against him, a soft, barely-conscious groan slipping from his throat. Tyler felt the vibrations of it against his chest, and something in him clenched tight. 

Panic, discomfort, something else entirely—he wasn’t sure, but he needed an out. Now. 

His mouth moved before his brain caught up, voice laced with something meant to sound playful, but coming out a little too shaky for his liking. 

“Welcome to the land of the living,” he quipped, the words meant to break the moment, to shift the attention elsewhere. Aiden let out another sleepy groan in response, too drowned in sleep to fully process anything yet. 

Tyler took his chance. Before Aiden could wake up enough to realize just how they’d ended up like this, he shoved at him, pushing him off with enough force to send him rolling, “now get off of me.”

Aiden hit the floor with an over-the-top groan, limbs sprawled dramatically, his face pressed against the worn wood of the tower. He stayed there for a moment, unmoving, his breath still heavy with exhaustion before finally mumbling, voice muffled against the floor. 

“Asshole.” 

Tyler barely spared him a glance, but the corner of his mouth twitched, a fleeting smirk threatening to surface before he smothered it. The warmth lingering on his skin where Aiden had been pressed against him, however, was a little harder to ignore.

The morning was painted in shades of red, the sky heavy with an unnatural glow that seeped through the air like a warning. The sun, a dull and angry orb, loomed low on the horizon, casting distorted shadows against the rusting fences and cracked pavement. The world felt wrong. Off-balance. And no amount of deep breaths could make the weight in Tyler’s chest feel any lighter.

They gathered outside the watchtowers, drawn together by a mix of necessity and silent dread. Conversations were hushed at first, nothing more than murmurs beneath the occasional rustling of wind and the ever-present sound of distant snarling. Tyler stood near the back, arms crossed tight against his ribs, eyes flickering over the group as they slowly pieced together a plan.

He could feel Jamal’s glare drilling into his back, sharp as a knife, but he didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge it. There was no point. If Jamal wanted to hate him, he was going to hate him. Tyler wasn’t about to waste breath defending himself when he wasn’t even sure he deserved defending.

Ashlyn stood near the center, flashlight in hand, clicking it on and off as she aimed it toward the fence, testing the creatures’ reactions. The beam of light sliced through the red haze, illuminating their distorted silhouettes beyond the barrier, but there was no response. No flinching. No recoiling.

“Not sensitive to light, then,” she murmured, her voice just loud enough for the others to hear.

Mike cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Alright, then we need to find a way to close the third fence’s gates before this gets worse. If we don’t, the ones inside the facility are just gonna keep spilling out, and we’ll be boxed in."

"Even if we do," William added, "there are too many out here already. We won’t be able to keep avoiding them forever."

"Then we take them out where we can," Ashlyn said. She squared her shoulders, her expression firm. "I have an idea."

That was enough to get everyone’s attention. They instinctively leaned in, listening as she laid it out.

Ben would cut another opening in the fence, wide enough for one of them to slip inside and close the gates manually. Whoever went in would have to carry a weapon—something sharp, something fast—to defend themselves if things went south. Meanwhile, the rest of the group would take positions. Those with guns would get to the watchtowers, providing as much cover fire as possible. The rest would act as a distraction, spreading out along the fence, banging on it with crowbars, pipes, anything they could get their hands on to lure the creatures to one side, drawing them away from Ben’s work.

Silence followed. Not because the plan was bad—because it was solid, for what little they had to work with—but because of what it meant. Someone had to go in alone.

"I’ll do it," Aiden said immediately.

Tyler turned his head so fast it nearly sent a flare of pain through his ribs. "No, I’m going."

Aiden quirked a brow, arms folding lazily over his chest. "Oh? And you think you should do it instead?"

"Yes," Tyler snapped.

Aiden scoffed, shifting his weight onto one leg. “You’re joking, right? You’re barely holding yourself together.” He started, poking the guy’s temple with a finger, “and I’m way faster”

Tyler took a step forward, shoving the hand away as his eyes narrowed. "I can handle it."

“Uh-huh.” Aiden raised a brow, but it wasn’t entirely playful. There was an edge to it, a sharpness that dug just beneath the surface. “Sure, you can. Which is why you look like you’re about to keel over every time you breathe too deep?”

Tyler opened his mouth to fire back, but Aiden cut him off—literally—by pressing his fingers firmly against his injured side. Pain shot through him like a live wire, sharp and immediate, and he barely managed to bite back a grimace before shoving Aiden’s hand away with a harsh glare.

"Yeah," Aiden drawled, stepping back with an infuriatingly self-satisfied expression. "Definitely in peak condition."

"You’re a spaz," Tyler muttered, rubbing at his side.

Aiden grinned. "And you love me for it."

Before Tyler could snap back, Logan placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice calm, as if talking someone down from a ledge. “Come up with me instead. We’ll cover him from the towers.”

Tyler hated it. Every inch of him bristled with the thought of standing back while Aiden went in alone, but the throbbing in his side, the undeniable truth of his current state, left him with little choice.

II.

The plan went into motion.

Those without guns spread along the fence, grabbing anything they could—pipes, crowbars, metal scraps—and started slamming them against the barrier, sending out an echoing cacophony. The creatures reacted immediately, heads snapping toward the sound, guttural snarls ripping through the air as they stumbled forward, drawn toward the noise.

Ben worked quickly, cutting through the fence with sharp precision, the metal curling and snapping under his wire cutter.

Aiden crouched beside him, readying himself to bolt the moment the opening was wide enough. But before he could, a hand caught his wrist.

He turned, startled, only to meet his mother’s gaze.

"Aiden," she whispered, her grip tightening.

He knew that look. He wasn’t used to it, not from her, but he recognized it well enough. Worry, plain as day. And somehow, that made it worse.

His chest tightened, something uncomfortable curling in his stomach. The past few years had been confusing, her sudden shift from distance to warmth throwing him off-balance. He appreciated it. He really did. But he didn’t know what to do with it.

So, instead of lingering on it, he forced a grin. "I’ll be fine."

Her expression didn’t ease. If anything, her fingers only curled tighter around his wrist, as if debating whether or not to hold him back. But before she could say anything else, his father’s voice cut through the air.

"Leave him be, honey."

Aiden stiffened, his smile freezing in place as an involuntary shudder ran down his spine. He didn’t turn. Didn’t look. He just forced his mother’s grip to loosen and gave her a quick nod before crouching back down beside Ben.

The moment Ben sliced through the fence, Aiden didn’t hesitate. He squeezed himself through the narrow gap, barely registering the sharp edges that scraped against his jacket as he forced his body past. The second his feet hit the ground on the other side, he bolted forward, the wet grass slick beneath his boots. His heart slammed against his ribs as he pushed forward, legs pumping, breath coming fast.

The creatures reacted almost instantly.

At first, their movements were sluggish, slow heads turning toward the sudden disturbance in their rotting stupor. But then, as if some unspoken instinct kicked in, their uneven, shuffling steps transformed into something much more aggressive. Limbs jerked with newfound urgency, though still slow, decayed joints cracked as they stumbled forward, blackened messy teeth bared, throats rattling with unnatural hunger. Aiden barely had time to register the shift before the first one lunged.

Its flesh was a mess of decay, peeling from its skull like old wallpaper, one eye missing entirely, leaving a gaping, oozing hole in its place. Its remaining eye locked onto him with predatory fixation, its mouth opening unnaturally wide, strands of saliva and blood-streaked pus stretching between its rotted teeth. Aiden barely managed to pivot, his boots skidding in the wet grass as the thing lunged past him, its fingers just missing his arm.

He gritted his teeth and swung his knife upward in a brutal arc, burying the blade into the soft, decomposed tissue beneath its jaw. The creature jerked, its gurgled snarl twisting into a sickening wet wheeze as Aiden twisted the blade, severing the tendons in its throat before wrenching it free. Blood—thick, rotten, congealed—spurted from the wound in sluggish bursts, splattering against his fingers as the thing collapsed.

No time to stop.

He could hear the gunfire overhead, sharp cracks cutting through the air. Some were silenced, others weren’t, each shot reverberating through his chest like distant thunder. He turned his head, just for a second, catching a glimpse of the others through the fence. Jamal and the others were banging against the metal with crowbars and whatever they could find, their voices raised in a cacophony of noise meant to pull as many creatures away as possible. Beyond them, inside the watchtowers, Lily was keeping the kids distracted on the staircases, keeping them from seeing the massacre playing out below.

Aiden forced himself forward, breath tearing from his lungs as he sprinted toward the distant gate, but the creatures weren’t giving up so easily.

Another one veered too close. Aiden turned just in time to see it lunge, its body barely held together by ragged tendons and patches of gray, stretched-thin skin. He barely managed to throw up his arm, shoving against its chest to push it back, but the moment his palm connected, he felt something awful. Its flesh wasn’t just rotting—it was loose. Slipping.

His fingers sank in, the thing’s skin peeling away like wet paper, sloughing off in disgusting clumps beneath his grip. A sickening squelch filled his ears, followed by the grotesque sensation of something warm and slimy trailing down his wrist. He gagged but forced himself to react, driving his knee up hard into its gut. The impact sent the creature stumbling, a thick chunk of its torso left clinging to his palm, strings of putrid tissue dangling between his fingers.

Shoving the revulsion down, he shook the mess off and lunged forward, slamming his knife up into the thing’s temple. The skull caved under the force, brittle bone giving way like rotten wood, and the blade lodged deep. The creature gave one last shudder, a deep, guttural rattle escaping its throat before it went still. Aiden jerked his weapon free, not bothering to watch the body collapse, and kept running.

A shot rang out—too close.

The bullet slammed into the dirt just inches from his boot, kicking up wet soil. Aiden skidded to a stop, his head snapping up toward the watchtower, fury flaring in his chest. Tyler was aiming down, eyes locked on him.

“You almost shot me, you fucking halfwit!” Aiden shouted, his voice ragged from the run, frustration burning through his veins.

From above, Tyler barely reacted. He muttered something inaudible under his breath, a sarcastic “sorry”, but Aiden didn’t waste another second on him. The creatures were still on him, their numbers thickening near the gates.

He pressed forward, his muscles screaming in protest. He reached the fence, the barrier between them and the facility, where more of those things had been wandering aimlessly beyond the opening. They were already pushing toward the gap, sensing movement, drawn by the scent of the living.

Aiden didn’t slow. He rammed into the first one head-on, sending it staggering back, and plunged his knife into the side of its skull. The body went limp instantly, collapsing against him with dead weight. He shoved it off, swinging his weapon at another, the edge slicing clean through its throat. The head lolled unnaturally to the side, barely hanging on by a strip of flesh, before the body crumpled to the ground.

There was no time to catch his breath. His hands moved on instinct, grabbing at the heavy gate, yanking it shut with all the strength he had left. It groaned in protest, the rusted hinges fighting against him, but he didn’t stop. He reached for the wire, securing it, twisting it into place with quick, practiced motions. A breath tore from his lungs, his chest heaving as he turned back toward the others.

“The fence is closed!” he yelled, his voice barely carrying over the sounds of gunfire and distant snarls.

That was all they needed. Ben tore the opening in the fence wider, and the others started pushing inside, weapons raised, ready to finish off whatever was left. It was a blur of movement—shouts, steel meeting flesh, bodies collapsing into heaps of rotted limbs. There were too many, but they had made it this far. They could finish it.

Then, a sharp, agonized groan cut through the chaos.

Aiden’s head snapped toward the sound just in time to see William go down, his body hitting the grass hard. One of the creatures had him pinned, its teeth snapping dangerously close to his face.

Before Aiden could react, Emma was already moving. He came in from behind, his knife flashing in the dim light as he drove it straight into the creature’s skull. The body went rigid before slumping lifelessly onto William. Emma wasted no time in hauling the man up, gripping his arm and yanking him to his feet.

Naomi rushed in, her hands already moving to check him over. William pulled up his pant leg, revealing a torn gash just above his ankle, blood trickling down into his boot.

“It’s just a scratch,” he said quickly, his breath unsteady but determined. “I’ll be fine.”

III.

After having cleared the entire yard and secured the opening, the group gathered in the center of the space, the flickering firelight casting long, restless shadows across their faces. The flames crackled and spit embers into the cooling night air, providing a small but necessary comfort against the overwhelming reality they had just fought through.

Mike was speaking, his voice steady, filled with a hopeful optimism that most of them couldn’t quite grasp yet. He gestured to the dirt beneath them, explaining how rich and fertile it was, how if they could find seeds, they might be able to grow something, sustain themselves without relying solely on scavenging supplies from the dangerous, rotting world beyond their fences.

But Tyler wasn’t sitting with them. He hadn’t sat with them since the fight ended. Instead, he paced, his boots making muted thuds against the damp earth as he made what must have been his third full lap around the perimeter of the third fence.

He’d told them it was to check for any weaknesses in the structure, any holes or gaps that could bring danger right to their doorstep. A reasonable enough excuse, but it was just that—an excuse. No one had called him out on it, but Ashlyn had been watching him long enough to catch on.

After a moment of hesitation, she pushed herself off the blanket she had been sitting on, brushing off the bits of grass and dirt clinging to her pants. “I’ll be right back,” she told her father, as he continued discussing possibilities with the others.

She approached quietly, moving with the kind of ease and lightness that nearly made Tyler jump out of his damn skin when she finally spoke. “If there was even the smallest hole in that fence, you would’ve seen it already,” she murmured, cutting straight through the silence and whatever anxious thoughts had been looping through his head.

“Joder,” Tyler hissed, his tensed shoulders relaxing upon realizing that is was just Ashlyn, placing a hand over his chest as he exhaled sharply. “You’re gonna send me to an early grave, I swear to God.”

Ashlyn smirked, unfazed. “Might be too late for that.”

He ran a hand through his dark, sweat-dampened hair, exhaling through his nose. “Could’ve at least warned me, carrot top.”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname but let it slide. They continued walking, side by side now, the guttural snarls of the creatures trapped outside the fence serving as their grim soundtrack. The noise had almost become background static at this point, but every so often, a particularly violent clatter of bones and teeth against metal made Tyler’s fingers twitch toward his knife—Aiden’s knife.

“I talked to them, Tyler.” Ashlyn’s voice softened slightly, but there was still steel beneath it. “You can come back and sit with us.”

Tyler stiffened. His response came too fast, the knee-jerk reaction of someone refusing to let themselves hope. “I’m good.”

Ashlyn sighed, stopping to look at him. He didn’t meet her eyes, instead focusing on the rhythmic flickering of the fire in the distance.

“You have to face them eventually,” she pushed. “You were falsely accused. It’s over. You don’t have to keep running laps around the damn fence like a ghost haunting his own grave.”

Tyler’s jaw clenched. He knew she was right, but knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

Ashlyn must have sensed his hesitation, because she didn’t press any further. Instead, she simply gave his shoulder a firm pat before turning back toward the others, leaving him with his thoughts.

Tyler let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face before finally letting his gaze drift toward where the others were seated. Aiden sat a little ways away from the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him with Octavia settled comfortably in the space between them. His mother was running her fingers absentmindedly through his hair, and even from a distance, Tyler could see the relaxed tilt of Aiden’s head, the way he let himself sink into the simple comfort.

But then Aiden’s gaze flicked toward him, and that soft moment was instantly replaced by mischief. With an exaggerated grin, Aiden lifted his middle finger up and flipped Tyler off.

Tyler scoffed, shaking his head as he returned the gesture without hesitation. Across the firelight, Aiden’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, his whole body rocking slightly as he tried to stifle it.

And just like that, something warm curled in Tyler’s chest, unfamiliar and restless, like an ember refusing to die out.

He had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do with these feelings.

IV.

The conversations had stretched on for hours, shifting from discussions about the richness of the soil to idle chatter about everything and nothing at once. It was a rare kind of comfort, the kind that came when people realized—despite everything, despite the horrors clawing just beyond the fences—they were still here. Still breathing. Still human.

At some point, Tyler had finally given in and settled among them, dropping onto the blanket next to his sister. Taylor barely hesitated before throwing half of her own blanket over his shoulders, linking their warmth together. She curled against him, her fingers loosely lacing with his, her head resting against his shoulder as though anchoring him in place. Tyler sighed, tilting his own head just enough to press his temple to the crown of hers. The weight of her against him, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it helped. It made the gnawing in his chest ease just a little.

Nearby, Logan was idly braiding Ashlyn’s hair, his fingers moving with a careful, practiced ease, while Ben sat cross-legged in the dirt, distractedly running his fingers through the soil alongside Lily and the other two kids. Their hushed giggles mixed with the crackling of the fire, a soft sound of normalcy in the middle of everything. Octavia, smaller than the rest, was still perched between Aiden’s legs, her arms wrapped loosely around her own knees, fingers twitching as she fidgeted.

It wasn’t long before William exhaled sharply and shifted where he sat, bracing his hands against his thighs before pushing himself to his feet. He wavered slightly.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” he muttered, his voice tight.

His wife, Noami, was already watching him with concern before he even finished speaking. She followed without hesitation, standing as well and leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of Ben’s head before moving to William’s side. “I’ll come with you,” she said, looping an arm around his to steady him as they slowly moved away.

Aiden watched them for a moment, the flickering firelight casting uneven shadows across his face. Then he sighed and tilted his head slightly to the side, leaning into his mother’s absentminded fingers as they carded through his messy hair. He turned his attention downward, toward the small figure still seated between his legs.

“Octopus,” he said, his voice carrying an easy kind of warmth, “Sing for us.”

Octavia’s head snapped up so fast her hoodie slipped slightly off her shoulder. Her whole body tensed, shrinking further into herself as she shook her head, a deep flush already creeping up her neck. “No way,” she mumbled, almost hiding her face in her knees.

Aiden huffed, nudging her shoulder lightly. “Come on. You sang for me before. That song—you know the one.” His voice softened. “It was really nice.”

The others, catching on, quickly joined in with their own encouragements. Taylor hummed in agreement, Ashlyn offered a teasing little, “I bet you’re really good,” and even Logan lifted his gaze from the braid he was working on long enough to throw in a casual, “We could use some music.”

Octavia’s blush darkened. She glanced around at the expectant faces, shifting slightly where she sat. Then her eyes flickered back up to Aiden.

He knew that look.

He grinned and immediately lifted his hand, setting the rhythm with a slow, deliberate snap of his fingers—just like he had the first time she’d sung for him.

Octavia hesitated only a moment longer before sucking in a breath. Then, softly, she started to sing.

Chapel •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 4:23

“I'm going to get,

married today”

Her voice was light and sweet, her tone almost airy, but there was something in the way her notes carried through the space that made the world feel a little bit softer. A little more whole. The melody curled between them like smoke, gentle and weightless, stretching toward the night sky.

“The chapel is full of,

 flowers and sage”

Slowly, the others started to sway.

Tyler felt Taylor move first, her body leaning slightly side to side against him as she matched the rhythm. Logan’s fingers still worked through Ashlyn’s hair, but his movements slowed, as if syncing to the song. Even Ben, still distracted by the dirt, had tilted his head slightly, listening.

“He'll lift up my veil and he will say,

Are you sure that you love me?”

William’s steps dragged. Every movement felt heavier than the last, each one a battle against the pounding ache radiating from his leg. It burned, a deep, dull throbbing that spread like venom through his veins, and with every passing second, it only got worse.

His breath came in slow, uneven pulls, sweat clinging to his temples despite the crisp air. He was walking, but it didn’t feel like he was moving forward at all. The world around him pulsed in and out of focus, shifting in ways that made his stomach churn.

“Are you sure,

you can wait?”

Naomi’s voice floated beside him, bright and full of forced cheer, an attempt to ease the tension, to make things feel normal. But he wasn’t hearing a single word. The ringing in his ears had swallowed everything else, pressing against his skull, growing louder, louder, louder—until it was the only thing he could focus on.

“He cuts into the,

wedding cake”

As Octavia’s voice carried through the night, soft and delicate against the crackling fire, Aiden’s gaze drifted. His ever-present smirk had dulled into something quieter, something almost tender as he glanced in Tyler’s direction. The flames cast flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the way his usual sharp edges softened in the glow.

Tyler hadn’t been looking at him—at least, not directly—but he could feel it, the weight of that glance settling over him like a silent pull. And when he finally caved, shifting his gaze toward Aiden, it hit him like a blow to the ribs.

Aiden wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smirking, wasn’t pulling some half-assed expression meant to rile him up. No, this was different. The sharp amusement, the usual arrogance—gone. Instead, there was something warmer, something real.

Tyler’s heart slammed against his ribcage, hard enough that he almost flinched. Shit.

Before he could stop himself, before he could shove the feeling back down where it belonged, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards—just slightly, just enough.

“And licks the frosting,

off the blade”

William stopped walking.

Naomi kept moving ahead, still talking, unaware of his absence until the absence itself became too long. She slowed, her words cutting off mid-sentence as she glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find him just a step behind. Instead, he stood there, hunched forward, one hand gripping his thigh, the other pressing against his forehead as if trying to hold himself together. His breathing had changed—shallow, erratic, almost struggling.

“William?” she called gently, concern seeping into her tone.

He didn’t answer.

“He cuts into our palms,

drops our blood into the lake”

She took a hesitant step toward him, brow furrowed, mouth parting to speak again, but before she could, his body swayed violently, and she lunged forward just in time to catch his arm.

He was burning up.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” she demanded, shaking him slightly, searching his face for answers.

“We stand on the bridge and give ourselves,

away”

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to explain the unbearable ache spreading through his body, the way his chest felt like it was caving in, the way his blood burned, the way his jaw ached—God, his jaw ached. It wasn’t the sharp pain of an injury or the dull throb of exhaustion. It was deep. Twisting. Pulsing. It clawed at his bones, forcing his teeth to clench so tight he swore his skull might split in half. It felt desperate.

Like hunger.

Like a starving, agonizing, all-consuming hunger.

“I can be good,

I can be true”

The scent of flesh curled through his nose. His vision swam in and out, blurred beyond recognition, but when he blinked hard, the first thing he could make out was her arm—her hand gripping his own, warm and pulsing with life.

His head snapped up toward her, eyes unfocused, pupils blown wide, black swallowing what little color remained. Naomi’s concern deepened, her grip on his arm tightening. She was saying something, voice pitching higher, but the words slipped right through him, lost to the deafening sound of blood rushing in his ears.

His stomach clenched, but not with sickness.

With need.

“You know I don't love anyone,

but I love you”

The ache in his chest sharpened—something cold, something wrong, something crushing, like a thousand hands wrapping around his heart and squeezing. His lungs seized, and for a moment, he swore something inside him cracked.

Then everything stopped.

Everything.

His body stilled, and his consciousness slipped.

“I can be good,

I can be true”

Naomi gasped as his weight crumpled, his body collapsing like a puppet cut from its strings. His head lolled backward, arms hanging limply at his sides. His breathing—gone. His pulse—silent.

“William?”

She dropped to her knees beside him, hands flying to his chest, pressing against the fabric of his shirt, waiting—praying—for the rise and fall of his breath. Nothing.

Her hands trembled as she reached for his throat, two fingers pressing against his pulse point.

Cold skin.

No rush of blood beneath it.

Her breath hitched.

“You know I don't love anyone,

but I love you”

“No—” she choked, shaking her head violently. Her eyes burned, panic clawing its way up her throat, making it impossible to breathe.

She parted her lips, ready to scream for help, but before she could, a hand shot up, locking around her wrist with a force so violent she gasped.

Her head snapped down. William was moving.

“I'm going to get,

married today”

A broken breath left her lips, relief flooding her face as she clutched his arm, trying to steady him. “Honey, are you o—”

The sound that came from his throat wasn’t a breath.

It wasn’t a word. It was a snarl.

A guttural, wet, unnatural sound that rattled out of him like something struggling to climb free of his throat.

“The chapel is full of,

crosses and bouquets”

Naomi froze.

A chill crept up her spine, a terrible, dreadful instinct whispering to run—run now. But before she could so much as twitch, pain—hot, searing pain—exploded through her arm.

She screamed.

“We pray to the wax bride and her violet,

varicose veins”

Her voice ripped through the night as William—no, not William—lunged forward, teeth sinking deep into the flesh of her forearm.

The sound was sickening—a wet, tearing squelch as skin and muscle gave way under his gnashing teeth. He tore through her like a starved animal, mouth latching onto her arm with inhuman force, his jaws clamping, crunching down. Something—bone, tendon, something inside her—snapped.

Naomi's world blurred in agony.

“Kiss me with forever where only,

death remains”

Her free hand flew to his face, fingers digging desperately into his scalp as she tried to shove him away, but he didn't budge. His grip was unnatural, like steel, his fingers clawing into her skin as he yanked his head back.

A chunk of flesh—her flesh—ripped free between his teeth.

Hot blood poured down his chin, splattering thick and dark onto the grass below. Naomi sobbed, a ragged, broken sound, her body convulsing from the shock, the raw, searing burn ripping through every nerve in her body.

Then, she held onto him. A last wish to feel him in her arms.

Chapter Text

I.

The morning was hollow, as if the world itself had been gutted and left to bleed out beneath the gory, washed-out sky. The air was cold, not with the kind of crispness that bit at exposed skin, but with a dull, numbing presence that seeped into the bones, a reminder that warmth was a fleeting thing in a world like this. The wind dragged lazily through the tall grass, rattling the chain-link fence that separated them from the open fields beyond, but even nature itself seemed hesitant to make a sound.

Ben worked in silence. He always did. It wasn’t just habit; it was necessity. Words had no place with him, not when the weight of what had happened was still thick in his chest, a suffocating thing that made his ribs feel like they were caving in.

His hands were blistered from gripping the wooden handle of the shovel too tight, but he didn’t loosen his hold, just kept digging. The sharp scrape of metal against packed dirt was the only real sound that cut through the quiet.

Beside him, Aiden dug as well. His movements weren’t as practiced, weren’t as steady. His breathing came in uneven bursts, labored from the effort of lifting and slamming the shovel down into the earth over and over again. Every muscle in his arms burned, his legs shook faintly from exhaustion, but none of it compared to the weight pressing against his skull, a relentless reminder of what they were doing.

Of who they were burying.

Noami’s scream still echoed in his ears, thick with terror, with agony, with betrayal. The way she had sobbed, not in fear of death but in grief for the monster her husband had become. The way her voice had gone hoarse, breaking apart as her pleas turned to choked gurgles beneath the wet, gluttonous sounds of teeth sinking into flesh.

The way she had called Ben’s name one last time before her throat was torn open.

Ben hadn’t moved then. Hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t cried.

He had just stood there, watching as his father—no, not his father, not anymore—ripped into her like an animal, his fingers tearing at her flesh, his teeth snapping through tendon and muscle, stripping her down to nothing more than meat and marrow. Her blood had painted the ground in thick pools, soaking into the dirt, filling the air with the coppery stench of death.

Aiden had killed him.

He had hesitated, hadn’t flinched, but hesitated. The blade had sunk deep into the back of William’s skull when his attention wavered from his wife’s limbless corpse, splitting open still fresh flesh and brittle bone with a sickening crunch. His body had stiffened for only a second before crumpling forward, landing atop what was left of his wife.

Aiden stabbed her head next.

And that had been it.

Ben still hadn’t spoken.

Even now, as he dug, hands raw and bleeding from the splintered wood of the shovel, he said nothing.

Aiden tried, once. His voice was hesitant, barely above a whisper as he murmured something—Ben didn’t even hear what. He ignored him, refused to acknowledge anything outside of the mechanical movement of digging, shoveling, burying.

When the graves were finally deep enough, they lowered the bodies in. There was no ceremony, no prayers, no goodbyes. Just silence. The sound of dirt being thrown over blood-soaked clothes, over torn flesh, over empty, staring eyes that had once been filled with warmth.

By the time the graves were covered, the dirt patted down and crosses made from scrap wood driven into the earth, the sun had risen higher, casting long shadows across the yard. The others had moved on, gathered near the fire to discuss the next steps, the plan for tomorrow, for surviving another day.

Ben stayed.

Kneeling in front of the graves, his head bowed, his fingers curling into the dirt.

Aiden lingered for a moment, glancing toward him, as if he wanted to say something, as if he thought there were words that could fix any of this. But he knew better.

So, he left, walking toward the others, leaving Ben alone with the dead.

The hours bled together in a slow, aching haze. Time lost all meaning. Daylight crept across the sky in lazy strokes, casting shifting shadows over the uneven graves, but Ben didn’t move. The cold ground beneath him had long since seeped through his jeans, numbing his legs, but the dull ache in his knees was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for.

Maybe if he sat there long enough, the grave would split open, and they’d claw their way back up. Maybe he’d wake up and realize none of it had happened, that his mother was still alive, that his father was still his father, not a ravenous, mindless thing that had torn into the woman he loved, stripping her down to nothing but meat and exposed bone.

The image wouldn't leave him.

The way her flesh had peeled away beneath his teeth, strands of muscle clinging stubbornly before snapping apart like stretched rubber. The way her body had jerked, the last desperate twitches of nerves misfiring even as her lifeblood gushed from the gaping wound at her throat, painting his father’s chin in a dripping red mask.

The way her fingers had scrabbled at his chest, not pushing him away, not fighting—just holding on, just grasping at the fabric of his shirt as if she could ground him back into reality. As if she could remind him of who he was.

But he hadn’t stopped.

He had fed.

And she had died screaming.

Ben exhaled shakily, fingers curling into the loose dirt atop the grave. The fresh soil was still damp, still disturbed from where they had shoveled it back in, covering the ruined bodies below. It clung to his skin, cold and lifeless.

He had no tears left.

Lily came to sit beside him once, the soft weight of her presence barely registering through the thick fog in his mind. She didn’t speak, just curled her knees to her chest and rested her head against his shoulder in quiet solidarity.

But it didn’t last—he felt her trembling before she broke, her body shaking with silent sobs. She pulled away minutes later, wiping furiously at her face as she stumbled back toward the others, seeking comfort that Ben couldn’t give.

Taylor tried next. She was careful, hesitant, but she didn’t linger. Ashlyn came too, awkward and uncertain, shifting her weight from foot to foot before finally lowering herself beside him. She didn’t say anything profound—just muttered something about how things weren’t fair, about how none of them were prepared for this, before trailing off and rubbing at the back of her neck, visibly uncomfortable. She left soon after.

Tyler was the last.

He approached stiffly, as if unsure whether he should even be here, his presence hovering between unwanted and appreciated. His hand found Ben’s shoulder in a brief, awkward pat, the warmth of his palm barely registering through the numbness.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. And then he was gone.

But Aiden never came.

Ben wasn’t stupid—he knew why. He knew Aiden thought he was angry, that he resented him, that he was sitting here, cursing his name for being the one to bury a blade into his father’s skull.

He was angry at himself.

Because even now, even after everything, some twisted, broken part of him still saw his father in the thing that had torn his mother apart. Some desperate, pathetic, grieving part of him still wanted to believe that it hadn’t been him—that something could have been done, that maybe, just maybe, there had been another way.

But there hadn’t been.

And now, as the sun set again, as the others huddled around a fire, talking about tomorrow—about the prison, about clearing a block, about survival—Ben stayed exactly where he was, fingers curled in the dirt, shoulders hunched against the cold.

II.

The night had settled in thick and quiet, the air heavy with the kind of stillness that only came after too much loss. The campfire in the distance flickered weakly, its glow barely reaching the edges of the graves, casting long, wretched shadows across the uneven mounds of freshly turned earth. Most of the others had retreated to their makeshift shelters, bodies and minds too exhausted to do anything but rest. But Ben remained where he had been since morning, unmoving, his silhouette barely distinguishable from the darkness that swallowed him whole.

Logan approached carefully, his boots scuffing lightly against the dirt, not wanting to break the silence too abruptly. He wasn’t sure if Ben even noticed him at first, his eyes still fixed on the graves before him, sunken and unreadable. The moon cast a pale glow over his face, washing him out, making him look more like a ghost than the boy Logan had fought beside. A boy who had lost everything in a single, brutal night.

Wordlessly, Logan shrugged off his jacket and draped it over Ben’s shoulders. It was a small thing, barely enough to fight off the creeping cold, but they were short on blankets now.

Ben didn’t react immediately.

Didn’t flinch, didn’t look at him, didn’t even shift under the weight of it.

He just sat there, hands limp over his knees, fingers curled slightly as if he had meant to grab at the dirt but forgotten halfway through. The graves before him were still fresh, the soil damp from where they had spent hours digging, their bodies sore and aching under the weight of each shovelful of earth.

Logan sat beside him with a slow, careful movement, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands, glancing once at the graves before tilting his head up to the sky. The air was cold, biting against his exposed skin, but it carried the scent of the earth, the distant fire, and something else—something hollow.

They sat like that for a while, lost in their own thoughts.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Logan broke the silence.

“You know,” he started, voice quiet but sure, “a lot of astrologers believe that our loved ones become part of our personal cosmos. That when someone we love dies, they don’t just disappear. They become something more. Something bigger.” He exhaled, eyes tracing the constellations scattered above them. “Every time you look up at the night sky, they’re still written in the stars, watching over you in ways beyond comprehension.”

It was a random statement, one he hadn’t planned on saying, but it felt right in the moment. He wasn’t sure if Ben was even listening, if he was really there with him at all, or if he was still trapped in his own mind, reliving the horror of what had happened. But then, slowly, painfully, Ben moved.

His head lifted just slightly, as if he had to force himself to do it, his gaze shifting away from the graves for the first time in hours. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, with grief, with something so deep it was impossible to name, flickered upward.

Logan watched him out of the corner of his eye.

The boy sat there, shoulders hunched beneath the weight of his loss, but for the first time since morning, he wasn’t looking down. He wasn’t staring at the earth that held his parents' remains.

He was looking at the stars.

They stayed like that, side by side, silent beneath the blood-red sky. The heavens stretched endlessly above them, an ocean of scattered light painted across the dark, indifferent universe. It was beautiful in a way that almost felt cruel, that the world could still hold such wonder after everything it had taken from them.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, before Logan finally spoke again.

“Thank you,” he said, awkwardly, the words not quite fitting right in his mouth but needing to be said nonetheless.

Ben blinked, his gaze shifting down to Logan’s face, his expression unreadable.

For what? he finally signed, his hands slow, stiff from the cold.

Logan smiled faintly, shaking his head as he looked down at the dirt between his boots. “Back when we ran in here to clear out the walkers… I tried to go down to help, but my foot got caught in the fence. I fell hard. Didn’t even have time to get my gun up before one of them came right at me.” His fingers twitched slightly, remembering the way the rotten thing had lunged, the guttural snarl that had filled his ears. “If you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t taken it down first, that would’ve been it for me.”

Ben didn’t say anything at first.

He just sat there, staring at Logan, the weight of everything that had happened still sitting heavy in his chest. But then, after a long pause, he lifted his hands again.

You would’ve done the same for me. And for everyone else.

He dropped them to his lap before lifting them again, slower this time.

You don’t need to thank me.

Logan smiled, the expression small but genuine, and for the first time since sitting down, Ben matched it. It was faint, barely there, but it was real.

Then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to the sky, his shoulders relaxing just the slightest bit under the weight of the jacket. The stars blinked down at them.

Logan switched his position to crouching next to Ben, resting his arms on his knees as he exhaled, letting the cold air burn in his lungs for a moment before speaking. The firelight flickered nearby, casting long, jagged shadows over the yard, and for a while, neither of them spoke.

The night was eerily quiet, only the occasional crackle from the flames and the distant shuffle of unseen horrors beyond the fences filling the empty space between them.

Logan finally broke the silence, his voice steady but low, not wanting to disturb whatever fragile state Ben had settled into.

“We’re moving tomorrow,” he said simply, watching for any sign of a reaction. “Tyler and I scouted earlier. There’s a fence on the other side of the building—an opening near the south wall. Leads to some dumpsters, looks like it might’ve been a loading zone or something. That side’s quieter, barely any of them wandering around back there. Easy pickings.” He glanced at Ben, whose face remained unreadable, his hands resting limply on his knees, his fingers twitching faintly.

Logan continued, his tone calm but sure. “Since we got a good amount of rest today, we figured we’d test our luck. Push inside. That first block—it’s marked as ‘BLOCK A.’ Looks like the best place to start. If we can clear it out, we’ll have real beds. Actual rooms. Maybe even running water if we get lucky with the plumbing.” His lips twitched into a humorless smirk at the thought of calling prison cells rooms, before it faded just as quickly. “Big if, though.”

He let the words settle between them, giving Ben space to process, to take it in.

Then, carefully, Logan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he lowered his voice slightly. “Look… I can tell the others to count you out if you need more time. No one would blame you for sitting this one out. You’ve been through enough, man. You don’t have to push yourself.”

Ben didn’t react immediately. His fingers flexed slightly, curling in, before he lifted his hands, slow and deliberate.

I want to help.

Logan watched him carefully, searching his face for any hesitation, any doubt. Ben’s expression was set, steady, his eyes dark but clear. There was no hesitation in his movements when he signed again.

I need to do this.

Logan held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. “Alright.” He clapped a hand lightly against Ben’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before pushing himself back to his feet. “Then we hit that fence at first light.”

III.

The fire had long since burned down to smoldering embers, a soft orange glow pulsing beneath the charred remains of wood. The warmth it provided had faded, leaving only the heat of bodies pressed together in a tangled mess of limbs and shared breaths. It had been Taylor’s idea—to sleep like this, nestled close, offering each other a fragile sense of safety that was more emotional than physical.

Wrapped in the company of one another, they could at least pretend the night wasn't as cold, the world not as cruel.

Aiden had been hesitant at first. He had tried to brush it off, muttering something about Octavia wanting to stay near him, but the girl had quickly shut that excuse down, saying she was fine sleeping next to her mother.

That had left him with no choice but to awkwardly settle into the haphazard cluster of warmth and exhaustion, though Tyler hadn’t missed the tension lingering in his movements. There had been something off about him, something almost jittery, like he was waiting for an excuse to pull away. Tyler had shot him a look, suspicion flickering through his tired mind, but he hadn’t pushed. Instead, he had reached for the old MP4 player that Aiden had given him.

It had become a way meant to help him sleep, to drown out the restless, guttural snarls that haunted the edges of his dreams. Even now, as the world around them had grown even darker, he still clung to it.

Ben had hugged Aiden before they lay down for the night, arms wrapping around his cousin in a silent reassurance, a quiet answer to the unspoken question that had been eating away at Aiden’s nerves. He didn’t hate him. He couldn’t. Not for what had happened.

Aiden had hesitated before returning the embrace, his movements stiff, uncertain, as if expecting it to be a trick. And even though the hug was real, even though the intent behind it was genuine, it didn’t seem to ease the tension settled deep in Aiden’s shoulders.

Eventually, one by one, they had drifted off, swallowed by exhaustion. Tyler had stayed awake longer than most, the familiar melodies in his ears offering a strange comfort, a tether to a life that no longer existed.

The playlist was one he was supposed to have received for his sixteenth birthday, songs chosen for him before the world had torn itself apart. His taste in music hadn't changed since, though maybe that was because he hadn’t been given much of a chance to discover anything new.

Sleep was just starting to pull at him, the weight of exhaustion making his limbs heavy, when something shifted. It wasn’t a sound at first—more of a feeling, a change in the distribution of warmth. A presence that had been there was suddenly gone.

He ignored it at first, chalking it up to someone rolling over in their sleep. But then, a few moments later, he felt it again—an absence, subtle but undeniable.

His brows furrowed as he pulled an earphone out of his ear, the distant hum of snarls creeping in as reality settled back around him. Carefully, he lifted himself off of Taylor’s lap, glancing around the sleeping forms illuminated by the low flicker of dying embers. He squinted, scanning faces, counting.

Someone was missing.

A prickle of unease crept up his spine.

Then, the groan of metal, slow and strained, cut through the stillness. His heart lurched as his head snapped toward the sound. Beyond the glow of the fire, past the slats of broken fencing, he caught sight of a silhouette—a figure slipping through the still-open gap in the fence, his messy blond hair catching faint traces of moonlight.

Aiden.

Tyler’s brows furrowed.

For a second, he just stood there, his mind sluggish with sleep, trying to piece together what the hell Aiden was doing. But then, instinct took over, and he was on his feet, moving before his thoughts could fully catch up.

Tyler trailed after him, careful not to make a sound as he kept his distance. He moved deliberately, taking his time to slide his earphones out and tuck the MP4 player into the pocket of his jacket, fingers lingering for a moment as he debated turning back. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Aiden stood just beyond the fence, mere feet from the writhing mass of undead pressed against the rusted chain links. The walkers clawed and gnashed their rotting teeth, their fingers curling and grasping as if they could drag him through the metal barrier by sheer desperation alone.

Their snarls filled the air, growing more erratic when the pale beam of Aiden’s flashlight swept over them, illuminating their grotesque forms—the peeling flesh, the cavernous sockets where eyes had once been, the bloated, blackened tongues protruding from slack jaws.

Tyler watched in still silence as Aiden reached for his knife, his movements precise, calculated. The first stab was quick—a sharp thrust through an eye socket, the blade sinking deep into decayed brain matter with a sickening squelch. He twisted the handle before yanking it free, letting the lifeless body slump against the fence as the others shoved forward to take its place.

Then another. And another. Each strike was just as vicious, just as merciless. Aiden’s grip tightened around the metal links, his knuckles whitening, his entire body taut with something unspoken, something seething beneath his skin.

His chest heaved, his breath coming in slow, measured gasps, but Tyler could see it—the barely restrained rage, the way his shoulders trembled ever so slightly. It wasn’t just about killing the walkers. It was something else entirely. Something dangerous.

Tyler’s stomach churned. He had seen Aiden fight before, but not like this. Not with this kind of raw, unfiltered aggression.

He slipped through the still open gap, stepping forward, his voice low but steady. “Hey, man—”

The words barely left his lips before the world spun violently. The next thing he knew, his back slammed against the hard-packed dirt, the impact knocking the air from his lungs in a sharp gasp. His instincts barely had time to register before cold steel pressed against his throat, the edge of Aiden’s knife biting into his skin.

Aiden loomed over him, his expression unreadable, his breath ragged and uneven. His usual smirk, the easy-going mask he always wore, was gone. In its place was something dark, something Tyler had never seen before. His eyes, wide and wild, burned with something feral, something unhinged.

Tyler swallowed hard, pulse hammering in his ears as sweat prickled at his brow. He forced himself to stay still, though every fiber of his being screamed at him to move, to throw Aiden off, to do something other than lie there helpless beneath the weight of his glare.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, ever-present snarls of the undead.

Then, just as quickly as it had happened, Aiden’s expression shifted. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and in an instant, his signature grin stitched itself back onto his face like nothing had happened. He exhaled sharply, pulling the knife away and tucking it back into his belt before standing up as if the entire thing had been some kind of twisted joke.

Tyler remained on the ground, staring up at him in stunned silence, his heart still slamming against his ribs. His muscles tensed when Aiden extended a hand down to him, but after a second of hesitation, he grasped it, letting himself be hauled back onto his feet.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did Aiden.

The walkers clawed at the metal, their fingers gnarled and broken from relentless scraping, their moans thick with hunger. The scent of decay clung to the air, rancid and suffocating, mixing with the cold night breeze.

Aiden hadn’t moved in a while, just stood there, his grip on the fence white-knuckled, his other hand flexing around the handle of his knife. There was something off about the way he held himself, something too still, too controlled, like he was trying to keep something from spilling over. Tyler shifted his weight, suddenly uneasy.

He considered walking away, letting Aiden have whatever moment he was having, but something about the scene—about the way Aiden was standing so close to the snarling dead, like he was daring them to break through—made him take a step forward instead.

“You okay, dude?” Tyler’s voice came out softer than he meant it to, almost careful, like he was speaking to a wild animal ready to bolt or bite.

Aiden didn’t answer at first. His shoulders barely twitched, his fingers just flexing against the metal. Then, finally, he let out a slow exhale, lips pulling into a smirk that felt too practiced. “Oh, yeah. Just getting my cardio in. Thought I’d do a little night yoga—find my inner peace and all that.” He lifted his knife, pointing it toward the walkers as if they were part of some joke only he understood. “These guys are my support group.”

Tyler didn’t laugh. He just stared, expression unreadable. Aiden’s fingers drummed against the hilt of his knife before he let out a breath and shrugged. “What? No reaction? Tough crowd.”

Still nothing. Tyler wasn’t an idiot. He knew when someone was talking just to keep themselves from thinking. Aiden’s humor had always been sharp, quick, but right now, it felt different. Forced. Defensive.

Aiden clicked his tongue. “Man, you’re killing the vibe. Here I am, trying to have a deep, introspective moment with my decaying friends, and you come in all serious like—‘You okay, dude?’” He mocked Tyler’s tone, dragging the words out before sighing dramatically. “Shit, at least pretend to believe me when I say I’m fine.”

Tyler didn’t humor him. Instead, he reached up and smacked the back of Aiden’s head, not hard, just enough to make a point.

Aiden flinched, letting out a sharp “Ow—dude, what the fuck?” before rubbing the spot like it actually hurt. His smirk faltered, though, just for a second.

“You’re a shitty liar,” Tyler muttered, eyes still locked onto him.

Aiden let his hand drop, fingers twitching at his sides. He opened his mouth, probably ready with another joke, but then something shifted in his expression. His gaze lowered, and for a moment, it almost seemed like he was debating saying something real.

Then he scoffed, shaking his head. “You know, I fucking hate theories.”

Tyler blinked. “What?”

“Theories,” Aiden repeated, dragging a hand through his messy hair. “Hate ‘em. Always have. You know, people just sitting around, overanalyzing, trying to make sense of shit that doesn’t need to be explained.” He let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “And now, I’m the dumbass making my own.”

His voice dipped, quieter now. Tyler could hear the shift in it—the weight pressing against the words.

"You and me," Aiden continued, finally looking at him, "we both died once." His grip on the knife tightened again. "We both remember that shit. And now, after seeing uncle turn from a single scratch, after watching how fast it was—how fucking inevitable it was—I keep thinking." His knuckles were white. "What if we were never supposed to come back?"

Tyler's stomach twisted, but he didn’t say anything.

Aiden exhaled through his nose, staring at the walkers again. "What if we’re not even real anymore? What if all this—" He motioned vaguely around them. "—is just some cosmic fuck-up? Like maybe we’re already dead, and we just haven’t figured it out yet?"

Tyler clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly. He hated how easily that thought could worm its way into his mind, how easy it was to entertain. He didn’t want to go down that road.

Aiden let out a short, humorless laugh. “Hell, maybe we’re just in some shitty purgatory. Would explain why everything still feels like a goddamn nightmare.” He gestured toward the fence. "Guess that’d make these guys the welcoming committee."

"What matters is that we're alive," Tyler started, voice steady despite the weight pressing down on his chest. He didn’t look up. He just kept his eyes on the ground, kept his feet planted, refused to let himself drift into the same thoughts that were pulling Aiden under. “Or at least it feels like we are” he finished.

The silence stretched between them again, thick and heavy, but this time, it didn’t feel as unbearable. Aiden didn’t say anything else, and Tyler didn’t push.

The bodies groaned against the fence, but neither of them moved.

Aiden exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of the conversation, before shrugging. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he muttered, though there was something half-hearted about the way he said it, like he wasn’t fully convinced. “Theories are stupid anyway.”

But Tyler wasn’t buying it. Aiden could say it as many times as he wanted, but the doubt still lingered in the air between them, clinging like smoke after a fire. The thought was already out there, crawling under Tyler’s skin like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He knew they were real—knew it in the way his muscles ached after a long day, in the burn of his lungs when he ran, in the way his heart hammered against his ribs whenever a walker got too close.

And yet, Aiden’s words gnawed at something deep inside him.

His fingers twitched at his side, an unconscious, restless movement, tapping against his jacket as his mind spiraled. He needed to shut it down—to pull himself out before the thought could take root. And then, his fingertips brushed against something solid in his pocket. Small. Familiar.

The MP4 player.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as an idea formed, something impulsive, something stupid—but more than anything, something real. Without a word, he reached out and tapped the back of his hand against Aiden’s arm.

Aiden barely reacted at first, just blinking before glancing over with a raised brow. “What?”

Tyler didn’t answer. Instead, he simply jerked his head toward the far end of the yard, motioning for Aiden to follow.

Aiden huffed out a sigh, already dragging a hand through his messy hair like he was debating whether he even had the energy to deal with whatever Tyler was doing. “Oh great, now you’re the cryptic one,” he muttered, but despite his complaints, he followed.

They slipped through the gap in the fence, moving quietly, but not in the way they usually did. This wasn’t the cautious, careful movement of people trying to stay hidden from the dead. It was something else—something deliberate.

But they weren’t heading back to the others.

Tyler led them in the opposite direction, toward the farthest part of the yard, where the light from their campfire couldn’t reach. It was quieter here, emptier. The walkers were scarce, only a handful of them wandering in the distance, too far to be a real concern.

Once they were far enough away, Tyler stopped. Aiden did too, though he crossed his arms over his chest, watching with open skepticism as Tyler pulled the MP4 player from his pocket.

Aiden deadpanned. “You dragged me all the way out here for music?”

Tyler ignored him, unplugging the earphones before setting the device down on the ground. He pressed play. Sound burst out, breaking the heavy silence. It wasn’t loud, not enough to attract unwanted attention, but it was enough for them to hear. Enough to carve through the eerie stillness of the night.

Miracle Alighner. •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

Aiden let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as he folded his arms tighter across his chest. “Oh, this is some next-level coping mechanism,” he snorted. “What, you needed a dramatic soundtrack for your existential crisis?”

Tyler simply shrugged, lifting his arms slightly as if to say, why not? “Just feeling real, man.” Then, just as casually, he dropped them back to his sides.

And then—without warning—his foot tapped against the dirt.

Aiden blinked.

Then another tap.

Then another.

And before Aiden could even begin to process what the hell was happening, Tyler was moving. Not just nodding along to the music. Dancing.

Tyler had always been the one to roll his eyes at stupid ideas. The one who stayed grounded, who kept things serious when Aiden got too reckless. And now here he was, in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse, dancing.

Aiden didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.

“You’re fucking with me,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Tyler didn’t stop. If anything, his grin widened, his body moving with easy, careless rhythm, like there weren’t reanimated corpses in the world. Like none of it mattered.

Aiden let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “I swear to god, man—” He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head in sheer disbelief when Tyler reached for his arm, gripping it just firmly enough to pull him into the improvised dance. His body resisted for a second, more out of instinct than anything else, but there was something almost contagious about the way Tyler moved, something light, effortless.

Aiden groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I am never letting you die this down, halfwit.” His words held no real bite, just an exasperated sort of amusement. But despite the complaint, he gave in, letting his feet follow Tyler’s lead. His movements were nothing short of chaotic—arms too loose, steps clumsy, but that was just him.

And really, that was the whole point of this, wasn’t it?

Because right now, in this moment, it felt real.

The chill of the night air brushing against the exposed skin of their arms, the damp earth shifting beneath their steps, the distant hum of the world around them—it all grounded them in a way that no amount of thinking ever could. It was movement, it was instinct, it was now. No questions, no second-guessing, just the simple act of being.

But reality had a cruel way of interrupting things.

Aiden’s head snapped toward the fences, his expression souring as his eyes landed on the dim, shifting figures beyond the metal. The music wasn’t even that loud, but somehow, it had still drawn them in, their slow, mindless shuffle shifting into something more urgent as their rotting fingers curled around the chain links.

“Of course,” Aiden groaned, throwing his hands up like some exasperated stage performer before rubbing his face aggressively. “Every damn time. Nothing’s allowed to be nice, huh?”

Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before crouching down and cutting the music off. He wasn’t about to argue with the facts—it was unfortunate. The moment had been good, and now it was slipping through their fingers like water.

But then another idea struck.

A stupid one.

Without a word, he reached for the MP4 player again, plugging the earphones back in before glancing up at Aiden and jerking his chin toward him. “Come here,” he said simply.

Aiden raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Just—come here.”

Aiden stared at him for a beat longer, clearly debating whether or not this was worth whatever bizarre scheme Tyler had just come up with (also due to the fact bizarre was his thing, not Tyler’s). But curiosity—or maybe just sheer boredom—won out, and he sighed before stepping closer.

Tyler didn’t give him time to question it further. He placed one earbud in his own ear, then handed the other to Aiden, who took it without much hesitation, shoving it into his ear as well.

The music started again.

And only now, as the sound filled both of their heads, did Tyler realize how weird this whole thing must look.

They weren’t just standing next to each other anymore. The closeness was… different. Unspoken.

Tyler’s arms had found their way around Aiden’s torso, securing themselves in a way that felt strangely natural despite the underlying awkwardness. And in return, Aiden’s hands had settled loosely around Tyler’s shoulders, like neither of them were fully committing to it but also weren’t pulling away.

A beat of silence stretched between them before Aiden let out a quiet snort.

Tyler didn’t blame him. Hell, he wanted to laugh too. If either of them thought too hard about what they were doing, they’d probably spiral straight into embarrassment. But that was the thing—they weren’t thinking.

“You have shit taste in music,” Aiden whispered, as if he wasn’t the one who had chosen the songs to put in that device for him.

“You don’t have one,” Tyler bit back, no real fight behind his words.

They weren’t looking at each other. They weren’t talking. They were just swaying, letting the rhythm dictate their movements, letting the music drown out everything else—the snarls, the fear, the thoughts that kept them up at night.

The music pulsed softly in their ears, a steady rhythm that neither of them really followed but swayed to anyway, caught in the strange limbo of movement and silence.

Tyler wasn’t sure when the warmth of Aiden’s body against his own had stopped feeling unnatural. Maybe it never did. Maybe it just shifted into something else, something heavier in the air between them, something that clung to his skin like the ghost of a touch even before it fully landed.

His hands flexed slightly where they rested against Aiden’s back, the fabric of his jacket rough beneath his fingertips. Aiden hadn’t moved away, hadn’t made some stupid joke about how this was weird, hadn’t shoved him back with one of his usual sharp grins and a sarcastic quip about personal space.

No, Aiden was just there, leaning in as much as he was leaning back, existing in that strange space between hesitation and something neither of them were brave enough to name.

Tyler swallowed, his throat dry despite the chill of the night air. His mind fumbled for an explanation, for a reason why his breath felt caught in his chest, why his fingers were gripping tighter like he was afraid of the moment slipping through his hands.

It’s just another way of feeling real.

That’s what he told himself. That’s what his mind clung to, desperate for an excuse. This was just another method of grounding himself, of making sure he wasn’t some fading ghost in a world that had already tried to erase him once.

Aiden’s breath was warm against his skin when he exhaled a laugh, quiet but rough at the edges. His forehead brushed against Tyler’s like it had just happened—a shift in the wrong direction, a mistake, a coincidence. But neither of them pulled away.

Tyler could feel Aiden watching him, though he wasn’t sure what he was searching for. Maybe the same thing Tyler was—some unspoken permission, some assurance that if they crossed this invisible line, they wouldn’t find the world crumbling beneath their feet.

His heart hammered against his ribs, and he didn’t know if it was because of the cold or the sheer awareness of how close they were now, how Aiden’s fingers curled slightly where they rested at the back of his neck, how every small breath felt magnified, stretched between them like something neither of them could outrun.

And then, Aiden moved.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t even particularly certain. It was slow—agonizingly so—like he was giving Tyler every possible chance to stop this, to shove him away, to break whatever spell had settled between them.

Tyler didn’t.

He didn’t know if it was stubbornness or fear or something far worse, but he stayed where he was, his breath shallow as Aiden’s nose barely brushed against his, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver crawling up his spine.

His mind screamed at him, demanding some kind of justification, but it all blurred into static when Aiden finally—finally—closed the distance, their lips just barely touching, so light that Tyler almost convinced himself it didn’t happen at all.

But it did.

And then Aiden did it again, firmer this time, surer, and Tyler felt his mind crack in half trying to decide whether to lean into it or run.

He chose neither.

He just stood there, frozen, hands still gripping Aiden’s jacket like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, like if he let go, he might just disappear into the dark.

Aiden pulled back slightly, only enough to hover, like he wasn’t sure if he should retreat or go further. His eyes searched Tyler’s face, looking for something—anything—that might tell him where to go from here.

Tyler’s lips were still parted, his breath unsteady, his head an absolute warzone of thoughts trying to smother what had just happened with logic. But logic didn’t belong here, not in this place, not in this moment where all that existed was Aiden, the distant groan of walkers at the fence, and the music still playing in their ears, muffled but steady.

This was screwed.

As they marched back to the camp, neither of them spoke. The air between them was thick, heavy with something unspoken, something they weren’t ready to acknowledge.

The warmth of Aiden’s breath against his skin still lingered, ghosting over the moment in a way that Tyler couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried to shove it to the back of his mind. He didn’t even know why he was trying so hard. Maybe because it was easier to pretend it didn’t happen than to sit with the fact that it did.

By the time they rejoined the others, the fire had burned low, the soft glow flickering against the sleeping forms curled together for warmth. Taylor was still where he left her, her head slightly slumped forward, breathing even, exhaustion having long since claimed her. Tyler sat down beside her, lowering himself back into his spot as if nothing had changed, as if his world hadn’t just been tilted at an angle he didn’t quite know how to stand on.

Aiden hovered for a moment, glancing at the space he’d left behind, now occupied by Logan’s leg, his arm draped lazily over the ground. There was no room for him anymore—not there, at least.

Tyler hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly against the dirt before he sighed and extended his arm, letting it fall onto the grass beside him in silent invitation.

Aiden didn’t say anything. He just stared for a second, then, with a huff that felt more like surrender than anything else, lowered himself down. His head rested against the makeshift pillow Tyler offered, the warmth of him bleeding through the fabric of his sleeve. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The sky stretched endlessly above them, deep and dark, scattered with stars that barely flickered behind the thin clouds drifting across the horizon. Neither of them spoke, though it was obvious they wanted to. The weight of unsaid words pressed down on them, thick and stifling, but neither of them had any idea what to say.

After a long moment, Aiden exhaled, his voice quiet but not quite gentle.

“We just wanted to feel real,” he murmured, and Tyler wasn’t sure if Aiden was speaking to him or to himself.

Tyler turned his head slightly, his gaze meeting Aiden’s in the dim light. Aiden was already looking at him, his ever-present smile still lingering, but it had softened at the edges, frayed by the exhaustion settling over him like a weighted blanket.

“It was nothing serious, halfwit,” Aiden continued, voice laced with the ghost of amusement, though there was something else beneath it, something quieter, something that made Tyler’s throat feel too tight. “Don’t bother your small brain thinking about it too much.”

Tyler scoffed, rolling his eyes, but the jab didn’t land like it normally would. It should have been easy to throw something back, to knock Aiden down a peg with a well-aimed insult, but all he felt was an odd, dry sort of emptiness, like he’d taken a hit to the ribs but hadn’t quite realized he wasn’t breathing yet.

The silence stretched again, thick and unmovable, until Aiden, of course, shattered it the only way he knew how.

“By the way,” he muttered, voice carrying just enough smugness to be annoying, “you’re ass at kissing.”

Tyler stiffened, his jaw clenching as his brain scrambled for a response, but all that came out was an indignant scoff before he hissed out, “Que te den.”

Aiden snorted, grinning up at the sky like he had just won something, even as sleep began to drag at his limbs.

Tyler let out a slow breath, staring up at the endless dark above them. He knew Aiden was full of shit. He knew that kiss had meant something, whether either of them wanted to admit it or not. But for now, for tonight, they were just two idiots lying beneath the stars, the slow pull of sleep finally dragging them under.

And maybe that was enough.

IV.

The plan went off without much resistance. The walkers were just as easy to take down as they had anticipated, their slow, sluggish movements making them easy targets. Blades slid through decayed skulls with little effort, the air filled with the wet, muffled squelch of steel meeting rotted flesh.

A few of them put up a fight, hands clawing at the living through the gaps in the fences, but they were dispatched just as quickly, their bodies collapsing against the metal in twitching heaps.

Locking the last open gate had been easier than expected, the heavy clang echoing through the yard as it shut. Now, with the perimeter secured, they had a real space to breathe—large, open, and, for the most part, safe. The only issue remaining was inside. The prison itself still held god-knows-how-many of the undead, lurking in the dark corridors, trapped behind rusting bars, shuffling aimlessly between the abandoned bunks and overturned tables. The facility was theirs for the taking—if they were willing to go in.

Not everyone was.

Daniel, predictably, stood at a distance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face set in something between distaste and wariness. He hadn’t so much as stepped toward the building since they’d gotten here.

Tyler barely spared him a glance. “As usual,” he muttered under his breath, not bothering to engage. If Daniel wanted to stay outside like some stray dog, that was his problem.

The others, though, had made up their minds. They couldn’t just settle for the yard. The cold nights would get worse. Rain would soak through the meager shelters they had. They needed something real—something with walls, doors, security. And that meant clearing out the prison block.

It was agreed that splitting up would be the safest approach. The inside was a tight space, with blind corners, locked doors, and shadows deep enough to hide anything. The last thing they needed was too many bodies crammed into one narrow hallway, creating an easy massacre for any hidden walkers waiting in the dark.

Ashlyn, Aiden, Taylor, Ben, Mike, and James stepped forward, their weapons held tight, expressions set. They were the ones heading inside, clearing as much of the first floor as they could. The others stayed outside, keeping watch, standing guard in case things went south and they needed backup—or, worse, an escape route.

“You sure you don’t want a flashlight?” Tyler asked Aiden, watching as the blond adjusted the grip on his knife. While he handed his sister a flashlight herself. They had both somehow silently agreed not to mention the previous events.

Aiden smirked. “Nah, I like the element of surprise.”

“Yeah, for them or for you?” Taylor shot back, rolling her eyes. Before hugging her brother, who was back to clutching his side injury due to some awful position he ended up in at night.

“Bit of both,” Aiden admitted with a shrug. “Besides, it’s all about the vibes. You ever play those old horror games? The ones where the flashlight flickers right before shit goes down? Feels more immersive this way.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ashlyn muttered, shoving past him as she led the way up the cracked stairs toward the prison doors.

The building loomed over them, a hulking skeleton of rusted metal and concrete, its windows nothing more than gaping black holes. The chain-link fencing surrounding it was bent in places, the barbed wire curling at odd angles, remnants of the chaos that had once unfolded here.

The entrance itself was a set of heavy double doors, slightly ajar, the darkness inside swallowing what little light managed to creep in from outside.

Ben exhaled sharply, lifting his hands to sign. We clear as much as we can. First sign of a horde, we pull back. We move slow. We stay quiet.

Aiden grinned. “See, this is why I love you, my Benny-boy. Always coming up with these genius strategies. Stay quiet. Move slow. Never would’ve thought of that.”

Ben leveled him with a look, and signed again; You’re gonna be the first one to die.

“If I go, I’m taking you with me.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Mike muttered, stepping forward.

The air changed the second they stepped inside. The stale, suffocating scent of rot clung to every surface, thick and unrelenting, settling deep into their throats. Dust drifted lazily through the air, disturbed by their movements, swirling in the faint beams of sunlight filtering in through the broken skylights above. The hall stretched ahead of them, lined with steel-barred doors, some of them left wide open, others still locked shut with skeletal remains trapped inside.

Ashlyn took the lead, her grip tightening around her crowbar. “Stay close.”

The sound of their footsteps echoed, bouncing off the high ceilings, making it impossible to tell if the faint shuffling in the distance was them or something else. Every shadow seemed to breathe, every creak of the rusting metal sending a sharp jolt of adrenaline through their systems.

James swallowed hard. “How many do you think are still in here?”

Mike glanced toward the darkened corridor ahead. “More than we want. Less than we fear.”

“That’s poetic,” Aiden said. “Write that down.”

Ashlyn ignored him. “We find a stairwell, clear a few cells, and see if we can make a livable space. First floor is priority. We’re not dealing with blind spots from above.”

The air inside the prison was thick, the kind of stale, unmoving air that hadn’t been disturbed in months—maybe years. Dust floated in the beams of weak sunlight slipping through the shattered and grimy windows, and the distant, low groans of walkers echoed faintly through the concrete halls. The six of them—moved cautiously through the entrance of Block A, weapons gripped tight, breaths controlled. The floor was littered with discarded papers, overturned chairs, and dried blood smears that led toward the cells deeper inside.

“This place reeks,” Mike muttered, keeping his shotgun raised as his eyes flicked between the doors ahead. “Smells worse than the yard.”

“Death tends to do that,” Aiden quipped, stepping lightly over a rusted metal tray, the remnants of a long-rotted meal still stuck to its surface. He cast a glance toward Ben, who was already scanning the area with sharp, calculating eyes, his hand signing something quickly.

Taylor, walking beside him, translated in a hushed tone. “He says the noise we made outside might have drawn some in, but it shouldn’t be a horde. We clear them quietly, we’ll be fine.”

Ben nodded, glancing at each of them to make sure they understood. Then he lifted his fingers again. Stay close. Don’t separate.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ashlyn whispered back. “Not planning on wandering off in the fucking murder hall.”

They moved in deeper, their footsteps light on the grime-coated floor. The first row of cells was up ahead, doors either left open or locked shut. In some, there were remains—long-dried husks of what used to be prisoners, bones picked clean or bodies mummified against the walls. Others were empty, just remnants of a life long abandoned, blankets still tossed over bunks as if their occupants had just stepped out. All behind one huge bars door.

Then, from around the corner, the distinct shuffling of something still moving.

Aiden signaled, gripping his knife tighter as they all paused, ears straining. Another shuffle, then a low groan, unmistakable. Two, maybe three walkers, no more than that. A small mercy.

James readied his crowbar, shifting his stance. “Take ‘em quiet?”

Ben nodded, stepping forward first. He raised his crossbow, the quietest weapon among them, and took careful aim through the dim hallway. A soft thwick cut through the silence as the bolt found its mark, sinking into a sunken skull with practiced precision. The walker barely made a sound before crumpling onto the floor.

Two left.

Ashlyn moved next, sliding forward with her knife drawn. One walker, barely aware, reached out toward her with stiff, jerking arms. With a swift step and a sharp upward thrust, she buried the blade under its jaw, twisting just enough to sever the brainstem. It dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

The last one lunged, moving faster than expected. It was on Taylor before she had time to react, its rotting fingers grasping at her hood. She let out a strangled sound, struggling as she shoved against its chest, trying to keep its snapping jaws away from her throat.

“Joder—”

Aiden was there in a second. He grabbed the thing by the back of its tattered jumpsuit and yanked it back, slamming it hard into the cell bars before plunging his knife into the side of its temple. The walker sagged, sliding to the ground in a heap. Aiden took a step back, panting, wiping his blade against his sleeve.

“You good?” he asked, glancing at Taylor.

She exhaled sharply, brushing herself off. “Yeah. You didn’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Aiden smirked, rolling his eyes. “Next time, I’ll let you get a little taste. See how you like it.” She chuckled it off.

Ben snapped his fingers to get their attention and signed quickly. Loud. We need to keep moving.

They didn’t argue. The hallway was clear now, but the deeper part of the block was still untouched.

“Cells are up ahead,” James said, nodding toward the next set of doors. “We’ll probably find more in there.”

Ashlyn sighed. “Of course we will.”

The metallic door creaked as it swung open, the sound reverberating off the cold concrete walls of the cell block. Aiden adjusted his grip on his knife, his knuckles paling as his fingers pressed into the handle, muscles tensed in anticipation.

The others were just as wary, their movements cautious as they stepped into the deserted space, their footsteps barely making a sound over the thick layer of dust settled on the ground.

The block stretched before them—two levels of barred cells lined each side, their steel doors standing like silent sentinels, the second floor accessible by a metal staircase in the center.

The guard's station was perched just above the steps, a small desk and a few scattered chairs standing as remnants of order in a place long overtaken by chaos. The air was thick with the scent of rust and decay, a sickly mixture of dust and something stale, something dead.

Taylor moved ahead, stepping cautiously toward one of the cells with her flashlight raised, its dim beam slicing through the shadows. The others fanned out behind her, taking in their surroundings.

Ashlyn had just started scanning the area when she stilled, her expression shifting. A frown carved into her face as she tilted her head slightly, listening.

"Wait," she said, her voice low but urgent. "I hear something."

Taylor had already swung her flashlight toward the far end of the block when the sound hit them—an abrupt, metallic rattle followed by a dull, meaty thud. The next second, a grotesque face lunged out from behind the cell bars, its jaws snapping mere inches away from where Taylor stood. A sickening growl tore from its throat as it slammed its decayed body against the steel, the force making the metal groan.

"Mierda!" Taylor stumbled back, heart hammering as more walkers revealed themselves, their grotesque forms emerging from the darkness. They were scattered across various locked cells, each one slamming against its confinement with a desperation that rattled the air.

James let out a low breath, stepping closer to observe the creatures writhing behind the bars. Their sunken eyes burned with relentless hunger, their skin clinging to sharp bones, but what caught everyone's attention was the state of their bodies.

There were no signs of bites or scratches, no jagged wounds marking where death had crept in. Their clothes hung loose, their lips cracked, skin stretched thin and pale—these weren't victims of an attack. These people had withered away, starved to death inside their own cells.

"They weren’t turned by bites or scratches," Mike murmured, his voice laced with unease. "They died of hunger."

Aiden clicked his tongue, dragging his knife idly against his palm as he stared at them. "That’s fucked up. What, they just locked ‘em in and left them to rot?"

Ben, standing slightly apart from the group, exhaled sharply through his nose. He lifted his hands, fingers moving in quick, fluid motions. No one was here to open the doors.

Taylor caught the signs and nodded grimly. "Prison went to hell before anyone could come back for them. If no one was left to let them out..." She trailed off, the implications settling heavily in the air between them.

Ashlyn crossed her arms, her face hard. "Well, they’re dead now. Doesn’t change anything for us."

Aiden let out a low whistle, taking a step back with a shake of his head. "Guess that’s one way to go. Better than getting eaten alive, probably."

Ben signed something else, his gestures sharp and to the point. We should get rid of them. Not safe here.

Taylor gave a curt nod, stepping away from the cells, though her eyes lingered on the walkers for a moment longer. "We clear the rest of the block, then get the others to rest if the bunk beds are still in good shape. This is our home now, might as well make sure it's actually livable."

Aiden rolled his shoulders, still gripping his knife. "Alright, lead the way, boss. Just try not to get eaten this time."

Taylor shot him a glare, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "No promises."

V.

Tyler stood with his arms crossed, his gaze flicking toward Daniel every so often, not out of suspicion but because the guy was openly glaring at him. The intensity of it wasn’t new, but it didn’t make it any less annoying. He wasn’t even sure what the hell Daniel’s problem was this time. Then again, he didn’t care enough to ask.

His attention shifted slightly when he caught sight of Jamal a few yards away, speaking in low tones to two of the other survivors. Whatever they were discussing seemed serious, but Tyler didn’t make a move to listen in. Not his problem—at least, not yet. With the way things had been going, he had enough shit on his plate without adding Jamal’s business into the mix.

A tap on his shoulder made him glance sideways. Logan stood beside him, arms relaxed but his expression pointed.

“C’mon,” Logan said. “Gotta change those bandages before your wound gets worse.”

Tyler hesitated for half a second, then exhaled sharply through his nose. He had no reason to refuse, so he nodded and followed Logan toward the fence line, where they could get a moment of peace away from the rest of the group.

He slid down against the metal, resting his back against it before shrugging out of his jacket. His shirt came up just enough for Logan to get to the bandages, and he felt the slight tug as Logan began peeling away the old dressing.

The gauze had dried onto his skin in some spots, making the process a slow and uncomfortable one. Tyler clenched his jaw as Logan carefully worked it free, dabbing a damp cloth against the dried blood to loosen it without tearing the skin. The cold sting of the water seeped into the wound, sending a dull ache through his side.

“You look like hell,” Logan muttered as he worked, pulling out a fresh strip of gauze. “Didn’t sleep much?”

Tyler huffed a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, try sleeping on your back while someone’s head is cutting off circulation to your arm. See how you feel in the morning.”

Logan smirked slightly but didn’t look up. “Right. You and Aiden, huh?”

Tyler stiffened just a little, shifting his shoulder as if to shake off the discomfort creeping up his spine. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Nothing.” Logan’s tone was light, but Tyler caught the hint of amusement under it. “Just didn’t take you for the cuddly type.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, flexing his sore shoulder. “I’m not.” He shifted again, wincing when Logan pressed an antiseptic pad against the wound. “Shit—watch it.”

Logan hummed. “Maybe you should stop getting stabbed then.”

Tyler snorted. “Oh, great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Logan shook his head with a chuckle, but his hands remained steady as he wrapped the new bandage around Tyler’s torso, securing it tightly but not enough to cut off his breathing. Once done, he sat back on his heels, rubbing the leftover alcohol onto his fingers before wiping them off on his pants.

“We should go back to the graveyard soon,” Logan said after a beat. “Get the stuff we left behind. It’s been, what, three days? Four?”

“Something like that,” Tyler muttered, tugging his shirt back down. “We’re running low on food and water. If we don’t go soon, we’re screwed.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah, but we can’t send anyone out until we get this place fully cleared. Last thing we need is to come back and find half the group torn apart because we left things half-finished.”

Tyler grunted in agreement. “For now, we just gotta hope we get some decent spots to sleep in before planning a scout team.”

Logan nodded in agreement, but before he could say anything else, movement caught their attention.

Ben had emerged from the block, standing at the top of the stairs leading down to the yard. He lifted his arms and signed, motioning for everyone to gather around.

Block’s clear. You can come in.

Tyler exhaled through his nose, nodding as he grabbed his jacket off the ground and shrugged it back on. Ashlyn and her father appeared behind Ben, dragging a corpse out—one of the walkers they had cleared inside. Taylor and James followed a few steps behind them.

The others outside took the hint, pushing off the fence and making their way toward the building. Tyler and Logan exchanged a glance before following suit.

They stepped inside, the air thick with the lingering scent of rot and old blood. Their boots echoed against the floor as they moved further in, the dim lighting casting long shadows against the walls. They had work to do—bodies to clear, spaces to check, and a fire to start to make sure none of the corpses had a chance to reanimate.

The weight of exhaustion felt heavier on their bones now that the hardest part was over. The block was theirs, the bodies had been cleared out, and the open discussion of heading back to the graveyard to retrieve their supplies felt like an afterthought.

For now, everyone was basking in the relief of having walls, real walls, to keep them safe—sleeping somewhere that wasn’t dirt, concrete, or a makeshift shelter barely holding together under the weight of time and decay.

The moment the decision was made to settle in, the energy shifted. People who had barely spoken in the past few hours began to lighten up, checking the rows of cells, testing the rusted doors with amused smirks and shoving each other playfully out of the way to claim the best ones.

“This one’s got two mattresses. Two. That’s a damn luxury,” James laughed, pressing down on one with both hands, watching dust puff into the air.

“Oh yeah, I bet it’s filled with fleas,” Ashlyn snorted, leaning against the doorframe of another cell.

“You’re just jealous I got here first kiddo.”

Taylor had already climbed up the railing to peer into the upper bunks, fingers gripping the cool metal as she examined them with a scrutiny that made Tyler chuckle. He knew exactly what was going through her mind—this, bunk beds, was the closest thing to home they had felt in years.

“It’s not the same,” she murmured, as if reading his thoughts. “But it’s close enough.”

Tyler just hummed in response, a rare softness in his expression as he ran a hand over the edge of a bunk before dropping himself onto the lower one with a heavy exhale. He didn’t even bother taking his shoes off, just threw an arm over his eyes and let himself be consumed by the comfort of having a bed again.

The others began scattering into different cells, pairing up naturally. Ashlyn and Logan ended up in the same room, Logan dropping his bag onto the floor before glancing at her with a smirk.

“Guess we’re stuck together again,” he mused, sitting on the lower bunk, arms resting on his knees.

“As if you’d last a night without me keeping your dumbass alive,” Ashlyn shot back, shaking her head as she sat across from him on the opposite bed, arms crossed.

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Logan chuckled before grinning. “You’re right, though. You’re basically my bodyguard at this point.”

Ashlyn rolled her eyes, but there was a faint glint of amusement in them. “You’d be dead twice over without me.”

Logan leaned back, crossing his ankles as he smirked. “More like ten times over.”

Across the block, in another cell, Ben sat side by side with Lily on the lower bed. There was a quietness between them, a silence that had been lingering for days but felt different now that they had a moment to breathe. Ben let out a slow exhale before lifting his hands, signing carefully.

Do you think they’d be proud of us?

Lily blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. She hesitated, inhaling sharply as she looked away for a moment before signing back, she usually would when words couldn't find her voice.

I think they would.

Ben nodded, his hands still resting in his lap, but there was something distant in his expression, like he wasn’t fully convinced. His fingers twitched before he lifted them again, his movements slower this time.

“I’m so—rry.”

Lily turned to him fully now, her expression shifting into one of quiet shock. It wasn’t just the apology—it was his voice, raspy, damaged and barely above a whisper, but still there. It had been so long since she had heard it that it almost felt foreign, yet strangely comforting.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she whispered, her voice soft, still carrying the hint of her young age. “You were going through it too.”

Ben glanced at her, his throat working as if he wanted to say more, but instead, he just nodded, his hands resting on his lap again.

And then, without another word, Lily reached out and pulled him into a hug. He stiffened for a moment before melting into it, his arms wrapping around her in return, the weight of everything they had lost settling between them in shared silence.

In another part of the block, Tyler lay in his bunk, exhaustion pulling at his limbs, but his thoughts were refusing to settle. His mind wandered back to the night before, to the way Aiden’s lips had pressed awkwardly against his own, to the sheer absurdity of it.

It was stupid—like some cringeworthy scene from one of those old Korean dramas Taylor used to force him to watch. The thought made his face heat with something he refused to acknowledge.

He had just stood there. Unmoving. Letting it happen. He now knew it meant nothing, not in the way he originally thought, but it still left him feeling hesitant to even look Aiden in the eye that morning. He let out a slow breath, shifting slightly as he heard Taylor huff from the top bunk, flopping face-first onto her mattress.

“The smell’s awful,” she muttered into the pillow, voice muffled.

Tyler huffed a laugh, finally closing his eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s still the safest we’ve felt in years.”

Taylor hummed in agreement, and for the first time in a long while, sleep found them before fear did.

Aiden stepped into the dimly lit cell, his movements slow and deliberate as he let the weight of the day settle onto his shoulders. The others had all paired off, finding comfort in companionship, but he had made the choice to be alone tonight.

Not because no one wanted to share a space with him—he knew that wasn’t the case—but because the idea of a night without conversation, without forced interactions, without anyone watching him, sounded perfect. Just one night where he didn’t have to keep his guard up. One night where he could let himself sink into the silence without expectation.

He sighed as he sat down on the lower bunk, stretching his legs out in front of him, and leaned back against the cold wall. His fingers ran through his hair absentmindedly, the exhaustion creeping up on him, pressing heavy against his limbs.

He could almost imagine a full night’s sleep ahead of him, uninterrupted and truly restful—until the sharp creak of the cell door broke the illusion.

Aiden’s head snapped toward the sound, his shoulders stiffening involuntarily. His father, Daniel, stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he stepped inside.

“I’ll be sleeping here,” Daniel said, his voice carrying an air of finality, as if the decision had already been made, as if Aiden had no say in the matter.

Aiden didn’t answer. He just stared ahead, his jaw tightening, the space that once felt safe now feeling like it was closing in. He should have expected this. Of course, Daniel would think he had a right to be here, to intrude. Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, and Aiden was already bracing himself for the tension that would no doubt make this night unbearable.

Then another voice cut through the quiet.

“Aiden.”

Soft, familiar, and—somehow—relieving.

Jessica stood just outside the doorway, her presence instantly shifting the weight in the room. Aiden hadn’t realized how much he had needed to see her until now, hadn’t known that the breath sitting heavy in his chest would loosen the moment she appeared.

She stepped forward, her gaze briefly flicking between Daniel and Aiden before settling on her son. “I was planning on sharing the cell with Aiden tonight,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “We agreed on it beforehand.”

Aiden’s brow furrowed slightly. They hadn’t agreed on anything. But before he could say anything, Daniel turned to her, his glare sharp, frustration evident in the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides.

“We did?” Aiden muttered under his breath, shooting his mother a confused glance. But when he looked at her, she was smiling—not at him, but at Daniel, and it wasn’t a pleasant smile. It was the kind of smile that concealed something sharper underneath.

Daniel exhaled harshly, his jaw working as he studied her. “Jess, don’t start.”

“Start what?” She tilted her head slightly, still wearing that same unreadable smile. “I'm sure you'll find another cell to sleep in, honey. I mean, there are plenty, aren’t there?”

Daniel didn’t move right away. His eyes flicked to Aiden, who still sat on the bed, his hands clenched into fists against his thighs. There was a moment—just a brief one—where it looked like Daniel might argue. Might insist that he should be here. But then, he shook his head, muttered something under his breath, and stalked out of the cell.

Jessica waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hallway before she finally let out a small breath and turned to close the bars. For a moment, she just stood there, her fingers resting lightly against the cold metal, her posture relaxing ever so slightly now that Daniel was gone. Then she turned back to Aiden, her expression softer than before.

“I hope that wasn’t too much,” she said quietly, a small tinge of hesitance in her voice. “I didn’t mean to push into your space.”

Aiden didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he stood up, his feet moving before his brain could even register what he was doing, and wrapped his arms around her.

It was silent, but it was fully inviting. He could feel the tension in his own body, the uncertainty, the way his mind recoiled at the unfamiliarity of the moment—but he didn’t pull away.

Jessica hesitated only for a second before wrapping her arms around him in return, one hand moving to his head, fingers threading gently through his hair as she rested her chin against the top of his head.

“My baby boy,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but it was enough. Enough to break something inside him, enough to make his throat tighten in a way he hated.

Aiden swallowed hard, his arms tightening around her. He didn’t know what he was feeling—he disliked it, whatever it was—but the warmth of her embrace made it easier to push aside the questions clawing at his mind. Just for tonight, he wouldn’t think about it. Just for tonight, he would let it happen.

They eventually lay down, and Aiden stared at the ceiling, his body still rigid despite the warmth pressed against his side. It felt strange, unfamiliar, this kind of comfort. It was the kind of thing he had needed as a kid but had never gotten. And now, at his grown age, he was only just getting to experience it.

Jessica’s hand moved through his hair slowly, methodically, and then—softly—she started humming.

Aiden recognized the song immediately. It was a melody from a lullaby she used to sing when he was very young, one he had long since buried in the depths of his memory, thinking he’d never hear it again.

His eyes slid shut. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, just the faintest hint of a smile before exhaustion overtook him. The ache in his muscles dulled. The noise in his head quieted.

He fell asleep feeling okay.

Chapter Text

I.

Aiden woke with a start, his breath dragging in uneven gasps as his body jolted upright. His chest rose and fell in erratic movements, his lungs burning as though he'd just surfaced from drowning.

His forehead was slick with sweat, damp strands of hair sticking against his clammy skin. He barely registered the shaking in his hands until he clenched them into fists, willing them to still.

The nightmare was already beginning to fade at the edges, slipping from his grasp like water through his fingers, but the lingering feeling of it remained. A suffocating presence, a weight against his ribs that made it hard to breathe.

It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was a memory—one of the many he tried to bury beneath sharp-tongued words and easygoing grins, but they always found a way back, creeping in like rot in the walls.

Flashes of the past flickered behind his eyelids. He was younger, smaller, sitting on the floor with his knees tucked to his chest, trying to disappear into the peeling wallpaper.

Muffled voices turned sharp, then louder, echoing through the narrow hall of a house that had never felt like home. The sound of glass shattering made his stomach tighten. Then footsteps—too heavy, too close.

He sucked in a breath, trying to shake the images away. That was then. This was now.

His body collapsed back onto the mattress, the rusted springs creaking beneath his weight. His arm draped over his eyes, but the darkness behind his lids offered no comfort. He was still caught somewhere between past and present, his mind tangled in the remnants of something he wished he could forget.

Then he focused—on the steady rhythm of breathing above him. Slow, calm, unshaken. The sound alone was enough to pull him back, anchoring him in the present. His mother. She was still there. It was grounding, something real to hold onto in the way nothing else ever felt like it was.

Aiden let out a slow breath, rolling onto his side, staring at the dimly lit ceiling. He hesitated before speaking, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"You're awake?"

For a moment, there was no answer, and he thought maybe she'd fallen back asleep. But then, her voice, soft and laced with drowsiness, drifted down to him.

"Not really." A pause. "Bad dream?"

He exhaled through his nose, debating if he should brush it off with some sarcastic remark, but the fatigue running through his body made the effort seem useless. "Something like that."

Jessica shifted slightly above him, the faint rustling of sheets filling the silence. "You wanna talk about it?"

He huffed, a quiet breath that was neither amused nor dismissive. He didn't want to talk about it. But for some reason, knowing she was there made the suffocating feeling in his chest loosen just a little.

"No," he admitted. "But thanks."

Another pause, then the soft creak of the mattress as she turned onto her side. "Alright, baby. Just try to get some rest."

Aiden swallowed around the tightness in his throat. It was weird, hearing her call him that. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

He closed his eyes, focusing again on her breathing.

Then groaned in frustration as he rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable. His body felt exhausted, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest. Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts spiraled, tugging him between exhaustion and alertness, keeping him from drifting off.

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, before staring blankly at the ceiling. The low hum of the prison at night—the faint shuffle of movement from the other cells, the distant murmur of someone’s voice, the occasional snore—wasn’t what kept him up. It was something deeper, something unsettled inside him that he couldn’t quite name.

The sound of movement from above made him blink. The mattress creaked as Jessica shifted, then the soft rustling of sheets followed as she climbed down from the top bunk. Aiden stayed still, his gaze tracking her silhouette as she landed lightly on her feet. Her voice was quiet, careful not to disturb anyone else nearby. “Scoot over,” she murmured.

Aiden hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her there, but the unfamiliarity of the gesture made something tighten in his chest. He had spent so long keeping a distance, so long without the warmth of a mother’s presence, that the simple act of her wanting to be close felt like a foreign language he wasn’t sure he understood.

Still, after a brief pause, he shifted, making enough space for her to slip in beside him. The bed dipped slightly under her weight as she settled in, the warmth of her presence instantly noticeable against his side again.

They lay there in silence for a moment, Aiden staring at the ceiling while Jessica rested on her side, her head propped up by her hand as she studied him. Eventually, her voice broke the quiet. “You never answered my question from back at the railway.”

Aiden frowned, glancing at her. “What question?”

Jessica hummed softly. “You like that boy, don't you?.”

Aiden stiffened. He could feel his face heat up before he could stop it. He scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Who?” He played dumb, turning his head away, "Tyler?"

Jessica nodded.

Aiden exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “You say that like it’s some big deal.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

Aiden made a face, then groaned, rolling onto his back again. “I dunno, he’s just—he’s annoying as hell. And so am I to him. He’s grumpy and sarcastic and half the time I think he actually hates me.”

Jessica chuckled softly. “But?”

Aiden opened his mouth, then hesitated. He didn’t really know how to put it into words. But Tyler was different. He was rough around the edges, sure, but there was something softer beneath that, something he didn’t show just anyone.

 Aiden had seen glimpses of it—the quiet moments, the way Tyler took care of people—of him—without making a big deal out of it. The way he’d sleep in the cold just to leave him most of the blanket every time circumstances caused them to sleep side by side. The way he stuck by the people he cared about, even if he pretended not to. It was frustrating and endearing at the same time.

“I always thought I liked Ashlyn,” Aiden admitted after a moment. “I mean, she’s cool. We get along, and for a while, I thought maybe that was something, y’know?” He shrugged, an awkward chuckle leaving him as the reminder of how he’d been acting when they first met struck his mind. “But then I realized it wasn’t. I don’t think I ever actually saw her that way. She’s more like—like a sister. Like the others.”

Jessica nodded, listening intently. She didn’t interrupt, letting him work through his thoughts at his own pace.

Aiden sighed. “But Tyler… I don’t know. It’s different. He’s different.”

Jessica tilted her head. “How so?”

Aiden hesitated again, struggling to find the right words. “It’s like… with him, I don’t really have to try.” He moved his hands as if trying to make sense of what he meant, almost forgetting how odd it was to ramble about something that troubled him to his own mother. “We fight, we mess around, but it’s never forced. And when shit gets bad, he’s there, even when I don’t ask him to be. I can’t figure him out half the time, but somehow, he’s always in my head.”

Jessica smiled knowingly, nudging his shoulder. “Sounds like someone’s got it bad.”

Aiden groaned again, dragging his palms over his face. “I hate this.”

Jessica laughed, the sound quiet but warm. She reached over, ruffling his hair in a way that made him grumble, muffled by his skin. “You don’t hate it,” she corrected gently. “You’re just scared of it.”

Aiden dropped his arms to his sides, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned his head to glance at his mother. Smile wiped away from him face without him noticing. But Jessica's gaze softened at it a little. “I don’t even know if he sees me that way. Hell, I don’t even know if I’d see me that way.”

She smiled, her teasing fading into something more serious. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now, sweetheart. No one expects you to. Feelings are messy, and they don’t come with an instruction manual. You’re allowed to take your time.”

Aiden let out a slow breath, staring at the ceiling again. “Yeah, for almost three years,” he mumbled. He hated when she was right. But… it was nice, having someone to talk to about it. Someone who didn’t judge him or make him feel like he had to have all the answers right away.

He had half a heart to mention last night's events, how leaning in to kiss him had felt so right at first. But the way Tyler had just stood frozen made him regret it instantly.

He didn't need to mention that part, he didn't want to.

Jessica gave him another pat on the head before shifting to get comfortable beside him. “Just promise me one thing?”

Aiden glanced at her. “What?”

She smiled softly. “Don’t close yourself off from it just because it’s new.”

Aiden didn’t answer right away. His mind was still too tangled up in uncertainty, in hesitation, in things he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront yet. But eventually, he sighed and muttered, “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

Jessica chuckled, ruffling his hair one last time. “That’s my boy.”

Aiden rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it. He let himself settle, let his thoughts quiet just a little.

II.

The group gathered in the center of the cell block, the cold stone floor beneath them a stark reminder of how temporary their rest was. The air smelled of old rust and decay, but compared to the outside world, it was almost comforting.

Tyler crossed his arms, shifting his weight from one foot to another as he watched the others settle in a loose circle. The relief of finding beds had given them a brief moment of peace, but reality had crept back in like a slow-moving rot.

"Alright," Ashlyn started, her voice clear but heavy with exhaustion. "We need a plan. Food’s running low, water too. We left a lot of stuff behind at the graveyard, and we’re not gonna last long without it."

"We don't even know if it'll still be there," Taylor pointed out, her brows furrowing. "What if someone else already raided the place?"

"Then we'll figure it out," Logan said, leaning against the bars of an empty cell. "But we can’t just sit here and hope for the best."

Aiden huffed, rubbing his temples. "And we don’t even know if that place is safe anymore. The lights don’t work against them so scratch the main plan, we saw it happen with our own eyes. They weren’t scared, weren’t even phased."

We counted on those lights for months Ben signed, his fingers moving rapidly before he dropped his hands onto his lap, frustration written all over his face. "Now they mean nothing. We have to rethink everything.

It was true, the main reason they ever thought of abandoning the graveyard was because the lights ran low, and the prison’s potentially light able lights were their last option. Now the phantoms somehow disappeared for reasons stranger to them, and the creatures on seem to react to any.

That was when Daniel let out a scoff, his arms crossed tightly. "Told you," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "I told you we shouldn’t have left the graveyard. It was the only place we knew, and now look at us, scrambling to get back because we left like idiots."

Mike tried to make a point first, “maybe, but now we have more secure walls—”

Tyler's patience snapped like a dry twig. "And what exactly have you done so far?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the stale air like a blade. Taylor's hand immediately found his shoulder, squeezing it in an attempt to keep him grounded, but it barely worked. "All you do is sit back, stay away from every fight, and complain when things don’t go your way."

Daniel glared back, jaw tightening. "I don’t see how that’s relevant—"

"It’s relevant because I don’t see you lifting a damn finger when shit hits the fan!" Tyler shot back. "Since we started moving, all you’ve done is run your mouth. So, tell me, Daniel, if you’re so damn sure about everything, how about you actually prove me wrong? Take part in this mission instead of standing on the sidelines."

The tension in the room became suffocating. Everyone else remained quiet, their eyes flicking between the two of them. Aiden and Ben shared a look, a shrug from the blonde earning and snort from his cousin, “ain’t about to be next on Ty’s list” Aiden joked.

Daniel opened his mouth to respond, but Jessica, standing a few feet away, spoke first. "Enough." Her voice was firm, but not aggressive. "Arguing isn’t going to get us food or supplies."

The room was heavy with the weight of the tension until Cilius stepped in, her arms folded as she gave Daniel a single raised brow before addressing the group as a whole. “Doesn’t matter who did what,” she said in her usual level-headed tone. “What matters is we don’t have enough food to last us. If we sit around bickering like idiots, some of us won’t even make it until you all come back from that graveyard run.”

“She’s right,” Sammon added, his auburn hair shifting as he leaned against the cold stone wall. His white-dyed bangs caught in the dim light. “This is a prison, and it was abandoned after the initial disaster. That means there’s a decent chance some storage areas still have food stockpiled somewhere. The trick is actually finding it without getting killed.”

“Which means we split up,” Mike concluded, rubbing his chin in thought. “We’ll take a group back to the graveyard to collect the stuff we left behind. If we’re lucky, we might even find more supplies while we’re there.”

“I’ll go,” James added with a nod, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder as she nodded back at him. “Emma, you’ll be needed too. And Daniel—” his gaze turned to the obviously frustrated man, “if you’re so sure we should’ve stayed at the graveyard, then come help us see if there’s anything worth salvaging.” His voice was neutral, but there was an edge to it.

Jessica sighed, arms crossed. “I’ll go, too. The sooner we get what we need, the better.” Aiden's shoulders tensed where he stood beside Ashlyn.

“That leaves us,” Cilius said, her gaze shifting over the younger group. “We’re gonna search the prison. We go through the neighboring hallways, check every corner, and try to locate any stockpiles left behind. And we do it carefully.”

“I’m staying here,” Valencia spoke up, brushing a hand over Octavia’s hair as the girl stood next to her. “I’m not dragging her through those halls. She’s safer here.”

Jamal, who had been listening from the back, stepped forward slightly. “Me, Mils, and Kelly will stay, too,” he said. “Someone’s gotta keep this place secure while you’re all gone.”

Mike nodded, giving him a grateful look. “That’ll help.”

Maxim, who had been silent until now, pushed a hand through his medium brown hair, adjusting the strands that were tied back in a half-up style. “So it’s set then? The parents head out to the graveyard while the rest of us start searching this place?”

“Sounds like it,” Logan confirmed, glancing around at the group before rolling his shoulders. “We should get moving. The more we sit around, the less time we have to get back before nightfall.”

III.

The air outside the prison yard was tense, thick with the weight of unspoken worries and anticipation as the group prepared to set out. Everyone moved with a certain level of purpose, but there was no mistaking the lingering exhaustion that sat heavy in their bones.

Logan adjusted the strap of his backpack to James' chest, glancing over the group as final preparations were made. Ashlyn tightened her ponytail, rolling her shoulders back as she walked toward the gates, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement beyond the fences.

Aiden stood slightly off to the side, arms crossed over his chest, silent but watching. He wasn’t quite sure why unease settled in his gut, but it did.

His mother must have noticed. She always seemed to notice, even when he hadn’t quite figured it out himself yet. A soft hand curled around his wrist, bringing him back to the moment. He turned his head slightly, meeting Jessica’s gaze. Her touch was warm, grounding.

“You’re worrying,” she said, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. It wasn’t teasing, just an observation.

Aiden hesitated before answering, staring down at where her fingers curled around his. “Do you have to go?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could really consider why he even asked in the first place. He could hear the uncertainty in his own voice, the unfamiliarity of concern directed toward a parent he barely knew.

Jessica’s smile softened, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around his wrist. “I’ll be back soon.”

Something in Aiden’s chest clenched painfully at those words. He knew them all too well. They had been spoken to him a hundred times before, always just before she and Daniel left, always just before he spent long nights staring at the door, waiting for them to return.

It was instinct to believe those words, but another part of him, the part hardened by experience, knew better than to rely on them. Still, he nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

Jessica reached up, brushing her fingers lightly through his hair before taking a step back. “And when I get back,” she added, “we’ll finish our conversation.”

Aiden frowned, brow furrowing in confusion. “Conversation?”

Jessica chuckled, tilting her head as she looked at him knowingly. “You’ll tell me what you hesitated to say earlier.”

Aiden stiffened slightly, eyes widening just enough to betray his surprise. He hadn’t even realized she had caught onto that. He parted his lips, instinctively wanting to deny it, but Jessica only shook her head.

“We haven’t had much time together, but I’m still your mother,” she said simply. “I can tell when my son is holding something back.”

Aiden looked away, exhaling a breath that felt too heavy for something so simple. Before he could say anything else, Jessica gave his hand one final squeeze before pulling away completely, turning to join the others at the gate.

Ashlyn had already positioned herself near the fence, pressing her hands against the metal and rattling it hard enough to draw the attention of the few walkers lingering on the other side.

The groans and snarls started almost immediately, bodies shifting as they turned toward the noise. Ashlyn smirked. “There we go,” she muttered to herself, banging against the fence a few more times before stepping back to watch them shuffle closer.

Cilius walked past her, glancing over at her with a raised brow. “You enjoy that way too much.”

Ashlyn shrugged. “Hey, gotta take my fun where I can get it.”

Cilius snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, she moved toward the group forming near the entrance. The parents—Mike, Emma, James, Mary, Daniel, and Jessica—stood together, checking over their weapons and supplies one last time. Sammon had his arms crossed, watching them carefully before speaking up. “You guys remember the route, right?”

“Of course we do,” James said, rolling his eyes. “We’re not that old.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mary muttered, adjusting the straps on her backpack. “I swear my back didn’t hurt this much before all this started.”

Jessica chuckled. “You can complain about it when we get back.”

“You mean if we get back,” Daniel muttered under his breath. The conversation briefly stalled, eyes shifting toward him.

“Don’t start,” Emma warned, shooting him a look before turning back to Ashlyn. “We’ll be fine. Just keep things steady on this end.”

“We will,” She assured.

Aiden stayed silent, watching as his mother took a step closer to the gate, placing a hand on the metal bars. She glanced back at him once more, offering him one last reassuring smile before stepping outside with the rest of the group.

The second they were through, Aiden exhaled sharply and moved forward, pulling the gate shut with a loud clang, locking it securely behind them.

The prison yard fell quiet again, the sound of distant walkers groaning beyond the fences being the only thing filling the empty space. Aiden exhaled, his grip on the metal bars lingering before he finally let go, stepping back. Watching as their forms got smaller and smaller.

IV.

The group moved carefully through the dimly lit corridors of the prison, their footsteps cautious against the grimy linoleum floors.

Dust and dried blood had settled into the cracks of the walls, marking this place as long abandoned. The air carried a stale, metallic scent, and every sound echoed just a little too much for comfort.

They kept close together, their eyes sweeping over the cold, lifeless space as they advanced. They had a mission—find the food stockpile, if it even still existed. The idea of splitting up was tossed around quickly and agreed upon.

The prison was huge, and covering more ground in smaller teams would increase their chances of success.

“All right,” Ashlyn said, rolling her shoulders as she assessed their numbers. “We’ll split into three teams. Tyler, Aiden, you’re with me.” She pointed between them before nodding toward Logan, Taylor, and Ben. “You three go together.”

“And I guess that leaves us,” Cilius chimed in, adjusting the grip on her machete as she gestured to Sammon and Maxim. “We’ll take the adjacent hall.”

Tyler, against his own better judgment, glanced at Aiden. “You good?” His voice was low, careful.

Aiden's response was immediate, automatic. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He flashed a smile—his usual, effortless grin—but inside, something twisted.

He hated this. The shift between them, the forced distance wrapped in false normalcy. He could still feel the awkward press of Tyler’s lips against his from before, the way neither of them had spoken much about it since.

Tyler didn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

Aiden hesitated for only a second before flipping the concern back onto him. “What about you? How’s your side holding up?” His eyes flicked to where the bandages were hidden under Tyler’s shirt. “Still bleeding through?”

Tyler huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a glass doll, Aiden.”

Aiden’s smile stayed in place, even as his insides gnawed at themselves. “I know that. I just prefer my friends to stay in one piece, that’s all.”

Tyler had no comeback for that. His lips pressed into a thin line, and he turned away first, adjusting his grip on his knife.

Ashlyn, likely feeling the awkward energy suffocating the air, cleared her throat. “Let’s move out. If we find anything, we circle back to the block. Don’t take unnecessary risks.”

With that, the groups split, each disappearing down separate corridors.

Aiden, Tyler, and Ashlyn kept a steady pace, moving with as much silence as the prison would allow. The further they went, the more claustrophobic the space seemed to become, the walls closing in with peeling paint and rusting bars. The weight of forgotten suffering clung to the air, pressing down on them.

They turned a corner, only to freeze in place. A dozen walkers—maybe more—crowded the hallway ahead, their rotting bodies swaying with sluggish hunger. Their mouths gaped open, blackened teeth gnashing at the air as they sensed the presence of the living.

Ashlyn reacted first, yanking both Aiden and Tyler back around the corner. They pressed against the wall, breath held tight in their chests.

“Shit,” Ashlyn muttered under her breath, her hand gripping the strap of her gun. “I didn’t hear them. Damn headphones.”

Aiden glanced at her, then at Tyler, whose fingers had tightened around the hilt of his knife. There were too many to take on without backup. They needed another route.

Ashlyn peered around the corner once more, assessing their options before jerking her head toward the other hallway. “Check it.”

Aiden took the lead this time, creeping to the opposite side and peeking in. Relief washed over him when he found it empty. He gave a quick nod.

“Clear,” he whispered.

They moved swiftly, keeping their steps controlled as they maneuvered into the empty corridor. The silence was a small comfort, a moment of reprieve.

And then, the rock.

It wasn’t big. Just a small, insignificant piece of debris, kicked forward by the toe of Aiden’s boot. The sound of it clattering against the floor, however, was deafening.

They froze.

The growls came first—low and guttural, turning into frantic snarls as the horde in the previous hall reacted.

Then, the sounds of bodies shifting, feet dragging, a grotesque orchestra of hunger and decay.

They turned slowly, in unison, locking eyes with the monsters now stumbling toward them, their lifeless, clouded eyes locking onto fresh prey.

“Run.”

The word barely left Ashlyn’s lips before they bolted.

They barely made it inside the room, the heavy metal door slamming shut behind them as they shoved their weight against it. The deafening sound of rotting bodies hurling themselves against the other side made the air thick with tension, their snarls like a chorus of death pressing in.

Aiden’s hands fumbled at the handle, a chuckle leaving him at the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Heart hammering wildly in his chest as Tyler and Ashlyn scrambled beside him.

Ashlyn grabbed the closest thing she could find—a wooden plank, thick and sturdy—and jammed it against the door, locking it in place. Their breathing was ragged, shoulders rising and falling with every struggled inhale as they backed away, the pounding against the door relentless, but held at bay for now.

The thudding was matched only by the pounding in Aiden’s skull, a dull, intoxicating buzz from the rush of nearly getting torn apart. His chest heaved as he leaned forward, hands braced on his knees, trying to regulate his breath, but his lips quirked up, betraying the thrill still electrifying his nerves.

"You did that shit on purpose," Tyler spat, straightening and throwing a glare in Aiden’s direction. His tone was sharp, biting. "Don’t even try to tell me otherwise."

Aiden let out a breathless chuckle, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand as he slowly straightened. "Oh, yeah, because I totally planned on kicking a rock just to get chased by a bunch of flesh-eating corpses." His voice dripped with sarcasm, but the accusation still hit a nerve, his smile twitching slightly at the edges.

"That’s exactly something your dumbass would do," Tyler shot back, stepping forward. "You get some kind of sick rush out of this, don’t you? The whole ‘almost dying’ thing?"

Aiden’s grin wavered, but his hands stayed shoved in his pockets, his fingers curling into fists. "I dunno, Tyler. Maybe I just like keeping things exciting. Y’know, break the monotony."

"You’re fucking unbelievable."

"And you’re fucking paranoid."

Tyler scoffed, shaking his head as he turned away, rubbing his face roughly with one hand. "Yeah, well, excuse me for not wanting to die in some shitty abandoned prison because you decided to play chicken with the undead."

Aiden rolled his eyes but said nothing, though the tension in his shoulders spoke louder than words.

He was always smiling, always deflecting, but there was something in the way Tyler was looking at him—like he was seeing through all the bullshit. It was pissing him off.

"Will you two quit your childish bickering and get over here?" Ashlyn’s voice cut through the rising argument, her tone laced with impatience.

Both boys turned to her, still catching their breath, but their scowls softened as they followed the beam of her flashlight.

What it illuminated made their breath hitch.

Stacked against the walls, nearly untouched, were shelves upon shelves of canned food, dried goods, and sealed water bottles. The room was a goddamn goldmine. After days of rationing scraps, of feeling their stomachs growl through sleepless nights, this—this felt like striking oil in the middle of a wasteland.

"Holy shit," Aiden muttered, stepping forward. His fingers ghosted over a can of beans as if afraid it would disappear under his touch.

"I think we just hit the jackpot," Ashlyn grinned, nudging Tyler’s shoulder. "And here I thought we’d starve to death in this place."

Tyler exhaled, running a hand through his hair as a relieved chuckle slipped out. "Guess that means we don’t have to eat each other after all."

Aiden smirked. "Shame. I was kinda looking forward to that."

"You’re sick."

"You love it."

Tyler huffed, shaking his head, but the weight of the past few days had visibly lifted from his shoulders. For the first time in a while, they had something certain, something real.

"Alright, smartasses," Ashlyn said, turning to them both with a more serious expression. "Now all we have to do is clear the halls and get all this back to the block. Should be easy enough, right?"

V.

The journey back to the graveyard was slow and treacherous, the silence only broken by the wet crunch of decayed bodies collapsing under their blows and the occasional guttural moan of the creatures that still roamed too close for comfort.

The air was thick with the scent of rot and old death, a permanent stench that clung to their skin and hair no matter how much they tried to ignore it. The dirt road, cracked and uneven, forced them to step carefully, and the weight of their weapons, already slick with the filth of putrid flesh, seemed heavier with each swing.

Daniel had kept his distance from the fights, lingering just behind the others, letting them handle the work while he played the part of an observer, occasionally fumbling with his knife as if he might actually do something useful.

Every time a walker lunged too close, he’d stagger back, flailing, only for Emma to step in and finish the job. She didn’t say a word, just shot him a glance that held more weight than anything she could have said. And every time, he’d mutter something under his breath, brushing off his failure as if it was all part of some plan.

“I had it covered,” he grumbled after she had to wrench a blade free from a half-crushed skull, saving his ass for the third time in less than ten minutes.

“You sure about that?” Emma huffed, shaking the gore from her knife before stepping over the fresh corpse. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just making sure I get all the practice.”

Daniel scoffed, wiping nonexistent sweat from his brow. “You’re just too quick, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike drawled from ahead, barely sparing them a glance as he drove his machete straight through the eye socket of a walker that had stumbled too close. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, man.”

Jessica let out a tired sigh but didn’t bother adding to the conversation. They didn’t have time to bicker. The graveyard was in sight now, the familiar shapes of the abandoned school buses, the makeshift tents, and the scavenged remnants of their old camp bringing both relief and unease.

It felt like a ghost of the life they had before, still and quiet in a way that set them all on edge. The gates were wide open, swaying slightly with the wind.

Mike lifted a hand, signaling for them to halt. “Bags ready. Take whatever we can find and make it quick.” His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes scanning the area, searching for any movement.

The group moved with practiced efficiency, slipping through the wreckage of their old home, their footsteps near silent as they stepped over scattered debris and overturned supplies.

James and Mary headed for the school buses, their fingers brushing over rusted metal as they carefully pried open compartments and checked under seats for anything usable.

Jessica made her way toward the tents, her heart tightening at the sight of the deflated fabric, the remnants of what used to be their safe haven.

She crouched low, unzipping an old duffel bag and feeling through its contents—spare clothes, half a roll of duct tape, a nearly empty water bottle. She took what she could, shoving it into her pack before moving to the next one.

Emma had found a stash of canned food beneath an overturned crate, her fingers dusting off the labels to check for expiration dates, even though at this point, it hardly mattered. “Got something here,” she called softly, lifting a can for the others to see before stuffing as many as she could into her backpack.

James let out a low whistle from inside one of the buses. “Jackpot,” he murmured, pulling out a long, leather rifle case from one of the storage compartments. His fingers ghosted over the latches before flicking them open.

The rifle inside was in surprisingly good condition, and the sight of it sent a ripple of both relief and apprehension through the group. “Could be useful.”

Mike grunted in approval. “If we can find ammo for it, yeah.”

Daniel, who had been lingering by one of the empty fire pits, finally spoke up, his voice carrying a hint of smugness. “See? This is why we shouldn’t have left. We had everything we needed here.”

Mary, who had been shifting through a pile of old supplies, snorted. “Yeah? And what about those things? Because last I checked, the lights stopped working on them, and they damn near ripped us apart.”

Daniel opened his mouth to argue, but Jessica cut in, her tone sharp. “This place wasn’t safe. It still isn’t.” She gestured at the empty space beyond the buses, the eerie stillness that made their skin crawl. “Just because we can grab what’s left doesn’t mean we could’ve survived staying here.”

Emma, done with the conversation entirely, shouldered her bag and stood. “We got what we came for. Let’s move before we attract attention.”

With their packs full and their nerves stretched thin, they regrouped, casting one last glance at the remains of what had once been home before turning their backs on it once more.

The group crouched low behind a cluster of wild overgrowth, half-dead shrubs barely providing enough cover against the dim glow of the overcast red sky.

The parking lot ahead stretched out like a battlefield frozen in time, the asphalt cracked and stained with old, dried blood, the bodies of long-dead walkers slumped between rusted-out cars like discarded marionettes. But it wasn’t the still ones they worried about—it was the ones still moving.

Mike elbowed James lightly, nodding toward the vehicle parked just a few meters ahead. A van. Large, sturdy, untouched compared to the surrounding wrecks. His eyes lit up with the realization of what that could mean for them. “Damn. If we can get that thing running, it’d be a hell of a lot better than hauling everything on foot.”

James let out a low whistle, squinting at it through the gaps between the wreckage. “Yeah, but look at this place. No way we’re getting there without making some noise.”

Daniel scoffed from the side, shifting uncomfortably as his eyes swept over the lot. “You’re looking at it like a damn treasure chest in a dungeon, but all I see is ‘death awaits’ written all over it. This is screaming don’t get close.”

Mary shot him a glance, unimpressed. “Then don’t. You can sit here and watch while we do something useful.”

Daniel pressed his lips together but said nothing. Even he knew he couldn’t just sit out while they worked.

They moved with precision, each step deliberate as they advanced, keeping low behind cars to remain unseen. The walkers groaned, shambling between the vehicles, some dragging rotting limbs while others moved at an unsettling pace, their skeletal fingers scraping against the metal of cars like nails on a chalkboard.

Mike signaled for them to spread out. They couldn’t afford a fight that’d draw in more of them. They’d have to take them down quietly.

Emma was the first to move. She crept up behind a walker, its skin peeling from the sides of its face, lips chewed away to expose yellowed teeth. She took a steady breath and in one swift motion, drove her knife into the back of its skull. It crumpled instantly, body slumping against the side of a pickup.

James followed next, his movements practiced as he came up behind another, pressing his hand against its forehead to silence any last gurgles before shoving his blade deep through its eye socket.

Jessica and Mary took out a pair near the van, moving in sync. Jessica plunged her knife beneath one’s jaw, twisting the blade as the creature twitched violently before going limp. Mary handled the other, gripping its hair to yank its head back before stabbing through the temple.

And then there was Daniel. He hesitated, watching as the others dispatched their targets with grim efficiency. A walker lurched toward him, its throat a ragged hole that wheezed as it reached out. He stumbled back, barely dodging its grasp before Emma stepped in, driving her blade through its skull without a moment’s thought.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered, pulling her knife free as she wiped the gore off on her sleeve.

“I had it handled,” Daniel insisted again, weakly, though nobody was buying it.

With the immediate threats taken care of, they turned their attention to the van. Mike pulled open the door, peering inside before letting out a low chuckle. “Holy shit. This is more than just a van—it’s a full damn camper.”

James climbed in after him, letting out a low whistle as he took in the interior. Cabinets lined the walls, a small kitchen space still intact, blankets folded in one of the overhead compartments. “We really did hit the jackpot.”

Emma leaned in from the front, pulling open the hood to inspect the engine. “We won’t know if this thing runs until I get a closer look, but it’s worth a shot.”

Outside, Daniel found himself next to Jessica, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. “God, I miss when the biggest stress in our lives was making sure we had extra copies of our reports.”

Jessica chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, back when you weren’t such a coward.”

Daniel let out a short, dry laugh. “I know, I know. But I’m trying, alright?”

She turned to him, sliding a hand down the side of his face, her touch both familiar and foreign after all this time. “Then start by trying to find sense in what we do instead of picking fights with kids.”

He exhaled slowly, eyes lingering on hers before nodding. “…Yeah. Alright.”

Before anything else could be said, Mike’s voice cut through the stillness. “Alright, let’s get moving. Grab what we can and get ready to roll out.”

Then another sound, the engine roaring to life. Emma closed the hood and raised her arms with a "Woo! Let’s go!"

One thing was certain: this van was going to change things. If they could make it back in one piece.

VI.

Aiden’s fingers rolled the knife across his palm, flipping it with practiced ease, the cool metal slipping between his fingers before he caught it again. Tyler and Ashlyn stood tense, pressed against either side of the heavy doors, their breath slow and steady.

The scent creeping into their lungs and settling at the base of their throats. Every creak of the prison walls, every distant groan from the walkers outside, coiled around them like a predator waiting to strike.

“All right, one at a time,” Aiden murmured, positioning himself in the center of the room. He rolled his shoulders, testing his grip on the knife before flicking his gaze toward them. “Bring it on.”

Tyler exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s not ominous at all.”

Ashlyn scoffed but smirked. “Just don’t get cocky, superstar.”

Aiden’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Cocky? Me? Never.”

Ashlyn cast a final glance at Tyler before gripping the door’s edge and nudging it open just enough for one walker to stumble in. The thing let out a guttural snarl, its lifeless eyes locking onto Aiden, blackened teeth snapping at the air as it lurched forward.

Aiden moved before it even took another step, his blade flashing under the dim flickering light. The knife slid up into the walker’s skull, right through the eye socket, the body twitching before crumpling to the ground. The scent of rotting flesh burst into the air like an overripe fruit splitting open.

“Next,” Aiden muttered, barely sparing it a glance as Ashlyn repeated the motion, letting another one in.

One by one, they entered. One by one, they fell. Seven so far. The floor beneath Aiden was slick with coagulated blood, making each step a delicate balance between precision and instinct.

Then the plan unraveled.

Aiden turned toward the door, wiping a splatter of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand. But this time, when Ashlyn tried to pull the door shut, it didn’t budge.

“Hey, I said one at a time!” Aiden snapped, stepping closer, his fingers tightening around the handle of his knife.

“The damn thing won’t close!” Ashlyn growled, yanking at the door again. A dozen hands clawed through the widening gap, fingers blackened and split open, reaching desperately for something—someone—alive.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Tyler hissed, eyes darting between the opening door and the growing number of walkers forcing their way in. “New plan! Kill them all!” Aiden stated.

“No shit!” Tyler barked, twisting his body just as the first one lunged at him.

The fight turned brutal. Immediate. Bodies crashed against each other, the air filling with the wet sounds of flesh tearing and bones snapping. Aiden’s blade carved through rotting skin, slicing tendons and vertebrae, the momentum of each strike sending hot, foul-smelling blood spraying against his arms.

Ashlyn’s gun cracked through skulls, sending bone fragments scattering. Tyler, favoring his side, drove his blade up into the base of a walker’s chin, twisting viciously before yanking it free.

Aiden barely had time to register the hand latching onto his wrist before something heavy slammed into him, knocking him off balance. His back hit the ground with a sickening thud, air rushing from his lungs as a walker collapsed on top of him.

 Its weight crushed down, its jaw snapping inches from his face, rancid breath washing over him. He gagged as the creature’s skin, half-decayed and peeling, stretched grotesquely over its bony frame.

Then he felt it—warm, viscous fluid spilling over his torso, seeping into his clothes. The walker had been gutted, its insides spilling out, intestines and half-digested matter oozing over his abdomen. The sensation sent his stomach churning.

“Fucking hell!” Aiden spat, his fingers clawing at the thing’s throat, trying to shove it off. The stench of rot clung to him, thick and suffocating.

“Aiden!” Tyler turned, moving toward him, but another walker lunged in his path. He gritted his teeth, gripping his blade tighter as he swung. The steel met resistance before sinking deep into the thing’s temple, but the impact sent a jolt of pain through Tyler’s already wounded side. He staggered, biting down a pained grunt, but he didn’t stop.

Ashlyn was the one who finished it, her gun plunging through the walker’s skull, pinning it to the floor before she ripped the weapon free. Aiden barely had time to exhale before she grabbed his arm, hauling him up with a forceful yank.

“Jesus, Aiden, you reek.”

He stumbled slightly, wiping the blood from his chin as he blinked down at himself. His stomach twisted at the sight of his now-ruined shirt, the fabric completely soaked through with congealed blood and bits of viscera.

“Damn it,” he muttered, plucking at the fabric with two fingers as if he could somehow shake off the filth. “This was my favorite shirt.”

Tyler scoffed, still clutching his side. “Seriously? You’re covered in guts, and that’s your takeaway?”

Aiden lifted his jacket, relieved to see it had been spared the worst of it. “Priorities, man.”

Ashlyn snorted, wiping sweat and grime from her brow. “Well, if we survive this, I’ll find you another damn shirt.”

Aiden sighed, finally shaking off the adrenaline that still buzzed in his veins, leaving a strange, almost euphoric exhaustion in its wake. He stretched his arms out, cracking his neck before offering a more twisted grin than usual.

“Well,” he drawled. “That was fun.”

Tyler gave him an unimpressed look. “You have the worst definition of ‘fun.’”

Aiden simply grinned wider, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What can I say? I live for the thrill.” He shrugged, pointing at the stocks of food with his knife, "better get the good stuff back before they start thinking we bit the dust."

The moment they stepped inside with their arms loaded with supplies, a familiar voice pierced the air.

"Aiden!" Octavia’s voice was high with excitement, her small frame darting toward him before he could fully set down the weight in his hands.

He barely had time to kneel before she flung herself at him, her arms clamping tightly around his neck. Aiden let out a breathy chuckle, shifting his grip to hoist her up slightly, feeling the warmth of her body against his chest.

"Whoa, octopus, missed me that much?" he teased, though the genuine fondness in his voice betrayed any attempt at nonchalance.

Lily wasn’t far behind, her giggle muffled against Ben’s chest as she wrapped her arms around her older brother in a tight squeeze. "We were waiting forever," she huffed, pulling back to frown up at him. "I helped Val take care of everyone!"

"You did, huh?" Aiden grinned from beside them, ruffling her hair despite the dirt and grime staining his hands. "Well, that makes you the real hero here, huh? Keeping everything together while we were out being reckless."

Lily gave him a big, proud nod before finally letting go of Ben, stepping back to stand beside Octavia, whose arms still held onto Aiden’s shoulders as if she refused to let go completely.

Aiden then turned his attention toward Valencia, who had been watching the reunion with a knowing smirk. "What about you, Val? The others get back yet?"

She sighed, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Not yet. But if I know my home girl, they’re probably making their way back."

Ashlyn hummed, nodding slowly before shifting her focus to the rest of the group. "Alright, let’s get this food stored before we end up eating it all right here." His voice was light, but exhaustion sat heavily in his limbs.

They moved together, a mess of chatter and shuffled steps as they hauled the supplies up the stairs, one armful at a time, placing everything carefully inside the desk cabinet that now served as their makeshift storage. The tension in their shoulders eased slightly—just having this meant they wouldn’t have to starve for a while.

And then—the blaring sound of honking cut through the air like a blade, startling them all into silence.

Heads snapped toward the bars of the entrance, eyes wide and alert as footsteps scrambled toward the outside world. And without thinking, most of them bolted through the hallway and out of the block.

Logan’s breath hitched before realization struck, and he sprinted for the gates. "That’s them!"

Laughter bubbled up from his chest as he ran through the yard and reached the wired gates, gripping them with both hands as a set of headlights sliced through the eerie red hue of the night sky. And through the windshield, a familiar figure waved from the driver’s seat.

"Grandpa, you're okay!" Logan called, his voice breaking slightly with unrestrained relief.

James smirked from behind the wheel, raising a hand in greeting. "Took you long enough to start missing me, huh?"

The vehicle rumbled closer, and the second it passed the threshold of the gates, everyone was in motion.

"Close it, now!" Tyler barked, gripping one side of the gate while Ben took the other.

The screech of metal filled the air as they shut the entrance behind the van, locking it in place just as Ashlyn and Ben sprinted forward to finish off the handful of walkers that had been drawn to the noise. Their weapons flashed under the dim glow of the moon, and in mere moments, it was done.

Aiden exhaled, feeling the weight in his chest loosen slightly at the sight of Jessica waving at him from the van's window, smiling.

The block was bathed in the soft, flickering glow of candles and makeshift lanterns, their dim light casting warm shadows against the cold, cracked walls.

The scent of food—actual food, not just scraps or whatever they could scavenge—filled the air, and for once, laughter echoed instead of screams. It was a rare moment, one they all clung to desperately. No one spoke of how fleeting it would be.

Taylor sat cross-legged beside Ashlyn, watching her pick at her food, twirling a small piece of bread between her fingers like she was still debating whether she should actually eat it. With a small sigh, Taylor broke her own portion in half and nudged Ashlyn’s arm with it.

"Come on, Ash, eat. You act like you don’t need it," Taylor said, her voice gentle but teasing.

Ashlyn gave a noncommittal hum, still staring at her plate. "I ate enough."

"You didn’t. You’re barely eating anything."

"Yeah, well, I’m not starving either." Ashlyn finally took the offered piece, her fingers brushing against Taylor’s for a fraction of a second.

Taylor rolled her eyes but let it slide, shifting her focus to something else. "Your hair looks good like that," she remarked, tilting her head slightly as she studied Ashlyn’s loosely tied ponytail, strands falling messily over her face.

Ashlyn raised a brow, chewing before answering, "You mean this?" She gestured vaguely at her disheveled hair, clearly unimpressed. "It’s just out of my face, that’s all."

Taylor shook her head with a soft smile. "No, I mean it. It suits you. It makes you look… I dunno, kinda badass."

Ashlyn let out a chuckle, short and breathy. "Badass? I look like a mess."

"A badass mess," Taylor corrected, leaning in slightly.

Ashlyn turned her eyes away, pretending to focus on the candlelight dancing against the wall. Compliments weren’t something she was used to, at least not ones that felt like they meant something more.

And with Taylor, it always felt like there was something more. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t sure she liked—or maybe she did. But she didn’t know what to do with it.

Taylor, on the other hand, was well aware of what she was feeling. She knew exactly why her eyes lingered on Ashlyn a little longer than necessary, why she found herself drawn to these small moments with her, why her heartbeat quickened just a little when their hands brushed.

But Ashlyn… Ashlyn was different. Taylor could see it in the way she hesitated, how she kept her guard up even in quiet moments like these.

"You still don’t take compliments well, do you?" Taylor mused, resting her chin against her palm.

Ashlyn exhaled through her nose, smirking slightly. "There’s not much use for them in a world like this."

Taylor shrugged. "I think there is. I think people need to hear good things more often."

Ashlyn glanced at her then, something unreadable flickering across her expression before she looked away again.

She didn’t argue, which was rare. Instead, she quietly took another bite of food, letting the silence settle between them.

Taylor didn’t push. She just smiled to herself, knowing that even if Ashlyn wasn’t ready to acknowledge whatever this was, it didn’t change the fact that it was there.

It was alive with warmth and chatter, a rare sight in a world that had long since fallen into decay. The flickering glow of candles cast shifting shadows on the cracked concrete walls, their soft light illuminating faces that, for once, weren’t hardened by exhaustion or fear.

The food, stacked in mismatched bowls and makeshift plates, was a feast compared to what they were used to. Laughter interwove with quiet conversations, the clinking of utensils against metal dishes forming a rhythm against the ever-present hum of survival.

Cilius sat cross-legged beside Sammon, picking at her food in between amused glances at him. Sammon was rambling about something—likely a past encounter with walkers or some reckless stunt he'd pulled—and she found herself grinning.

With an affectionate shake of her head, she reached out and ruffled his hair, messing up the white-tipped strands until he groaned in protest.

"You just love ruining my look, don’t you?" Sammon grumbled, swiping at his head to fix the mess she'd made, but his lips betrayed him with a smirk.

"Your look?" Cilius teased, raising a brow. "Dude, your ‘look’ is that of someone who rolled straight out of bed and into an apocalypse."

Sammon gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. "Ouch. That one cut deep, Cil. Real deep."

She chuckled, shaking her head as she took another bite, content in the familiar banter.

A few feet away, Maxim had decided to turn dinner into a full-blown performance. With the backs of his forks in hand, he drummed them against his knees, the edge of the table, and any surface he could reach.

Ben, smiling along, joined in by tapping a steady beat against his own dish, nodding his head as though they were performing for an unseen audience.

"You guys are gonna wake the dead with that noise," Logan muttered, though there was no bite to his words. He was leaned in close to his grandparents, James and Mary, his expression softening in a way it rarely did anymore.

"Let 'em come," Maxim joked, flipping a fork in his fingers. "I'll beat 'em down with my wicked drum skills."

Ben snorted. Yeah, I’m sure that’ll work out. He signed

Oh, ye of little faith.

James, chuckling, reached out and gave Logan's shoulder a squeeze. "It’s good to see you smiling, kid."

Logan glanced at him, a little surprised, but then shrugged. "Doesn’t happen often. Gotta take the chance when I can."

Across the room, Mike and Emma had taken a quieter approach to the moment. They sat a little ways from the others, sharing a plate between them.

Emma leaned into Mike's shoulder, her fingers brushing his every now and then as they ate. The closeness was natural, something they'd fallen back into despite the weight of everything they’d endured.

"Think we should be worried?" Emma mused, watching the others with a faint smile. "They look like they’re actually having fun."

Mike huffed a soft laugh. "Maybe we should let them have that. Lord knows they don’t get much of it."

Emma turned her head, her eyes searching his for a moment before she smiled, small but genuine. Then, without hesitation, she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief, but warm, a rare indulgence in a world that had tried to strip them of such things.

"Still got it," Mike murmured against her lips, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Emma rolled her eyes, playfully shoving his arm. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here you are."

She huffed but didn’t move away, choosing instead to rest her head against him once more.

Tyler stood near where Aiden was sitting, his plate in one hand while he leaned lazily against the wall, eyes skimming over the room.

Aiden sat cross-legged on the ground, absentmindedly tapping his fork against his knee between bites, his gaze drifting across the flickering candlelit scene.

The others were chatting, laughing, indulging in the rare warmth of peace that felt almost foreign in this world. Even the air seemed lighter, carrying the gentle hum of conversations instead of the usual thick weight of survival.

“Look at them, all happy and full,” Aiden mused, voice light with humor. “It’s almost like we’re not one infection away from turning into the walking dead.” He scooped up another bite of food, barely looking at him as he said it.

Tyler huffed. “Gotta take the good moments when you can, even if they’re temporary.”

Aiden grinned. “Oh? So you do have a heart under all that brooding.” He gave Tyler a mockingly surprised look. “Color me impressed.”

“Eat your damn food,” Tyler muttered, shaking his head, but Aiden caught the ghost of amusement that flickered in his eyes.

“What about you? I don’t see you partaking in the festivities,” Aiden pressed, tilting his head. “Did someone steal your favorite spot by the wall or something?”

Tyler exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. “I’m fine right here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just say you enjoy my company, I won’t tell anyone,” Aiden teased with a smirk.

Tyler rolled his eyes, but then, after a pause, his expression shifted. More serious, like something weighed on him. He glanced down at his plate, picking at his food. “Look, about earlier… what I said to you, I shouldn’t have.”

Aiden blinked, taken aback for a fraction of a second before his usual smirk found its way back. “Oh? Which part? The part where you accused me of intentionally trying to get us killed, or the part where you looked at me like I was the biggest pain in your ass?” He rested his chin on his hand, giving Tyler an expectant look.

Tyler sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Both, I guess. I just… The fear, and all. I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion.”

Aiden opened his mouth to wave it off, ready to say his usual, "It’s okay," but before he could, a small voice called out his name.

“Aiden! Tyler!”

They both turned just in time to see Octavia running toward them, tiny feet barely making a sound on the floor as she clutched something in her hands.

She skidded to a stop in front of them, giggling as she held up her creation—sticks, twisted and arranged until they formed rough, human-like shapes.

“Look! It’s you two!” she chirped proudly.

Aiden took one look at the sticks and immediately burst into laughter. One of them, clearly meant to be him, had an exaggerated twisted smile, while the other, unmistakably Tyler, was all frowning and grumpy.

“Wow, octopus, you really captured Tyler’s essence here,” Aiden said between chuckles, holding up the grumpy-faced stick. “So realistic. Almost uncanny.”

Tyler gave him a dry look before turning his attention to Octavia, who was still beaming at them with wide, expectant eyes. He crouched down to her level, carefully taking the sticks from her hands.

“I love it, O, it's very pretty” he said, his voice softer, less gruff.

Octavia giggled, clearly delighted, before turning on her heel and sprinting back to her mother, no doubt to tell her how much they loved it.

Silence stretched between Aiden and Tyler for a moment, the warm glow of the candles flickering against their faces.

Aiden turned the sticks between his fingers, still amused, but something in his expression faltered slightly, the edges of his usual smirk thinning into something quieter.

“Hey,” he muttered after a beat, not really sure what he was even trying to say.

At the exact same time, Tyler spoke. “I should check on Taylor.”

Aiden’s smile was already there before he forced it wider. He brushed off the moment with an easy shrug. “Yeah, all good.”

Tyler hesitated for half a second, then nodded before heading off toward Taylor.

Aiden exhaled through his nose, rolling the sticks between his fingers once more before tucking them away in his pocket.

VII.

The soft murmur of conversations had long since died down, leaving only the occasional flicker of candlelight and the rhythmic sound of shallow breathing from those who had already surrendered to exhaustion.

The air inside the prison block was heavy, thick with the scent of burning wax, sweat, and something more intangible—the lingering remnants of a day packed with moments that refused to let Aiden's mind rest.

Jessica sat beside him, her arms resting on her knees, the dim glow casting soft shadows across her face.

She had been watching him for a while now, noticing the way his fingers fidgeted absentmindedly with the hem of his sleeve, the way his jaw clenched every time his thoughts seemed to pull him somewhere he didn't want to be.

"Alright," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper but firm enough to break the silence between them. "Talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Aiden exhaled, shaking his head slightly as if that would loosen the knot in his chest. "Nothing."

Jessica arched a brow. "Bullshit."

He scoffed, a quiet, breathy laugh escaping him as he rubbed at his face. "You ever have something just... sit in your brain? Like, it’s not screaming at you, not begging for attention, but it’s just... there. Clawing at the walls of your skull, waiting for you to actually acknowledge it?"

Jessica nodded, watching him carefully. "Yeah. And when I finally acknowledge it, I usually find it's something I should've talked about sooner."

Aiden huffed another laugh, but it lacked humor this time. His fingers toyed with the strap of his wristband, the leather worn and familiar under his touch.

He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been gripping it until he forced himself to relax his hand.

"It's about Tyler, isn't it?" Jessica asked gently.

Aiden stiffened, his entire body going unnaturally still. He had expected her to dance around the topic, to wait for him to say something first, but Jessica had never been the type to waste time on unnecessary pretense.

He swallowed, still staring at his hands.

"Yeah."

Jessica waited, giving him the space to continue at his own pace. She wasn’t going to push—Aiden was already at war with himself, and the last thing he needed was pressure.

Finally, after a long pause, he hesitated before muttering, "We kissed."

The words felt foreign on his tongue, like saying them aloud somehow made them more real. More significant. "Well, more like I kissed him" He corrected himself.

Jessica didn't react at first. She stayed still, letting the weight of the confession settle between them before tilting her head slightly.

"And?" she prompted, her voice unreadable.

Aiden let out a sharp exhale, rubbing his hands down his face before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"And I don’t know why I did it. But I do know. And that’s the worst fucking part." His fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as he let out a humorless chuckle.

"It just... felt right. In the moment, it was like everything else stopped existing, and I didn’t have to think. Just for that one second, I wasn’t—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Jessica studied him for a moment before asking, "Did he push you away?"

Aiden hesitated before slowly lifting his head to glance at her, then shook his head.

Jessica's expression softened into something almost knowing, a gentle smile playing at the edges of her lips. It wasn’t pity, nor was it amusement—it was something warm. Understanding.

Aiden frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," she murmured, though her expression said otherwise. "Just... it's nice to see you letting yourself feel something real."

Aiden scoffed, dropping his head back into his hands. "Real? Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that."

Jessica didn’t argue. She only let out a small hum before standing up, stretching her arms over her head. "Try to get some sleep, okay?"

Aiden didn’t respond, and she didn’t expect him to. She climbed up to the upper bunk, shifting until she found a comfortable spot. But even after she had settled, Aiden remained seated, unmoving, staring at the floor as if willing his thoughts to quiet themselves.

But they didn’t.

His mind was still a battlefield, replaying every moment, every fleeting second of the day. He clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose before finally pushing himself to his feet.

His jacket hung over the edge of his bed, and without thinking, he grabbed it, slipping it on as he let out a long, tired sigh.

Sleep wasn’t coming for him tonight.

Might as well do something with the time.

Aiden moved carefully, his footsteps near soundless against the cold concrete floor. The prison was dark, save for the dim flickers of candlelight casting long shadows on the walls.

The air was thick with the scent of old metal, dust, and the lingering warmth of shared bodies in a confined space.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was making his way toward the cell where the twins resided, but something in him just knew—Tyler wasn’t asleep yet. Somehow, he was just certain of it.

He reached the cell, its entrance half-covered by a curtain they’d set up for privacy. Aiden hesitated only for a second before reaching out, pushing the fabric aside just enough to peek inside.

Sure enough, familiar brown eyes shifted toward him in the dim light, catching his own. Tyler had been staring up at the ceiling, his arms folded behind his head, but at Aiden’s intrusion, he turned his head, arching a tired brow.

“Y’know,” Tyler whispered, voice low enough not to disturb Logan on the other side of the cell, “I was actually hoping for a walker instead of you.”

Aiden smirked, resting his arm against the cell door. “Sorry to disappoint, princess.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, shifting to sit up. “What do you want?”

Aiden tilted his head slightly, glancing over his shoulder before flicking his chin toward the hallway. “C’mon.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes in mild suspicion, but Aiden caught the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides.

Less surprisingly than Aiden expected, Tyler sighed heavily but still swung his legs over the side of the bed. “This better not be some dumbass plan to lure me into a jumpscare,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face before standing.

Aiden let a slow grin tug at his lips as he stepped back, waiting for Tyler to slip through the curtain before they moved into the hallway together, the silence of the sleeping prison settling heavily around them.

“You really think I’d go through all that trouble just to scare you?” Aiden asked in mock offense as they walked.

Tyler scoffed, side-eyeing him. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Aiden let out a quiet chuckle, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket as they wandered further away from the occupied cells.

The air was cooler here, away from the collective heat of so many people sharing a space.

He glanced at Tyler, who was rubbing at the back of his neck, clearly still on edge despite his easy sarcasm.

“So, why aren’t you asleep?” Aiden asked after a beat, voice softer than before.

Tyler exhaled sharply, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling before muttering, “Dunno. Just... thinking, I guess.”

Aiden hummed in understanding. “Yeah. Me too.”

He glanced at him, expression unreadable in the dim light. “Thinking about what?”

Aiden hesitated for just a second too long before shrugging. “Stuff.”

Tyler snorted. “Wow. Deep.”

Aiden huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Shut up.”

They kept walking, their pace slow, steps quiet. Neither of them was quite ready to say what they really wanted to. But for now, just being there, away from the others, away from the weight of everything—was enough.

The night was cool, the red hue of the sky deepening as Aiden turned to Tyler, fists raised, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. “Fight me.”

Tyler barely raised a brow, arms crossed over his chest, unimpressed. “Yeah. No.”

Aiden took a step forward, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his smile unwavering. “Come on, just a little spar. Get our minds off of things. Let loose. It'll be fun.”

“Your definition of fun needs serious reevaluation.” Tyler sighed, shaking his head. “Also, what is this, some kind of cliche training montage moment? Are we about to bond over throwing punches? You wanna throw in some heartfelt confessions while we’re at it?”

Aiden scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Nah, that’s for after you get your ass handed to you.”

Tyler huffed out a laugh, but Aiden could see the way his fingers twitched, the way his muscles were already bracing for impact. “Right. And how exactly do you think that’s gonna happen?”

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” Aiden barely gave warning before lunging, aiming a quick jab toward Tyler’s ribs.

Tyler blocked it with ease, shoving him back. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Aiden spun with the momentum, aiming a kick that Tyler sidestepped at the last second. “You love me. You’re just in denial.”

Tyler scoffed, grabbing Aiden’s wrist mid-swing and twisting just enough to throw him off balance. “You really have a death wish, huh?”

Aiden grinned, even as he barely caught himself from tumbling face-first into the dirt. “I like to think of it as living life to the fullest.”

They moved in tandem, Tyler relying on his raw strength and precision while Aiden twisted and turned like an unpredictable force of nature, throwing in wild feints and unorthodox strikes.

Aiden ducked a punch, using Tyler’s momentum to grab onto his arm and attempt to flip him over his shoulder, but Tyler was heavier, more grounded.

He shifted his weight last second and sent Aiden sprawling onto his back with a hard thud.

Aiden groaned, blinking up at the stars. “Okay, that was kinda hot.”

Tyler snorted. “Shut up.”

Aiden didn’t shut up. He rolled to his feet, brushing dirt off his clothes, and charged again, weaving through Tyler’s defenses with quick, unpredictable jabs and kicks.

He was fast, but Tyler was patient, calculated, waiting for an opening. The moment Aiden overreached, Tyler grabbed him by the collar and used the momentum to shove him down again.

Aiden hit the ground with an oof, coughing out a laugh. “Damn, I think I felt my soul leave my body for a second there.”

Tyler exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he offered a hand. “Had enough, or are you actually aiming for a concussion tonight?”

Aiden grinned, but instead of taking the offered hand, he grabbed Tyler’s wrist and yanked him forward, making him stumble. Aiden used the moment to twist his legs around Tyler’s ankle, sweeping him off balance. Tyler barely caught himself before falling, shoving Aiden off with a grunt.

“Cheap shot.”

Aiden beamed. “And yet, you still fell for it.”

Tyler sighed, shaking his head as he finally sat down, stretching a leg out while bending the other up. He rested his arm on his knee, glancing up at the sky.

Aiden, dramatically exhausted, dropped onto his back like a starfish, arms spread out as he heaved a breath.

The stars looked clearer than usual, shining bright against the red glow of the night.

“You’re insane,” Tyler muttered.

“And you need to loosen up,” Aiden replied, closing his eyes for a moment before turning his head slightly to look at him. “You’re actually fun when you’re not all broody and serious.”

Tyler let out a soft, tired laugh. “And you’re tolerable when you’re too tired to talk too much.”

Aiden hummed. “See? We’re making progress.”

Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. Just the kind that let them breathe, let them think, let them exist without the weight of everything pressing down on them for just a little while.

Tyler tilted his head back, exhaling through his nose. “This world doesn’t give us much time to think, does it?”

Aiden glanced at him, something unreadable in his expression beneath his smile. “No. It really doesn’t.”

Tyler clenched his jaw for a second before relaxing it, choosing his next words carefully. But he ended up just parting his lips and closing them again after giving it up.

Aiden smiled, but this time it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It's tiring, but sorta fun."

Tyler didn’t push, and Aiden didn’t elaborate. They just sat there, under a sky that held more questions than answers, making the most of the time they had.

Chapter Text

I.

Ben sat on the thin mattress of his cell bed, his back against the cold cement wall, the dim candlelight flickering in the corner of the room.

His fingers traced over the pages of a worn-out book, one he had read more times than he could count, but the familiarity brought him comfort in a world that had stripped so much away.

He barely heard the soft footsteps approaching until Taylor's silhouette darkened the entrance.

"Hey," she greeted, her voice light, though it carried an undertone of something softer, something careful.

She knocked twice on the metal frame of his cell as if asking permission before stepping inside. Ben lifted his gaze from the pages, his dark eyes watching her for a moment before he gave a small nod, welcoming her presence.

She sat down beside him without waiting for an invitation, her back resting against the same wall, pulling her knees up slightly. "How’ve you been holding up?" she asked, tilting her head toward him.

Ben paused, lowering the book onto his lap before he raised his hands, his fingers moving fluidly as he signed. Same as always. You?

Taylor huffed out a small chuckle, shaking her head. "I mean, yeah. Same, I guess. Just figured I’d check in on you, after maybe going for everyone else too.” She chuckled at how odd she sounded. “Just to make sure you're not turning into some book hermit or something."

Ben rolled his eyes playfully at that before replying, could be worse. Could be actually talking to people.

Taylor laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Ouch, way to remind me how annoying I am. But hey, you put up with me, so that says something."

Ben smirked, shaking his head before his brow furrowed slightly when Taylor pulled something out of her pocket. A bracelet, woven with various colors, slightly rough around the edges, but clearly made with care. She held it out to him, palm open.

"Made this for you," she said, her voice quieter now, more sincere. "Had some stuff left from back at the graveyard, figured—why not?" She rubbed the back of her neck before continuing, her tone turning lighter again as she gestured toward the bracelet. "Each color means something."

Ben took it carefully, running his fingers over the small beads woven between the threads. He glanced at her, tilting his head slightly in question.

Taylor pointed as she explained. "That grey one? That’s you. Logan’s blue, Ashlyn’s green, Aiden’s red—because obviously, that guy’s all fire and chaos. The orange-browny ones, that’s me and Tyler. And these black beads here..." She trailed off for a second, then exhaled. "They’re for the Phantoms. The ones that won’t let go of us."

Ben traced over the dark beads, his expression unreadable for a moment before he nodded. It's nice, he signed, looking back at her. Thank you.

Taylor grinned, leaning her head against the wall. "Figured we should have something that ties us all together, you know? Just in case you ever feel like you’re dealing with all this shit alone."

Ben huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head before signing again. I know I'm not alone.

She nudged him again. "Good."

They sat there in a comfortable silence for a moment before Taylor spoke up again, her voice shifting to something more casual. "So, what’s this one about?" She gestured toward his book, her curiosity flickering through her words.

Ben hesitated before flipping it around to show her the cover, his lips twitching slightly. Another post-apocalyptic novel.

Taylor snorted. "Wow, because we don’t get enough of that in real life?"

Ben smirked, nodding as he signed, Reality check. Maybe this book has a happy ending.

Taylor sighed dramatically. "Well, if that’s the case, you better let me know how it turns out. Could use some false hope."

Ben chuckled silently, then reached for his wrist, carefully fastening the bracelet around it. He twisted his hand, watching the colors shift in the candlelight. There was something grounding about it, about the thought that went into it.

Taylor smiled, watching him before leaning back fully. "It suits you."

Ben glanced at her, then signed, You think everything suits me.

Taylor feigned deep thought before grinning. "Well, yeah. But I'm right, so."

Ben rolled his eyes, but the small, rare smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. 

The hallway stretched ahead of them, dimly illuminated by the flickering candlelight stationed at intervals along the walls.

Shadows stretched and curled across the cracked floors as Ashlyn and Logan walked side by side, their footfalls muted against the dust-laden concrete.

The air was stale, carrying with it the scent of rust, dampness, and the lingering presence of something long abandoned.

Ashlyn exhaled sharply through her nose, arms crossed over her chest as she turned to Logan. "We haven't really talked about it, but... does it make any sense to you? The way they just—disappeared?"

Logan hummed in thought, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You mean the phantoms vanishing and the walkers taking their place?" He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he considered.

"I assumed no one wished to bring up discussion regarding it. It’s strange. Almost like a transition. The phantoms were tied to us, to the people they haunted. But walkers? They don't have ties. They just exist, like an infection spreading without a host anymore."

Ashlyn furrowed her brows, the weight of his words settling in the pit of her stomach. "So you’re saying... whatever was keeping them here is just gone? But then why the sudden influx of walkers?"

Logan adjusted the bracelet on his wrist absentmindedly, the beads cool against his skin.

The interwoven colors stood out under the candlelight—the red, green, blue, grey, orange-brown, and the stark black and white beads in between.

Taylor’s handiwork, a reminder of who they were, who they had left, and what still haunted them.

"Maybe nothing changed," he murmured. "Maybe the phantoms were never meant to last. Maybe they were just remnants, echoes, and now that they’ve faded, the world is filling in the gaps with something worse."

Ashlyn let out a low breath, shaking her head. "You might be onto something. This whole thing, it just..." She trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck before suddenly pausing mid-step, losing herself in thought as she moved a finger in front of her. Then pointing it at Logan as she tilted her head. "We should leave and figure this out"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "And go where, exactly?"

She turned fully to face him now, determination set in the lines of her face. "The camping car. We can use it. Take a trip outside the city, figure out what’s going on beyond these walls. If the phantoms are really gone and the walkers are taking over, we need to know if it's just here or everywhere."

Logan regarded her carefully, the gears turning in his head. "Another scouting mission. That makes sense. But where would we even go?"

Ashlyn hesitated for only a moment before answering, "Savannah."

Logan blinked at her, then scoffed. "Savannah? Are you sure about that idea Ash?"

She shrugged, but there was something tight in the way she did it, something hesitant. "We never got to go again. And maybe it's stupid, maybe it's just me holding onto something that doesn't matter anymore, but if we have to go anywhere, why not there? At least we’d know what we were looking for beforehand.”

A flicker of something crossed Logan’s expression. Maybe it was nostalgia, maybe it was regret. "The Sorrel-Weed House."

Ashlyn barely suppressed the shiver that ran down her spine at the mention of it. That place had been an obsession for them, back when they thought ghosts were the scariest things in the world.

Back when they didn’t know what real horrors were lurking just beyond the veil of normal life.

She forced herself to nod. "Yeah."

Logan studied her for a moment before sighing. "Alright. But we run it by the others first. We’re not making another stupid decision on our own."

Ashlyn smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "Since when do we ever make stupid decisions?"

Logan raised his head, muttering, "I don’t even know where to start."

As they continued down the hallway, their bracelets clinking lightly against their wrists with each movement, the weight of the conversation lingered between them.

II.

The group gathered in the main hall of the prison block, some sitting on the floor while others leaned against the cold, steel walls.

The flickering light from a single lantern cast elongated shadows across the space, making the conversation feel heavier than it already was.

Ashlyn stood at the center, her arms crossed, scanning the familiar faces of those she had fought beside for what felt like a lifetime.

“Alright,” she started, exhaling as she placed her hands on her hips. “We all know the phantoms have disappeared, and in their place, the dead keep swarming in greater numbers. This place is safe, for now, but we need to understand what's going on." She took a slow breath in, evenly letting it out before letting go of her hips, "That’s why I think it’s time we take a trip out of here.”

A murmur rippled through the group. Logan, who had been standing next to her, nodded. “We never got to Savannah like we originally planned. The last time we wanted, everything went to hell before we even got back to our world like we should have.” His voice was steady, calculated. “But now, with the camping car and the supplies we have, we might just make it.”

Mike let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a long way to go,” he said, skepticism laced in his tone. “Are you kids sure about this? I mean, leaving this far behind? We built something here, something solid.”

Ashlyn didn’t hesitate to nod. “Yes. I am sure. And I know it’s a risk, but if we don’t start making moves, we’ll just be sitting ducks waiting for the next disaster.”

There was silence for a moment, but then Taylor stepped forward, standing beside her. “Then we go,” she said simply.

One by one, the others followed suit. Aiden was next, lazily rolling his shoulders with a smirk. “Well, hell, I’m always down for a road trip. And, let’s be honest, what better way to bond than getting stranded out in the middle of nowhere together?" His eyes flicked towards Tyler, though only for a split second before looking away. “Like the old days, right?”

Ben gave a small nod from his spot on the floor, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the bracelet around his wrist. Logan smirked slightly. “Well, when you put it like that, it almost sounds fun.”

Tyler, standing towards the back, hesitated. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his jaw clenched.

He had barely spoken to Aiden in the past few days, and though there had been multiple opportunities, neither of them had made the move to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. 

Aiden had tried, at first, but with each half-hearted response, each moment of hesitation from Tyler, he had slowly given up.

Still, when Tyler exhaled sharply and finally stepped forward, standing beside the others, he met Ashlyn’s gaze and nodded. “Fine. If you’re doing it, I’m in.”

Aiden made no remark. Not a sarcastic joke, not an annoying comment. He only hummed under his breath and turned back to Ashlyn, as if nothing had happened at all.

The plan was set.

Everyone moved with a purpose, gathering the necessary supplies, loading the camping car, making sure they were as prepared as they could be. The energy in the air was tense, but there was also an undercurrent of something else—determination, maybe even hope.

Jessica found Aiden as he carried a crate of supplies to the vehicle, her gaze warm yet firm.

“Aiden,” she called softly, making him pause just before stepping onto the stairs of the camping car. He turned to her, one brow raised.

“Hm? What’s up, mom?”

Jessica stepped closer, lowering her voice just slightly. “When you get back from this scout, you and I… we should talk.”

Aiden blinked at her, head tilting slightly. “Talk?”

Jessica smiled, but there was something more in it, something deeper. “About us. About the past. About what we lost, and what we can still fix.”

For the first time in a long time, Aiden's smile almost faltered. Almost. But he caught himself before it could slip. Instead, he carefully set the crate down on the step and turned back to her, his usual expression of nonchalance returning.

“Yeah,” he said, dusting his shirt off to mask how his voice came out softer than usual. “Yeah, alright.”

Jessica reached out, fingers running through his hair before her touch slid down to his cheek. She lingered just for a second before pulling away, turning back towards the main yard and disappearing inside.

Aiden exhaled, shaking his head with a small chuckle. He picked the crate back up and hauled it into the vehicle, his mind now buzzing with a hundred different thoughts, yet none he was willing to let himself dwell on just yet.

He adjusted his grip on the heavy bag, muscles straining as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder, the weight pressing down harder than he had anticipated. A soft grunt escaped his lips, but he powered through it, taking a step forward toward the camping car when he heard footsteps approaching from behind.

"Need a hand with that?" Tyler’s voice came, casual yet expectant, like he was waiting for the usual banter Aiden would throw his way.

For a second, Aiden hesitated. Normally, he’d toss back something snarky, a playful jab about how Tyler’s scrawny ass wouldn’t be much help anyway or how he had the strength of a noodle. But today, something about it felt... off.

The weight pressing on his shoulders wasn’t just from the bag—it was from the thick, awkward silence that had settled between them these past few days. The kind that wasn’t filled with their usual teasing or mindless arguments but with something heavier, something unspoken that had started to fester.

So instead of his usual grin, Aiden only mustered a short, half-hearted, "I got it," before setting the bag back down on the stairs leading up to the vehicle, patting the dust off his hands, and walking off to Taylor without another glance at him.

Tyler stood there, his hand still slightly raised in mid-offer before slowly letting it drop to his side. His jaw tightened, a mixture of frustration and something else creeping up his spine.

He wasn't missing a brain—he could tell that Aiden was doing this on purpose, brushing past him like they hadn’t spent nearly every second together surviving hell itself.

The distance Aiden was putting between them now stung more than it should have, and the worst part was that Tyler knew exactly why it was happening. He just didn’t know how to fix it.

A light tap on his shoulder made him blink, snapping him out of his thoughts. When he turned, Ben was standing there, his expression neutral but eyes curious as he signed a question.

Something up with you two?

Tyler inhaled deeply, running the back of his wrist under the bridge of his nose before exhaling sharply. His hands found his hips as he looked down at the grass, kicking at a stray rock like it held the answer he was looking for.

He rolled his shoulders back before finally answering, gesturing vaguely in the air with one hand. "Just Aiden and me stuff, y’know."

Ben raised a brow, unimpressed. No, I don’t know.

Tyler huffed a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, well… neither do I." He glanced over at Aiden in the distance, watching him casually walk up to Taylor, his posture relaxed, as if nothing was out of place.

And yet, Tyler could see it—how Aiden barely held her gaze for long, that now less forced, coded smile he gave her.

Ben followed his line of sight, observing the interaction silently before giving a small nod, as if he understood more than he let on.

He didn’t press further. Instead, he simply patted Tyler’s arm once before heading off, stepping in to help Ashlyn, who was carrying an armful of blankets that she stubbornly insisted on bringing along.

Tyler exhaled and turned back toward Aiden and Taylor, catching her wave as she noticed him watching. He forced a small wave back, though his attention was still lingering on the way Aiden barely acknowledged him, barely met his eyes. It was weird. No—it was more than weird. It was wrong.

The way Aiden had looked at him that night under the stars, the way his voice had softened when he had spoken, the way they had always been able to joke and fight and exist without this awful tension between them—it had all been real.

But now, all that was left was this unsettling quiet that settled in the spaces where their words used to be.

Tyler frowned, gripping the strap of his bag tighter. He had thought pulling away would make things easier, that it would keep the awkwardness at bay, but instead, it had only made the cracks between them deeper.

And now, standing there watching Aiden walk further and further from him, Tyler realized he had no idea how to bridge that gap again.

III.

The trip was quiet, almost unnervingly so.

The soft hum of the tires against the cracked pavement was the only sound filling the space beyond the occasional rustle of movement or the low voices of conversation.

Ashlyn had taken the wheel, her hands steady on it, her expression focused as her sharp eyes scanned the road ahead.

Logan sat beside her, his fingers tracing over the new map they had scavenged weeks ago, his brows furrowed as he followed the roads and landmarks, murmuring little confirmations to himself.

“There should be a fork up ahead,” Logan said, his voice breaking the silence.

Ashlyn barely spared him a glance, nodding. “Yeah, I see it.”

He tapped the paper lightly. “If we keep right, we’ll be on the highway for a bit before we reach the next town.” He glanced at the fuel gauge, then back at her. “We should have enough gas, but we might need to stop before nightfall if we push through.”

Ashlyn sighed through her nose, shifting her grip on the wheel. “We’ll see where we are by then. If it’s too risky, we stop. No unnecessary risks.”

“Agreed.” Logan traced a few more lines on the map, then leaned back against his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

At the small table inside the camping car, Aiden, Taylor, and Ben sat with a worn deck of playing cards spread between them, shuffled and dealt with lazy precision.

Cushions were stacked around them, creating a makeshift area of comfort against the rattling vehicle.

Aiden tapped his fingers against his knee, a sly smirk tugging at his lips as he lifted his cards to glance at them.

“You suck at bluffing,” he told Taylor, who scoffed dramatically in response.

“I do not.”

Ben tapped his fingers against the table, the silent motion paired with a deadpan expression.

“You absolutely do,” Aiden translated with a chuckle, watching as Taylor rolled her eyes but still cracked a smile.

“Well, excuse me for having a soul,” she shot back, placing down a card with confidence, only for Aiden to immediately counter it, earning a groan from her.

Ben shook his head, suppressing a grin as he placed his own move, cool and collected.

“You guys are insufferable,” Tyler muttered from where he sat on the opposite cushion, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the blurred landscape pass by.

Only a handful of lone walkers roamed the roads, too scattered and too slow to pose a threat as they trudged aimlessly, their rotted forms swaying in the wind.

Tyler wasn’t looking at them, not really. His mind had drifted far from the vehicle, from the trip itself, from the voices that mixed with the low rumble of the engine.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, his thoughts tangling and untangling themselves, shifting from one image to another, never quite settling on one thing.

The movement of the mattress beside him pulled him out of it, his head jerking up slightly. He turned his gaze to Taylor as she settled down next to him, crossing her legs, her body shifting slightly with the movement of the vehicle.

For a moment, they sat in silence. Just the two of them. It felt strangely foreign. Like something that belonged to another lifetime. 

Like the world had taken that simple ability from them and was only now, hesitantly, giving it back.

“You’re brooding again,” Taylor eventually broke the silence, her voice teasing but gentle.

Tyler scoffed, turning his head away. “I don’t brood.”

“Uh-huh,” she hummed, clearly unconvinced. She reached out without thinking, ruffling his hair, making him groan and lean away, batting at her hand.

“Quit it,” he muttered.

Taylor laughed softly but relented, her hand dropping back to her lap. “Your hair’s a mess anyway,” she pointed out, then added, “You noticed mine though.”

Tyler blinked, realizing what she meant as he studied her hair. Instead of her usual ponytail, it was pulled up into a high bun, strands framing her face. He tilted his head.

“Didn’t expect a change,” he said, not entirely sure if it was a compliment or just an observation.

Taylor bit the edge of her nail, seeming thoughtful for a moment before speaking. “Ashlyn and I talked about hairstyles once,” she admitted, eyes flickering to the front where Ashlyn was still focused on the road. 

“I told her I liked how she looked in a ponytail. She said she liked it when I had my hair in a bun.” She shrugged, glancing at Tyler. “So, I figured I’d try it out again.”

There was something so simple, yet so telling, about the way she said it. Something in the way her voice softened slightly, in the way she didn’t quite meet his gaze.

Tyler snorted, the corners of his lips twitching up. “You’re whipped,” he teased.

Taylor rolled her eyes but smiled. “Cállate,” she said, shoving his shoulder playfully.

He chuckled, leaning back against the cushions. He didn’t say anything else, but the air between them felt a little lighter, a little less suffocating.

The road stretched on ahead of them, uncertain and endless, but in that moment, it didn’t seem quite as heavy on their shoulders as it usually did.

Aiden groaned, dragging the sound out dramatically as he let his head loll backward over the edge of the couch, arms flopping lifelessly to his sides.

His feet pressed up against the window, the cool glass grounding him as he stared at the world upside down. “This is rigged,” he muttered, voice dripping with exaggerated defeat. “You’re cheating, Ben. There’s no way I lost again.”

Ben simply smirked, stacking his cards neatly before tapping his fingers against them in a satisfied rhythm. He didn’t need words—his victory spoke for itself.

Taylor, sitting cross-legged on the cushion front of him, shook her head with a chuckle. “Face it, Aiden, you suck at this game.”

Aiden waved a dismissive hand in the air. “I suck at nothing. I am an unstoppable force of nature.” He shifted, making himself even more absurdly sprawled out, eyes rolling back as if he were on the verge of death.

Tyler, who had been leaning against the opposite window, watching the darkened landscape roll past, finally glanced over.

“You keep laying like that and all the blood’s gonna rush to your head. And we really don’t need you getting any dumber than you already are.”

Aiden flipped a hand toward him lazily, as if swatting away an annoying insect. “Your concern for my well-being is touching, really.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he rolled sideways, stretching himself out along the length of the couch, his back now facing them. “I think I’ll take a nap. Wake me up when the world is less cruel.”

Taylor and Ben exchanged a look. A single moment of silent understanding passed between them before they both turned toward Tyler in perfect synchronization, staring at him with thinly veiled disapproval.

Tyler blinked, his gaze shifting between the two of them before scoffing in irritation. “Oh, come on.” He clicked his tongue, pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off an oncoming headache. “It’s Aiden. He’ll come around. He always does.”

Taylor let out a quiet sigh, her fingers absentmindedly twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. Ben tapped against his deck of cards, but neither of them said anything. The unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

On the other hand, Aiden, lying still with his back to them, tightened his grip around the toy shark he had brought along.

The fabric was worn, soft from years of being handled, and his fingers dug into it with an unconscious desperation.

He could feel the ghost of his usual smile lingering on his face, but in this position—hidden, unseen—he let it slip away.

His face ached.

It had never felt like something he had to try at, not with Tyler. The laughter, the ease, the stupid banter—it had all come naturally, a current he could float along without thinking.

But now… now, it felt like they were drifting back to being strangers. Like all the years of knowing each other had started unraveling thread by thread, leaving something unfamiliar in its place.

And for the first time, Aiden regretted kissing him that night.

He shut his eyes, exhaling softly through his nose, trying to push the thought away. Instead, he let his mind wander to something else—something that had settled in his chest like a quiet ember, warm and persistent.

His mother. The hesitant way she had spoken to him, the way her fingers had brushed through his hair with such gentle deliberation.

She had talked about fixing things, about making up for lost time. And that was something worth holding onto.

So, he let himself focus on that. On the flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—some things could be repaired.

IV.

The engine gave a soft grumble before quieting completely, leaving only the faint hum of the wind against the vehicle.

The gas station stood in eerie silence before them, abandoned yet steeped in a forgotten history, its once-bright signage now cracked and faded beneath layers of dust and grime. 

A long, sprawling forest stretched out in the other direction, its trees blackened by time, their twisted limbs clawing at the red sky as if reaching for salvation.

The underbrush was thick with shadows, the red-tinged light of the evening giving it an almost otherworldly glow, as if the trees were bleeding secrets into the night.

Ashlyn exhaled, rolling her shoulders back before cutting the engine. She turned to the group, tossing a couple of flashlights toward them.

“Logan, Ben—you two stay here, keep watch. Ben, see if you can get some fuel so we can actually get this thing moving again.”

Logan gave a two-finger salute while Ben nodded, already scanning the dim surroundings for any signs of movement. The rest of them stepped out, crunching gravel underfoot as they made their way to the entrance of the station.

The door had been left slightly ajar, swinging with an unsettling creak when Ashlyn pushed it open further. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and mold.

They moved in pairs, sweeping their flashlights across the rows of empty shelves.

Shadows danced against the walls, stretching and shifting with every movement.

Taylor followed close behind Ashlyn, while Aiden and Tyler were left to their own devices.

Aiden tossed a grin toward Tyler, nudging him with his elbow. “Ah, alone at last. It’s almost romantic.”

Tyler didn’t spare him a glance. “I swear, if you start playing footsie with me while we scavenge, I’m leaving you to die in here.”

“Oh, so now we’re acknowledging my existence again?” Aiden dramatically placed a hand over his chest. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about little ol’ me.”

Tyler shot him a glare. “Keep talking and I’ll forget on purpose.”

Aiden smirked, flashing his light over a nearby shelf as he dug through what little remained.

A few expired cans, some crushed snack bags, a bottle of questionable-looking water. He shrugged, tossing the least offensive-looking items into his bag.

Tyler did the same on the opposite side, though his focus remained sharp, his ears trained for any sound out of place.

They moved further in, their boots scuffing softly against the tile. The deeper they went, the heavier the air felt, as if the building itself was suffocating under years of neglect.

Then, at the very back, they came across a door—metal, thick, and sealed tight. The placard that once labeled it had long since been worn away, leaving only the faintest outlines of letters that had been lost to time.

Aiden tested the handle, but it didn’t budge. “Huh. Locked.”

Tyler’s eyes flicked upward, landing on a small, open window just above them. He exhaled sharply before nodding toward it. “That’s our way in.”

Aiden followed his gaze, then groaned. “Oh, great. Love a good impromptu climbing session.”

Tyler didn’t wait for further complaints. He stepped against the wall, cupping his hands together and giving Aiden a pointed look. “C’mon. I’m not standing here all night.”

Aiden waggled his brows. “How romantic.”

“Shut up and climb before I drop your ass.”

Aiden grinned as he placed his hands against the wall, steadying himself before stepping onto Tyler’s interlocked hands.

He adjusted his weight, bracing against the wall as Tyler hoisted him upward. The brunette’s grip was strong, steady, and Aiden had to give him credit for that—not that he’d say it out loud.

“Y’know,” Aiden started, grabbing the edge of the window frame. “For someone who supposedly hates my guts, you sure are eager to get your hands on me.”

Tyler sighed through his nose, his patience thinning. “You’re seconds away from hitting the ground face-first.”

Aiden snorted but didn’t push his luck further. He twisted his body, wriggling through the open window until he disappeared inside.

Tyler waited, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as the silence dragged on longer than it should have.

“…Aiden?”

Nothing.

His jaw clenched, the familiar sting of worry creeping up his spine despite himself. He called his name again, voice lower this time. Still nothing.

His hand hovered near the knife at his hip. Just as he was about to call out again, the door in front of him rattled, a loud metallic clunk echoing through the quiet.

Then, finally, the door creaked open, revealing Aiden standing there with an entirely too proud grin. “Ta-da! Turns out, the only real treasure in there was a stack of old Pokémon BDs and a serious dust allergy.”

Tyler scoffed, running a hand down his face. “You’re a damn idiot.”

“I like to think of it as ‘resourcefully fearless.’” Aiden’s grin widened as he fell into step beside Tyler again. “Admit it. You were worried about me.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, turning back toward the main aisles. “Worried you’d do something stupid? Yeah.”

Aiden chuckled, undeterred, practically bouncing at his side. “Aw, I knew you cared.”

“Shut up before I lock you back in there.”

(Third threat of the night.)

Aiden just laughed, clearly determined to get under Tyler’s skin for the rest of the night.

Tyler, on the other hand, was already questioning why he hadn’t left Aiden inside that damn room in the first place.

Knowing the answer all too well as the rush of his heartbeat eased out.

While Tyler disappeared behind another row of shelves, Aiden reached through the gap in the old, dust-caked one, fingers stretching toward a half-filled bottle of water just out of reach. 

The dim glow of his flashlight cast long shadows, exaggerating the depth of the space between the stocked rows.

His fingertips grazed the plastic when, suddenly, something latched onto his wrist with a force that sent a jolt of panic through his spine.

The grip was cold, fingers like iron, nails digging into his skin with a grotesque strength. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, a sharp, instinctive jerk backward.

The movement sent the entire shelf wobbling, the weight shifting precariously. Then, with a deafening crash, the whole thing came toppling over him, metal screeching against linoleum.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs as he landed hard, trapped beneath the weight, dust and debris raining over him. 

Above him, through the narrow gap between the shelves, a walker’s gnarled face pressed through, lips peeling back to reveal rows of blackened teeth, snapping desperately at the air between them.

“Shit—!” Aiden gritted out, trying to wiggle free. His hands scrambled against the floor, trying to gain leverage, but the shelf had pinned his right ankle at an awkward angle. 

A sharp pain shot up his leg every time he tried to shift, his muscles burning from the strain. His knife—where the hell was his knife? It had been in his belt, but the impact must have knocked it loose, leaving it just out of reach.

The walker gurgled, clawing against the opening, its decomposed fingers scratching against metal.

Aiden sucked in a breath, his limbs beginning to shake from the effort of pushing the weight off him. His heart pounded in his ears, the edges of his vision tunneling as adrenaline surged. If he didn't get free soon—

A sickening sound of flesh tearing split through the air, followed by a wet, gurgled choke. The walker jerked violently before collapsing onto the metal shelving, its body sliding bonelessly out of sight.

Aiden barely had time to process before another force yanked the weight off him. Tyler’s face was the first thing he saw as the brunette heaved the shelf off with a grunt, muscles tensing from exertion. 

The moment the weight lifted, Aiden gasped for air, rolling onto his side, lungs burning from the sudden relief. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the tremor in his arms as he tried to push himself up.

Tyler jumped over the fallen mess, crouching beside him, scanning him for injuries with a scrutinizing gaze. “You good?”

Aiden let out a strained laugh, pushing himself onto his elbows. “Oh yeah, fantastic. Just thought I’d take a nap under there.”

Tyler huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you almost became dinner, dumbass.”

Aiden waved a hand dismissively before trying to get to his feet, but the second he put pressure on his right ankle, pain exploded up his leg.

A sickening pop echoed through the space as his knee buckled, and he barely caught himself on the edge of another shelf. He sucked in a sharp breath through gritted teeth. “Oh, that’s—that’s not great.”

Tyler was at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around his back before Aiden could even attempt to shake him off. “Yep, you’re done. C’mon.”

Aiden instinctively tried to push him away, shoving at his shoulder. “I got it, I got it. It’s not that bad.”

Tyler shot him a glare that could have cut through steel. “Oh, really? Go ahead then, walk it off. I’ll wait.”

Aiden opened his mouth, then closed it.

Tyler smirked, satisfied. “That’s what I thought. Now shut up and let me help.”

Aiden groaned, but let himself be pulled up, his arm slung over Tyler’s shoulder as the other boy took most of his weight.

Every few steps, Aiden grumbled something about how unnecessary this was, and every time, Tyler’s grip tightened slightly, his patience thinning.

By the time they reached the front of the store, Tyler was shooting him sharp side glances, his jaw clenched.

Taylor and Ashlyn came around the corner at the noise, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. Taylor’s eyes immediately darted to Aiden’s limping form, her brows pulling together in concern. “What the hell happened?”

Tyler adjusted his grip on Aiden before answering. “Genius here tried to make friends with a walker. Didn’t go well.”

Aiden scoffed, grinning despite the pain. “I wasn’t trying to make friends. I was trying to get some goddamn water.”

“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?” Tyler deadpanned, shifting his weight to keep Aiden from stumbling.

Taylor sighed, stepping closer to get a better look at Aiden’s ankle. “Can you walk at all?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Aiden said, nodding sagely. “Just very badly.”

Ashlyn rolled her eyes. “Alright, enough comedy hour. Let’s get back to the car.”

Aiden let his weight rest against Tyler, still pretending like he wasn’t completely relying on him.

He could feel the tension in Tyler’s frame, the sharp glances he kept throwing his way every time he so much as winced. He would have teased him for it, but something about it made his throat feel tight, so he didn’t.

They stepped outside into the cool night air, the gas station now eerily silent behind them.

Logan and Ben were waiting by the camping car, Logan’s gaze flicking over Aiden before landing on Tyler, who just shook his head in exasperation. Without another word, they got him settled inside, and as the car started back up, Aiden let himself lean against the seat, his ankle throbbing.

Tyler sat across from him, arms crossed, his gaze flicking between Aiden’s and it.

Aiden let out a sigh, tilting his head back. “Well, that was fun.”

Tyler scoffed. “You still have a messed-up idea of fun.”

Aiden smirked, exhaustion seeping into his limbs. “Yeah, well. Keeps things interesting.”

Tyler shook his head, but there was something softer in his gaze now.

V.

Tyler sat cross-legged on the pavement beside the car, the dim light from the gas station barely casting enough glow to illuminate the gauze in his hands.

Aiden's leg was stretched out in front of him, his boot half undone and his sock pushed down to reveal the swollen mess of his ankle.

Tyler had seen worse injuries, but the way Aiden winced every time he applied pressure made it clear—this one wasn’t something to just walk off.

Logan had tossed Tyler a roll of bandages and a small bottle of alcohol before getting back to unloading their scavenged supplies, barely sparing them a glance.

Which was probably for the best because Aiden, as expected, couldn’t sit still for a damn second without running his mouth.

“Oh, come on, Nurse Tyler,” Aiden teased, tilting his head to the side dramatically. “Maybe if you’d put some real effort into this, I’d actually start healing.”

“Yeah? Maybe if you’d stop moving around like an idiot, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.” Tyler didn’t even look up, carefully pressing a soaked piece of cloth against Aiden’s scraped-up skin. Aiden flinched but covered it up with a scoff.

“What, and miss the opportunity to be princess-carried out of danger by you? Hell no. I live for the drama.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, pressing the cloth harder on purpose, earning a half-choked yelp from Aiden.

“Asshole,” Aiden muttered under his breath before shifting, trying to adjust his position.

 His fingers twitched against the metal frame of the car as he let out a long exhale, his usual grin flickering for just a second before coming back full force. “Y’know, if you were just gonna glare at me the whole time, you could’ve let someone else play doctor. Maybe Taylor. She’d at least pretend to be nice.”

“Taylor’s busy,” Tyler shot back, voice flat. “And I don’t glare.”

Aiden snorted. “Right, you just permanently look like someone pissed in your coffee.”

Tyler ignored him, securing the bandage in place. But the tension, the unspoken weight between them, settled in like a thick fog.

Aiden had been dancing around it all night, cracking jokes, keeping things light, waiting for Tyler to do the hard part. And Tyler—well, Tyler had been trying to pretend it didn’t exist at all.

Then Aiden sighed, his usual teasing edge dulling just a bit. “Quit it.”

Tyler paused, fingers stilling over the last wrap of the bandage. “Quit what?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

Aiden let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “You know what, dude. This. Whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing. Ignoring me, treating me like a fucking ghost for days, then suddenly acting like we’re back to normal ‘cause you feel like it?”

His voice stayed light, casual even, but there was an underlying sharpness to it. A truth that cut through Tyler deeper than any knife could.

Tyler exhaled through his nose, tying off the bandage before leaning back on his hands. “If I stop now, your leg’s not gonna heal right,” he said, forcing some semblance of sarcasm into his tone. Anything to deflect.

Aiden gave a humorless chuckle. “Not what I meant.”

Tyler knew that. He fucking knew that.

Aiden pressed his lips together, looking off into the distance for a beat before glancing back at Tyler. “I meant quit pretending like you didn’t freeze me out the second shit got complicated.”

His expression didn’t shift, but his fingers tapped against the metal step of the car like he was trying to keep himself grounded. “I don’t get to be your best friend only when it’s convenient for you.”

Tyler swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Aiden wasn’t wrong. But admitting that, saying it out loud, would mean acknowledging the mess in his own head, and that wasn’t something he was ready for. Hell, he hadn’t even figured it out himself.

The silence stretched.

Tyler sat there, hands clasped together, staring down at his own fingers like they held the answers he was looking for. But they didn’t. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure what to say to him.

Aiden watched him for a moment, something unreadable passing over his face behind the smile. Then he shifted, using the car’s frame to push himself up despite the obvious pain in his leg.

“Where the hell are you going?” Tyler asked, standing instinctively, but Aiden just waved him off with a lazy flick of the wrist.

“Inside.” He didn’t even glance back as he limped toward the door. “Logan can finish up.”

Tyler wanted to call after him. Wanted to tell him to sit his stubborn ass back down, to let him at least finish the damn bandage properly, to say—

Something.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just watched Aiden disappear up the steps, leaving him standing on the ground with his hands clenched into fists and his heart sinking lower than a sinking rock.

The decision to stop for the night had been mutual, exhaustion creeping into their bones after the long stretch of road and the scuffle in the gas station.

Savannah was still miles ahead, and none of them wanted to risk pushing forward into unfamiliar territory with half their senses dulled by fatigue.

Ashlyn had been the one to settle it, standing at the head of the vehicle with her arms crossed, eyes scanning over the dim surroundings before nodding.

"We stay here for the night. We’ll move at first light. No sense driving into the unknown when we're half asleep."

There were a few murmurs of agreement. Taylor had stretched with a yawn, Ben gave a thumbs-up, and Logan was already rolling out blankets onto the floor.

Aiden, on the other hand, had barely reacted. He had crashed onto the couch long before Tyler had even stepped foot inside the car, his exhaustion swallowing him whole the moment his head hit the worn cushions.

The injury didn’t help, either. Though he had been relentless in brushing off the pain, Tyler had seen the way his movements slowed, the slight winces he thought he had hidden, the way he adjusted his posture every few minutes as if trying to relieve pressure from his ankle without being obvious about it.

Tyler didn’t know why his gaze kept gravitating toward him. Maybe it was the way Aiden had curled in on himself, an arm tucked under his head, his shark toy clutched loosely in his grip.

Or maybe it was the words left unsaid between them, the ones that had gotten tangled in the mess of avoidance and sarcasm, lingering in the space they refused to address.

He didn’t get to stare for too long, though. Ashlyn moved past him, draping a blanket over Aiden’s shoulders with the careful touch of someone who had done this before. A fleeting act of care.

Something about it unsettled Tyler, a knot forming low in his stomach. He told himself it was just the atmosphere, the fatigue, the lingering weight of their earlier conversation still pressing down on him like a phantom presence.

He forced himself to push the thought away, rolling his shoulders and making his way toward the makeshift sleeping arrangement on the floor.

Logan and Taylor had already claimed the other couches, leaving Tyler to settle onto the blankets spread across the hard floor. It wasn’t comfortable, but comfort had stopped being a luxury long ago.

He exhaled deeply, shifting to find a position that didn’t leave his spine feeling like it was being realigned by force.

His eyes flickered toward the window, out into the darkness that stretched endlessly beyond them.

The gas station loomed nearby, a silent shell of what it once was, its sign flickering weakly, casting intermittent shadows against the asphalt.

His body ached, his mind heavier than it had been in days, but even as exhaustion clawed at his consciousness, sleep didn’t come easy.

He found himself glancing one last time toward the couch, toward Aiden’s sleeping form, his breathing slow and even. The blanket had slipped slightly, exposing his arm to the night air.

Tyler should have ignored it. He should have turned away, closed his eyes, let sleep take him. But instead, he reached out, barely brushing the fabric of the blanket, adjusting it just enough so it covered him again.

Then, without another word, he lay back down, exhaling as he closed his eyes, forcing himself to stop thinking and sleep.

VI.

The morning was eerily silent, the kind of stillness that only came after too many sleepless nights.

Taylor lay curled beneath her blanket, body sinking into the warmth she had finally managed to trap after hours of tossing and turning.

She mumbled something incoherent when she felt the first nudge against her shoulder, shifting slightly in the cocoon she had wrapped herself in.

It was easy to ignore at first, dismissing it as part of the restless dreams she had been weaving in the fragile grasp of sleep. But then it came again—insistent, deliberate. A tap, followed by a quiet chuckle.

"Taylor," came a hushed voice, one that held both amusement and patience. "Arriba, hermana."

She let out a quiet groan, groggy annoyance threading into her tone as she turned her head slightly, eyes barely cracking open to be met with the sight of her brother crouching beside her.

Tyler’s familiar grin was laced with mischief, his breath visible in the cool morning air. He held out a jacket toward her, shaking it slightly in an unspoken gesture for her to take it.

"Qué quieres?" she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and shifting just enough to prop herself up on one elbow.

"Ven," he whispered, voice soft but persistent. "Tengo algo que mostrarte. Vale la pena, te lo prometo."

She squinted at him, still not fully awake but now intrigued enough to sit up. He had already shrugged into his own jacket, his boots caked with dirt—clear evidence that he had been up long before the rest of them.

The way his dark eyes gleamed under the dim morning light told her this wasn’t just one of his usual distractions. Something about this was important to him.

With a resigned sigh, she swung her legs off the cushion, tugging the jacket over her arms as she followed him out of the camping car.

The moment she stepped outside, she was met with the sky’s eerie shade of red, the way the dawn in this twisted world bled differently than it once had.

It was lighter now, though still unnatural, the way it distinguished itself from the abyss of night. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant decay.

Taylor yawned, stretching her arms overhead as she adjusted to being awake. "You better not have woken me up just to make me stare at trees," she muttered, voice still laced with sleep.

Tyler let out a soft laugh, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he glanced at her with a side smirk. "Confía en mí, you'll like it."

She arched a brow, but there was a flicker of excitement in her chest despite her complaints. She knew him—knew the way he never let exhaustion weigh him down for long, knew how he found solace in the smallest distractions when everything else seemed too heavy.

And now, whatever he had stumbled upon, it had been enough to make him wait for her, to make him want to share it.

As they made their way toward the forest beside them, she noticed how he walked with a lightness that had been absent for days.

His shoulders weren’t as tense, his usual guarded demeanor softened by something she couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t until she saw the way his fingers twitched slightly at his sides—something he always did when he was holding back excitement—that her curiosity truly piqued.

"Did you just wander into the woods alone like a dumbass, or did you actually have a plan?" she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she caught up to his stride.

"If I waited for everyone to wake up, we’d never get anywhere," he shot back smoothly. "Besides, I was careful. And look, I’m not dead, so obviously, it worked out."

Taylor rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Alright, so what did you find that’s so damn important?"

Tyler glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression before he turned his gaze forward again. "Just wait."

And despite herself, despite the exhaustion still clinging to her bones, she found herself eager to see exactly what had been enough to stir this kind of reaction in him.

They moved through the forest with a quiet ease, though every step carried a hushed anticipation. The morning light dripped lazily through the canopy, casting shifting streaks of amber and rust along the damp earth. 

Leaves whispered beneath their steps, the air crisp with the scent of dew and bark. Taylor wrapped the jacket tighter around her, glancing at her brother, who led with a certainty she didn’t question.

Tyler suddenly lifted his hand, fingers stretching outward before curling into a fist, signaling her to slow.

Without thinking, she mirrored him, her heartbeat slowing with her steps. He crouched low, muscles tensed, gaze locked ahead. She did the same, pressing herself closer to the ground, curiosity blooming in her chest.

A few steps forward, they found cover behind a dense bush, its tangled branches offering a natural veil.

Tyler shifted beside her, his breath steady, his eyes alive with something she hadn’t seen in a while—a quiet thrill. He reached over, his palm resting against her back, guiding her upward so she could see what had captured his wonder.

Her breath caught in her throat.

A deer.

It stood in the clearing, bathed in fractured sunlight, its coat a rich, earthy brown, dappled with remnants of the morning’s gold.

Its ears twitched, listening to a world that they were no part of, its dark eyes scanning lazily, unburdened by the horrors they had come to accept as normalcy.

It was beautiful. It was alive. A vision untouched by decay, untainted by the relentless rot that had become their reality. 

Taylor felt something crack open in her chest, something that made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

Her mind flickered, unbidden, to a memory—hands covered in grease, frustration boiling in her veins as she tossed a crude, misshapen robot deer onto the pile of discarded parts.

It had looked nothing like the real thing, and she had hated it. But Tyler had found it, dusted it off, reshaped it until it stood polished and proud, calling it his own when she demanded it be trashed again.

She scoffed in annoyance at the time, but now, staring at the real thing, she understood.

A chuckle slipped through her lips, soft and warm, and she bit down on her lower lip as she glanced up at Tyler. He was already watching her. A small, knowing smile played at his lips.

“You can touch it,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath against the air. He nudged her gently, nodding toward the deer. “Move slow. Keep your hand low at first. Let it come to you.”

Taylor swallowed, nodding. Her fingers curled against her palms before she eased forward, keeping her steps measured, deliberate. Tyler hung back, watching with an amused sort of patience, letting her take the lead.

The deer’s ears flicked up, its head lifting suddenly. Taylor froze, breath shallow, but it didn’t bolt. Instead, it took a hesitant step toward her.

A slow, creeping warmth spread through her chest, a happiness so foreign that it almost felt dangerous.

Her fingers stretched outward, her palm open in offering, a whisper of a smile on her lips. She was close. She could feel the heat of its breath, see the delicate tremble of its whiskers.

Then a gunshot.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, a sound that was part shock, part anguish. Her heart slammed against her ribs, the breath punched clean from her lungs.

Heavy weight hit the ground in a thick, final thud. Blood spilled dark against the forest floor.

“Taylor!”

Chapter Text

I.

Everything happened so fast. The world around Tyler seemed to tilt for a single, disorienting second, the blurred outlines of trees and sky melting into a smear of color before sharp, brutal clarity snapped into place.

His legs moved before his mind could catch up, launching him forward with reckless speed, his breath ragged, barely aware of the way the branches scratched against his arms as he stumbled toward the crumpled body ahead.

"Taylor—Taylor, hey!" His voice broke midway, cracking under the weight of sheer panic. He fell to his knees so fast he barely registered the pain, his trembling hands reaching, grasping, desperate.

He pulled her limp body onto his lap, his fingers instinctively pressing against the wound blooming dark red across her right abdomen, his entire being screaming at him to stop the bleeding, to keep her here—to keep her breathing.

"Come on, come on, open your eyes, you gotta—joder, just wake up, please!" His voice was frantic, a raw, broken plea as he shook her lightly, his fingers smearing crimson across her cheek as he searched for something—anything—some flicker of awareness, a sign that she was still here.

His own breath came in erratic, shallow bursts, his chest heaving, heart slamming against his ribs so violently it felt like it might break through.

Then there were footsteps. The rustle of boots against the damp forest floor. Tyler's entire body went rigid, his hand automatically reaching for the cold metal weight at his hip, fingers curling around the grip of a gun with a white-knuckled hold.

His arm snapped up, his hand trembling but steady enough as he pointed it at the figure standing a few feet away.

A man. Long hair, dark eyes, a rifle strapped across his back. He had the look of concern and innocence almost, shadows etched into the lines of his face, but Tyler didn't care.

He didn’t care about anything but the blood soaking through Taylor’s clothes, through his own hands, through the very fabric of his being.

"You—" Tyler's voice wavered, but the anger, the sheer desperation in his gaze, made up for it. "You fucking shot her."

The man raised his hands slowly, palms out in surrender. "I—Jesus, kid, I didn’t know. I swear—I was aiming for the deer, I didn’t see her. I—" He took a step closer, then hesitated when Tyler's grip tightened on the trigger.

"Stay the fuck back!"

"Listen to me," the man said quickly, voice calmer now, but urgent. "I'm a doctor—I can help her. I know how bad it looks, but we don’t have time to argue. She needs to be treated now or she won’t make it."

Tyler's heart was a jackhammer against his ribs, his mind an unfiltered mess of rage and terror, his breath catching in his throat as he glanced down at Taylor.

Her face was pale, too pale, her breathing barely there, her body frighteningly still in his arms. His fingers twitched, tightening unconsciously around the grip of his gun, but his vision blurred when he realized that his hand—his fucking hand—was coated in blood.

His own blood? No—hers. All hers.

The man took another step. "Kid, if you want her to live, we need to move. Now."

Tyler's jaw clenched so hard it hurt, his entire body shaking with the weight of the decision he didn’t have time to make.

Then he moved, standing up with Taylor’s limp form cradled in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder, her hand dangling lifelessly at his side.

His grip was tight, unrelenting, as though sheer force alone could keep her tethered to him, keep her alive.

"Lead the way," he ground out, voice barely above a whisper but firm as steel.

The man nodded once, turning on his heel and breaking into a run. Tyler followed, barely feeling his own exhaustion, barely registering the burn in his legs or the way his lungs screamed for air.

The only thing that mattered was the weight in his arms, the fading warmth of his sister's body against his own, and the fear clawing up his throat, telling him that if they didn’t move faster, she wouldn’t make it.

And he couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen.

The world around him had long since faded into a haze of movement and muffled sound, but the moment his sister’s limp body touched the worn mattress, reality crashed back into him like a hammer striking bone. 

His breath hitched as her blood soaked into the fabric beneath her, stark and dark, spreading like an inkblot on old parchment. 

His hands hovered, unsure, trembling, his fingers sticky with her warmth. His vision tunneled, the edges of his sight dimming until all he could focus on was the slow, too-shallow rise and fall of her chest, the ragged pull of air through parted lips.

A voice cut through the fog. Sharp. Urgent. But it wasn’t his sister’s. Taylor was too still, too silent.

“Hey, kid! Look at me!”

Tyler blinked, head snapping up to meet the frantic gaze of the man before him. His face was lined with concern, his hands pressing down against Taylor’s side, staunching the bleeding as best as he could.

There was no hesitation in his movements, only practiced efficiency.

“What’s your name?” The man shook his shoulders slightly, grounding him back into the present.

Tyler opened his mouth, but the answer took a moment to form, his voice stumbling out on weak legs. “T-Tyler.”

The man nodded once, his expression steeling. “Alright, Tyler, my name’s Alex Laurier. I need you to focus with me. Is your blood type compatible with hers?”

Blood type.

The words took a second to process, slipping past the numb static in his brain before slamming into him full force.

His hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his own palm. Blood type. Right. That mattered now.

He swallowed hard, the dryness in his throat making the action feel like swallowing glass.

“A-plus,” he croaked out, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We’re both A-plus.”

Alex exhaled sharply, relief flashing across his face for a brief second before he turned to grab supplies. “Good. That’s good. I need you to sit down and roll up your sleeve.”

Tyler didn’t argue. There was no room for argument. His body moved on its own, his sleeve bunching up around his shoulder, his arm outstretched before him like an offering.

The pinch of the needle barely registered through the mess of adrenaline and fear coursing through his veins.

He kept his eyes locked on his sister, her face ghostly pale, her body too still beneath the flickering light of the oil lamp.

Alex worked quickly, snapping on a pair of gloves before retrieving a set of tools that clinked ominously against a metal tray.

His movements were steady, methodical, but Tyler could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tremor in his fingers as he reached for the scalpel.

Then came the first incision, the blade slicing through already-ripped flesh in a way that sent a fresh rush of crimson spilling forth.

A sharp, piercing scream split the air.

Tyler’s stomach lurched. Taylor’s body jolted against the bed, her hands grasping weakly at the sheets beneath her, her voice raw with agony.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Tyler’s own voice cracked, laced with panic as he lurched forward, nearly ripping the IV from his arm in his desperation to reach her.

His body shook with unrestrained fear, the sight of his sister writhing in pain making his vision blur again.

“She’s awake,” Alex said, his voice tense but level as he kept his hands steady as they pressed her down, his eyes flickering toward her paling face. “She’ll pass out again soon. Just hold on.”

Another choked sob left Taylor’s lips, her back arching slightly before her body sagged again, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants before her head lolled to the side.

Then silence.

Tyler was trembling. His chest heaved as if he’d run miles on weak legs, his heart slamming against his ribs so violently it felt like it would bruise.

He stared at Taylor’s still form, his throat closing in on itself, suffocating him as his mind screamed at him to do something. Anything.

“Is she—”

“She’s okay,” Alex reassured quickly, sensing the panic threatening to choke him whole. “She passed out. That’s a good thing.”

A good thing.

His head spun, struggling to grasp the concept of anything being good in this moment.

Taylor had just screamed like she was being ripped apart. His sister, his only family left in this forsaken world, had just been shot, and he had been powerless to stop it.

And yet, here he was, sitting with a needle in his arm while her life was siphoned from her body in dark, glistening rivulets.

“Tyler.”

The sound of his name barely pulled him from his spiraling thoughts, his gaze still locked onto his sister’s face. Her eyelashes fluttered faintly, her breath barely visible against the dim light.

“You need to take that out before you pass out too.”

Right. The IV.

Tyler swallowed hard, his fingers sluggish as he reached to pull the needle from his vein. 

A fresh drop of blood welled up from the puncture wound, smearing against his skin as he pressed a piece of gauze against it with shaking hands.

His legs felt weak as he pushed himself back, his knees bumping against the wooden chair behind him.

He all but collapsed into it, his head tilting forward, trying to steady the relentless spinning that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

The room smelled like blood. Like iron and sweat and the acrid stench of panic.

But through the fog of it all, one thought remained, clear and unwavering in the storm of his mind.

II.

Ashlyn shoved the car door open with more force than necessary, the metal creaking in protest as she climbed inside.

Her boots thudded against the floor, a sharp contrast to the suffocating silence that had settled within the vehicle. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, exhaling through her nose like she was trying to keep her frustration from boiling over.

"Nothing," she muttered, shaking her head. "Besides that gunshot, we couldn’t find a damn thing. Not a single sign of them."

Logan, who had been sitting with his arms crossed, barely reacted. His hand was pressed to his lips, fingers twitching slightly as he nibbled at his nail, lost in his own storm of worry.

Aiden, on the other hand, sat slumped on the cushion he had used for sleep earlier, but there was no sign of rest in his posture now. 

His elbows dug into his thighs, and his fingers worked at the worn edges of his shark toy, turning it over and over like the motion might somehow ground his thoughts.

His jaw was tight, his eyes distant as if replaying a dozen worst-case scenarios all at once.

The voices inside the car were distant, muffled murmurs of possible plans and desperate ideas. Background static. Nothing felt like a real solution. Every passing second made the situation worse.

Then came a knock.

It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to send a jolt through the group, their bodies tensing in unison.

A flicker of instinctual fear passed between them as their eyes darted toward the door. 

Logan straightened, his hand dropping from his mouth, his fingers already hovering near the pistol at his hip. Aiden barely breathed, his grip tightening on the toy until his knuckles went white.

Ashlyn didn’t hesitate. Her hand shot to the pocket knife strapped to her belt, flicking it open with a quick, practiced motion.

She moved like a predator, each step careful, calculated, ready to strike if necessary. She pressed her free hand against the door before pulling it open an inch, her voice sharp and demanding.

"Who’s there?"

The man standing outside hesitated, then awkwardly raised a hand in an uncertain wave.

He was tall, lean, with unkempt hair falling past his shoulders, and a rifle strapped against his back agaim. His posture screamed hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure whether to step forward or stay exactly where he was.

"Uh… Alex," he said, his voice carrying a strange mix of caution and urgency. "Alex Laurier. I—I mean no harm."

Ashlyn’s glare remained ice-cold, the knife glinting in her hand. "And I’m supposed to just believe that?"

Alex swallowed hard but didn’t step back. "Look, I don’t have time for introductions. Your friends—Tyler and Taylor—I found them. One of them was shot."

The shift was instant.

Ashlyn’s body went rigid, her pulse slamming against her ribs like a war drum. Aiden finally snapped out of his daze, shifting closer to get a better view of the man.

Logan was already moving, stepping forward to assess the stranger himself.

"What?" Ashlyn’s voice was sharp, barely masking the panic creeping in at the edges. "Who the hell shot them and who was shot?"

"It was an accident," Alex said quickly, raising his hands higher. "I was hunting. I didn’t see her in time—"

Her.

Ashlyn didn’t let him finish.

Something in her snapped, her vision blurring with sheer adrenaline. Before she even thought about it, her fist had grabbed Alex by the collar, yanking him closer as the cold steel of the knife pressed against the side of his throat.

"How the hell do I know you’re not lying?" she hissed, her grip so tight her knuckles ached. "For all I know, you took them hostage. Or worse."

Alex remained perfectly still, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. "If I wanted to hurt them, would I have come here alone?" he asked, his voice steady despite the blade at his neck. "Would I be telling you this now?"

She didn’t loosen her grip.

"Tyler wrote you a note," Alex said, his tone shifting, becoming gentler, as if he knew that was the only thing that might break through her fury. "He told me to bring it to you so you’d believe me."

Ashlyn’s breath was ragged, her heart hammering like a beast trapped in a cage. 

She barely registered the way the others were watching her, waiting to see what she’d do next. Alex slowly gestured down toward his jacket pocket.

"It’s in there," he said. "Let me take it out?"

She hesitated, watching him like a hawk, searching for the slightest twitch that might signal a lie.

"My only weapon is the rifle on my back," Alex added, voice calm. "Nothing else."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ashlyn released her hold on him, but not before snatching Logan’s gun straight from his pocket.

She leveled it at Alex, making sure he knew she still had the upper hand.

"Slowly," she ordered. "One wrong move, and I swear—"

Alex nodded once, carefully reaching into his upper pocket. His fingers grasped a folded piece of paper, and he held it out to her. She didn’t take it.

Instead, she handed it off to Logan, keeping her eyes locked onto Alex like he might disappear if she so much as blinked.

Logan unfolded the note, scanning the familiar writing. His face shifted, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly. He looked up, then turned to Ashlyn with a small nod.

"It’s Tyler’s handwriting," Logan confirmed. "It says they’re okay. Taylor’s asleep, healing. Alex is letting them stay at his farm until she recovers."

Ashlyn’s grip on the gun faltered. A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding finally escaped her lips.

She lowered the weapon, spinning it around before handing it back to Logan. Her head was still spinning, her emotions a tangled mess, but she forced herself to focus. "Fine," she muttered, rubbing at her temple. "What’s the plan?"

"There’s a turn you can take with the car," Alex said, carefully stepping back. "You can park close to where they are, if you’re willing to stay until the girl recovers."

Ashlyn pressed a hand against her mouth, exhaling slowly. This was another decision she had to make. Another risk.

She turned toward the others, her gaze flicking between them. Ben was as hesitant as they all were, but he nodded.

Logan gave a firm nod of his own. Ben, who had been silent the entire time, crossed his arms and let out a slow breath.

Ashlyn let the tension roll out of her shoulders, straightening. "Alright," she finally said. "Lead the way."

III.

Tyler barely felt the weight of his own body anymore, the dull, dragging exhaustion pressing down on his limbs like a heavy shroud.

The lingering dizziness from the blood loss made even the act of breathing feel sluggish, as if the air itself had thickened around him.

His head buzzed, a persistent hum in his skull that made movement a dangerous gamble, so he settled for the only thing he could do—dragging a chair closer to the side of the bed where Taylor lay motionless, her chest barely rising and falling beneath the layers of bandages Alex had wrapped around her.

His fingers trembled as he reached out, his touch hesitant, almost afraid, before finally settling over the back of her hand.

Her skin was warmer than it had been before, the color just barely returning, though it was still far too pale, still too lifeless.

He swallowed hard against the lump clogging his throat, his lips pressing into a tight line as his eyes burned—his vision blurring at the edges, the weight of everything crashing down on him like a collapsing building.

The memory of it still clung to him, the image of her body hitting the ground in sync with the deer’s lifeless collapse, the moment of confusion that had snapped into horror like a rubber band pulled too tight.

The sound of the gunshot still rang in his ears, an echo of violence, of helplessness, a reminder of just how close she had come to vanishing from his life forever too.

And he had been useless. Useless as he watched Alex carve into her flesh, pulling out fragments of metal that had no place inside her, useless as blood gushed from the wound in a sickeningly steady stream, painting the sheets beneath her in shades of red too dark, too deep, too final.

His breath shuddered as he exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers as if she might slip away if he let go.

He dragged his other hand up, fingers lightly brushing against the strands of her dark hair, smoothing them away from her face with a touch so delicate it felt reverent. She looked fragile, like a doll made of porcelain, the kind that cracked too easily at the slightest mishandling.

But he knew she was stronger than anyone he'd ever try to compare to, even himself.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, the words breaking against his lips, barely making it past the tightness in his throat. His palm ghosted down the side of her face, the warmth of her skin grounding him, making the moment real.

He hadn’t imagined her breathing—she was still here, still fighting, still holding on.

His thumb traced small, absent-minded patterns against her knuckles, the motion more for himself than for her.

Maybe if he kept holding on, maybe if he just stayed here and watched over her, she would open her eyes.

Maybe she would squeeze his hand back and tell him he was being ridiculous, that she wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe she would remind him that they were a team, that they had always been.

But she didn’t.

So Tyler stayed, his body sagging under the weight of exhaustion, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare let go. Because for the first time in hours, she was warm again. And that was enough to keep him breathing.

He wasn’t sure when exhaustion had claimed him, only that the sound of an approaching engine yanked him from the heavy fog of sleep.

His eyelids fluttered, the world around him slow to settle into focus. A dull ache throbbed behind his temples, a warning of how much blood he had given, how much his body had endured.

But he didn’t care. His fingers twitched, then instinctively curled around the smaller, warmer hand still resting in his grasp. It was the only thing tethering him, the only confirmation that this nightmare hadn’t taken her away.

He didn’t move, not yet. The distant chatter outside seeped through the walls, voices familiar but blurred, like echoes from another life. He focused on breathing, on the warmth of her palm against his. Then—a squeeze. Weak, fleeting, but real.

His body snapped upright so fast the chair scraped against the wooden floor. His pulse roared in his ears as he turned to her, panic and hope colliding in his chest.

Taylor’s eyes were open, barely, their hazy focus settled on the ceiling, as if she were trying to piece together the fact that she was still here, still breathing.

“Taylor,” his voice cracked, raw from everything he’d swallowed down.

Her gaze slid lazily toward him, heavy-lidded but unmistakably alive. A ghost of a smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. “You look like a phantom just walked through you.”

A breathy, unsteady laugh tumbled from him, half relief, half disbelief. He squeezed her hand between both of his own, rubbing warmth into her fingers as if afraid she’d slip away again. “How are you feeling?”

Taylor’s exhale was slow, measured. “Like someone took a sledgehammer to my ribs.” She paused, eyes flicking toward the ceiling again, lost in thought before muttering, “Hurts like a cabrón.”

Tyler huffed another laugh, but the tension in his jaw didn’t ease. He was about to say something—to apologize, to spill every ounce of guilt that had been strangling him since the gunshot rang out—but before he could, the door creaked open.

“Taylor?”

Ashlyn’s voice was hoarse with worry, carrying the weight of the hours she had spent searching.

The moment she saw her lying there, awake, her steps quickened, closing the distance between them.

Logan was right behind her, kneeling on the opposite side of the bed, scanning Taylor’s body like he expected to find fresh wounds hidden somewhere.

Ashlyn reached out, her fingers threading gently through Taylor’s disheveled hair before her gaze flicked up to Tyler. Her expression softened—not with relief, but with something more searching. “What about you?”

Tyler hesitated too long, long enough that she must have noticed, because her eyes sharpened. He swallowed, shaking his head as if dismissing the question. “I’m fine. Just… a little woozy.”

Ashlyn didn’t look convinced. Her eyes flickered over him, the pallor of his skin, the sluggish way he held himself upright. “You need to rest.”

Tyler scoffed, shaking his head more firmly this time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can barely sit up straight,” Ashlyn countered, arms crossing. “You look like you’re about to faceplant.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler insisted, but the stubborn set of his jaw was undercut by the tremble in his limbs.

His exhaustion was betraying him, his body screaming for reprieve, but he refused to move. Not while Taylor was still lying there. Not while he still had breath left to keep watch.

Ashlyn exhaled through her nose, glancing at Logan as if expecting him to help back her up. Logan didn’t need to say anything—his eyes alone spoke volumes.

“Tyler,” Ashlyn’s voice softened, though the firmness remained. “She’s okay. You can rest now.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to argue, but his body had already decided for him.

The edges of his vision blurred, his grip on Taylor’s hand loosening as his limbs grew heavier. His head swam as he inhaled sharply, trying to resist the inevitable.

“Just… five more minutes,” he murmured, barely audible now. But even as he said it, his body was already swaying, the weight of the past hours crashing down on him.

A firm hand on his shoulder steadied him before he could tip forward. “Alright,” Ashlyn muttered, “five minutes.”

Ben guided Aiden carefully into the dimly lit room, steadying him as they crossed the threshold.

Aiden’s fingers curled tightly around the doorframe, using it as an anchor while his gaze darted toward the bed. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of concern.

“Is she okay?”

Tyler, who had barely lifted his head from where he sat hunched over Taylor’s bedside, let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

He swallowed against the scratchiness in his throat, forcing himself to respond, though his words came out in a rasp, his voice hoarse from hours of silence and held-back grief.

“She’s… she’s getting through it,” he murmured, wincing slightly at how weak he sounded. His throat felt raw, as if each word scraped against something tender inside him.

Aiden nodded, his grip on the doorframe tightening just a bit before he hesitantly let go.

Ben had already moved past him, stepping closer to Taylor’s side, his brows furrowed as he studied her, watching the slow, even rise and fall of her chest beneath the bandages.

There was something heavy in the air, an unspoken tension, a shared relief that felt too fragile to touch.

Tyler’s exhaustion was creeping up on him fast. His muscles ached from the sheer weight of his own body, the last dregs of adrenaline fading into a bone-deep weariness that settled in his limbs like lead. 

His head felt heavy, his eyelids drooping despite his attempts to fight it. He barely noticed Taylor shifting slightly under the covers, her voice soft and drowsy as she spoke.

“You should rest, Ty,” she mumbled, her tone carrying a note of quiet insistence. “You’ve done enough.”

He hesitated, looking down at her as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of the mattress. 

There was reluctance in his eyes, a silent protest, but before he could put it into words, Alex’s hand landed on his shoulder. The touch was firm, grounding.

“Come on,” Alex said, voice steady but not unkind. “You need sleep. There’s a room upstairs you can use.”

Tyler hesitated again, but his body was already giving in before his mind could catch up. His limbs trembled as he pushed himself upright, every movement sluggish and clumsy.

The second he was on his feet, a dull, throbbing pain bloomed in his arm where the IV had been, a deep bruise spreading beneath his skin from the strain. 

He pressed his hand over it instinctively, wincing at the ache but too drained to care much beyond that.

As he turned toward the door, his weary gaze landed on Aiden, who was still standing there, his posture uncertain, his fingers flexing slightly against the frame. 

Tyler stopped, hesitating for a moment before speaking his name.

“Aiden.”

He didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know if an apology would even make sense right now, if it would feel empty after everything. 

But Aiden, always one to read between the lines, just gave him a lopsided, tired grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but carried warmth nonetheless.

“You don’t have to say anything, man,” Aiden said, his voice quiet but sure. “It’s okay.”

Tyler let the words settle over him, let them ease the tightness in his chest just a fraction.

He gave a slow nod, lingering for just a moment longer before turning away, dragging himself toward the stairs. His footsteps felt heavy, each step taking more effort than it should, but he kept moving, even as his vision blurred at the edges from exhaustion.

By the time he reached the top, the promise of sleep was already pulling him under, the weight of everything finally too much to bear.

He barely registered the room Alex had mentioned, barely had the strength to shut the door behind him before collapsing onto the bed, letting the world slip away as his body finally surrendered to rest.

IV.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the soft yellow glow from the oil lamp casting long shadows on the walls.

Logan sat at the table, idly tapping his finger against the rim of his half-drunk glass of water, the faint sound merging with the distant chirping of insects beyond the house’s walls.

His gaze was thoughtful, but not entirely relaxed. Across from him, Aiden leaned against the counter, arms crossed, fingers twitching against the fabric of his sleeve. 

His expression was a mix of suspicion and silent analysis, the weight of their current situation pressing heavy on his shoulders. 

He didn’t outright dislike Alex, but trust? That was a luxury they couldn’t afford to hand out like loose change.

Ben sat beside Ashlyn, half-turned toward her, his fingers moving in small, subtle gestures beneath the table. Do we tell him?

Ashlyn caught the sign from the corner of her eye, inhaling slowly before exhaling through her nose. She hesitated, weighing the risk against the necessity, before deciding on the safer option.

She straightened, arms folding over her chest. “We were heading for Savannah,” she said plainly, her voice steady, though a trace of exhaustion clung to the edges.

At that, Alex, who had been in the midst of pulling open a kitchen drawer, suddenly froze. His fingers hovered over the handle, tension rippling through his posture. The change was subtle, but not subtle enough to escape the notice of those watching him.

Aiden, who had been absentmindedly toying with his shark toy on the counter, stopped entirely. His sharp gaze flicked to Alex, noting the way his grip on the drawer remained unmoving.

Logan shifted in his seat, his tapping stopping as suspicion laced through his previously passive demeanor.

“What?” Logan finally asked, voice even but expectant.

Alex blinked and shook his head, exhaling sharply before closing the drawer without retrieving whatever he had been reaching for.

“You’re lucky you didn’t make it there,” he said, his voice heavy with something close to regret. “If you had kept going, it would’ve been the worst decision of your lives.”

A tense silence filled the room. The flickering light from the lamp cast shifting shadows over their faces, the weight of his words thick in the air. Ashlyn narrowed her eyes, fingers drumming lightly against the table’s surface.

Logan leaned forward slightly, elbows on the tabletop. “Why?” The single-worded question carried a demand, an insistence that couldn’t be ignored.

Aiden pushed off the counter, stepping closer, interested despite himself. “What’s in Savannah?”

Alex sighed, running a hand through his hair before leaning his weight against the counter. His face was unreadable, but there was something haunted in his expression.

“When this all started,” he began, voice quieter now, “the government—what was left of it—wanted to establish a safe zone there. A last stand, you could say. They funneled survivors in, built walls, secured the perimeter.” He swallowed hard, as if the next words left a bitter taste in his mouth. “But it failed.”

Ben stiffened beside Ashlyn, his hand clenching against his thigh. Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw locking.

Aiden scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “Of course it did.”

Alex exhaled sharply. “No, you don’t get it. It didn’t just fail—it collapsed. Completely. Whatever safety they tried to create got ripped apart from the inside. Now, that city is nothing but a death trap.” He glanced at them, his gaze somber. “It’s overrun. Roaming dead in every direction. No way in. No way out.”

Ashlyn’s fingers curled into a fist, her nails pressing against her palm. A quiet, frustrated curse slipped past her lips, her jaw tightening.

Aiden muttered something under his breath as well, though his words were drowned by the weight of the revelation.

“Perfect,” he said dryly, smile still ever present as he let himself lay back on the chair. “Just perfect. Our one solid plan? Turns out it was a straight shot to hell.”

Alex hesitated before speaking again, his tone cautious. “Why were you trying to get there in the first place—”

Before anyone could answer, the sound of footsteps descending the stairs caught their attention.

Tyler emerged from the dim hallway, rubbing at his tired eyes, his movements sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion.

He blinked blearily at the group before his gaze landed on the lamp. The dim glow cast the kitchen in a perpetual dusk-like haze, making it hard to tell the time.

His voice was groggy as he asked, “How long was I out?”

Logan turned slightly in his chair. “A few hours. Twelve, maybe more.”

Aiden snorted, grinning despite the situation. “Thought you turned into Sleeping Beauty there for a second.”

Tyler scoffed, waving off the comment as he dragged himself over to an empty chair. He collapsed into it, barely upright, resting his elbows on the table. “Taylor?”

“She’s alright,” Ashlyn said, glancing at him. “Asleep, but stable.”

He nodded, exhaling slowly. Relief settled into his features before his gaze flicked between them, noting the tension in the air. “What’d I miss?”

Ashlyn exhaled through her nose, running a hand over her face before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Dead end,” she muttered. “Savannah’s not an option anymore.”

Tyler froze for a second, processing, before a sharp expletive slipped from his mouth in rapid Spanish. He groaned, rubbing his hands down his face before throwing a glare toward the ceiling. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Wish we were,” Logan muttered, tapping his fingers against the table once more.

Alex shifted where he stood, glancing at the group again. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear,” he said, voice careful. “But if you’re looking for an actual safe place to stay, even just for a little while… my farm’s open to you.”

Tyler sighed, dragging his hands down his face again before glancing at Ashlyn, who was already deep in thought. This wasn’t the plan, but then again, nothing ever went according to plan anymore.

Aiden leaned against the table again, looking at Tyler before muttering, “Looks like we’re back to square one.”

He leaned forward, his fingers loosely interlaced as he rested his elbows on the wooden table, his voice cutting through the newfound silence like a blade through fog. “We already have a place to go back to. A safe zone. Our people are waiting for us to get there.” His tone was firm but not forceful, simply stating the reality of their situation. 

He knew better than anyone that dragging out their stay anywhere too long was a risk, no matter how much temporary safety it provided.

Ashlyn gave a short nod in agreement, her arms crossed over her chest as her fingers drummed against her sleeve. “We just need to get Taylor back on her feet first. That’s it.” Her voice carried a certainty, though an underlying restlessness simmered beneath the surface.

Staying still for too long had never been a luxury they could afford.

Logan exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the condensation of his half-drunk glass of water, considering their next move with his usual measured thoughtfulness. “That means we stay here only as long as we absolutely need to,” he said, his gaze shifting toward Alex. “The second she’s stable enough to move, we take a detour back. No unnecessary risks.”

Alex gave a small nod of understanding, his lips curving into a barely-there smile before his eyes flickered toward the window. 

Something outside had caught his attention. His expression didn’t shift drastically, but the way his jaw tensed spoke volumes.

Instinctively, the others turned their heads, following his line of sight. Beyond the slightly parted curtain, just barely illuminated by the moonlight, a lone walker had stumbled its way into view.

It moved without direction, a sickly sway in its gait, its jaw hanging slack, dark veins webbing through its sunken flesh.

“I’ll handle it,” Alex muttered, already reaching into his pocket and pulling out a well-worn knife. There was no hesitation in his movements, only a steady efficiency that spoke of routine. Without another word, he pushed back his chair and strode toward the door, the quiet creak of the hinges filling the space as he stepped outside.

The air in the room felt heavier in his absence, their ears straining in the silence that followed.

Through the window, they could just make out Alex’s form moving toward the walker, his steps careful but unhurried. The dead thing barely reacted, oblivious to its approaching end. Then, in a swift and practiced motion, Alex drove the blade into its skull. The body crumpled almost instantly, folding into itself like a puppet with its strings severed.

Tyler exhaled slowly, turning his gaze away from the window as the corpse collapsed into the dirt. He barely registered the muffled thud it made upon impact.

His head felt too heavy, exhaustion blending with annoyance as they sank into his bones like an anchor dragging him deeper into murky waters. Without another thought, he let his forehead drop onto his crossed arms, resting on the table with a groan.

V.

Time passed in an indistinct haze of days bleeding into weeks, the measure of time becoming irrelevant except for the moments when Taylor marked her progress.

First, she managed to sit up without her ribs flaring in protest. Then she took a few tentative steps, muscles weak but gaining strength with every effort.

Eventually, she could wander the house freely and even step outside to breathe in the open air, feeling the wind tangle through her hair. Running was still out of the question, but the fact that she could move at all was a victory in itself.

The group's relationship with Alex evolved, shifting from wary caution to something akin to comfort. They had met many survivors before, but none who settled so easily into their dynamic.

He blended in as if he had always been there, his presence a grounding force in a world that seemed to constantly teeter on the edge of collapse.

Yet, not all wounds healed as smoothly. Tyler and Aiden remained strained, their interactions stiff and laced with an unspoken tension that neither seemed willing to break.

Aiden masked it behind his usual bravado, throwing out snide jokes that made Tyler clench his jaw or offering dismissive, lopsided grins paired with a middle finger whenever their gazes lingered too long on one another.

One evening, as the group settled into a casual meeting on the living room floor, the tension between them flickered to the surface once more.

They had spread out a map in the center, strategizing their route back to the prison while debating whether or not to scout a few locations along the way.

Tyler sat beside Taylor, allowing her to braid the small, unruly hairs at the nape of his neck. It felt embarrassingly childish, but her fingers worked deftly, and the familiarity of the action settled something restless in his chest.

Across from them, Logan was sprawled out with a notebook Alex allowed him to keep, absentmindedly sketching constellations while explaining them to Ben, who listened in amused silence.

Ashlyn, ever dedicated, was contorted into a deep stretch, her form bent in half in what could only be described as an effortless display of ballet flexibility. No one batted an eye—they had all seen it too many times to be surprised.

Aiden, meanwhile, had stationed himself at the counter, his fingers stretching toward a bottle perched just out of reach.

His recently healed ankle granted him enough balance to hoist himself up in one fluid movement, his hand catching the bottle midair before landing lightly on his feet.

The small smirk he wore in triumph was one of those rare moments where he seemed truly himself—untouched by the weight of the world’s burdens.

Ashlyn, however, wasn’t as impressed.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, tilting her head at him.

Aiden shrugged, inspecting the label lazily. "Looked like alcohol."

"That’s Alex’s. You can’t just take it without asking."

He waved off her concern, already twisting the cap. "I don’t think he’ll mind."

Tyler, who had been leaning his weight on his elbows, yawned before dryly calling out, "Look at that—Aiden stealing things. What a shocking revelation."

Aiden grinned at him, tipping the bottle in his direction. "You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first, Mr. Morality."

Before Tyler could shoot back, Alex’s voice drifted from behind them.

"What’s mine?"

Aiden stiffened for a split second before playing it off, cradling the bottle to his chest like some priceless artifact. "Oh, nothing, just your fine, fine selection of spirits."

Alex arched a brow, but instead of reprimanding him, he let out a short chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. "I’m no alcoholic, kid. Enjoy it—just don’t get stupid with it."

With that, he disappeared down the hall, presumably to take a shower. 

Aiden whooped in celebration, promptly twisting the cap off and pouring himself a generous glass. He was about to take a sip when Taylor’s voice, stronger now despite the lingering rasp, stopped him.

"Wait. We should make a game out of it. That way we can all try."

Tyler scoffed, arms crossing. "You’re in no state to drink. None of us are, for that matter."

Taylor, unfazed, tilted her head at him. "Oh, please. We're surviving an apocalypse. What’s a little alcohol?" When Tyler’s lips pressed into a thin line, she pressed on. "Besides, if we’re going to do this, we might as well make it fun. Truth or dare—it’s been a while. Think of it as a childhood throwback, just with a little more incentive."

Her argument left little room for debate. One by one, glances were exchanged, and reluctant nods followed.

Tyler sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "This is a bad idea."

Aiden clapped him on the back with an exaggerated grin. "Then it’s the perfect kind."

The game had been doomed from the start, and they all knew it, but the alcohol had loosened their better judgment just enough to let them fall into the trap of stupidity.

The rules were simple: accept the dare, or drink. Answer the truth, or drink. It was a foolproof way to ensure the bottle would be emptied before they even realized what hit them.

Ben had been the most susceptible, his tolerance for absurdity and liquor equally low, making him the easiest target.

He barely lasted a handful of rounds before his responses to both truths and dares devolved into unintelligible mutters and signs, leading him to chug his way out of every challenge until he was draped over Tyler’s back, a boneless, half-conscious weight.

His snores were faint, breath warm against Tyler’s shoulder as he slumped, entirely out of commission.

Taylor, for her part, was tipsy but lively, her laughter bubbling up at the most unexpected moments, especially when someone executed a particularly devious dare.

Ashlyn, however, remained frustratingly sober, as if the game had no effect on her—sharp-eyed, unimpressed, and more than willing to call out bullshit when she saw it.

Then there was Aiden, whose level of intoxication was a complete mystery. He was as animated as ever, all sharp grins and exaggerated gestures, making it impossible to tell if the alcohol was coursing through his system or if he was just naturally untamed.

And Tyler—he was somewhere in between, having taken a few sips here and there, not enough to lose himself but enough to let the warmth settle in his veins and soften the tension clinging to his bones.

The game continued with a reckless, chaotic energy, the group feeding off each other’s amusement. Logan had just completed a dare when Taylor clapped her hands together, an idea glinting in her eyes. “Okay, okay, hear me out,” she said, voice carrying the slight slur of someone just past sobriety. “You know how in old American movies they always do those truth or dare games where someone ends up having to kiss someone?”

Logan winced immediately. “I already hate this.”

Aiden, on the other hand, threw his head back and cackled. “Hell yeah, cringe shit.”

“But,” Taylor continued, raising a finger as if to silence the protests before they could begin, “it’s just on the cheek. That’s all. No big deal, we're all like family.”

They exchanged glances, some more hesitant than others, but ultimately, they all agreed.

Aiden went first, spinning the bottle with a dramatic flourish. It twirled for what felt like an eternity before finally landing—on the wall.

Without hesitation, Aiden wobbled to his feet, lips puckered, fully prepared to kiss the chipped paint.

Ashlyn cursed under her breath and yanked him down by his collar before he could embarrass himself further. Pushing the cup to his lips without further need of speech.

Taylor went next, her spin landing on Ashlyn. 

There was a flicker of hesitation, her smile faltering slightly before she leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss against Ashlyn’s cheek. The contact was brief, but the way Ashlyn’s posture didn’t tense—how a faint, almost imperceptible blush dusted her cheeks—didn’t go unnoticed.

Logan was next, since Tyler opted to pass his turn. The bottle pointed at Aiden, making Logan snort as he reached for the glass. “I can’t do that to myself,” he muttered before throwing back a drink.

Aiden grinned. “Coward.”

It was Aiden’s turn again. He spun, and the bottle landed on Tyler.

There was a pause.

Tyler, who hadn’t been paying attention, blinked at the sudden shift in atmosphere, his gaze drifting to stares before landing on the bottle’s cap pointing directly at him. Then, up to Aiden, whose expression flickered—something brief, something gone before it could fully register. 

But Tyler had seen it, that split-second falter in Aiden’s ever-present smirk, the almost imperceptible shift in his demeanor. And he decided, in that moment, that he absolutely hated it.

Without a word, Aiden reached for the bottle and glass, filling it higher than necessary before lifting it to his lips.

And Tyler had enough of this entire goddamn situation.

He pushed himself up, Ben’s unconscious form sliding off his back and onto the carpet with a dull thud.

Aiden barely had time to process it before Tyler snatched the glass straight from his grip, tilting his head back and downing its contents in one go.

The burn hit instantly, a slow, creeping fire spreading through his throat as he coughed, his body rejecting the sudden assault.

Aiden blinked. “The fuck?”

Tyler ignored him. He reached out, grabbing Aiden’s wrist and pulling him up with a grip firm enough to leave no room for protest. “We’re out the game.”

Aiden didn’t resist, but he did grumble under his breath, something about “Jesus, at least let me enjoy the moment” and “This is why you’re no fun,” but Tyler wasn’t having it. 

With a quick nod to the others, he excused them, dragging Aiden along while the rest of the group watched in bewilderment.

Behind them, Logan whistled. “Well. That was something.”

Taylor, still tipsy, just giggled. “Told you it’d be a bad idea.” As if it wasn't her own.

The wooden steps groaned beneath their weight as Tyler ascended, dragging Aiden along with him by the wrist, his grip firm, unwavering, like shackles made of flesh and bone.

The hallway stretched ahead of them, dimly lit by the slant of red moonlight filtering through dust-coated windows, casting elongated shadows against the peeling wallpaper. 

Aiden trailed behind, his voice a constant hum of agitation, sarcasm dripping from his words like venom from the fangs of a snake.

“Y'know, if you wanted alone time with me that bad, you could’ve just asked,” Aiden mused, his smirk evident in the teasing lilt of his voice. “Didn’t have to manhandle me in front of everyone like a caveman, but hey, you do you.”

Tyler clenched his jaw, ignoring him, gaze fixed ahead, heartbeat hammering erratically in his chest, drowning out everything else—the creak of the floorboards, the faint murmur of voices downstairs, the distant rustle of wind against the window panes.

“Seriously, Ty, if you wanted to make out, I’m flattered, but you didn’t have to steal my damn drink for that,” Aiden continued, unbothered by the death grip on his wrist. “Gotta say though, you’re full of surprises. First you act like you wanna kill me half the time, and now you’re dragging me off like some jealous boyfriend. Makes a guy wonder, y'know?”

Tyler stopped abruptly. Aiden barely had time to react before he was wrenched forward, nearly colliding with Tyler's back. 

The air between them turned thick, charged with something unspoken, volatile.

Tyler's breath was uneven, his fingers twitching before sliding up, cupping both sides of Aiden's neck, thumbs pressing lightly against the hinge of his jaw. His hands were warm, almost feverish, contrasting the coolness of Aiden's skin.

Aiden parted his lips, an unfinished quip lingering on the tip of his tongue, but the moment he saw the look in Tyler's eyes—something raw, something desperate—his voice faltered. His smirk wavered, just for a second.

Then Tyler kissed him.

It wasn't gentle, wasn't hesitant. It was rough, bruising, an act of defiance, of frustration, of everything Tyler had spent years pushing down until it boiled over. 

Their lips clashed with the force of pent-up tension, teeth grazing, breath mingling, the taste of alcohol lingering between them. 

And Aiden—Aiden kissed him back.

His hands moved instinctively, gripping at the fabric of Tyler's shirt at his waist, knuckles tightening as if grounding himself. 

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the years of bickering, of always being at each other’s throats, of wanting to push and pull at the same time. Maybe it was the way Tyler tasted like something bittersweet, like regret and something else Aiden couldn't place.

They broke apart only when air became a necessity, but Tyler didn’t step away. He exhaled a breathless curse, his forehead dropping to Aiden’s shoulder, his body humming from the aftershock of what he’d just done.

“Shit.” The word was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything crashing down on him at once. His fingers slid from the nape of Aiden’s neck to his back, an almost hesitant touch, a silent admission he wasn’t ready to put into words.

For a moment, they stood there, the house around them eerily quiet, as if the world had momentarily ceased to exist beyond the space they occupied.

Aiden's breathing was slow, measured, his fingers still curled in Tyler's shirt. It wasn’t like him to be speechless, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have a sarcastic remark ready on his tongue.

Then, he spoke, voice low, a ghost of amusement lacing his words. “You know you’re a real dick, right?”

Tyler scoffed softly, shaking his head as he lifted his gaze from Aiden's shoulder, meeting his eyes again. “So I've been told.”

Aiden smirked, but there was something softer about it now, something almost fond. “Took you long enough.”

Tyler opened his mouth, hesitated, then exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling slightly against Aiden's back. “I—about that night—when you kissed me, I didn’t...” He trailed off, frustration knotting in his throat, because words never came easy between them.

Apologies, explanations—they had never fit right in their dynamic. They argued, they fought, and somehow, they always came back to each other.

Aiden didn’t let him finish.

This time, it was he who closed the distance between them, hands sliding up Tyler's sides before fisting into his shirt again as he pressed their lips together, softer than before but no less intense.

And Tyler let himself fall into it, let himself sink against Aiden’s warmth, his back colliding with the hallway wall as Aiden kissed him like he had wanted to that night, like he had wanted to every night since.

Tyler realized then, from the sight of the red lenses Aiden always insisted on finding and keeping on, just why he found the gory scarlet skies so devastatingly beautiful.

VI.

The cool night air clung to Ashlyn’s skin, a quiet contrast to the warmth still lingering in her veins from the alcohol.

It wasn’t enough to make her drunk, not even enough to truly dull her mind, but the faint buzz nestled in her skull threatened to bloom into something worse.

She exhaled slowly, letting her breath mist into the night as she stared at the darkened treetops.

She needed this. The stillness, the space to let her thoughts settle. The muffled laughter from inside the house was a distant hum behind her, a reminder of the rare moments of peace they had managed to carve out for themselves. But even as she stood there, absorbing the quiet, her muscles stayed tense.

The soft crunch of footsteps approaching pulled her from her thoughts. She turned, instinctively reaching for the knife at her belt, her fingertips grazing the hilt before she recognized the familiar figure moving toward her.

Alex, his long hair still damp from his shower, draped a towel over his shoulder as he ran his fingers through it. His gaze wasn’t on her but rather the vast, eerie expanse of the night red sky.

“The night’s beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice was soft but carried through the silence, an undercurrent of something unreadable beneath it.

Ashlyn followed his gaze, her lips pressing together at the sight of the sky’s deep crimson hue. It had been that way for weeks—like the world itself had been set on fire, burning slowly above them, a cosmic wound refusing to heal.

She hummed in response, acknowledging the sentiment more than agreeing with it. Silence settled again, comfortable but not quite warm. And then, after a moment, she spoke.

“Thank you.”

Alex’s gaze lowered to her, a brow arching in silent question.

“For what you’ve done for us,” she clarified. “You didn’t have to take us in, let alone help the way you have. We’re grateful for it.”

He let out a short breath, something like a chuckle but weighed down with exhaustion. “I think I needed the company just as much as you all needed a safe place.”

They stood like that for a while, looking out at the tree line in quiet companionship. It wasn’t until Alex shifted, rubbing the towel over the back of his neck, that he finally broke the silence again.

“You were going to the Sorrel-Weed House, weren’t you?”

Ashlyn stiffened. Her hand instinctively twitched back toward her knife, fingers curling around the hilt as she stepped back just enough to create distance. Her gaze sharpened, reading his face for any sign of a threat.

But Alex remained still, his expression neutral, unreadable. He didn’t make a move toward her. That alone eased some of the tension curling in her gut, but not all of it.

“How do you know that?” she asked, voice cautious.

He sighed, as if he had expected her reaction. His hand moved, fingers brushing against the edge of his towel before he finally dropped it to his side.

“Because I worked for them.”

Ashlyn’s grip tightened on her knife. “Worked for who?”

Alex inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself, then spoke. “Before all this… I was employed at a facility. One that dealt with…” He hesitated, the corner of his mouth twitching as if the words tasted bitter. “A kind of fungus. A zombie fungus, or at least that’s how they explained it to me at first. I didn’t ask questions—I needed the job. Debt will make you do that.”

Ashlyn didn’t respond, letting him continue. Her posture remained tense, but curiosity was outweighing suspicion now.

“For a while, it felt like any other medical job. People came in, I did my part, reassured them that they were being helped. Then they left, never to be seen again.” He scoffed, the sound humorless. “At first, I told myself they were getting better. That the government was handling things the way they always did—shady, but with a goal in mind.”

His fingers flexed, curling into his palm before relaxing again. “But then I started noticing patterns. The people they took in—they weren’t random. They were connected. To what, I wasn’t sure, not until I started digging.”

Ashlyn’s breathing was slow, measured, but the tightness in her chest only grew. She already had a feeling where this was going.

“There was a man,” Alex continued, his voice quieter now. “Maverick. He was the one pulling the strings, and he was obsessed. He thought the people who were brought in had… some kind of connection to another dimension. One where this thing—this fungus—originated.”

Ashlyn’s fingers twitched.

Alex saw it. His gaze darkened slightly, but he didn’t address it. Instead, he pressed on.

“When the world went to hell, the facility collapsed into chaos. Fear, betrayal—Maverick made sure no one who left could share what they saw. And those who stayed?” His lips pressed into a thin line. “They were promised safety. As long as they were loyal.”

His hand lifted, gripping the collar of his shirt before tugging it down, exposing the curve of his shoulder.

The burn mark stretched across his skin, angry and deep, trailing down his back like a scar of fire.

“I ran,” he said simply. “Barely made it out alive.”

Ashlyn exhaled slowly. Her hand eased off her knife, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t leave.

Her eyes flickered to it, her stomach twisting involuntarily at the sight. The skin was gnarled, the scar tissue thick and uneven. It looked like he had barely escaped whatever had tried to take him down.

Alex let his shirt fall back into place, his expression unreadable again.

“That was my reward for seeking freedom,” he said, voice empty.

Alex exhaled, his breath leaving in a slow, measured release, his gaze fixed on the night sky before flickering back toward Ashlyn. The weight of his words was pressing down on him, and he could tell she felt it too.

“While I was still there,” he began again, voice quieter now, as if the darkness itself was listening, “I didn’t have much of a rank—nothing important anyway. Just another cog in the system. But even from my position, I always had ways of hearing what the higher-ups whispered about behind their closed doors.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, the towel slipping from his shoulder.

His fingers clenched for a moment, as though grasping at something invisible.

Ashlyn watched him, her stance stiff, arms crossed, her fingers digging into the sleeve of her jacket. She had never seen him like this—his usual casual, reassuring demeanor replaced with something strained, something shadowed. She wasn’t sure if it was anger or something deeper.

“They spoke of a group who were lured into the Sorrel-Weed House by one of the workers I wasn’t so familiar with, and made what they titled a shift.” He dragged the word out, not quite getting what the word meant even now. “They weren't unscathed, but remained alive longer than anyone had before,” Ashlyn visibly flinched at the memory of the woman who had led them all into that house that day, the reason they’ve lived through a nightmare before the real one even occurred.

He continued, rubbing a slow circle against his palm, a nervous tick. “That alone had their attention. But what really set them off was someone in that group.” His gaze locked onto hers, sharp, knowing.

Ashlyn felt the shift in the air before he even said it. She swallowed, her throat dry, but she refused to show any reaction. Her fingers curled against her sides.

Alex didn’t break eye contact, his expression unreadable. “They mentioned a girl… one whom they stated she might’ve created said shift. One whom the fungus didn’t consume completely like the others. Instead, it did something else.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, waiting for any flicker of response.

“She was described as short, freckled, ginger-haired.”

The silence between them thickened, heavy as wet cement. Ashlyn didn’t move, didn’t blink. But her breathing had changed. Slightly quicker, just enough to be noticeable.

Alex let out a slow breath, nodding at her lack of protest.

“You know it too,” he said, his voice even, not accusatory, not pitying. Just a statement of fact.

Ashlyn forced herself to keep her composure, though her grip on the handle of her knife tightened for just a fraction of a second.

Her thoughts gnawed at her brain along with waves of guilt, if she had really caused the shift, that would mean she was the reason her friends had to live in this nightmare for a whole year. And if so was the case, how did she manage to draw the whole world along with her without realizing it that night?

Alex shifted his weight, running a hand over his jaw before continuing. “Whatever connection that girl had with the dimension that bled into our world… If she had the ability to lure the rest of us into it—even subconsciously—then she was exactly what they needed.” His voice was edged with something bitter. “She wasn’t a survivor to them. She was a key.”

His eyes darted to Ashlyn’s quickening breaths, hesitating before finishing his statement, “to what? I never had a clue.”

He let that sink in, the implication pressing down on both of them. A gust of wind rustled through the trees, the sound hollow against the vast emptiness around them.

“That,” Alex continued, voice lower now, “was the real reason I left. Not just because I saw through Maverick’s bullshit, not just because I was tired of seeing good people strung along with false hope.” He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I left because I knew what they were planning to do to her. I knew what they were willing to sacrifice just to see if she was the missing piece they needed.”

Ashlyn exhaled slowly, watching the way the night breeze rustled the leaves, the dark sky stretching endlessly above them. She turned her gaze to Alex, his posture loose but the weight of something heavy clung to him like an invisible shroud.

She hesitated for only a second before asking, “What about you?” Her voice carried a rare softness, edged with a concern she hadn’t expected to feel so deeply. “If you escaped, are you safe? Are they still looking for you?”

Alex remained still for a moment, his head tilting just slightly in thought. The moonlight cast a silver sheen over the sharp angles of his face, accentuating the weariness in his features.

He let out a breath, slow and measured. “It’s been months,” he finally said, his voice quiet but sure. “If they were looking for me, they would’ve found me by now. I’m a ghost to them.”

Ashlyn studied him, searching for any flicker of uncertainty in his expression, but he met her eyes with a calm steadiness. He believed his words, or at least, he wanted to. She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek as the words she was about to say clawed at her throat, demanding to be spoken.

“Come with us.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a plea. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. A feeling of trust so rare in this broken world that it almost frightened her. “Back to our safe place. You don’t have to be alone out here. You don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder.”

Alex turned his gaze away, back to the forest stretching before them. His fingers curled slightly into the towel slung over his shoulder, his knuckles pale under the pressure. He sighed, shaking his head, though his expression softened as he allowed himself a small, tired smile. It was then Ashlyn realized something—he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Without them, his eyes looked more vulnerable, less guarded. More exhausted.

“I’m not sure I can do that, kiddo,” he murmured, voice threaded with something unreadable. “This place... it’s not much, but it’s the closest thing to home I’ve had in a long time.”

A dull ache settled in Ashlyn’s chest, heavier than she expected. The thought of leaving, of walking away from Alex and never seeing him again, wrapped around her ribs and squeezed. She didn’t understand why it hurt, but it did.

She turned to say something, anything, but before she could, a firm pat landed on her back. Alex’s voice was a whisper against the night air, warm and resolute. “I’ll see you guys again, Ash. I’m sure of it.”

Ashlyn swallowed hard, nodding once, though the lump in her throat made it difficult. She didn’t want to think about the possibility that this was a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep.

The balcony stretched out into the open night, its rusted railing casting twisted shadows against the cracked wooden planks beneath them.

The sky, an unnatural crimson, loomed above them, the scattered stars pulsing against its eerie shade like pinpricks of gold on an old tapestry.

The air carried the distant scent of damp earth, the whisper of wind weaving through the skeletal remains of trees beyond the farm.

Aiden leaned back on his elbows, legs sprawled carelessly in front of him as he let out a long breath, watching it swirl in the cool night air. His lips curled into a smirk before he turned his head toward Tyler, who sat beside him, knees drawn up and arms draped over them.

"Alright, I take it back," Aiden mused, voice tinged with amusement. "You're definitely an ace kisser."

Tyler let out a soft chuckle, lifting a hand to rub under his nose, a familiar nervous habit Aiden had grown fond of.

His gaze dropped between his crossed legs, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. "There are probably a lot of things about me you’d have to take back."

Aiden scoffed, nudging Tyler’s leg with his foot. "Don't get ahead of yourself, jackass. One thing at a time."

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant croak of insects still clinging to life in this fractured world. Aiden shifted, rolling his neck before letting his head fall back against the railing.

"So," he started, tilting his head slightly, "when did you realize it? That you liked me?"

Tyler hummed at the question, letting it settle over him like the cool breeze kissing at his skin. He took his time, rolling the memories through his mind, sorting through the messy, tangled thoughts he’d ignored for too long.

"I think… I only really understood it a few months ago," he admitted, glancing at Aiden through the corner of his eye. "But if I had to pinpoint when it started? Probably sometime during those dumb study sessions when it was just us. I’d catch myself staring at you too much."

Aiden snorted, turning to fully face him now, expression laced with curiosity. "No shit? Didn’t take you for the lovesick type."

Tyler shot him a look but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned the question back on him. "What about you? When did you figure it out?"

Aiden leaned his head back again, exhaling sharply through his nose. "That’s a bit trickier."

He drummed his fingers against the wooden planks, the rhythm almost absentminded. "At first, I was convinced I was in love with Ashlyn. Before I met you, before we all got lumped together for that stupid history project, I thought I liked her. I mean, she’s interesting, you know? But then, somewhere along the way, the group got closer, and you and I started going at it with our stupid little arguments…"

He trailed off, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful.

"And suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about Ashlyn much anymore. I was thinking about some annoying brunette who always had something smart or boring to say." Aiden dutifully ignored the scoff the comment elicited from said brunette, “And now that I’m sitting here thinking about it, I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t in love with you. Feels like second nature at this point."

Tyler swallowed around the tightness in his throat, his chest squeezing at the weight of Aiden’s words. He let out a slow breath, shaking his head lightly before shooting him a sideways glance. "Who knew the psycho actually had feelings."

Aiden shot him a playful glare, but it lacked any real heat. The sharp edges of their usual banter softened into something warmer, something neither of them had the words for.

Without thinking too much about it, Tyler lifted his arm slightly, an invitation Aiden took without hesitation. He let his head rest against Tyler’s shoulder, the warmth of his presence settling against him like a well-worn comfort.

Together, they gazed out into the night, their world broken beyond repair, yet for the first time in a long time, something about it felt steady.

Chapter Text

I.

Morning bled into the sky in sluggish strokes of dull red, stretching across the horizon as if the heavens themselves hesitated to let the night fully disappear.

The farm stood quiet in its eerie stillness, its walls soaking in the last remnants of their presence like an old home reluctant to see its children leave.

Dew clung to the grass, catching the faint morning light, and the trees swayed in the crisp breeze, whispering farewells they couldn’t voice aloud.

Ben stood beside the car, his hoodie pulled over his head, sleeves shoved up as he worked the gas canister, tipping it carefully to let the last of the fuel slosh into the tank. 

The scent of gasoline cut through the earthy aroma of damp soil, mixing with the distant smell of livestock carried by the wind. He rubbed at his tired eyes before stretching his arms over his head, exhaustion still lingering from the previous night’s drinking game.

A few feet away, Logan crouched beside his backpack, double-checking his notebooks, flipping through pages filled with star charts and hurried notes of constellations he’d mapped during their stay.

Tyler was fastening the straps of their supplies, adjusting weapons and ensuring that nothing was left behind. Taylor stood nearby, stretching her arms, her fingers ghosting over the scar on her side absentmindedly, as if reassuring herself of her body’s progress.

Ashlyn, however, had yet to move.

She stood near the house, her arms crossed over her chest, weight shifting from one foot to the other as her gaze flickered between the open car door and Alex’s unreadable expression.

He stood in the doorway, another towel still lazily draped over his shoulders, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead from his previous shower.

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Ashlyn asked, voice softer this time, as if lowering the volume would lessen the weight of the question.

Alex breathed in deeply through his nose, the corner of his lips curling slightly before he exhaled through his mouth. He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “I told you, kid, I’ve got no reason to leave just yet.”

Her fingers curled against her arm, nails biting into her skin as she fought against the flicker of disappointment she had no right to feel.

She didn’t understand why it felt wrong to leave him here, why something in her chest twisted at the thought of driving off and never seeing him again.

Maybe it was the way his presence had become familiar, a steady and quiet assurance in the midst of chaos. Maybe it was the way he had never looked at them like burdens or liabilities. Or maybe it was the way he seemed like a man waiting for something, waiting for something to change, and she feared that nothing ever would if he stayed here alone.

Alex must’ve caught on to her hesitation because he reached out, ruffling her hair lightly before resting a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see y’all again,” he murmured, a knowing gleam in his eye.

Ashlyn swallowed down the lump in her throat and nodded, allowing a small smirk to tug at her lips. “Better not be lying man.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Meanwhile, Aiden was already halfway through wrapping his arms around Alex, grinning like an idiot as he gave the older man a tight squeeze. “You’re a fun guy, y’know,” Aiden said, stepping back with a lazy grin. “I’d say don’t miss me too much, but I know it’ll be impossible.”

Alex just huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. You kids take care of each other.”

Aiden gave a mock salute before stepping back towards the car, where the others were already piling in.

Tyler held the door open, waiting for Ashlyn to finally step away from Alex, which she did with a lingering glance before sliding into her seat.

Logan turned the key in the ignition, the old engine coughing before rumbling to life, vibrating beneath their feet as the vehicle groaned under the weight of supplies and bodies.

The tires crunched against the gravel as they slowly pulled away from the farm, the house growing smaller in the rearview mirror. Aiden twisted in his seat, watching Alex standing there, hands on his hips as he gave them one last nod. Then he turned and disappeared back inside, swallowed by the house like a ghost fading into the walls of a place that no longer belonged to the living.

The forest stretched ahead of them, trees parting to reveal the winding road leading back to the prison.

It felt strange, surreal, as if they had stepped out of a dream and back into the cold grasp of reality. They had been out here for weeks, and for all they knew, the others back at the prison had given up hope of ever seeing them again.

Tyler let out a breath, settling against his seat as he stared at the road ahead. “Feels like we were gone for a lifetime.”

Taylor hummed, adjusting her seatbelt. “Yeah. But it’s time to go home.”

The road stretched before them in a seemingly endless, cracked ribbon of asphalt, bordered by gnarled trees that bent toward them like silent spectators.

The low hum of the vehicle’s engine was the only sound beyond the occasional rustling of wind through the dying foliage. It had been a long stretch of nothingness since they'd left Alex behind, and Logan finally pulled over with a sigh, rubbing the fatigue from his face as he reached for the crumpled map in the passenger seat.

“Alright,” he muttered, spreading the paper over the dashboard. “We should be a few miles from the next turn, but I don’t trust this road. Too many choke points.”

Ben leaned out of the window, stretching his arms above his head. Wouldn’t be a trip without a few close calls, he signed, watching the tree line. Speaking of which, we’ve got company.

Aiden was already pushing the door open before Tyler could even respond, a lopsided grin settling on his lips. “Oh, look at that. A welcoming party.”

Tyler sighed, but followed suit, stepping out and rolling his shoulders as he drew his knife. The walkers were staggering toward them, at least five of them, but they were still spaced out—enough time to enjoy this a little.

Aiden twirled his own knife between his fingers, nodding toward Tyler with a smirk. “How about a little competition? Whoever gets the most kills wins."

“Wins what?” Tyler arched a brow, feigning disinterest as he adjusted his grip on the blade.

Aiden’s smirk deepened. “Dunno. A favor. Bragging rights. Take your pick.”

Tyler exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he stepped forward, quickening his pace toward the nearest walker. He didn’t give it time to react before plunging his blade deep into its eye socket, twisting with a sickening squelch.

The corpse went limp instantly, its body collapsing against him before he shoved it off, letting it crumple to the cracked pavement

“One,” he muttered, wiping the blade off on his jeans as he shot Aiden a look.

Aiden clutched his chest in mock offense. “Oh, so we’re just jumping right in? No foreplay? Rude.”

Before Tyler could roll his eyes, Aiden lunged forward with a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so reckless.

He ducked beneath the outstretched arms of a decayed woman, sidestepping just as her teeth snapped inches from his throat. With a quick flick of his wrist, his blade sliced clean through her neck, separating head from body in a grotesque display of precision

The head hit the ground with a wet thud, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop, jaw still gnashing uselessly at the air.

“One,” Aiden announced, smug. Before throwing his arm back, gaining momentum just to let the blade fly and stab an approaching walker from behind the brunette. “And two.”

Tyler barely had time to scoff before another walker lunged from the side, forcing him to pivot sharply. He grabbed it by the throat, shoving it back against a rusted road sign before driving his knife straight through its temple. 

The skull caved in with a grotesque crunch, brain matter leaking down his wrist as the body convulsed once before going still.

“Two,” Tyler corrected, flicking his hand to rid himself of the gore. “Try to keep up.”

Aiden hummed in amusement, bending over to the target of his knife to pull it back out. Stepping back just as another walker stumbled toward him. Instead of going for a quick kill, he allowed it to get close, dodging at the last second before grabbing its jaw with one hand and shoving his blade upward with the other.

The force sent the blade up through the roof of its mouth, piercing straight into the soft tissue of its skull. He held it there for a moment, reveling in the way the body spasmed against him before he yanked the knife free and let the corpse drop.

“Three,” he said, licking a stray droplet of blood from his wrist. “And that, my dear Tyler Hernández, is how it’s done.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, a deep, rumbling explosion echoed through the air, the force of it shaking the ground beneath them.

They both froze, heads snapping in the direction of the sound as the others peered out from the car, alarm flashing across their faces.

Ashlyn was the first to react, gripping the side of the car door as she leaned out, her eyes narrowing toward the thick plume of smoke rising in the distance.

“That’s…” Her voice faltered, breath hitching. Then, more firmly, “That’s from Alex’s farm.”

Silence fell over them like a suffocating blanket. Aiden whistled low under his breath, pointing toward the massive cloud of black smoke with his bloodied blade. “Well, damn. That was a hell of a boom.”

Ashlyn didn’t waste another second. Without a word, she reached for Tyler’s gun, snatching it from his holster before taking off in a dead sprint.

The others barely had time to process her actions before she veered off the road entirely, throwing herself into the dense tree line instead of taking the open route back.

“Ashlyn, wait—” Logan started, but she was already gone, swallowed whole by the darkness of the forest.

Tyler and Aiden exchanged a glance before taking off after her, the echoes of the explosion still ringing in their ears.

Ashlyn’s feet pounded against the earth, her breath tearing through her throat as she pushed herself forward, weaving between the trees with reckless urgency.

The explosion still echoed in her ears, rattling in her chest like a haunting aftershock, but her focus had sharpened into a singular, desperate thought—Alex.

The forest felt endless, branches clawing at her arms, snatching strands of her hair as she tore through them without a care, her lungs burning from the cold night air.

Every second wasted felt like another second closer to losing him. She barely registered the distant sound of hurried footsteps receding into the dark in the opposing direction, too caught up in the adrenaline surging through her body, too locked in the frantic hope that Alex hadn’t been in the part of the house that had been blown apart.

Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest at the thought, the anxiety gripping her ribs like a vice.

As she broke past the tree line, the sight before her sucked the breath from her lungs.

Less than half of the farm was standing.

The other half—obliterated. A gaping wound in the landscape. Fire licked hungrily at the edges of the wreckage, smoke billowing into the sky like thick veins of darkness against the unnatural red of the heavens.

The fence had collapsed in multiple areas, allowing a slow, shuffling tide of walkers to slip through the breach, drawn like moths to the flame.

Ashlyn barely spared them a glance, her pulse drumming in her ears as she sprinted forward, yanking off her jacket to press against her mouth and nose against the acrid smoke.

Her eyes burned as she ducked low, navigating through the wreckage, stepping over splintered wood and broken glass as she scoured what remained of the interior.

“Alex!” she coughed out, voice hoarse. “Alex, where the hell are you?”

The smoke curled in thick tendrils around her, making it impossible to see beyond a few feet ahead. Her lungs screamed for air, but she forced herself deeper into the crumbling home, ignoring the sting of embers nipping at her exposed arms.

Panic clawed at the edges of her mind, her every instinct screaming that she was running out of time—

And then she saw him.

Collapsed against the floor, half-buried beneath the remnants of a fallen bookshelf, his head tilted at an unnatural angle, a trail of blood matting his temple.

“Alex!”

Ashlyn’s knees hit the floor as soon as the bookshelf was lifted off of his limbs. As she scrambled to his side, hands shaking as she reached for him, her fingers pressing against his throat, desperate for a pulse.

Relief flooded her like a crashing wave when she found it—weak, but steady. His eyes fluttered open at the contact, disoriented, unfocused, a dazed groan slipping past his lips.

“Ash…” his voice was barely above a whisper. “You—need to go.”

“Like hell I do. We do” She shifted, wrapping an arm around his waist, her other hand bracing his shoulder. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

He tried to protest, but his strength failed him, his body too heavy against her. Ashlyn gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance before dragging him up with sheer determination, forcing her trembling limbs to carry the weight.

She staggered towards the door, the heat behind her growing unbearable, the groans of walkers filtering through the suffocating air.

They were gathering.

Ashlyn reached for her gun and fired off two quick shots, dropping the closest threats in their path, but she knew it wasn’t enough. 

More were coming. The scent of blood and fire had them swarming like insects, and she didn’t have the ammo to hold them back. 

The gun clicked empty. She cursed, tossing it aside, shifting her grip on Alex as she forced herself to move faster.

Then a sharp gunshot rang out, and another walker dropped just inches away from them.

Ashlyn’s head snapped toward the source, her breath hitching as she caught sight of Tyler emerging from the smoke, a different gun— Aiden’s —still raised, eyes sharp and focused. 

Aiden was right behind him, already running towards them, his expression a mix of frustration and something bordering on exasperated fondness.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Ashlyn barked as he skidded to a stop beside her. “Did you really think I was gonna let you run straight into this mess alone?” He bit back.

“Didn’t exactly have time to argue,” Ashlyn shot back, adjusting Alex’s weight against her. “And why the hell did you follow me?”

“Because you’re a goddamn magnet for bad decisions.”

Ashlyn arched a brow and Aiden rolled his eyes. “Exactly, you’re not, it’s my thing, additional valid reason to take off after you.” He looped Alex’s arm over his shoulder to help take some of the weight.

“And also, if you think you’re the only one allowed to have insane, death-wish moments, you clearly forgot who you’re talking to.”

Ashlyn huffed, somewhere between exhausted and amused. “Crazy, reckless plans are your thing."

“Good you’re paying attention, so quit stealing my spotlight.”

Another walker lunged toward them, but before Ashlyn could react, Aiden pulled his knife and drove it straight into its skull, twisting the blade before yanking it free with a sickening squelch.

He wiped the blood against the hem of his shirt, grinning as if they weren’t seconds from being overwhelmed.

“Come on, before we get eaten,” Tyler called, firing another round at the incoming horde. “Less flirting, more running.”

Aiden frowned at the comment.

Ashlyn rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, gripping Alex tighter as they pushed forward. The weight of him was still heavy, but Aiden’s help made it bearable. Together, they ran, the heat of the fire roaring behind them, the undead clawing at their heels.

And as they finally burst free from the farm, the open road ahead of them, Ashlyn found herself clutching onto the desperate hope that they’d made it out in time.

II.

Inside the van, Logan paced in tight, frantic circles, his boots scuffing against the worn carpet as his nerves threatened to claw their way out of his skin.

The interior of the vehicle felt suffocating, the stale air thick with tension. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his sides, restless, his every muscle coiled tight as a spring.

The waiting was unbearable. Every second that ticked by felt like a stone being added to the already crushing weight on his chest.

“We need to go after them,” he muttered under his breath, barely able to keep himself from just jumping out of the van and sprinting into the forest after Ashlyn and the others. The words fell out in a near-growl, frustration laced through every syllable.

Ben, seated across from him, remained calm despite Logan’s clear distress. His expression was firm as he lifted his hands and signed a response, sharp and precise.

No. We stay.

Logan scowled, shaking his head before running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Are you kidding me? They could be in trouble. We don’t even know if they’re still—”

Ben cut him off with another set of signs, his gaze unwavering. Taylor is in no shape for a chase.

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenching. His gaze flickered toward Taylor, asleep and still pale on the cushion, her breathing shallow but steady. He knew Ben was right—Taylor couldn’t be moved recklessly. Not in her state. Not with her injury.

Still, it didn’t make the waiting any easier.

Frustration seething beneath his skin, Logan pulled his pistol from his belt and checked his ammo with quick, jerky movements. Half a magazine. Not much, but enough for a fight. Maybe.

He exhaled through gritted teeth and slammed the clip back into place before shoving the gun into his holster. His pulse pounded against his ribs, the restless energy coursing through him like wildfire.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Logan stalked toward the window, pressing a hand against the cool glass as he scanned the tree line, his gaze darting through the dense foliage.

His heart pounded, a steady drumbeat of anxiety. He checked again. And again. Each time, the forest remained silent, unmoving—no sign of Ashlyn, Aiden, or Tyler.

Then, on the fourth glance, something shifted.

Logan froze, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze narrowed, eyes locking onto the distant tree line where movement stirred between the trunks, sluggish but undeniable.

At first, it was just a dark blur. Then another. Then more.

A flicker of realization shot through him like ice down his spine, and as the shapes moved closer, the details sharpened with horrifying clarity—rotting flesh, hollow eyes, slow, shambling movements. A horde.

“Shit,” he breathed, his entire body tensing as if struck by lightning.

His pulse rocketed, panic clawing up his throat as he instinctively reached for his gun again. He yanked it free and checked the window once more, hoping—praying—that the others would come into view, that they would appear running down the road before it was too late.

But they didn’t.

The horde was coming. They were getting closer. And time was running out.

Logan turned sharply, his movements frantic now as he rushed to the back of the van, checking Taylor’s state again before glancing at Ben, who was already staring at him with understanding, waiting for him to say it.

“We need to do something,” Logan said, voice low but urgent.

The weight of Alex between them made every step through the dense forest heavier, the uneven ground beneath their feet forcing them to adjust constantly.

Aiden and Ashlyn each had one of his arms draped over their shoulders, his body sagging between them, forcing them to brace themselves as they staggered forward.

Alex was barely conscious, his head lolling forward as soft groans of pain escaped his lips, his bloodied hair sticking to his forehead, staining Aiden’s sleeve where it rested against him.

“Try to stay awake,” Ashlyn urged, her voice strained from both effort and worry. “You hear me, Al? Keep your eyes open.”

Alex’s lashes fluttered weakly, a slurred mumble leaving his lips. “You should’ve... left…”

Tyler scoffed, adjusting his grip on the gun as they stepped over a fallen log. “Yeah, sure. We’ll leave you next time.”

Alex made a weak noise, something between a laugh and a groan, but Ashlyn shot Tyler a glare nonetheless.

The forest around them was eerily quiet aside from the crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet and Alex’s labored breathing.

The scent of burning wood and charred debris still lingered in the air, and with it came the lingering unease of what had just happened back at the farm. They didn’t have time to process it. Not now.

They emerged onto the open road, the path stretching before them, leading straight to the camping car that stood like a beacon in the distance.

Tyler exhaled in relief, ready to call out, but before he could, Logan burst out of the van, waving his arms urgently, signaling for them to hurry. His movements were frantic, his body shifting toward the horizon before he suddenly pointed.

Aiden and Ashlyn followed his gesture, and the relief in their chests turned to ice.

A horde.

It was thick, an ocean of bodies moving in a slow, uncalculated shuffle, but they were coming. Their direction a little off, meaning they hadn’t yet spotted them. They still had time—just barely.

“Shit,” Tyler hissed under his breath, shifting Alex’s weight more firmly against him. Aiden was already digging through his pockets, retrieving ammo.

“Take my place,” he told Tyler, pushing Alex toward him before pulling the gun from his hand and loading it. His fingers moved fast, muscle memory kicking in, his movements quick and precise, but something wasn’t right.

Aiden froze.

His hand had brushed over the bullets, but something else was missing—something that shouldn’t have been missing. His heart stuttered as he frantically dug through his pockets again, and dread twisted in his gut when he realized it was gone.

The shark toy.

His body tensed, his head jerking over his shoulder, scanning the ground behind them, searching for the small, worn-down thing he always carried. He didn’t see it.

His chest constricted, his pulse hammering, and without thinking, his feet started moving backward.

“Tyler, go ahead. I dropped something.”

“What?” Tyler whisper-shouted, his grip tightening on Alex. “Are you serious right now? We don’t have—”

“Just go!” Aiden cut in, his voice hushed but firm, before he turned and sprinted back into the forest.

Tyler moved to go after him, but Ashlyn’s grip on his arm stopped him. “He’ll make it.”

He wanted to argue. He really did. But they were running out of time, and Alex wasn’t getting any lighter. Gritting his teeth, he turned away, dragging Alex toward the van as Aiden disappeared into the trees.

The descent into the forest was fast, his feet skidding down the damp slope, the wetness of the grass making the ground treacherous. 

Aiden almost lost his footing but managed to keep himself upright, his gaze snapping left and right in search of the toy. His breath was heavy, his chest heaving from the sprint, but then—a flash of blue and gray in the dirt.

His heart lurched.

He lunged for it, snatching the toy from the ground, dirt smudging its surface. He wiped it against his shirt hastily, pressing it back into his pocket, his fingers closing around it tightly as he let out a shaky breath.

Then, a sound.

Aiden stiffened, a prickle running down his spine.

Shuffling. Too many feet moving at once.

Slowly, he turned his head, and his stomach clenched.

Walkers.

A thick line of them, a moving train of decayed bodies just a few feet away, blocking his way back up the slope.

They hadn’t noticed him yet, but they were close. Too close.

Heart hammering, Aiden didn’t move. He barely even breathed as he lowered himself flat against the wet ground, his back pressing into the damp grass.

The coldness seeped through his clothes, the moisture clinging to his skin, but he ignored it. His fingers curled around the grip of the gun pressed against his chest, steadying himself.

He could hear them.

The guttural sounds of their throats, the sickly wet shuffle of rotting flesh, the slow drag of feet against dirt. They were so damn close. Just above the slope. One wrong move and it’d be over.

Aiden exhaled slowly through his nose, his pulse a steady, erratic rhythm against his eardrums, but there was something else too.

A rush.

A sick, twisted thrill from the way danger loomed over him like an axe waiting to drop. The addictive pulse of adrenaline flooding his veins, the knowing that at any moment, a horrible death could be upon him.

He swallowed down a laugh, biting into his lip, pressing the toy deeper into his pocket as he laid there, waiting for his moment.

III.

The moment Tyler and Ashlyn hauled Alex into the van, their muscles screaming from exertion, they barely had time to catch their breath before Logan slammed the door shut, the sharp click of the lock reverberating through the tense air.

Tyler's head snapped toward him at the sound, eyes narrowing as adrenaline burned through his veins.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he snapped, shoving Logan back against the wall of the cramped vehicle. His breath was ragged, fury lacing every syllable. "Aiden is still out there, Logan. Open the goddamn door—"

Before he could lunge for the handle, Ashlyn's fingers clamped over his mouth, muffling whatever curse was about to rip from his throat.

He thrashed against her grip, his pulse hammering like a war drum in his ears. "Shut up," she hissed, her voice a low, urgent whisper against the chaos outside. "Get down—now." Her eyes were fierce, filled with the kind of command that only came from desperation.

Ben and Logan didn't hesitate. They dropped flat against the van’s floor, pressing their bodies against the cold, metallic surface. Logan had barely moved before Tyler jerked against Ashlyn’s grip again, his frustration boiling over into a glare that could cut steel. "Let me go—"

"Do you want to get him killed?" Ashlyn growled, her fingers tightening over his jaw. "If they see movement in here, we’re all dead."

Tyler’s breathing was erratic, his chest rising and falling with the force of his turmoil. His mind was a battlefield—raging between the primal need to sprint back out into the woods for Aiden and the cold, terrifying logic that she was right.

If he opened that door now, they might as well be ringing the dinner bell for the horde outside.

He swallowed hard, nostrils flaring as he forced himself to take in the reality of their situation. Ashlyn only released him when she felt the rigid tension in his muscles loosen just enough.

Even then, her fingers lingered at his wrist, ready to grab him again if he so much as twitched toward the exit.

The air in the van was thick with dread, the kind that made every inhale feel like swallowing glass.

The low, guttural groans of the dead seeped through the thin walls, an eerie symphony that clawed at whatever remaining shreds of composure they had left. Tyler pressed his back against the floor, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he struggled to steady his breath.

Somewhere out there, Aiden was still alive. He had to be. Because the alternative? Tyler refused to fucking think about it.

Aiden moved in silence, his breath shallow as he pressed himself against the rusted frame of an abandoned sedan, the corroded metal cold against his back.

The horde had begun to thin, leaving only a few straggling walkers prowling in the distance, their hollow groans cutting through the air.

His path was clear—mostly. He just needed to get to the other side of the van without drawing attention. If he could reach the ladder bolted to its side, he could climb up, slip onto the roof, and sneak inside unnoticed. That was the plan.

He exhaled slowly, scanning the street. His fingers twitched against the hilt of his knife before he pushed forward, keeping low, every footstep calculated, every movement deliberate.

The air carried the acrid scent of decay, the rot and rust blending into something so familiar now that he hardly noticed. His muscles were tense, coiled like springs as he finally reached the van’s side.

His hand found the icy bars of the ladder just as a deep, guttural growl sliced through the quiet.

His heart stuttered.

A walker had seen him. A rotten husk of a thing, its jaw unhinged, gaping as it stumbled forward, the sickening wet sounds of its insides shifting as it moved.

Aiden wasted no time. In a flash, he had his knife unsheathed, driving the blade deep into its temple before its cry could become a beacon for the rest.

The body crumpled at his feet, but the noise had done its damage. More walkers began to turn, their heads lolling toward the source of the sound, their vacant eyes locking onto where he stood.

He didn’t wait to see how many. He bolted up the ladder, gripping the rungs so tight his knuckles ached. His boots scraped against the metal, every sound amplified in his head, but the moment his back met the van’s roof, he forced himself still.

His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as he clamped a hand over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he listened. Below, the walkers groaned softly, their shuffling movements slow and uncoordinated. They hadn’t seen him. He was safe—for now.

Inside the van, Ashlyn and Ben’s heads shot up at the faint thud from above. Logan and Tyler followed, exchanging glances. For a moment, no one moved, tension crackling between them.

Then, a whisper:

“Aiden?” Ashlyn’s voice was barely audible, but he heard it.

He responded with a soft knock against the roof, too drained to form words. A shaky breath left him, his lips twitching as he let out a breathy chuckle, and then, voice rough from exhaustion, he murmured, “A little help here?”

Tyler moved before anyone else could react. He practically sprang to his feet, careful to remain below window level, his pulse thrumming with urgency. He reached the back of the van, flipping open the emergency hatch above.

A sigh of relief left him when he saw Aiden’s worn-out sneakers appear in the opening. Without hesitation, he reached up, gripping Aiden by his sides as he helped him slide down into the safety of the van.

The moment Aiden’s feet hit the floor, his legs gave out slightly, and he slumped back with a soft groan. Tyler didn’t waste a second, kneeling beside him, hands hovering as his eyes roamed over his form, checking for injuries with a fervor that bordered on frantic.

Aiden, despite everything, grinned.

“Damn, Tyler, if you wanted to get your hands on me this bad, you could’ve just said so,” he rasped, winking up at him.

Tyler huffed, the relief in his exhale unmistakable. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it—only exhaustion, only the kind of concern that ran bone deep.

Aiden chuckled, the sound weaker than usual but still laced with mischief. “Make me.”

Tyler shook his head, letting out a breathy, tired chuckle of his own before shoving Aiden’s shoulder lightly. “You’re a damn idiot.”

Aiden leaned into the touch, tilting his head back against the van’s interior with a lopsided smirk. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more grounded. “But I made it back, didn’t I?”

Tyler exhaled sharply, shaking his head before finally, finally letting himself relax. He didn’t say it, but the way his hand lingered on Aiden’s arm said enough.

Yeah. He made it back.

IV.

The weight in the air shifted once the last of the undead staggered into the dense tangle of trees beyond the road, their guttural moans fading into the eerie hush of the aftermath.

No one spoke at first—only the ragged sound of catching breath and the occasional rustle of shifting fabric filled the space inside the van.

Logan exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand down his face before crouching beside Alex, whose unconscious form lay sprawled against the makeshift bedding.

His fingers brushed lightly over the dried blood on Alex’s temple, careful as he tilted his head to inspect the damage.

"Scar’s gonna stick," he murmured, his voice low but steady, his touch practiced. "Got a nasty cut from the shelf and probably bruised ribs from the fall, but nothing fatal. He’s gonna be okay."

Tyler, kneeling beside him, sighed and ran a hand through his hair before letting it drop onto Logan’s shoulder—a silent apology, an unspoken acknowledgment of his earlier outburst.

He barely squeezed before pulling away, but Logan caught it and answered with a small, reassuring smile. "No one’s getting left behind."

Aiden, on the other side of the van, wasn’t having as much luck.

His cousin’s hands were a blur of frustrated signs, fingers snapping with urgency as Ben unleashed a barrage of exasperated movements that fluctuated between scolding and sheer worry.

You— Ben’s fingers signed so quickly that Aiden almost lost track, —reckless idiot! You almost got yourself killed over a damn toy?! Do you even realize how close—

"I’m okay!" Aiden interjected with a smirk, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. "You worry too much, Benny. The great Aiden always finds his way back."

Ben’s jaw tensed, his hands still mid-motion, before he scoffed, signing something far less polite before crossing his arms.

Before Aiden could offer another grin in response, a hand caught his own, fingers curling hesitantly around his index finger.

Ginger strands fell into his vision before he had the chance to turn fully. Ashlyn stood there, eyes downcast, but the tension in her grip spoke volumes.

He knew that look—guilt wore her down like a phantom's weight. She barely mumbled out words, apologies that stuck in her throat like splinters.

"Hey, now," Aiden said softly, tilting his head to meet her eyes. "None of that. I’m fine. See? Not even a scratch."

His usual playful tone did nothing to ease the weight in her expression. Her fingers twitched against his before she exhaled sharply, her arms moving before she could stop herself

The breath left Aiden’s lungs in a soft oof as she buried herself against his chest, gripping onto him like he’d vanish if she let go.

He froze, breath hitching.

This was familiar.

Too familiar.

Like that night on the rooftop when the Phantom took her, when his carelessness had almost cost him her. The memory locked his smile in place, stiff and unyielding, as if forcing it would somehow hold back the ghost of that past mistake.

But this wasn’t the same. She wasn’t slipping through his fingers this time.

Aiden let out a slow breath, hesitating before resting a hand between her shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles into her back.

He knew better than to take this moment for granted—Ashlyn rarely allowed contact, even with them. If she was letting herself lean into him, he wasn’t going to ruin it by pulling away.

"I’m here," he murmured, voice lower, softer. "I’m okay. It wasn’t your fault. I made the call, I ran back. My decision. I’d do it again."

She didn’t answer, only buried herself further into his jacket, fingers tightening against the fabric. Aiden sighed, pressing his chin lightly to the top of her head, letting the warmth of her closeness ground him.

Tyler watched quietly from across the van, his gaze softer than before, and even Ben, though still upset, let his arms loosen slightly from their crossed position.

Outside, the road remained empty, and the horde was nothing but a fading threat in the distance. For now, they were safe. And for now, that was enough.

The engine roared beneath Ashlyn’s grip as she pressed the accelerator with unwavering determination, her knuckles white around the wheel.

The van lurched forward, tires grinding against the cracked pavement of the road they had taken weeks ago, the one that had led them into the unknown.

Now, it was leading them home—if home was still standing.

The others rocked in their seats with every sharp turn and jolt, but no one dared to tell Ashlyn to slow down. Not when Alex was barely holding onto consciousness in the back.

Logan sat closest to him, one hand bracing himself against the van’s interior while the other hovered near Alex’s temple, where dried blood crusted against his skin.

His chest rose and fell unevenly, his breath shallow. Every now and then, Logan would shift him carefully, ensuring he didn’t slip off the makeshift bedding they had set up for him.

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darting between Alex’s pale face and the road ahead. “He’s stable for now,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “But we have to get him back soon.”

Ben nodded, seated beside the small, rickety table in the van’s center, had laid out an array of weapons in front of him.

The metal gleamed dully under the dim light, bullets clicking against each other as he checked and rechecked every magazine with methodical precision.

His hands moved swiftly, efficiently, and yet his mind was clearly elsewhere. Maybe it was on Alex. Maybe it was on what they had just gone through. Maybe it was on what still waited for them ahead.

Tyler, however, barely noticed the weapons or Logan’s mutterings. He was too aware of the warmth beside him, the slow, rhythmic sound of Aiden’s breathing.

Ever since the whole ordeal back at the farm, he hadn’t wanted to leave his side. 

Aiden was reckless—more reckless than he ever should be, but he was alive. And somehow, despite everything, that was all Tyler could think about.

Aiden leaned back against the seat, shifting slightly until their shoulders touched. His smirk was subtle, but there. “Y’know, Ty,” he mused, tilting his head toward him, “I think you might actually be the worst at being subtle. Like, top-tier bad.”

Tyler raised a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Oh yeah?” he drawled, feigning disinterest. “That so? I’ll have you know I was voted ‘Most Mysterious’ in high school.”

Aiden snorted. “Bullshit. If anything, you were voted ‘Most Likely to Punch Someone for Looking at Him Wrong.’”

Tyler scoffed, shaking his head with a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ll have you know, I only punched someone once in high school...or thrice” He paused, eyes flickering with mischief. “And they deserved it.”

Aiden let out a full, unrestrained laugh, the sound rich and effortless. It wasn’t the usual maniacal laughter that made him sound like he belonged in an abandoned asylum, the kind that set people on edge and left an eerie chill in the air.

No, this was different. This was warm. Genuine. And for some goddamn reason, Tyler felt something twist in his chest at the sound of it.

Fuck, he loved that laugh.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

Aiden’s fingers brushed against his hand, deliberate yet cautious, as if testing the waters.

It was a small touch, barely there, but it sent a spark of warmth up Tyler’s arm. He didn’t react, didn’t flinch or pull away, just let it linger as he turned his gaze toward the window, watching the darkened landscape blur past them.

They sat in silence after that, the occasional bump in the road rocking them back into reality. Ashlyn hadn’t spoken since she started driving, too locked in her own head, too focused on getting them to safety.

Taylor sat rigidly in the front passenger seat, her fingers nervously toying with the hem of her sleeve as she stole another glance at Ashlyn.

The way the girl gripped the wheel, knuckles white against the worn leather, her shoulders tight with strain, made Taylor’s stomach churn uneasily.

The red-drenched sky outside deepened with every passing second, the final light of the sun bleeding into the horizon like an open wound, threatening to be swallowed whole by the night.

Taylor hesitated, her gaze shifting toward the distant road ahead, its darkening path stretching endlessly before them.

The prison was still far—too far—and the reality of their situation gnawed at her thoughts. The roads would soon be near-impossible to navigate in the suffocating blackness, the risk of stumbling into something—someone—far greater. She wet her lips before finally breaking the tense silence.

“Ashlyn,” her voice was careful, but firm, “you know we’re not going to make it before nightfall, right? Driving in the dark out here is just going to get us lost, or worse.”

Ashlyn’s fingers tightened imperceptibly against the wheel, the slight twitch of her jaw betraying her thoughts even as her eyes remained fixed ahead.

She didn’t answer, not at first, as if acknowledging Taylor’s words would solidify the reality she was trying so hard to ignore. 

The silence stretched on, the only sound between them being the low, steady hum of the van’s engine and the occasional bump of the worn tires against the cracked pavement.

Taylor sighed, shifting in her seat before leaning slightly forward, her hand reaching out to press lightly against Ashlyn’s shoulder, grounding her.

The tension in Ashlyn’s body loosened just slightly beneath the touch, and she let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

Her nod was small, almost imperceptible, but Taylor caught it, a silent agreement passing between them. Then, finally, Ashlyn spoke, her voice level yet edged with reluctant acceptance.

“We’re finding somewhere to stop for the night,” she announced, her words carrying through the van’s interior, reaching the others in the back. “Someplace we can clear and barricade if needed. It’s not worth the risk to push through blindly.”

There was no argument, only the sounds of quiet agreement, the kind that came when there was no other viable choice.

They all knew better than to challenge Ashlyn when she had her mind set, but more than that, they trusted her judgment.

From the back, there was a slight shuffle before Aiden’s presence suddenly shifted closer, his form appearing just behind Ashlyn’s seat.

Tyler watched as Aiden scooted up, the space between them widening as Aiden reached forward, fingers absentmindedly tangling themselves in the strands of Ashlyn’s hair, twisting and toying with them like a familiar ritual.

“Getting yourself all worked up again, aren’t ya?” Aiden’s voice was low, teasing but gentle. “Gonna give yourself a headache before we even get a chance to sleep.”

Ashlyn exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and a half-hearted chuckle, but she didn’t pull away.

Tyler should’ve been unbothered. He knew their bond, the way Aiden always had this way of grounding her, the way she let him. It wasn’t jealousy—not really.

But he felt the absence of Aiden’s warmth immediately, his fingers unconsciously curling against his palm where their hands had once been barely brushing.

Instead of voicing the feeling, he let his gaze drop to the passing scenery outside, eyes tracing the shifting silhouettes of trees against the fading light.

Aiden, as if sensing Tyler’s shift in demeanor, tossed a glance back at him with an easy smirk. “Don’t worry, Ty. I got enough charm to go around.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, but there was a faint tug at the corner of his lips. “Charm isn’t exactly the word I’d use.”

Aiden grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Oh? What word would you use then?”

Tyler didn’t answer right away, pretending to be far more invested in the blurring landscape outside. Then, without looking, he muttered, “Nuisance.”

Aiden let out a laugh, that full, unrestrained kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and Tyler swallowed down the way it made his chest feel just a little too tight.

“Damn, Tyler. That’s cold,” Aiden feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “And here I thought we were bonding.”

“You thought wrong,” Tyler quipped back, finally turning his head, the smirk on his lips betraying the truth behind his words.

Aiden only grinned wider, reaching out to flick Tyler’s knee with two fingers before leaning back into his seat.

The tension in the van had lessened, even if only slightly, but the weight of the night still loomed over them like a promise. Finding a place to stop was only one problem solved; the real challenge was surviving until morning.

V.

The store had been abandoned long before they arrived, its shelves looted, its walls graffitied with messages of desperation and warnings from those who had come before. 

The air was thick with the scent of decay, stale and clinging to their clothes as they moved in practiced silence, weapons in hand, muscles tensed for the inevitable.

Tyler pressed his back against a rusted shelf, hearing the faint shuffling from the aisle ahead.

Aiden mirrored his stance on the other side, his fingers curling around the handle of his knife.

Logan signaled from the doorway, counting three. Ashlyn nodded, raising a crowbar as she moved in first.

The first walker was easy—a former store clerk, his faded uniform still pinned with a name tag that was too smeared to read.

Ashlyn swung hard, the crowbar sinking into the thing’s skull with a wet crunch. It collapsed against a toppled display rack, limbs twitching before falling still.

Tyler made quick work of the second, jamming his blade beneath its chin, feeling the resistance before it finally gave way, its body sagging in his grip.

Aiden took the last one, slipping behind it with ease and driving his knife into the base of its skull, twisting for good measure before letting it fall limp.

The silence that followed was heavy, only broken by the sound of Ben securing the doors and Ashlyn exhaling through her nose, wiping blood off her sleeve.

Outside, Taylor remained in the van, keeping watch over Alex. Helping the others as they gave him way into the cleared store. The makeshift bed they had set up for him was more stable now, allowing him to rest without the constant jostling of the road.

His face was pale, lips cracked, but his breathing was steady—weak, but steady. Taylor adjusted the blanket over him, her fingers lingering on his wrist as he stirred slightly.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "It was them... the facility. They must’ve found me. They wanted to finish the job. You shouldn’t have helped me."

Tyler, who had just stepped in to check on him, felt his stomach tighten. His gaze flicked to Ashlyn, whose shoulders stiffened at the words, her eyes darting away as if she’d expected this but had no intention of dealing with it right now.

"What facility?" Tyler’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy air like a blade.

Ashlyn didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dragged a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly as if weighing her options. "It’s a long story," she finally muttered. "We’ll talk about it when we get back to the prison."

Tyler’s jaw clenched. That wasn’t good enough. But before he could press further, he felt Taylor’s hand slip into his, a gentle squeeze of reassurance. He glanced at her, her expression calm, though he could see the same unease swimming in her gaze.

Across from them, Logan and Ben worked on replacing Alex’s bandages, Logan’s touch careful, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

The flickering light of the lantern cast deep shadows on the walls, making the already bleak situation feel heavier.

Tyler shifted where he stood, uncomfortable, the new weight in his chest pressing against his ribs.

He let his eyes wander, scanning the room until they landed on Aiden, kneeling by his sleeping bag. The red fabric crinkled beneath his hands as he smoothed it out, his changed hoodie hanging loose off his frame, the twisted smiley face printed on the back staring mockingly at the world behind him.

Then Aiden turned his head slightly, his faux-red eyes catching Tyler’s. He winked, a slow, smug gesture that sent a flicker of something—amusement, maybe frustration—through Tyler’s chest.

He knew that wink. Aiden always did it when he was proud of himself, when he had done something stupidly reckless or was about to do something even worse.

Tyler tensed instinctively, barely flinching, but it was enough.

Taylor noticed. "What was that?" she asked, her brow quirked as she followed his gaze.

Tyler didn’t miss the way Aiden immediately turned back to his sleeping bag, feigning disinterest.

"Nothing," Tyler said quickly, then smirked as he shot back, "Probably just plotting whatever dumbass idea he’s got cooking in that head of his."

Aiden snorted, not bothering to turn around. "You wound me, Ty. But don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know when it happens."

Tyler rolled his eyes, but the warmth in his chest remained, buried beneath the exhaustion.

Whatever was waiting for them back at the prison, whatever this facility was, they’d figure it out. One thing at a time.

The night stretched on in an endless abyss of silence, save for the occasional rustling of leaves and distant groans of the dead. 

Tyler shifted his weight from foot to foot, gripping Logan’s rifle tightly as he stood just outside the store, its cool metal pressing against his palm.

The silencer at the tip gave him reassurance—if anything crept too close, he could take it down without alerting the world to their presence.

He had volunteered for first watch, claiming he’d had enough sleep, though in truth, he doubted he could rest even if he tried. His mind buzzed like static, thoughts tangled in knots too tight to undo.

To drown out the oppressive silence, he shoved an earphone into one ear, the familiar beats of his ancient playlist giving him something to latch onto. The same songs he had listened to for years, back when things were simpler.

Back when the world wasn’t painted in blood and rot.

Then, a breath—soft, deliberate—ghosted against the back of his neck.

Tyler spun on instinct, the rifle almost swinging up before his brain caught up to his body. Aiden stood inches away, his expression smug, his red eyes glinting with mischief in the dim light.

Tyler’s heart slammed against his ribs. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he hissed, voice barely above a whisper.

Aiden’s smirk widened. “That was too easy.”

Tyler scowled, pulse still hammering in his throat. “You’re lucky I didn’t clock you in the face.”

Aiden snorted. “Please. You love me too much for that.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath about how late it was, how the others were asleep, how he was too exhausted to deal with Aiden’s shit.

But Aiden wasn’t letting it go. He stepped closer, arms folding over his chest, that expectant look on his face—the one that meant Tyler wasn’t getting out of whatever ridiculous plan Aiden had cooked up in his head.

Tyler sighed in defeat, securing the rifle’s strap over his shoulder. “Alright, fine. What do you want?”

Aiden’s answer was immediate: his fingers curled around Tyler’s wrist, tugging him away from the watch post.

The touch was cool against Tyler’s skin, like a ghostly whisper, and he didn’t argue—something about it was hypnotic, a silent promise of something he didn’t yet understand.

They slipped behind the van, its massive frame shielding them from the others. The night air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant secrets.

Tyler barely had time to take it in before Aiden’s hands threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, fingertips grazing his skin like static electricity.

Then, without hesitation, Aiden pressed up onto his toes, closing the space between them.

Their lips met like missing puzzle pieces, fitting together in a way that sent warmth spiraling through Tyler’s veins.

Aiden’s kiss was confident, teasing, but Tyler could feel the undercurrent of something deeper. A silent admission neither of them had spoken aloud.

A breathy chuckle rumbled from Tyler’s chest as he pulled back just enough to speak. “What was that for?”

Aiden grinned up at him. “I won our walker-kill bet this morning.”

Tyler snorted, shaking his head. “That was the prize? You could’ve told me earlier.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Aiden teased.

Tyler huffed out a laugh before his hands found the back of Aiden’s hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric as he pulled him in again.

This time, the kiss was slower, deliberate. The rifle on his back pressed against the van’s cold metal, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling in his chest. A shuddering breath escaped him as he melted into the moment, into Aiden’s touch, into the intoxicating rush of warmth amid the cold, cruel world outside.

For a fleeting second, there was no apocalypse. No danger. Just them.

Tyler barely had time to register the shift before he had Aiden pinned against the van, their bodies flush against the cool metal.

He moved without thinking, hands gripping Aiden’s waist as he lifted him slightly, just enough for their height to even out.

Aiden’s breath hitched, his hands slamming against the van’s surface for support, but instead of protest, a breathy laugh tumbled from his lips, sharp with amusement. His grin was wide, eyes glinting mischievously under the dim light filtering through the night.

“Damn, Ty,” Aiden rasped between chuckles, tilting his head back against the van. “You realize how goofy this is, right? Like, straight out of one of those corny American movies? The next thing you know, we’re gonna be making out in the rain while some sad song plays in the background.”

Tyler groaned, his face pressing into Aiden’s shoulder as a deep laugh rumbled through him. “Oh, God, you’re right,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “This is Taylor’s fault. All those damn books she reads. Probably infected my brain.”

Aiden snickered, his fingers finding their way into Tyler’s hair, threading through the strands in a slow, absentminded motion that made Tyler’s knees feel just a little weaker. 

He hadn’t realized how much tension was weighing on his shoulders until now, until the warmth of Aiden in his arms, the scent of him clouding his senses, the world outside their little moment feeling so distant. 

But it was still there—the stress gnawed at the edges of his mind, threatening to pull him back into the mess of it all.

Alex’s words refused to leave him. The mention of a facility, of danger looming unseen, the uncertainty of everything they thought they knew—it all dug into him like unseen claws. 

And Aiden, perceptive as ever, didn’t miss it. He let the silence stretch between them for a moment, his touch never faltering, before he finally spoke, voice softer now.

“You’re thinking too much again.”

Tyler didn’t respond with words. Instead, he kissed him again, a slow and deliberate motion, a silent plea to stay in the moment a little longer.

Aiden let him, let the kiss linger as his fingers curled tighter in Tyler’s hair, let him chase the distraction he so desperately needed.

When they finally pulled away, Aiden’s breathing was just as uneven as his own. Tyler exhaled, letting Aiden’s weight settle back onto his feet, his hands reluctant to let go.

“You should get some sleep,” Tyler murmured, though they both knew it was pointless. Aiden was just as restless as he was, maybe even more. Still, Aiden didn’t argue. He simply leaned beside him, shoulders brushing, and stayed there.

They stood together in the quiet of the night, watching as the moonlight stretched across the desolate road, the distant rustling of the wind in the trees the only sound that accompanied the faint melody drifting through their shared earphones.

When Logan eventually emerged to take his shift, he found them standing like that, side by side, listening to the same song, their closeness speaking volumes. Whatever Logan thought of it, he didn’t say a word.

When exhaustion finally took over, Tyler let himself collapse onto the sleeping bag, barely mustering the energy to shift closer to Aiden and the others.

The space between them was almost nonexistent, their fingers brushing for a moment before Aiden intertwined their hands properly. Tyler didn’t pull away.

He let the warmth of Aiden’s palm seep into his own, grounding him, easing him into the first real rest he’d had since the start of the day.

Chapter Text

I.

The nightmare came in fractured pieces, yet each fragment was just as vivid, just as suffocating.

Ashlyn felt herself drowning in the deafening shrieks, her ears ringing with an unbearable frequency that only Phantoms could emit. 

She clutched at her skull, her fingers digging into her scalp in a desperate attempt to muffle the sound, but it did nothing—nothing to stop the horror unraveling before her eyes.

Tyler stood before her, but he wasn’t Tyler. His head was twisted unnaturally to the side, as if his neck had been snapped but he somehow still stood, his face split into an ear-to-ear grin, the corners of his lips stretched beyond human limits.

His eyes—void of their usual sharp defiance—were swallowed by an eerie blackness, abyssal and endless.

Aiden was beside him, just as wrong. The streaks of dyed blonde that usually marked his hair were gone, leaving behind an empty, ink-black mass that swallowed the light.

His face bore the same grotesque smile, that same Phantom’s grin—mocking, hollow, inhuman.

She tried to move, tried to run, but her limbs were frozen in place, locked by an unseen force that crushed her beneath its weight. 

She could only watch in horror as the twisted versions of Tyler and Aiden turned their attention to something else—something behind them.

The real Tyler. The real Aiden.

The two boys she knew—the ones she had spent years fighting and surviving with—stood just a few feet away, their breaths heavy with exhaustion, their bodies tense with the unspoken understanding that they were staring at something beyond their comprehension.

And then, before they could react, the Phantom versions lunged.

She wanted to scream, to tell them to run, to do something—anything—but the sound never left her throat. She was forced to watch as the creatures that wore their faces like grotesque masks wrapped clawed fingers around their throats.

Tyler’s hands scrambled at his own doppelganger’s grip, nails digging into the unholy flesh, but it didn’t budge.

Aiden’s feet kicked against the ground, his fingers clutching at the Phantom version of himself, but it was futile.

The suffocating noises of their strangled breaths filled the space around her, replacing the Phantom shrieks in her ears.

It was worse. It was so much worse.

She could hear the way their breath came in broken gasps, the way their throats compressed under the unrelenting pressure, the way their struggling grew weaker—until the moment their bodies finally gave in.

The sound of their necks snapping echoed through the void, the finality of it crashing over her like a tidal wave. Their hands went limp, their arms falling lifelessly to their sides.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

Then the Phantom versions of them turned.

Their hollow black eyes locked onto her, and their twisted smiles stretched even wider.

Then they launched at her.

Ashlyn bolted upright with a sharp inhale, her entire body drenched in cold sweat. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, its frantic rhythm deafening in her ears as she gasped for breath.

For a split second, the darkness of the tent felt like the void of the nightmare still clinging to her, but then a hand shook her shoulder gently.

Ben.

He was signing something, his hands moving in a rapid flurry of concern, but her mind was still too tangled in the remnants of fear to register the words right away. Her eyes darted around wildly, searching—searching for something, anything, to ground her back into reality.

Then she saw them.

Tyler and Aiden.

They were alive.

Tyler was shoving Aiden up the van’s stairs with a grumbled complaint, rolling his eyes as the other boy let out a loud, obnoxious cackle.

Aiden, ever the troublemaker, stumbled his way inside, his laughter lingering in the air like an echo of something she couldn’t quite grasp.

They were fine. They were here.

She exhaled shaply, her shoulders finally losing some of their tension as the nightmare began to lose its grip on her.

Ben tapped her arm, his gaze still filled with worry as he signed again, slower this time. Nightmare?

Ashlyn swallowed hard before giving a slow nod, running a shaky hand through her tangled hair as she forced a small, dismissive smile. “Just a bad dream,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from the strain of sleep and fear.

Ben didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he shifted the conversation. Alex is already up in the van, he signed. Logan and I helped him. He’s still dizzy, but he can walk.

That was good. That was at least something she could focus on.

She let out another slow breath, nodding in acknowledgment before rubbing her temples. “And Taylor?” she asked, her voice steadier now, though the weight in her chest remained.

Ben’s lips curled into a small, amused smile as he signed back. Still acting like getting shot in the abdomen is just a minor inconvenience.

Ashlyn huffed out a quiet laugh, the familiar feeling of exasperation washing over her. Some things never changed.

But as her gaze flickered back to Tyler and Aiden, who had disappeared further inside the van, a lingering unease settled in her stomach. The nightmare may have been just that—a nightmare—but she couldn’t shake the gnawing sensation that it had meant something. That it was trying to tell her something.

And that terrified her more than anything.

II.

The ride back to the prison stretched long, miles folding into miles under the van’s tires, but for the first time in what felt like forever, the tension in the air was something lighter, something bearable. The worst of it had passed.

Alex, though still pale and moving gingerly, was finally able to sit upright, no longer teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. His voice, though hoarse, carried more strength as he recounted to the group what he had already confided in Ashlyn about Maverick.

His words painted a picture of a world even darker than the one they had been surviving in, a world riddled with secrets and experiments that none of them had been meant to uncover. Tyler listened with narrowed eyes, his fingers idly tapping against his thigh as if needing a physical outlet to process the weight of it all. Every now and then, he shot Ashlyn a look—one that asked silently why she hadn’t told him all of this sooner.

But she just held his gaze, unwavering, as if telling him this was a conversation for later. A conversation for when they weren’t cramped inside a moving vehicle, riding the line between safety and the unknown.

Outside, the sun had begun its slow descent, the orange hues bleeding into the purples of oncoming night, casting long shadows across the road as they neared home. The prison’s silhouette stood strong against the darkening sky, and for once, the sight of those tall, chain-link fences and reinforced walls didn’t feel like a cage—it felt like safety.

Their return was greeted by a familiar sight: a handful of walkers clawing at the fences, fingers twisting through the metal links, their moans a low, hungry drone. It took no time at all to take them down. Logan lined up a silenced shot through one’s temple, the sound nothing more than a whisper of displaced air.

Ashlyn and Tyler took care of the rest, their movements swift, calculated, their knives sinking into rotted flesh with practiced ease. It was over in seconds.

And then, beyond the fence, figures began emerging, stepping out from their respective blocks, their silhouettes familiar, their faces bright with relief. Home. They had made it back home.

Aiden’s breath hitched slightly, his grip tightening for a second on the strap of his bag before he let it go. His mother stood there, a relieved smile spreading across her face, her eyes softening the moment they landed on him.

Octavia, beside her, waved with an enthusiasm only she could manage, her arm cutting through the air wildly, a grin plastered across her face. Aiden let out a breathy chuckle, something warm pooling in his chest at the sight.

Ashlyn, beside him, made an exaggerated aiming gesture with her hand, forming a makeshift gun with her fingers before "shooting" in the direction of her father. Across the fence, her dad clutched at his chest, staggering dramatically backward as if she had actually hit her mark, before offering her a smirk. Her mother’s laughter carried across the open space, shaking her head at the exchange.

Logan gave a subtle wave to his grandparents, who stood a little further back but still watched him with relief clear in their expressions.

Ben, meanwhile, lifted a hand in greeting toward Lily, who responded with a small, almost shy wave, her eyes scanning him as if ensuring he was truly okay.

For a moment, the weight of survival lifted, just a little. For a moment, despite everything they had endured, there was something akin to peace.

Tyler stood beside Ashlyn, arms crossed, his weight shifting slightly from one foot to the other as they waited near the van.

The others had already started making their way into the prison yard, but Taylor and Alex remained inside, their injuries making the walk too much of a risk. They’d have to wait until the van was driven inside the field, giving them a smoother way in.

Ashlyn exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the lingering sense of dread that clung to her skin like cold sweat. The nightmare still clawed at the edges of her mind, refusing to be dismissed as just another figment of paranoia.

Her eyes flickered to Tyler. He looked… normal. The same tired yet sharp-witted expression, the same cocky slouch in his stance, the same ever-present tension lining his shoulders. But the image of his twisted, phantom-like grin haunted her thoughts, whispering insidious possibilities.

Before she could stop herself, the question slipped past her lips. “Have you felt… different lately? Like—like anything strange, anything off?”

Tyler turned to her, brows furrowing at the odd inquiry. “What?”

Ashlyn swallowed, shaking her head as if dismissing the ridiculousness of it all. “Never mind.”

But Tyler wasn’t the type to just let things slide. His scoff was laced with amusement and confusion. “You think I’m sick or something? What, did I start sleepwalking? Talking in tongues? Sprouting an extra limb I didn’t know about?”

Despite herself, Ashlyn chuckled under her breath, but it was forced. She waved a dismissive hand, her focus shifting ahead. “Forget it.”

Tyler held her gaze for a second longer before sighing, turning his attention to the warm sight before them. People were gathering near the fence, their loved ones finally within sight after what felt like forever.

Aiden’s mother stood at the forefront, Octavia clinging to her side.

Logan’s grandparents waved eagerly, and Ben caught sight of Lily, grinning at her relieved expression.

It was the kind of homecoming that didn’t exist anymore, yet for a fleeting moment, they let themselves believe in it.

But warmth never lasted long in this world. It never had.

A sharp, urgent yell tore through the air. Logan.

It was a tone none of them had ever heard from him before. A sound so raw and panicked that it sent ice lancing through their veins. They turned, eyes snapping toward the scene beyond the fence.

Then they saw it.

Aiden’s breath hitched, fingers gripping the metal bars so tight his knuckles went white. His mother, still smiling in confusion, turned to see what had caught his attention—

Behind them, shambling out from the trees beyond the prison’s back fence, came a horror they had all convinced themselves was impossible. A horde. Not just a handful of strays, not just the occasional wanderer that had slipped through unnoticed. No. This was a mass of rotting bodies, trudging in slow, relentless unison, a grotesque tide of the dead closing in.

Ashlyn’s heart slammed against her ribs. This wasn’t possible. That fence had been secured. Reinforced for months. There had never been a breach before. So why now?

Tyler sucked in a breath through his teeth, eyes darting wildly as panic set in. The sheer number of them—it was enough to rip apart everything they had built. Enough to leave nothing but blood and ruin in its wake.

Gunfire cracked through the air as Mike and James took their positions, but there were too many. And inside the prison yard, barely anyone was armed. They had all been caught off guard, their weapons set aside in the comfort of what they had believed to be safety.

“Get inside!” Aiden’s voice cracked, hands still latched onto the fence as he watched his mother scoop up Octavia, eyes wide with fear as realization crashed over her.

Around her, people were running—some toward the buildings, some toward the gates, all of them scrambling in different directions, torn between fight and flight.

Then the first walker reached the fence. Clawed hands wrapped around the metal, shriveled fingers tightening as the weight of the dead began pressing in.

Tyler’s heart pounded in his ears. He turned to Ashlyn, his voice hoarse. “We have to get them.”

Ashlyn nodded, her expression hardening, shoving away the paralyzing grip of fear. There was no time to dwell on the nightmare she had just woken from. Because now, they were living one.

III.

Tyler scrambled up onto the van, his boots skidding slightly against the metal as he hoisted himself onto the roof. His heart pounded against his ribcage, adrenaline surging through his veins like fire. The distant echoes of gunshots and frantic screams filled the air, bouncing off the prison walls and blending into a cacophony of chaos.

Alex stirred from where he lay in the van, his head snapping toward Tyler, his eyes clouded with confusion and alarm.

“What the hell is happening?” He rasped, wincing as he tried to push himself upright.

Taylor, still weakened but ever sharp, caught onto the urgency, her brows furrowing as she forced herself up on one elbow. “Tyler, talk to us. What's going on?”

Tyler barely spared them a glance as he reached for the duffel bag stuffed with weapons, his fingers fumbling with the zipper before yanking it open. “The fence was breached,” he answered hurriedly, shoving a loaded pistol into his belt and slinging a rifle over his shoulder. “The dead are inside the prison.”

Taylor and Alex exchanged alarmed glances, but Tyler had no time to explain further. He secured the van's doors shut behind him, locking the injured inside for safety before leaping back down.

His feet barely hit the ground before he was running, his pulse pounding in his ears as he rushed to deliver the weapons to the others. Ashlyn, Logan, Ben, and Aiden were already moving toward the fence, their expressions carved from stone, their steps quick and purposeful.

Upon reaching the fence that separated the yard from the prison interior, the full extent of the damage became horrifyingly clear. The heavy metal fence hung ajar, its lock twisted and broken. But it wasn’t the jagged destruction they were used to seeing when walkers forced their way through. The cuts on the metal were clean, precise, deliberate. This had been done with tools.

“Shit,” Logan muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “This wasn’t just some random break-in.”

“Somebody let them in,” Ashlyn said grimly, her fingers tightening around the shotgun Tyler had tossed her.

“We can figure out the why later,” Tyler cut in, his sharp tone leaving no room for argument. “Right now, we need to make sure no more walkers get through that breach.”

Aiden, standing beside him, was silent for a moment before his lips curled into that familiar, devious grin. “I got an idea.”

Tyler turned his head, already wary of whatever reckless scheme was brewing behind those mischievous eyes. “Why do I feel like I’m not gonna like this?”

Aiden ignored him. “We hold the fence just open enough to let one of those bastards in,” he explained, nodding toward the few stragglers still wandering outside the breach. “Then, we kill it, and I do my thing.”

“What thing?” Ashlyn asked, suspicious.

Aiden pulled his knife from its sheath and spun it between his fingers before pointing it toward the closest walker. “This thing.”

With a practiced motion, he stepped forward, grabbed the fence, and yanked it just wide enough for the nearest walker to stumble in. It groaned hungrily, its rotted teeth gnashing together as it lunged forward.

Aiden was faster.

With a brutal thrust, he buried the knife into its skull, twisting it with a sickening squelch before catching the corpse as it collapsed against him. Blood and decayed fluids dripped onto the dirt, the stench of death thick in the air.

Logan turned away with a gag. “God, Aiden, you better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Ashlyn, however, just crossed her arms, her expression flat. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Aiden let out a laugh as he drove his hand into the walker’s gaping stomach, his fingers curling around the putrid organs before yanking them free. The viscera squelched wetly, chunks of decomposed flesh slopping onto the ground. The air grew thick with the sickly-sweet stench of rot. He turned to the group, grinning ear to ear, his hands dripping with gore. “I mean, if they can smell us, why not make us smell like them?”

Tyler grimaced, but he couldn’t argue with the logic. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. “You are so fucking disgusting,” he muttered.

“And yet you still love me,” Aiden shot back with a wink.

Ben, who had been quiet through the exchange, took a step forward and signed something quickly. Logan read it first, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward him. “Absolutely not.”

Ben repeated the sign, this time looking more insistent.

Tyler shook his head. “Ben, no. We can handle this.”

Aiden blinked at his full hands “what’s he saying? I can’t look up.”

Ben huffed through his nose before signing again. Logan exhaled sharply, translating, “He says he’s the best fit for this. Since he doesn’t make sound, the walkers will have a harder time recognizing he’s not one of them.”

Tyler clenched his jaw, looking between Ben and the open fence. It was a good point. A damn good point. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

Ben, sensing the hesitation, took another step forward, holding out his hands for Aiden to smear the walker’s guts across his arms. Tyler exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before gritting his teeth and nodding.

“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But if shit goes sideways, you get the hell out of there. No arguments.”

Ben nodded once, his eyes steady. And with that, Aiden grinned, stepping forward with his bloodied hands, ready to coat their silent warrior in the scent of death.

Ben’s body trembled beneath the layers of gore caked to his skin, the rancid weight of decayed organs draped over his shoulders like some grotesque second skin.

The clotted mass stuck to his shirt and hair, sliding sickeningly down his back as he squeezed through the gap in the bent-open fence, every movement slow and calculated, like a puppet dragged through thick mud.

The squelching sounds of soaked rot accompanied his every step, and the air around him seemed to bend from the stench alone.

Behind him, the others held their breath in anxious unison, their knuckles white where they gripped the fence’s metal wiring, eyes glued to the quiet horror unfurling before them.

Aiden stood beside Tyler, arms crossed but tense, eyes twitching with every sound the walkers made as they shuffled in Ben’s direction.

Tyler, though usually collected, couldn’t help the tick in his jaw as he whispered, “If this works, I’m getting him a guitar.”

Aiden let out a half-laugh, half-scoff, but the smile he wore didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A kingdom of silence, huh?” he said, voice low, watching Ben imitate the walkers' slow gait with unnerving perfection. “See? I told you it would work. All it takes is a little rotting perfume and a performance worthy of an Oscar.”

Tyler rolled his eyes, though his shoulders remained tight. “You’re an idiot.”

“Smart idiot,” Aiden corrected with a smirk.

Ben staggered forward until he reached the far end of the opening, the curled wire in his hand now uncoiling like a snake as he began to twist it around the broken posts, sealing off the breach.

But as the metal clinked against itself, the soft rattle betrayed him. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough. One of the nearby walkers jerked its rotting head toward him, followed by another, then another.

“Shit,” Logan muttered under his breath, eyes flicking to the others. “He needs backup.”

As the first walker lurched at Ben, the blade flashed, slick and sharp, embedding itself through its temple before he shoved the corpse off with a grunt. That one kill, that single motion of life among death, broke the illusion. The air cracked open with urgency as the others launched into action.

Aiden didn’t hesitate. If anything, he looked like he’d been waiting—burning—for an excuse to move.

He vaulted over the small mound by the fence and ran, wild momentum in every step. His feet pounded the earth as though trying to bury something beneath it

He tackled one of the dead mid-stride, the two crashing to the ground with a wet crunch before he drove his blade down once, then again. Blood splattered across his cheek and jaw, eyes sharp and shining with the kind of fury that wasn’t about survival anymore—it was about release.

Another walker lunged from the side, and though Aiden’s reaction was late, he recovered with brutal precision, kicking out its legs so it collapsed forward. His boot came down hard on its skull with a sickening crunch, leaving the ruined head twitching beneath his heel.

Ashlyn, catching the violence from her periphery as she finished off her own threat, felt her chest constrict. There was something unspoken in the way Aiden moved—something raw, something on the edge.

His strikes weren’t just to kill. They were to bleed something out of himself. She had seen that kind of desperation before, but never from him.

Across the grass, Ben had slumped forward, bracing himself on one knee, his hands trembling beneath the grotesque layer of flesh and filth.

He gagged, heaved, eyes watery and red. The stench was unbearable up close—an assault on every sense—and the adrenaline was no longer masking it.

Aiden approached him with urgency, chest rising and falling, his blade still dripping. He knelt beside Ben, resting a hand on his back as the boy dry-heaved into the dirt.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now, gentler. “Smell like death but still breathing?”

Ben gave him a weak thumbs-up before retching again.

Ashlyn arrived a moment later, glancing from the destroyed walkers to Aiden’s bloodied hands, then to Ben.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just took it all in—the carnage, the fire in Aiden’s movements, the quiet tremble in Ben’s shoulders.

I hope you know you owe me clean clothes for life, Ben signed shakily, his fingers struggling to keep form.

Aiden laughed breathlessly, clapping his back again. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll throw in a year’s supply of soap, too.”

Tyler and Logan finally reached them, weapons still raised and blood speckled across their arms. Tyler looked at the sealed fence with a quiet nod, then to Aiden, whose panting was just beginning to slow.

“Remind me to never doubt your gross ideas again,” Tyler muttered.

Aiden only grinned, teeth bared and eyes still wild, like the last spark of a fire that refused to die out. “I’m full of surprises. The charming kind, and the disgusting.”

Logan wrinkled his nose, kicking one of the corpses. “You’re full of something, alright.”

The moment stretched then—one where everyone simply breathed, if only for a second. The fence was secured.

The breach, sealed. But the weight of what it almost cost them still clung to the air like smoke after a fire.

IV.

The decision to split up came with no arguments, only the grim acceptance that time wasn’t on their side. With each second that passed, more of the undead filtered into the heart of the prison, and they couldn’t afford to hesitate.

Ashlyn and Ben were the first to move, veering off toward the adjacent block—Block C—one they hadn’t dared venture into since the initial stay, a sector overrun and untouched until now.

But when panic cracked through the air like a whip, her parents had instinctively taken refuge there, dragging Logan’s grandparents with them. Lily had followed, shepherding the two youngest children behind her.

Beyond that, the chaos had been too abrupt, the screaming too loud, and the shouts too scattered to track who went where.

Block A, however, held a clearer answer, being the place they've resided in for weeks and maybe months now. Only two had been seen fleeing there—Jessica and Octavia.

Aiden and Tyler had exchanged a glance, grim and wordless, before nodding in silent agreement. That’s where they were headed.

Aiden adjusted the strap of his backpack and secured the hilt of his knife beneath his belt, the weight of it reassuring against his thigh.

Tyler did the same, checking the chamber of his pistol with a crisp snap before sliding it back into place, the click of metal swallowing whatever hesitation might have lingered between them.

No words were exchanged—not until Aiden muttered, half to himself, half to Tyler, "They better be okay."

"We’ll make sure they are," Tyler replied, voice low but firm, steel laced in the edges of each word. He gave a single nod before glancing over his shoulder at Logan.

Logan, already perched near a broken concrete slab with his rifle nestled into his shoulder, gave a sharp wave. "I’ll keep the courtyard clear. Get them and clear the dead. Don’t wait on anything dumb."

"We’ll try not to," Tyler muttered, just loud enough for him to hear, giving a warning side glance to Aiden who playfully shrugged.

Ashlyn threw one last glance at them, her face carved with tension, before she and Ben disappeared into the shadowed hallway of Block C. The atmosphere swallowed them in seconds.

The air thickened the moment Aiden and Tyler turned their path toward Block A. The stairs stretched long before them with its fenced side, the sunlight filtering in through shattered windows casting jagged shadows like broken glass across the concrete floors. Their boots echoed with a weight that seemed too loud, the silence beyond it more oppressive than any screech.

Aiden broke the silence. "Do you ever think we’ll get used to this?"

Tyler exhaled, slow and sharp. "Not unless we’re already dead inside."

They both fell quiet again, the real meaning behind those words one only they were fit to understand.

The door to Block A loomed, rusted and ajar, one hinge loose and groaning with each brush of wind.

Tyler motioned with two fingers, signaling that he’d take the lead. Aiden followed closely behind, the two of them stepping in as one unit, blades drawn, guns ready.

Inside was darker than they’d expected, the light barely scraping across the floors. Distant footsteps echoed, and somewhere, something metallic clattered against the ground.

"Mom!" Aiden called out, his voice slicing through the quiet in just louder than a whisper. "Octopus!"

No reply.

"Split?"

Tyler shook his head. "No. Eyes forward. We don’t have room for solo heroics today."

He mostly couldn't stand the thought of what happened yesterday to happen again.

The sharp metallic echo of their boots hitting the linoleum floor rang hollow and heavy, echoing through the otherwise deafening silence of the corridor beyond the cell block.

The tension in the air could have been sliced with a blade. The moment Aiden and Tyler turned the corner that separated them from the main corridor, they stopped dead in their tracks.

A thick, bloated wall of walkers had amassed there like a clogged artery. Their slouched bodies shifted in a sea of rotting limbs and decayed flesh, groaning as they moved mindlessly at the walls, the air, each other—driven only by a hunger that would never be satisfied.

The cell block they were heading toward was locked tight, the gate barred with reinforced steel and their key was at Mike's possession. That meant Jessica and Octavia hadn’t made it inside.

"Shit," Tyler breathed out, eyes darting across the crowd of walkers like he was calculating trajectories.

"We can't go back. If they're not in there, they’re somewhere past this mess," Aiden muttered, voice low but clear, as he drew his knife from its sheath, the blade catching a sliver of light and gleaming with deadly intent.

Tyler mirrored the action, cocking his handgun before slipping it into the back of his belt—ammo was too precious to waste. Knives were quieter. More personal.

The first walker didn’t even have time to turn before Tyler's blade sliced horizontally through its temple, the skull splitting with a grotesque crunch that sounded like wet wood snapping under pressure.

Aiden went in close, using the walker to pivot around and dig his blade beneath the soft palate of a taller corpse, twisting the hilt and dragging the blade downward in a vicious arc.

A mixture of blood, rot, and cartilage painted his red hoodie in dark specks as he yanked it free. He was fast, but not hasty. His movements had a rhythm, almost a cruel elegance in how efficiently he dismantled the corpses.

One walker lunged at Tyler from the side, jaws gnashing blindly, but Tyler sidestepped with a grunt and drove his knee into its stomach, shoving it back with such force its spine snapped audibly as it crumpled to the ground.

He ended it with a boot to the head, the sole crunching through its fragile skull like it was made of damp plaster.

They kept moving, carving through the hallway with unrelenting precision, blood coating their arms and speckling their faces.

When the last walker fell with a squelch, its cranium split open from Aiden's final strike, the hallway fell eerily silent once more. Aiden panted slightly, brushing back a strand of hair matted to his forehead with sweat and gore, his other hand still clutching the knife.

They pressed forward, shoes squelching slightly on the slick floor as they walked deeper into the maze of the block, each shadow another potential threat.

The walls around them seemed to close in, as if the prison itself was holding its breath. Tyler glanced sideways at Aiden, the prior silence between them finally cracking.

"Ashlyn asked me something weird before all this," he started, voice quiet, almost reluctant. He didn’t want to admit how the question had stayed with him, how it kept pressing at the corners of his mind like a dull knife.

Aiden didn’t look at him at first, only let out a thoughtful hum, his usual smile still perched on his lips like it had been carved there permanently.

"Yeah?"

"She asked if I was feeling... different," Tyler continued, eyes forward now, checking the shadows for movement. "Like—anything weird. Like something was off in me."

This time, Aiden did glance at him, but only briefly. His smile didn't falter, though something flickered in his gaze.

"Huh," Aiden replied softly, raising his eyebrows before shrugging nonchalantly. "She asked me the same thing too, actually. Thought it was just her being tired. Or maybe stressed."

Tyler scoffed under his breath, shaking his head. "It’s not like her. She doesn’t ask that unless she’s seriously worried."

Aiden’s expression didn’t change, but the silence that followed spoke volumes. Whatever questions were forming between them, they remained unspoken, tucked beneath layers of blood, adrenaline, and the singular mission driving them forward.

"Let’s focus," Aiden finally said, the easygoing tone in his voice belying the tension in his jaw. "They have to be close."

Tyler nodded, and the two disappeared into the maze of concrete and steel again, deeper into the prison’s hollow veins, the whispers of danger crawling just beneath the silence.

What he didn't notice was the way Aiden's smile would twitch off from time to time, his hand moving to his own pocket to touch his shark toy before setting any thought aside.

V.

The atmosphere inside Block C was unnaturally still, every shadow cast across the grimy, cracked concrete walls feeling heavier than it should have.

The air was thick with the metallic stench of blood and the stale odor of decay, mixing into something so heavy it almost seemed to press against their skin.

Ashlyn led the way, her boots crunching softly over a scatter of broken glass and bits of flesh left behind by what looked like a massacre—an endless river of corpses stretched out in front of them, a grotesque red-black trail weaving through the corridor like a slithering, lifeless serpent.

She didn’t need to wonder who had cleared the path—no doubt it was the handiwork of her parents, Mike and Emma, along with James and Mary, who had proven more than capable during past raids and origins discussions.

Their precision was unmistakable, clean shots and clean kills; the heads of the corpses had all been burst or split open, and most of the blood had already clotted to the floor. There had been a fight here, a brutal and desperate one.

Ben moved quietly behind her, his footfalls almost imperceptible even in the silence. He kept his eyes forward, a hand hovering near the knife at his belt, though his expression was tight with unease.

In her hand, Ashlyn held the flashlight, the beam of light darting across doors and fallen bodies like a hunter's gaze. But then, just as they reached the corner where the hallway curved sharply into shadow, something shifted in the air.

A soft shuffle of fabric over skin. The unmistakable sound of movement. Close.

Ashlyn immediately extended her free hand backward, palm open and tense in a clear signal for Ben to stop.

He did, instinctively.

Her flashlight clicked off with a soft sound as she lifted her gun, her grip steady despite the way her heart beat louder in her ears than her own breath. Her auditory reflexes sharpened—an abnormal sensitivity she’d never understood but learned to trust. Her head tilted slightly. The footsteps were closing in.

She steadied her breath, finger hovering beside the trigger, eyes fixed through the iron sights of her gun. Each heartbeat felt like a countdown.

Then, just as the silhouette took shape in the dark—Sammon’s familiar frame emerged from the shadow, his arms immediately raised high in startled surrender.

“Woah—! Don’t shoot, Ash! It’s me!” he said, voice a mix of laughter and exhaustion, though his eyes betrayed the weight of fear and worry.

Ashlyn exhaled hard, the tension falling from her shoulders in a wave as she lowered the gun. Beside her, Ben blinked a few times and signed, You scared us.

Sammon gave a weak smile, wiping a hand across his sweaty brow. “You’re telling me,” he muttered, looking between the two. “God, am I glad to see you both. I thought I was screwed.”

Ashlyn flicked the flashlight back on, angling it downward to avoid blinding him, but her expression had already hardened again at the seriousness in his tone. “Have you two seen Cilius by any chance?” he asked.

Ashlyn shook her head, "only piles of dead corpses"

His jaw clenched, the muscles along his neck tensing as if the words were a burden he didn’t want to speak aloud. “We got separated. We were trying to draw the walkers away from the others—Lily, the kids. She said she’d get their attention and draw them down the south corridor. I couldn't find her since”

Ben was already shaking his head before Sammon finished, and Ashlyn echoed it, her voice quiet but steady. “We haven’t seen her. Not since we got in here.”

Sammon’s breath caught in his throat, panic creeping into his features. He tried to push it down, nodding once as if trying to steady himself by movement alone.

Ashlyn's hand moved to grip his shoulder, some sort of silent support.

Without another word, the three of them fell back into motion, weaving through the corpse-littered hallways with renewed urgency.

Ashlyn’s light cut through the dark in quick sweeps while Ben signed quick signals for corners and turns, his body language taut with focus.

Sammon stayed close behind, his fists clenched and eyes darting through every doorframe like he expected Cilius to appear—or a walker to lunge—at any second.

They reached the end of the hallway only to be met with a jarring turn, and the instant they rounded the corner, Ashlyn’s flashlight washed over a grim tableau of piled corpses.

The heap stretched down the corridor like a grotesque rug, the bodies twisted and half-shredded, tangled together in a tapestry of limbs and split-open torsos, like the final stand of a desperate skirmish.

The air was pungent—stale blood, burnt gunpowder, and the heavy stink of rot settled into their noses like it belonged there.

Ashlyn kept the light steady, trying to count just how many bodies were packed into the space, but her focus shifted as a repetitive thudding noise reached her ears.

She paused.

A low creak. A dull bump.

Then again. And again.

Her gaze snapped to the source—a door at the end of the side wall just slightly ajar, its edge catching and bumping rhythmically against a bloated, slumped walker lying motionless in front of it.

Each time the door tried to open, it hit the corpse’s side, bounced back a few inches, and then swung forward again in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.

The sound echoed like an uneven heartbeat in the tight hallway.

Ben stepped up beside her, his brows drawn, watching the door with his arms loosely at his sides, ready for a signal. Ashlyn didn’t need one.

She glanced at him, shook her head slowly, and then tapped the side of her own head with two fingers, signaling: Not worth it.

Ben's eyes flicked back to the door as if weighing the odds, then gave a small nod. He raised his hand, signed, limbless walker maybe and mimicked a walker springing out with clawed hands.

Ashlyn nodded in agreement, her voice low but firm.

"We don't need more variables right now. Whatever’s in there, if it’s even alive, isn’t worth the bullets or the blood."

With a final look over their shoulders, the two pressed forward, carefully stepping around the edge of the carnage.

The corpse-clogged floor made movement awkward—like walking over loose, uneven terrain. Bones cracked faintly beneath their boots, and fabric tore like dry leaves as they moved through the aftermath of what must have been one hell of a slaughter.

Their people were still somewhere in this block. And they were not leaving until they found them.

Logan leaned forward slightly, his arm slipping through the gap between the van’s half-closed door and the fence’s jagged wires.

The knife in his hand gleamed faintly beneath the waning light, its blade rhythmic as he tapped and stabbed it forward with methodical precision, the steel sinking into decaying skulls of walkers that crowded along the outer edge.

With each satisfying puncture, a dull thud accompanied the bodies slumping to the ground, the grotesque weight of death adding to the pile of twitching limbs just outside the gate.

But after a while, even the act of cleaning off the dead lost its usefulness as a distraction.

His hand slipped back through the gap, his fingers slightly trembling—not from fear, but from the kind of anxious restlessness that came with being kept waiting far too long.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes drawn to the buildings his friends had disappeared into what felt like ages ago.

The tall concrete husks of the prison blocks sat eerily silent, their windows like blank stares in the dusk. Worry nestled itself under Logan’s skin like a parasite, subtle but persistent. It crawled along his spine and settled in his shoulders, weighing them down.

With a sigh that dragged from the very pit of his lungs, Logan turned on his heel, his boots crunching quietly against the patchy grass, now damp with blood and walker rot.

He shoved the van’s door open fully, stepping back inside with movements that were slow, deliberate, fatigued.

Taylor looked up from where she sat cross-legged on the mattress, arms wrapped around her stomach, still stiff from her wound.

"No sign yet?" she asked, voice hushed but tense, eyes betraying the anxiety she tried to muffle beneath her usually unbothered demeanor.

Logan shook his head once, sharp and disheartened, before all but collapsing beside her, arms falling across his knees. "Nothing. Not even an echo. It's been hours."

Taylor leaned back against the van’s interior wall, her head thumping lightly against the metal. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and she exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing just slightly as she met his gaze. "They’re smart. They’ll be okay."

But Logan didn’t answer, his stare lost in the grainy shadows of the van’s floor. Eventually, he turned to Alex, who was leaning against the other side, his bandages tighter now, the color slowly returning to his face despite the faint sheen of sweat that clung to his skin.

"Alex," Logan said, tone low but steady, like he was trying not to startle a fragile moment of calm. "You ever figure out who tried to kill you? That fire—your farm going up like that—it wasn’t just bad luck. You know that, right?"

Alex shifted, propping himself up straighter, his expression flickering between contemplative and resigned. After a moment’s pause, he gave a single nod. "Yeah. If it wasn’t a fluke, and I doubt it was, then I’ve only got one name that fits. Maverick."

Taylor scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes so hard it seemed they might detach. She pushed herself upright with a wince, then jabbed a thumb against her side where the bandage lay. "Just hearing his name makes me wanna punch someone. Preferably him. Right in that smug face of his."

Alex huffed a soft breath that could’ve been a laugh if it weren’t weighed down by exhaustion. "You and me both. He’s been quiet for a long time. I knew it was a matter of time before I became a target."

Taylor glanced toward the slit of darkness between the van doors, her features etched with something that resembled bitterness. "That’s the worst kind of threat, isn’t it? The quiet ones. The ones who wait."

Logan rubbed his hands together slowly, eyes narrowed. "We need a plan. If he's out there... and he's watching us, or anything, waiting for a chance to hit us, we can’t sit here like bait."

"Then we don't," Taylor replied, her voice like a blade being unsheathed—steady, clear, and ready to strike. "But first... we wait for the others. One step at a time."

A silence settled between the three again, thick with what-ifs and imagined worst-case scenarios. Outside, the occasional groan of a distant walker echoed across the yard, while the wind whispered through the broken fencing like an omen.

They waited. And hoped the dead hadn’t claimed more than just silence.

Chapter Text

I.

Their boots dragged across cracked linoleum and gravel-like debris scattered in the hallway, an unsettling quiet laced behind their every step, the silence only occasionally broken by the rhythmic squelch of rotted flesh beneath their soles.

Tyler lifted a hand to wipe the sweat off his brow, his skin sticky with grime and exhaustion.

The stench of blood and stress clung to the back of his throat like bile refusing to rise, as if trying to cement itself in the marrow of his bones.

Hours—he’d lost count of how many—had passed with nothing but the sound of their own breath and the crunch of corpses beneath their weight.

They had carved their way through several clusters of walkers, bodies now strewn behind them in scattered heaps, skulls caved in and throats gouged raw by steel. And still—nothing.

No glimpse of Jessica. No trace of Octavia. No sign of life aside from the dead.

Tyler was the first to pause, his eyes catching sight of a dull silver door half-concealed by grime and a slanted caution sign.

Curiosity, or perhaps desperation disguised as curiosity, pulled him toward it. He opened the door with a low creak, a whistle leaving his lips as his eyes scanned the inside.

"Well, would you look at this," he called out, his voice echoing into the hollow room. "Seed sacks. Dozens of them."

Aiden approached, raising an eyebrow as he peered past his shoulder. The room smelled of dust and mildew, untouched. He stepped forward, kneeling beside one of the sacks and brushing the dirt off the label.

"We could plant half a damn field with these," he murmured, fingers pressing lightly into the coarse fabric. "Start a real source of food out in the yard—" he paused, then straightened, his voice turning resolute. "Later.”

Tyler gave a short nod, stepping back as Aiden pulled his knife free and carved a crude "X" into the metal door, a quick jagged mark to remember it by.

They pressed on, the hallways shifting into narrower corridors, walls littered with splattered handprints like smeared warnings from the past.

Around the next corner, three corpses lay in awkward positions, heads smashed inward with irregular, brutish blows. Blood had sprayed against the concrete wall like an artist’s violent stroke of crimson.

"These weren’t shot," Tyler observed, kneeling by the closest body. "Blunt weapon. Repeated strikes. Someone panicked."

Aiden crouched beside the next, his fingers brushing over the edge of a bloodied pipe that had rolled slightly to the side. "Not a clean kill," he muttered. "Too messy. Too slow."

Tyler exhaled slowly, something tight curling in his gut. "You think—"

But he didn’t finish.

The sound reached them before the thought did. Muffled sobs. Soft, fragile, like glass cracking beneath a whisper. It was faint but achingly familiar. The kind of sound that clung to Tyler’s memory.

Aiden’s reaction was immediate, his body moving before his mind could catch up, sprinting toward the sound with desperation guiding every footfall.

His heart thundered like a warning drumbeat, a cacophony of panic and hope clawing at his chest as he turned the final corner.

The hallway narrowed further, leading toward another metal door. The sobs grew clearer, trembling and uneven, broken in rhythm. Tyler was right behind him now, gaze darting toward the faint trail of smeared red by the wall.

Aiden’s breath hitched as his hand reached for the door’s handle.

"Octopus?" he called out softly, his voice cracking despite his effort to stay composed. "Mom? It’s me—it’s Aiden."

He barely waited for a response before pushing the door open.

The moment Aiden stepped past the threshold and into the dimly lit storage room, the air itself seemed to thicken, silence broken only by the soft shuffle of his boots against the dust-caked floor.

But in the span of a single heartbeat, it was shattered—not by violence or threat, but by the small body that launched itself into him with the sheer desperation of a child who had clung to hope with bloodied fingers. Octavia.

A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding escaped him in a ragged sigh, and he wrapped his arms around her trembling form, pulling her close as though he could shield her from everything—the horror, the noise, the grief clawing at the walls of this place.

His voice came out in a whisper, frayed but steady, as he murmured gentle reassurances against her hair, “You’re okay now... I got you, Octopus. You're safe, you're safe.”

She was sobbing—loud, shuddering cries that rattled her chest—and he felt each one like a hammer to the ribs.

Still holding her, his eyes scanned the dim space, pupils widening to make sense of the shadows cast by tilted shelves and stray hanging bulbs. He swallowed and gently pulled back just enough to see her face. "Where’s Mom?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.

At the question, her sobs splintered into something raw and deeper.

She shook her head violently, clinging tighter to him for a beat before she finally let go and covered her face with her hands.

That told him everything. And nothing.

Aiden’s stomach curled in on itself.

He blinked hard, nodding to himself, then leaned down and scooped her up with aching gentleness, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Stay with Ty, alright?” he murmured.

With the grace of practiced instinct, he walked her over to Tyler, who had been standing guard nearby. Without a word, he handed her off, their eyes briefly locking.

“Keep her close,” Aiden said simply, then turned back toward the room, toward the shelves, toward the silence.

Tyler caught the hesitation in his step, the stiffness in his back, and watched as Aiden disappeared behind the rows of supplies.

He knelt, adjusting Octavia gently, brushing her hair back and wiping her face with his sleeve as he whispered soothing words. “It’s alright, O. He’ll be right back. We’re here now.”

And then came the sound. A sharp, unmistakable clatter—the distinct clink of metal meeting the hard floor. A knife.

Tyler’s body tensed instinctively. He looked down at Octavia, who had curled into herself beside the door, then stood and moved quietly, following the path Aiden had taken. His voice cut through the distance with care, “Aiden? You alright?”

No answer.

He rounded the corner, expecting anything, prepared for everything—except what he saw.

There, at the far end of the room, Aiden stood completely still, his frame outlined by the trembling yellow glow of a ceiling light swaying slightly overhead.

The shaking of his shoulders was so slight, it could have been mistaken for a breeze, but Tyler knew better.

He could hear it. The low, pitiful sound of a sob, caught in the throat of someone trying so hard not to fall apart.

He followed Aiden’s line of sight.

Strapped and tied tightly to one of the lower shelf brackets, her arms bound with a length of cord, her mouth covered but not fully muzzled, was a walker. But not just any walker.

Jessica.

Her skin had turned the sickly hue of greyed flesh, torn open at her shoulder, dried blood clotted like rusted paint across her once-soft features.

She had clearly been bitten—there was no denying it.

But she had done what many wouldn’t have had the strength or mind to do. She had tied herself down, confined herself, ensured that in her final hours, her instincts wouldn't betray her and lead her to kill the child she had protected to the very end.

The snarl from her throat was weak, gurgling, not quite human. Not anymore.

Aiden didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just stared at what had once been his mother as if trying to summon her back with the sheer force of will, as if maybe—just maybe—he could blink and undo this.

His hand rose, shaking violently, pressing against his own mouth in a feeble attempt to silence the sobs that pushed up from his gut.

But the more he tried to swallow them, the more violently they surged forward. His knees buckled beneath him, his body curling into itself, knees kissing the floor as his other hand gripped his stomach like he’d been punched, breath catching in short, ragged bursts.

Tyler froze, eyes wide with helplessness.

It was one thing to lose someone. It was another to see someone else lose everything, right in front of you.

After a moment that felt too long and too silent, Tyler moved without a word. He dropped down beside Aiden, arms curling around him from behind, anchoring him.

He didn’t try to pull him out of it, didn’t force him to face him, didn’t say empty comforts or try to stop the storm.

He just held on, feeling the tremor in Aiden’s body radiate into his own like a current, steady and raw.

And after a moment, Aiden’s hand reached back, fingers gripping Tyler’s arm like a lifeline.

He hated how much he was shaking.

But Tyler didn’t let go.

II.

For a while, there was no movement, only the soft, raw cadence of breath settling back into its rhythm.

The cold concrete beneath them seemed to absorb the weight of their silence, grounding Aiden and Tyler in the moment as if even time had held its breath for them.

Aiden's tremors, once violent enough to be mistaken for the onset of a seizure, gradually dwindled to mere shudders—an echo of the emotional storm that had just swept through him.

He shifted, a subtle movement that prompted Tyler to withdraw his arms with gentle caution, as if letting go too quickly might shatter whatever fragile pieces had been momentarily held together by the embrace.

When Aiden finally lifted his face, illuminated in fractured shafts of light that managed to snake through the cracks in the boarded windows, there was a haunting neutrality to his expression.

The storm in his eyes had been quelled, pushed deep beneath a thin veil of composure.

The redness around his eyes burned vivid against his pale skin, but otherwise, he wore that ever-familiar smile—strained at the edges, like an old wound pulling at its stitches, but intact.

Tyler didn't say anything. He knew that words had their place, and now wasn't it. There was no comfort to offer that could stitch up the hole gaping open inside Aiden's chest.

Aiden reached out then, his hand outstretched and palm up.

Tyler’s gaze dipped to the silent request before him—the unspoken need etched into the quiet gesture. He didn’t need to ask why.

He simply reached around and pulled the gun from his holster, placing the weight of it gently into Aiden’s waiting hand, the metal clicking faintly as their fingers briefly touched.

The weight of understanding passed between them in that moment, heavier than the steel.

Without looking back, Tyler gathered Octavia in his arms. She clung to him, silent tears streaking down her cheeks, the trauma of it all weighing heavy on her small frame.

He carried her just outside the storage room, his steps deliberate and quiet. Kneeling down beside her, he reached forward and cupped both his hands around her ears, his touch soft but firm, shielding her from what he could.

"Close your eyes amor," he whispered, voice barely more than breath, and she obeyed, tucking her face into his chest with a trust that fractured something inside him.

Then, it came. A single shot.

Despite the countless times he had pulled the trigger himself, despite the endless chorus of bullets he had grown desensitized to, that sound made him flinch.

It wasn't loud in the conventional sense. It was loud in the way a heart breaks.

In the way reality sinks in.

It felt like it echoed longer than it should have—bouncing down the corridor, piercing through the silence like a cry too primal for words.

And then, footsteps.

Aiden emerged slowly from the room, each step deliberate, as if every inch of movement demanded more energy than he had to give.

The gun was put at his side, but he was no longer wearing his hoodie.

Instead, the blood-red fabric was draped over the still body cradled in his arms, its presence sacred and solemn like a burial shroud.

All that remained of Jessica was her limp form and the stained white sleeves of Aiden's shirt clinging to his arms like ghosts.

Tyler didn’t speak. He didn’t ask if Aiden was okay.

There was no need for that kind of lie between them.

Instead, he stood up slowly, helping Octavia onto her feet, his gaze never leaving the boy now carrying the weight of both his past and his present in trembling arms.

Aiden met his gaze, that same tired, strained smile still stitched onto his face like a mask grown too tight.

But beneath it, Tyler could still see him—the boy who had once been all light and laughter, now walking beneath the shadow of loss.

"Let’s go," Aiden said hoarsely, his voice sounding scraped raw from the inside out, but still steady enough to move forward.

And so they did.

The sky overhead was beginning to bleed into deeper hues, the last remnants of sunlight casting a red sheen across the compound as Aiden emerged from the cell block.

He was silent, his steps deliberate and slow, the weight in his arms infinitely heavier than it should have been.

Jessica's body—wrapped in his red hoodie, head carefully obscured—rested limply in his grasp, and for a moment, the world seemed to go still in reverence.

From a distance, Logan’s voice called out with cautious relief, "Aiden! you're ba—" but the rest of the words died on his tongue when he saw what Aiden carried. His voice cracked, then fell into silence.

He didn’t say anything more, didn’t approach. Instead, he stood frozen near the fence, his features tightening with recognition and guilt, as if he, too, felt the loss settle like lead in the air.

Taylor had stepped out from the van with Alex, her expression shifting slowly from hope to understanding.

No words passed her lips, her eyes briefly flickering with unshed tears before she looked away, covering her own mouth. Giving Aiden space, as if afraid her presence might shatter whatever thin thread of strength he clung to.

Aiden didn’t meet any of their eyes.

He walked past them all without faltering, only slowing when he reached a quiet patch of the field where two simple wooden crosses stood—handmade markers for his aunt and uncle.

The grass had grown thicker around them, but he knelt and cleared a space beside them with one hand.

Then, with impossible tenderness, he lowered his mother’s body down beside her sister and brother-in-law.

He stayed there a moment, staring.

Not crying, not blinking.

Just staring, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled.

Then, wordlessly, he stood and made his way back toward the van. His boots dragged slightly over the earth, each step deliberate but mechanical.

By the time he stepped back inside, the dim yellow interior light cast shadows on his face, which had lost all signs of that earlier tight-lipped smile.

Nobody spoke. The air was tense, fragile, as if even a breath might break something inside him.

Taylor sat up straighter on the mattress. “Aiden… I’m—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off before she could go on. His smile had returned, faint and clearly forced, like a paper cutout masking cracked glass. “If you say you’re sorry, I swear I’ll start weeping like a Victorian widow.”

Alex looked up with a grim snort that turned into a cough, and Logan shook his head, trying not to smile.

Taylor smiled, but her eyes remained heavy.

“You know,” Aiden added, collapsing into the corner of the van and resting his head against the wall, “I never thought I’d carry my mom out of a prison like a discount Greek tragedy, but hey—gotta collect those emotional trauma badges somehow, right?”

“Jesus, Aiden,” Logan muttered, pressing his hand over his face. “Too soon.”

Aiden only grinned wider, though it didn't reach his eyes. “Too late, actually. She’s already dead.”

No one laughed, but they didn’t argue either. They knew him. They knew this was how he processed things.

This was his version of grieving—jokes that stung like cuts laced with salt, smiles that hid silent sobs.

He stood after a moment, his joints stiff. From one of the drawers near the back of the van, he pulled out a thick wool blanket, the same kind they used to cover bodies in winter.

He turned to Octavia, who had fallen asleep curled on the corner mattress, her small hands tucked beneath her cheek.

Aiden knelt, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Sleep tight, Octopus,” he whispered, voice just above a breath. “Dream better dreams than the ones this world allows.”

Then he turned and exited once more into the cooling dusk, blanket in hand. He didn’t say where he was going, but none of them asked.

They watched in silence as his figure crossed the field once more, where Jessica’s body lay, so he could wrap her in warmth one final time until they could give her a proper burial.

Not because he had to. But because it mattered.

Because she mattered.

And because some part of him still hoped—quietly, desperately—that giving her peace might one day give him some too.

III.

Ashlyn stepped back through the reinforced doors of their main block, the familiar chill of the cemented hallways curling around them like a half-remembered ghost.

Their boots made soft thuds against the scattered debris lining the floor—bloodstains long dried, broken flashlight casings, and the occasional unrecognizable scrap.

They moved with mechanical precision, their bodies still wired from adrenaline, yet weighted by a deeper fatigue.

Everyone else was accounted for.

They’d found Logan’s grandparents nestled in the collapsed remains of a makeshift barricade, Emma and Mike tending to each other’s wounds in silence, Lily and the kids hiding in a cupboard space that still reeked of fear.

But Cilius—there was no sign of her.

Not a single trail of footsteps or echo of her sharp voice. Her absence clung to them with an almost accusatory stillness.

Aiden had stayed back at the van, needing time, space, silence—whatever pieces of himself he could still salvage after burying his mother.

Tyler hadn’t pressed it. He didn’t need to.

He knew the kind of grief that didn’t ask permission before hollowing you out.

Alex, meanwhile, was surrounded by the curious, speculative eyes of the others, his past now center stage.

He bore the weight of their stares with an unreadable expression, his arms crossed tightly over his chest like a man holding his secrets together with sheer force of will.

His presence, even now, felt like a question that hadn’t found its answer.

Tyler moved ahead of Ashlyn, supporting Taylor into their shared cell with a familiar hand on her back.

She was pale, thinner than he remembered even from the day before, and her arm was braced awkwardly against her side.

The gunshot wound hadn’t reopened, but he could see in her eyes that it was still burning.

“Come on, hermana, I got you,” he said under his breath, voice soft, laced with a tired warmth. “You’re not gonna bleed on my bunk, yeah?”

Taylor rolled her eyes as she settled into the bed with a hiss of pain. “No promises,” she mumbled, then shot him a weak smile. “You still smell like burnt rice and regret.”

Tyler grinned, brushing his knuckles against her hair. “Damn, you sure you didn’t get shot in the mouth too? Would’ve been quieter around here.”

He meant it as a joke, but the tiredness in his voice chipped at its edge. His eyes wandered briefly to the open cell door, as if half-expecting Aiden to walk through it any second.

He didn’t.

A part of Tyler itched to go find him, to sit beside him and say something dumb until he cracked a smile.

But Aiden coped in ways Tyler never quite understood, folding inward when Tyler’s instinct was to scream at the sky. So, for now, he let him be.

A shuffling behind him drew his attention as Sammon entered the block. His eyes immediately swept the room, then locked on the group near the wall.

“She’s still not back, is she?”

No one answered.

Emma moved first, placing a careful hand on Sammon’sshoulder, her voice low. “We’ve looked through every open hallway. We haven’t seen her yet, but that doesn’t mean she—”

Before she could finish, Sammon’s foot snapped forward with a grunt, kicking the nearest chair so hard it slammed against the wall and bounced back with a clatter.

No one tried to stop him as he stormed out, back through the block’s entrance.

It was obvious where he was headed. Block C.

Back into the dark to search again for the girl who wasn’t there.

Ashlyn didn’t speak, only exchanged a glance with Ben. His face was stoic, but his hands moved in tight signs at his side.

She nodded, lips pressing into a firm line. They’d found almost everyone. But almost didn’t feel good enough.

The silence that cloaked the prison block was unnerving—not the kind that soothed, but the kind that clawed at one’s nerves like a persistent shadow.

It was the hush that followed after anguish had run its course, a collective breath held in mourning and weary resolve.

The last of the walkers had been cleared, the blood scrubbed off the tiles where they could reach, and the scent of rot had finally begun to dissipate, or maybe their senses were simply growing numb to it.

Either way, the block felt haunted by something heavier than death.

Aiden walked in from the courtyard without ceremony, like a ghost slipping back into a place it once called home. His gait was steady but lacked its usual bounce.

He wore a newly scavenged blue hoodie jacket, sleeves slightly folded up his arms, cuffs chewed at the ends.

Beneath it, a clean slate-colored shirt clung to his frame, the fabric still creased from being folded away too long.

His legs remained clad in the familiar pale brown shorts, torn at one knee and marked by a smudge of dry earth. His signature grin was still on his lips, stretched faintly as if stitched into place, but there was no light in it.

No mischief, no warmth—only a hollow facsimile of what once was.

Daniel’s eyes, ever sharp and hard with suspicion, landed on him the moment he crossed the threshold.

His gaze flicked toward the door behind Aiden, scanning for another figure. But she wasn’t there.

He waited, lips tightening. Then his expression changed—like a cliffside starting to crumble.

“Where’s Jess?” Daniel asked, his voice low, almost cautious, like he already knew but still clung to the hope that he didn’t.

Aiden didn’t stop walking until the words struck him. His feet faltered mid-step, pausing just before he reached the narrow corridor toward the cells.

The question hung in the air, drawing every gaze to his slouched shoulders and unfocused stare. He didn’t turn.

“Aiden,” Daniel’s voice sharpened, harder now. “I asked you a question.”

Silence. Even the usual shuffling of feet, the whispered exchanges, the tired breaths—they all died out. Aiden slowly turned, but his eyes remained distant, glued to a spot on the ground just beyond Daniel’s shoes.

His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter.

When Daniel took a step forward, it was less of a walk and more of a lunge. His hands, rough and calloused from years of work and war, reached out—one hand catching Aiden’s jaw and tilting his face upward with a jerk.

“Why are you still smiling like that?” he hissed, voice no longer quiet. “Do you think this is funny?” His grip tightened, fingers pressing hard into Aiden’s cheeks.

“You fucking freak!”

The room didn’t breathe.

Aiden’s expression didn’t falter, but the faintest tremor pulled at the corners of his lips.

His mind was spiraling, drowning beneath the weight of a memory he had buried deep—fingernails on bone, a cry muffled by a locked door, the sharp sting of a slap on skin too young to understand why it hurt.

His breath hitched, but still, he didn’t resist.

The slap came like a thunderclap. The back of Daniel’s hand cracked against his face with a viciousness that seemed to echo across the cold stone walls.

Aiden’s body stumbled back, legs unable to catch his shifting weight in time. His hip slammed into the edge of the heavy metal table bolted against the far wall, the screech of the impact shrill and jagged.

He bent over slightly, one hand on the table’s edge, the other hovering over his stomach, fingers twitching.

Aiden still didn’t look up. His hand rose to his jaw, not in defense, but as if to check it still existed.

The sudden burst of raised voices and the jarring clatter of metal against flesh broke through the lull of recovery that had settled over the block, cutting through the stagnant air like a blade.

Tyler pushed back the makeshift curtain strung up across the doorway of the cell he shared with Taylor, his footsteps urgent and heavy as he stepped into the open corridor.

The dim lighting overhead flickered as his eyes quickly fell on the source of the chaos—Aiden, standing rigid beside the metal table, one hand still braced against the edge, the other pressed tightly to his face.

His posture, while upright, betrayed the impact; he looked like he was holding himself together with fraying strings.

Daniel stood across from him, teeth bared in fury, shoulders heaving with anger not yet spent.

His hand still hovered in the air, as if his muscles hadn’t quite caught up to his regret—or perhaps, as if he were ready to strike again.

Tyler was at Aiden’s side in seconds, his hands gripping his shoulders in a steadying motion that he tried to keep gentle despite the storm stirring in his chest.

Aiden’s red-tinted eyes met his, wide and too bright under the low light.

For a fleeting second, there was something raw in that look—something broken, something distant—but it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, buried behind a half-curved smile that looked more like armor than anything genuine.

He shook his head, wordless, as he gently shrugged Tyler’s hands off him, as if to say, “I’m okay,” even though both of them knew he wasn’t.

Daniel’s voice came next, venomous and laced with warning. "Back off, Tyler. This is none of your damn business."

The tension between them crackled, a taut wire ready to snap. Daniel’s fists balled, and for a moment, it looked like he might go for another swing—this time at Tyler.

But then movement flickered in the periphery.

From the corner of Tyler’s eye, he caught Ashlyn’s silhouette moving in, slow but determined.

She held a folded metal chair above her head like a soldier wielding a weapon, her face unreadable, eyes narrowed on Daniel like a hawk stalking prey.

But she never had the chance.

Mike appeared behind Daniel, his approach quiet but deliberate, and without so much as a warning, he struck him cleanly at the base of the neck.

Daniel's body gave out in an instant, slumping to the floor with a dull thud that echoed through the heavy silence that followed.

The room exhaled.

Mike arched a brow at Ashlyn, pointing lazily at the now-lowered chair in her grip, and the baseball bat Logan had pilfered from Tyler and Taylor's stash earlier.

At that, Logan quickly put the baseball bat down on the floor, tugging his arms behind his back as he rocked back and forth on his feet, whistling in innocence.

"Trooper," Mike said dryly, voice tinged with something between amusement and exhaustion, "You weren’t actually gonna hit him with that thing, were you?"

Ashlyn merely shrugged, a flicker of a sarcasm playing at the edge of her mouth. "Nope," the sound popped against her lips, she replied with mock thoughtfulness.

Tyler cracked a half-hearted grin at that, though it faded quickly when Ashlyn approached Aiden.

Her steps were confident, but the concern behind them was palpable. She stood beside him without a word, reaching up to gently cover his hand with her own, guiding it away from his face as her thumb brushed over the side of his jaw with clinical familiarity.

Her lips tightened.

"You okay, Aiden?" she asked, voice quieter now, gentler.

Aiden gave the smallest nod, not quite trusting his voice. Ashlyn didn’t push further.

Instead, she gave a sharp whistle—one that cut clean through the air—and Ben was already on the move from across the room, rummaging through one of the medical supply drawers as she helped guide Aiden toward the direction of his cell.

Tyler watched them go, his chest a tangle of regret and helplessness.

He could’ve stepped in sooner. Should’ve.

But Aiden and Ashlyn had always had that unspoken connection—a kind of knowing that didn’t require words or gestures—and Tyler didn’t want to bother that.

He stayed behind, arms still crossed, jaw locked tight. He told himself it was better this way. He told himself Aiden needed space.

But the tightness in his throat didn’t ease with the reasoning, and neither did the stinging, gnawing ache in his chest that came with not being the one to help.

Sammon sat slouched against the cold, rusting metallic door, the rhythmic bumping of the panel against the corpse lodged in its way gnawing at the frayed edges of his patience more viciously than even the sickening fear that had burrowed deep into his chest.

Every dull thud was a reminder that time was crawling by and that he was still here, still alone, still without Cilius. His fingers twitched restlessly, calloused hands dragging the familiar worn handle of his knife from his belt.

Without a word or warning, he stabbed the blade into the cracked concrete beside him, again and again, letting the steel bite the wall in tempo with the creaking door.

Each stab was mechanical, a desperate ritual to keep from splintering apart inside.

But anger, swift and reckless, overtook the hollow attempt at control.

With a rough exhale through gritted teeth, he clamped the knife between his teeth and shot to his feet, determined to get rid of the corpse that barred his way.

His boots scraped against the blood-streaked floor as he dragged the bloated walker aside, the dead weight resisting him with the stubbornness of something long past its purpose.

Tossing the body aside like an afterthought, he braced himself, heart pounding mercilessly against his ribs as he planted a firm hand against the door.

He threw it open, his free hand already raised, knife gleaming, ready to bury itself in whatever decaying thing dared to lurch at him.

But no walker came.

Instead, framed in the dusty, dim light bleeding into the storage room, lay Cilius—propped against the far wall, chest heaving, blood matting one side of her short long, but alive.

Very much alive. For a moment, Sammon could only stare, disarmed so brutally by the tidal wave of relief that it left his knees weak.

His knife clattered to the floor with a hollow metallic echo as he stumbled forward, dropping to his knees before her without a second thought.

Cilius gave a tired, breathy chuckle, voice frayed with exhaustion yet carrying that same teasing lilt she always used to needle at him.

"Missed your messy hair," she rasped, a shadow of a grin pulling at her split lip.

Sammon bit down harshly on his lower lip, his hands hovering helplessly above her as if terrified that touching her might shatter the fragile reality he had been aching to see.

His eyes, usually sharp and cutting, blurred against his will as the sting of unshed tears crept up, burning.

"You idiot," he whispered, voice cracking under the weight of everything he had tried to bury.

Cilius, ever observant even through the haze of her own pain, noticed the way his lip trembled, the way his breathing hitched with every ragged inhale.

She lifted one hand, fingers sluggish but deliberate as she brushed his hair back from his forehead, a familiar, grounding gesture. "We talked about this, remember?" she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "You don't have to bottle everything up with me, Sammy."

It was all it took.

Sammon caved wordlessly, folding himself against her with a wounded sound barely above a whisper, pressing his forehead against her battered shoulder as the floodgate broke open.

His silent sobs shook his body, his fists curling into the fabric of her torn jacket like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

She said nothing else, simply cradled him, her fingers weaving slow, calming patterns through the back of his tangled hair, anchoring him to her warmth, to the reality that she was still here, still breathing, still his.

Time blurred around them, a slow-motion film of grief and comfort.

When at last the worst of the storm inside him had spent itself, he shifted back with a shaky breath, wiping his face roughly with the sleeve of his shirt, embarrassed but grateful.

He helped her to her feet with careful hands, wincing in sympathy when she staggered slightly, her body clearly protesting even the smallest movement.

"Easy there, you're not exactly winning any foot races today," he teased, forcing a crooked smile onto his face as he wrapped one arm securely around her waist to support her. She snorted weakly, allowing herself to lean into him without hesitation.

Together, they limped their way out of the deserted block, the grim corridor swallowing the echoes of their slow steps.

The world outside was mercifully still, the worst of the chaos dealt with by the others.

Sammon led her back across the cracked asphalt and bloodstained walkways to the main block, stubbornly shouldering most of her weight even when she protested quietly.

Inside the familiar, battered walls of their shared cell, he carefully lowered her onto the mattress, fussing with the pillow behind her head despite her grumbled complaints.

He knew she hated being babied, but he ignored it, muttering under his breath about how stubborn she was.

When she grimaced, trying to adjust her bandages, he sat cross-legged beside her, launching into one of the absurd stories he always made up on the spot—wild tales of worlds where cats ruled over humans and gravity only worked on Tuesdays—anything, anything at all, to keep her distracted from the pain and the heavy memories pressing down on them both.

"You know," he said, voice lighter than it felt, "I was thinking about publishing a book once this whole end-of-the-world thing blows over. 'Chronicles of the Stupid Survivors.' You'd be chapter one."

Cilius gave a wheezy laugh, rolling her eyes affectionately.

"Only if I get a cool nickname," she muttered.

Sammon smiled, for real this time, the first honest smile in what felt like forever.

"You'll be 'The Queen of Surviving Dumb Luck.' Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Her soft laughter filled the small cell, and for a moment, however fleeting.

IV.

Ashlyn sat cross-legged on the corner of Aiden's bed, the soft scrape of antiseptic wipes being peeled from their packet the only sound filling the room.

She cupped his jaw carefully, fingers feather-light, as she tilted his head toward the slim line of light filtering through the cracked door.

Her brows furrowed as she surveyed the faint, reddening mark blooming across his skin, the subtle swelling beginning to peek through the facade of calm Aiden always wore.

"Doesn't feel broken," she murmured, voice low but tinged with frustration, brushing her thumb just beneath the bruise.

Aiden gave a small laugh that lacked any real humor, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a smile that didn't quite reach his red-tinted eyes.

"It's nothing, Ash," he said softly, the words dragging from his mouth like they weighed more than he did. "Happens a lot. After… well. Give it a few days. It dulls out. Always does."

Ashlyn didn't respond immediately. She stared at him, her face hard to read, lips pressed into a tight line.

She knew what he was doing—the same thing he always did. Shrugging it off.

Dismissing pain like it was a minor inconvenience instead of a splinter in the heart.

After a beat, she simply sighed, a breath thick with words she knew he wouldn't listen to. Instead, she reached up and ruffled his hair with a rough affection, sending the already messy strands even more askew.

"You're a damn idiot, Red," she said under her breath, her voice soft but fond.

Aiden's smile grew a little more real at that nickname, a genuine light flickering behind the false crimson of his contacts, momentarily chasing the hollow look from his face.

He leaned slightly into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before pulling away and nodding.

"Thanks, Ash," he murmured.

Ashlyn gave him a last look, lingering at the threshold of the cell longer than she meant to, before finally stepping out.

She pulled the heavy door gently shut behind her with a click that echoed far louder than it should have in the empty silence.

As soon as she was gone, the faint thread of warmth Aiden had been clinging to snapped. The fabricated smile crumbled off his face like brittle paper, leaving nothing but exhaustion in its wake.

Slowly, almost absently, he lifted his hand back to his mouth, fingers tracing the raw edges of the bruise as if trying to erase the memory stitched into the skin there.

He let his gaze wander around the small cell. The familiar walls loomed larger now, the once cramped space somehow stretching wider and colder.

It was strange—how a place he had spent so long in could feel so alien all of a sudden.

Like something vital had been hollowed out of it.

Like a story once written into the walls had been scrubbed clean, leaving only the sterile bones of a memory that no longer belonged to anyone.

Aiden sat there for a while, hands slack in his lap, staring at nothing, feeling everything.

The minutes stretched thin in the hollow quiet of the cell after Ashlyn left, the familiar emptiness gnawing at the frayed edges of his heart.

His eyes drifted across the sparse space before he pushed himself off the mattress with a muted exhale, dragging his heavy limbs toward the old, battered drawer sitting against the far wall.

It had always been there—gathering dust, its edges dulled and its handles rusted with time and neglect.

Aiden had never bothered with it before. He hadn’t needed to. In all the weeks they had stayed in this prison-turned-sanctuary, it was Jessica who had kept small, precious things tucked away, believing in the stubborn ritual of holding onto some remnants of the old world.

He remembered setting his shark toy atop the dresser once, in a careless gesture of needing to claim something, but beyond that, he had never thought to look inside.

But now, that ache in his chest—the one that hadn't dulled since he left her body beneath the earth—drove his fingers to the cold, creaking handle. With a reluctant pull, the drawer protested with a groan, as if disturbed from a long slumber.

One by one, he sifted through the belongings inside, setting them carefully atop the dresser’s surface.

A hairbrush, bristles bent and worn from years of gentle use.

A pocket mirror, the glass cracked through the center like a spiderweb.

A pair of rusted scissors, blades dulled by time. Each item felt like a whisper of a life lived quietly, stubbornly, lovingly.

And then, tucked against the corner as if hidden away with some purpose, there was a small box.

Its lid sat crooked, unaligned, and for a moment Aiden just stared at it, his breath caught shallow in his throat.

With trembling fingers, he retrieved it and returned to sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking beneath his slight weight.

He opened the box.

Inside, tangled amidst itself in a small mess, lay pieces of jewelry. Delicate chains, faded bracelets, small rings—not the gaudy things some had scrambled for when the world collapsed, but simple, understated pieces that spoke more of memory than value.

His fingers paused, brushing against two particular silver bands—thick and plain, shaped without flourish or dainty patterning, heavy and solid like something meant to last.

His chest tightened sharply at the sight, a pang splitting through him with a cruel, exquisite clarity.

A memory stirred, rising slow and unbidden—Jessica at a small, half-forgotten market years ago, slipping those rings into her palm with a quiet smile, telling him she bought them just because she liked them, even though she knew her husband would scoff.

They were meant to be worn together, the symbolism clear even if unspoken—partnership, equality, quiet resilience.

Jessica had never worn hers. Aiden's father wouldn't have allowed it; it had been yet another tiny freedom she had tucked away like a secret, saving it perhaps for some other life she never got to live.

Now, the rings sat cold and inert in Aiden's hand, their chill seeping into his skin like the touch of her lifeless fingers only hours ago.

His throat worked uselessly against the ache that rose, but he stayed still, savoring the sharpness of the feeling.

Among the clutter, he found two necklaces with pendants already dangling from them—a broken locket, a meaningless charm—and methodically, he removed the pendants and threaded the silver rings onto the thin chains.

The small sound of metal sliding over metal was almost deafening in the quiet.

He lifted the two makeshift necklaces up before his eyes, studying them as the silver caught the dim light seeping through the barred window.

His mouth quirked slightly, the barest ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, fragile as a spider's thread.

It was not happiness. It was not even peace. But it was something—a tether to a memory, a promise he would not let rot away with the rest of the world.

The smile faded slowly, and for a long moment, Aiden just sat there, the twin rings swaying gently in the still air.

Aiden's fingers brushed absently through the contents of the canvas bag Ashlyn had left for him after calling Ben over earlier.

His hands moved with a sort of mechanical slowness, rummaging through the unfamiliar clutter, his mind still clouded with the thick, heavy fog of everything that had happened.

He was searching for something small, something stupidly ordinary—his old, battered Rubik’s Cube, the one thing that somehow always managed to slow down his spiraling thoughts.

But the longer he dug through the bag’s depths, the more evident it became that something was wrong.

His brows furrowed in confusion, the objects he pulled out feeling all too foreign.

A crumpled band shirt.

A cracked leather wristband.

None of it belonged to him.

The realization tightened around his chest like a slow constricting rope. Ben must have grabbed the wrong bag when the chaos was swallowing them whole.

He was about to abandon the search when his hand brushed against something thicker, heavier than the rest.

His fingers curled around the worn fabric of a jacket, and when he pulled it free, the sight of it made him pause.

An old, unmistakable, red baseball jacket, the color faded by time and misuse but still carrying the spirit of the one who wore it. Tyler’s.

A low, breathy laugh slipped from Aiden’s mouth, unbidden. He shook his head slowly, warmth pressing against the corners of his eyes. "Of course it’s yours, halfwit," he muttered under his breath with a kind of exhausted fondness that didn’t quite make it past the lump in his throat.

Shifting the jacket aside, something harder clinked against the bottom of the bag.

His hand closed around it, and he lifted a black plastic bottle into the low light of the cell.

He turned it in his hand, reading the label without needing to—blonde hair dye.

His fingers tightened slightly around the bottle as he stared, the corners of his lips lifting into a small, genuine smile that, for the first time today, didn’t feel forced.

The memories crept up, soft and stubborn—Aiden sitting in front of a stupidly huge mirror in his bathroom, scowling at the dye in his hair as Tyler worked on it, muttering curses under his breath while Logan and Ashlyn heckled him from behind.

He gave a quiet, almost inaudible chuckle and let the bottle rest against the palm of his hand a little longer before his gaze shifted—drawn back across the room to the top of the dusty drawer where he had placed the remnants of his mother’s life.

The hairbrush. The pocket mirror. The silver rings gleaming dully in the faint light like silent witnesses.

A decision settled into his chest with a heavy sort of certainty.

Without wasting another breath, Aiden moved to the side of the drawer again, picking up the small pair of scissors he had unearthed earlier.

Their metallic surface was tarnished with age, the blades slightly nicked from years of neglect, but still sharp enough to do what he needed.

He tucked the scissors carefully into the front pocket of his hoodie and the dye into the deeper side pocket of his shorts, glancing once at the closed door of his cell, at the battered shark plush resting atop the drawer like a tired sentinel.

"Watch the fort, alright, Sharky?" he mumbled softly to the toy, the nickname slipping from him without a thought as he pulled the cell door open, the hinges giving a familiar groan of protest that echoed down the otherwise silent hall.

Aiden stepped into the dim corridor, the weight of the scissors against his side, the bottle of dye nestled at his hip, the necklaces secured in his hoodie, and the ghost of his old, fearless grin tugging faintly at his lips as he walked out his cell.

Chapter Text

I.

The silence that had settled over the prison block was heavy, a thick blanket that muted the usual sounds of restless sleepers and shifting bodies. Only the occasional muffled whisper seeped through the cracked walls of the cells, barely noticeable under the low hum of the night.

Aiden, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his hoodie, moved through the dimly lit corridor with quiet steps, his worn sneakers brushing the cold concrete floor. The faint glimmer of moonlight spilling through the shattered windows cast elongated shadows behind him, making the place feel even emptier than it already was.

He approached the cell shared by the twins, hesitating for a brief moment before pushing the hanging curtain aside just enough to peer inside. Expecting to find Tyler, he blinked when instead his gaze landed on Taylor and Logan.

They were sprawled on the floor, a battered deck of cards laid out between them, the paper corners bent and torn from overuse.

Taylor glanced up first, her green eyes flashing in the low light. "If you're looking for my idiot of a brother," she said, thumbing a worn card between her fingers with a lazy flick, "he's off washing the stupid outta his head. Or at least trying to. Whatever that means."

Logan chuckled under his breath, adjusting his seat against the wall, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You missed his whole dramatic exit." Aiden's mouth tugged into a small, almost bashful grin at their comments, the tender ache in his jaw pulling uncomfortably at the motion but not enough to deter him.

His faux-red eyes softened, crinkling slightly as he gave a subtle nod of thanks, his voice too hoarse and battered by the night's earlier turmoil to offer much in the way of words.

Taylor tilted her head with a teasing smirk. "Tell him to hurry back if you find him, will ya?" she said, tossing a card at Logan who swatted at it lazily. "Can't let him leave me with this guy for too long, or I might lose the rest of my brain cells."

"Hey," Logan huffed in mock offense, gathering the scattered cards. "You're just mad 'cause I'm winning."

"You're cheating," she shot back, her tone light but tired.

Aiden chuckled under his breath, a soft exhale more than a sound, before stepping back. The curtain fell back into place with a faint whisper, and he turned away from the cell, heading down the hall with a purposeful stride.

The deeper he moved into the block, the quieter it became, until the only sound was the occasional drip of water somewhere far away. Aiden hugged the contents in his hoodie tighter to his body, the scissors hidden there pressing lightly against his side as he made his way toward the bathroom.

His smile lingered, muted but genuine, as he followed the path his friend had taken, feeling the soft pulse of anticipation building behind his ribs, urging him forward through the abandoned corridors and toward whatever small fragment of peace he could still claim tonight.

The bitter sting of the icy water against Tyler's face anchored him more than he would ever admit. Each splash carved a new sharpness into his exhausted mind, peeling back the layers of dread and confusion that clung to him like wet clothes. He raked his soaked fingers through the messy curtain of his front hair, the strands clumping together and dripping cold against his forehead.

His reflection, cast in the cracked and grime-frosted mirror, looked barely human under the dim light overhead, eyes red-rimmed with fatigue, face hollow with things left unsaid.

The prison bathroom, built to hold the morning chaos of dozens of inmates, now seemed a tomb for his racing thoughts. His mind kept slipping down winding corridors. Ashlyn's pointed questions, Alex's explanations circling like vultures, and then inevitably, always inevitably, back to Aiden.

The name alone felt like a hand pressing down on his chest.

The screech of old hinges interrupted the spiral. Tyler lifted his gaze, catching the familiar flash of messy blonde hair. His eyes found Aiden's face a second later, and the world seemed to hush around them.

Neither of them spoke at first. They just stared, two battered souls standing on the thin ice of whatever moment held them.

"Hey," Tyler finally muttered, voice cracking slightly with the effort to sound casual.

"Hi," Aiden answered, a breathy softness to his voice that made Tyler's throat tighten.

Tyler dropped his gaze to his hands, still braced on either side of the cracked sink. He pushed himself upright, shaking off the heaviness with a quick roll of his shoulders, his expression settling into something closer to neutral.

Aiden moved first, tugging something out from beneath the folds of his hoodie.

Tyler's eyes tracked the motion, landing on the black bottle now cradled in Aiden's hand. Recognition sparked belatedly, the hair dye. The stupid bottle he’d snagged for Aiden during one of their frantic, hurried supply runs and then completely forgotten about.

Tyler cocked an eyebrow, a smirk threatening the corner of his mouth. "You going through my stuff now, psycho?" he teased, voice light, nudging at the mood with the careful, practiced grace of someone testing the strength of thin ice.

Aiden laughed. not the small, hollow chuckle he’d expected, but a real laugh, the kind that bounced off the cracked tiles and shoved the air back into Tyler’s lungs. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something, something so fiercely Aiden that it made Tyler’s hands ache with the need to do something, anything, to protect it.

"Ben mixed up our bags," Aiden explained between faint snorts, lifting the bottle slightly in illustration before tucking it carefully against his side again. His smile lingered, pulling at the side of his mouth despite the faint stiffness Tyler caught, a flash of pain that the laugh couldn't fully bury.

Aiden scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before lifting the bottle a little higher toward Tyler, the silent request written all over his face without the need for words. Tyler caught on instantly, his heart skipping a beat at the subtle trust behind the gesture.

He nodded, a little too fast, blurting a quick, "Yeah, of course," as if the very idea of refusing could never even exist between them in this situation. There was something almost sacred about it, the way Aiden silently relied on him for this. Tyler had always been the unofficial hair stylist of the group, having learned to cut and dye hair simply because he found peace in the process.

Aiden knew that. It made the small request feel even heavier in the best way. He moved closer, setting the worn dye bottle and a pair of battered scissors onto the counter with a soft clink. Tyler glanced down at the items, catching the unspoken message tucked between the lines: he wanted a trim too.

His fingers itched to start, but he paused, glancing at his own bare hands.

"Can't use dye without gloves," Tyler muttered, half to himself, half in warning, rubbing his palms together with exaggerated theatricality.

Aiden blinked, then laughed, that same infectious laugh that Tyler adored, bright and boyish, cracking the tension in the bathroom like sunlight through a storm cloud.

"Forgot about that part," Aiden admitted with a playful wince, before adding, "Be right back. Mary probably has some lying around."

Before Tyler could say another word, Aiden had spun on his heel and vanished into the hall. Tyler exhaled, letting the nervous energy drain a little as he picked up the bottle, inspecting its quality. The label was peeling, the contents sloshing around sluggishly inside, but it would do.

The scissors were dulled by time, but still sharp enough to work with some patience.

He set them back down just as Aiden returned, clutching a pair of black gloves, the kind Tyler recognized instantly as belonging to Logan's grandparents. Tyler raised a brow, smirking. "You little thief," he teased, tugging the gloves on with a snap. "What would Logan say?"

"Probably congratulate me for finally using my skills for something useful," Aiden grinned back, his red eyes glinting with mischief that warmed the cold corners of Tyler's mind. With a tilt of his chin, Tyler nudged a rusted metal chair toward him with his foot, the scrape echoing quietly in the cavernous bathroom. "Sit your dumbass down before I change my mind."

Aiden chuckled, dropping into the seat with a careless sprawl, trusting, open, his head bowed slightly in front of Tyler in a way that made something tender and fragile rise up in Tyler's chest. He cracked open the bottle, snipped the applicator tip with the scissors, and squeezed a test drop onto his gloved finger, rubbing it between his fingers to check consistency, texture or anything that might go wrong.

He was about to dive in when Aiden lifted a hand to stop him. "Wait," he said, voice softer now, hesitant, almost shy. "Can you, uh…keep some of the tips?" He tugged gently at a few strands, smiling sheepishly. "Kinda think it looks badass."

Tyler blinked at him, heart stuttering again.

Aiden's mind had clearly drifted somewhere. Maybe to a memory, maybe to a fleeting ghost of someone. He didn't question it. He just smiled, feeling something impossibly sweet unfurling in his chest. "Yeah," Tyler murmured, stepping closer, tilting Aiden's chin a little with gloved fingers. "Yeah, we'll keep the badass part."

He got to work, fingers gentle but sure, spreading the dye with careful precision, combing his fingers through the blonde tufts, leaving small streaks of black at the tips, like charred feathers clinging stubbornly to the bright gold.

Aiden stayed still, quiet, a soft hum of contentment vibrating beneath the surface of his breathing.

II.

Hours bled into each other like colors in water, the night stretching long past midnight with no sign of slowing, but neither Tyler nor Aiden cared. Time, with all its weight and meaning, seemed to dissolve in the silence they shared.

The ghost of the day's pain still clung to them both, the loss of Aiden's mother settling like a thick film over the air, but here, at least for now, they found refuge in the simplicity of each other's presence.

Tyler stood behind Aiden, his hands steady as he carefully bent the blond's head over the deep metallic sink. The faucet shrieked a little before cold water poured out, biting at Aiden's scalp as Tyler rinsed the excess dye with gentle, methodical motions.

With a damp, worn-out shirt in hand, Tyler patted Aiden's hair until it was just moist enough to snip at without making a mess. His fingers moved with tenderness, carding through the locks as he worked, the old, cracked mirror in front of them offering Tyler small glimpses of the boy he was tending to.

What unsettled Tyler most wasn't the faint bruising around Aiden's jaw, or the red staining of his faux irises beneath tired lashes, it was the absence of that ever-present smile. He was always so eager to plaster on that wild, defiant grin even when the world collapsed around him. Yet now let his face relax into something heavier, something unguarded.

Tyler felt a tight pull in his chest at the sight, his hands pausing mid-cut as if afraid to disturb the rare, somber honesty etched into Aiden's features.

"You’re awfully quiet tonight," Tyler said softly, trying to lace the words with casual humor but failing to mask the concern threading through them.

Aiden gave a half shrug, his shoulders brushing lightly against Tyler's abdomen. "Wouldn't want to distract my stylist. Might end up bald."

Tyler huffed a dry chuckle, ruffling the top of Aiden's damp hair a little too roughly. "Tch. You wish. I'd make you look good even if you were." He snipped a few more strands away, the scissors clicking rhythmically like a heartbeat. When the last stubborn black tips were shaped just the way Aiden had asked, Tyler brushed the loose hair off his forehead and stepped back, letting the boy straighten.

Aiden lifted his head slowly, blinking a little as he took in his reflection. His blond hair, now cleaner and lighter, glistened faintly under the sickly fluorescent light. The black tips he had insisted on keeping blended naturally, giving his appearance a rough but strangely softened look, like gold scorched at the edges.

And then there it was. A grin, so wide and so real it made Tyler’s own lips tug upward. "Damn," Aiden said, running his fingers through his hair with exaggerated awe. "You're some kind of miracle worker, Ty. You sure you weren’t secretly a salon dude before the world went to shit?"

Tyler leaned casually against the sink, arms crossing over his chest with a cocky smirk. "Nah. Only do VIPs. You know, special clients."

Aiden snorted, flashing Tyler a quick, mischievous glance. "Guess that makes me your favorite, huh?" Tyler pretended to ponder, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. You're definitely in the top three."

Aiden scoffed, shoving him lightly with an elbow. "Top three, my ass. I'm your best customer, admit it."

The playful banter stitched the broken seams between them, laughter filling the empty, hollow bathroom like a balm against the coldness outside. Aiden's fingers eventually drifted up to his face, his expression dimming as he carefully pried the red contact lenses from his eyes, each delicate movement slow and meticulous.

He fished around in the pockets of his shorts, retrieving the small plastic compartments designed to hold the lenses.

Tyler, still leaning casually against the sink, couldn't help but crack a grin and tease, "Great. Can't wait to witness you gouging your own eyes out. Real highlight of the night." Aiden huffed a laugh under his breath, the sound muted but genuine, as he balanced the contacts onto his fingertip and dropped them into their cases.

"Crying with these in sucks more," he muttered, blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the raw air, no longer shielded by the lenses. He lifted his gaze to the cracked mirror in front of them, and for a brief, suspended moment, it was like he was meeting a stranger.

It had been so long since he'd last seen his own natural eyes, a dark brown so deep it flirted with black under the faint flicker of lightbulbs overhead.

They looked older somehow, heavier.

Tyler shifted closer, unable to stop himself. He’d seen Aiden without the red before, though it happened rarely, in the blurred spaces between fights and fleeting rests. But it still hit him like a punch to the gut. The red was armor, an unspoken snarl that kept the world at bay. Without it, Aiden looked...normal. Real even. And that fact alone was a relief only the two of them understood.

Tyler's hand reached out instinctively, cupping the side of Aiden's jaw with a gentleness he rarely afforded anyone, but as soon as his fingertips made contact, Aiden sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, wincing.

Tyler flinched back immediately, the apology already forming on his lips before he could think better of it. "Shit, I didn't—" Aiden waved him off with a small, crooked smile, shaking his head. "It's fine. The old man just nailed me at an old fracture," he explained casually, the words brittle but tossed out with practiced ease.

There was a tightness around his mouth that said more than he ever would.

Tyler just nodded, letting the moment breathe without pressing for more. They both knew better than to dig into wounds that weren’t ready to scar.

Without another word, Aiden hoisted himself up onto the long, grimy sink counter, the worn porcelain groaning faintly under his weight. His legs swung idly off the side as he peered down at Tyler, mischief flashing for a split-second behind his dark eyes.

"Come here," Aiden said, voice lower, almost daring.

Tyler raised an eyebrow but moved forward without hesitation. He’d do anything, if it meant helping carve away even a fraction of the sadness sinking in Aiden’s bones. Still, his tongue was faster than his heart, and he let the teasing spill out naturally.

"What? You want me to sing you a lullaby too?" Tyler joked, a lopsided smirk tugging at his mouth, trying to cushion whatever weight hovered between them.

But Aiden didn’t laugh.

Instead, as soon as Tyler stood in front of him, close enough to feel the faint, uneven puffs of breath against his collarbone, Aiden leaned down slightly, and before Tyler could process the movement, dry, chapped lips pressed against his own.

For a moment, Tyler's brain fizzed into static. Everything else; the dingy bathroom, the chipped tiles, the endless ache of the world outside, faded into a muted hush.

His heart crashed against his ribs so loudly he was sure Aiden could hear it. The kiss was soft, almost tentative, the kind of kiss meant to patch cracks rather than tear holes.

Tyler froze, overwhelmed by the sheer tenderness of it, before his own hands, clumsy with emotion, found purchase on the edge of the counter beside Aiden’s thighs. Neither of them spoke when they finally broke apart, the air between them humming with all the words neither of them dared say yet.

Aiden’s hands remained firm on either side of Tyler’s face, his calloused thumb tracing idle, almost reverent paths over the softness of Tyler’s lower lip.

Tyler, caught in the trembling balance between the two of them, seemed unsure where to focus his gaze, flickering restlessly between Aiden’s dark eyes and the space just below, where their breaths kept brushing against each other like invisible threads trying to sew them closer.

Aiden’s mouth pulled into a lopsided smirk, mischief alight in his gaze as he teased, voice low and rasped, “You’ve got soft lips for a halfwit.”

Tyler, ever quick on the comeback, grumbled under his breath, “Screw you, Idiota,” but the insult lost all its bite when he immediately leaned forward, capturing Aiden’s smirk with another kiss. And Aiden’s laughter vibrated against his lips, a soft sound that buzzed into Tyler’s heart like an electric pulse.

When they finally broke apart again, the space between them stayed impossibly close, their foreheads almost resting together, breathing each other in like they might drown if they didn’t.

Aiden, voice roughened by something more than exhaustion, asked against the heat between them, “What are we, Ty?”

The question, so heavy and so bare, made Tyler blink, caught mid-thought.

For a few heartbeats he said nothing, just stared into Aiden's searching gaze before letting the smallest of smiles crack through his surprise. “Whatever you want us to be,” he said finally, the words falling out like a vow, like a promise he didn’t even need time to consider.

Aiden’s lips twitched into another insufferable smirk, the mischievous glint returning to his gaze. “Good,” he said, “because I want us to be really bad at poker nights together.”

Tyler let out a laugh that came with a tired groan, pinching Aiden’s side in retaliation, drawing another rough, delighted laugh from the boy in front of him. “Asshole,” Tyler muttered, fondness curling beneath the word.

Still grinning, Aiden shifted slightly, his hand dipping into the pocket of his hoodie.

Tyler instinctively leaned back a fraction to see what he was fishing for, and his eyes caught the flash of silver, two necklaces, pendants heavy with thick silver rings swaying from their chains. As if hearing the unspoken question hanging in Tyler’s silence, Aiden’s voice dropped, a little softer, a little more fragile. “They were my mom’s,” he said.

Tyler’s eyes widened, breath stuttering in his throat. “Aiden...” but Aiden shook his head gently, unwilling to linger on the grief that still bled from old wounds. Instead, with a carefulness that made Tyler’s chest ache, Aiden unclasped one of the necklaces and looped it around Tyler’s neck.

Tyler ducked his head slightly, feeling the way Aiden’s fingers brushed the nape of his neck, lingering longer than necessary as he fastened the clasp. His hands were cold, trembling slightly, like the weight of the moment was heavier than the silver itself.

When Aiden clumsily fumbled with his own necklace, Tyler stepped in silently, steady hands brushing away Aiden’s attempts and securing the second one with a sure, deliberate click.

They stood there, suspended, both of them glancing down at the rings now hanging against their chests like matching tokens, like battle-worn medals. Aiden’s gaze lingered on Tyler’s mouth again, the tension building so thick it was almost tangible in the dusty air of the old bathroom.

His hands found Tyler’s hair, threading through the damp strands with a tenderness that stole the breath right out of Tyler’s lungs.

Before Tyler could summon anything clever to say, anything to cut through the overwhelming thud of his own heart. Aiden leaned forward, urgent and desperate, capturing his mouth once more, one that muffled whatever half-formed joke or protest might have fallen from Tyler’s lips.

And Tyler, melting like wax under the heat of it, realized he didn’t need to say anything at all.

III.

By the time they returned to the maze of cells, the hour had long since passed into the dead of night, that delicate time when even the ghosts seemed to rest and the prison held its breath in the dark.

Shadows draped along the corridor like half-forgotten memories, and the occasional flicker of candlelight from behind thin, makeshift curtains marked which cells still housed the restless.

Tyler moved quietly beside Aiden, the muffled hush of their steps softened by exhaustion and contentment.

As they reached the curtain covering the entrance to his and his sitster’s shared cell, Tyler leaned forward and lifted a corner just enough to peer inside. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dimness, and there, sprawled like a crime against all order, was Logan.

He’d commandeered the lower bunk bed, limbs hanging off the side in graceless angles, while Taylor, barely a shadow above him, lay curled up on the top bunk, deep in sleep. Tyler let out a hushed, breathy curse under his breath, so quiet it barely shaped the air. "Unbelievable," he muttered, narrowing his eyes in mock offense. "The damn nerd stole my bed. That’s a war crime."

Aiden leaned in with a lopsided grin, the overhead light catching just enough in his irises to make them glint mischievously. "Maybe he got tired of collecting your sister’s brain cells like Pokémon cards." Tyler bit back a laugh, shifting to elbow him lightly. "Watch it. One more and I’m shaving your eyebrows in your sleep."

"Promises, promises," Aiden teased, eyes flicking down the hallway before tilting his head toward his own cell. "Mom's bunk’s empty. You can crash there if you want."

For a moment, hesitation stilled Tyler’s steps. The implication of that offer so casually delivered, so loaded with silent grief hung between them. But the weight of the night, of everything they had endured and everything they hadn’t yet said, was heavier than the hesitation.

Tyler finally gave a small nod. "Only if you don’t snore like a rabid hyena."

"No promises," Aiden said with a chuckle, already guiding them toward his cell.

The air inside was cooler. The remnants of their earlier conversation and unspoken adoration still lingered in the space like the soft afterglow of a storm passed. Tyler tossed his jacket to the corner and climbed onto the upper bunk with a practiced ease, the old frame creaking slightly beneath his weight.

Aiden settled into the lower one, dragging a worn blanket over himself before turning on his side to face the wall. For a while, the dark was filled only with quiet breathing and the whisper of fabric shifting. Then Tyler’s voice, muffled and half-slurred by sleep, floated down.

"You still look like a pineapple with that half-dyed hair, by the way."

Aiden snorted softly. "Better than looking like a scarecrow with abandonment issues."

"You wound me."

"Not as badly as you did when you elbowed me in the stomach earlier. You trying to kill me in my sleep now?"

"Tempting. But no, you’re annoying enough alive."

Their laughter was soft, a slow unraveling of tension they hadn’t realized still clung to them.

It wasn’t long before silence reclaimed the cell. But this time, it wasn’t a heavy, grieving kind of silence. It was gentler. A breath shared between two people who had carved out a place of safety in each other.

And eventually, sleep took them—without nightmares. Just peace, rare and fragile and real, tucked in the corner of a cell with two bunk beds and hearts still learning how to beat unbroken.

The days slipped by, blurring gently into one another, like dust settling over the cracked stone walls of the prison yard.

Since that late night in the bathroom, Tyler usually slept in that same cell, thought sleeping near his sibling remained a necessity. He made a quiet habit of slipping into Aiden’s most evenings after dinner, never with a word to the others unless prompted, though Taylor, sharp-eyed and ever nosy, caught on quickly.

Each time Taylor confronted him, Tyler waved it off with that same crooked grin and a dismissive flick of his hand.

“It’s the mattress, hermano, I swear. El mío está matándome la espalda.”

Or, “Aiden’s better confined. You ever hear James snore? I can’t sleep near that again, no gracias.”

Taylor didn’t always buy it. “¿Y qué, Aiden’s bed feels like rosas now?”

Tyler would scoff, shoving his sister lightly. “Shut up.” But the grin on his face stayed a little longer than necessary, and Taylor noticed.

She didn’t push it further. Not yet. Beyond the walls of idle teasing and stolen sleep, the prison began to breathe with a different rhythm.

The sacks of seeds Tyler and Aiden had discovered were gathered and sorted meticulously. The elders of the group, those whose hands remembered soil more than steel, began transforming the yard into something more than a stretch of cracked concrete and withered weeds. It became a promise.

Mike’s hands were calloused, his grip steady on the handle of the shovel as he broke through dry patches of earth, working side by side with James and as the man insisted, Alex.

The younger man had offered his help readily, sleeves rolled up, dirt streaked across his forearms, sweat pooling under his collar. There was something grounding about the task, something human in the act of coaxing life out of decay.

As they took a brief rest under the half-shade of the old watchtower, Mike glanced toward Alex, eyes shadowed beneath his furrowed brow.

"You said you worked for them. That facility…you ever figure out how all this—" he gestured vaguely toward the expanse of horizon, of ruined world and shambling death, "—actually started? Why the phantoms disappeared just when the walkers started crawling out of their graves?"

Alex exhaled slowly, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. The bandage across his forehead tugged slightly.

"By the time the walkers appeared, I was already long gone from under Marverick’s leash," he said, voice quiet, more contemplative than evasive. “But if you’re asking whether I think it’s all connected? Absolutely. Too clean of a swap not to be.”

James leaned his weight on the shovel handle, brows knitting. "You think they triggered something? Like a switch flipped?"

Alex nodded slowly. "I don’t think. I know something was triggered. The phantoms didn’t just vanish. They were…absorbed. Replaced. First night the walkers showed up, I remember looking over their bodies, or rather what was left of them. They all had phantom scarring. The deep kind. Not bites. Not rot. Phantom-made wounds. They weren’t killed by other walkers. They were the corpses of phantom victims."

A silence fell, heavy and thoughtful, broken only by the distant chatter of Emma and Mary clanging pots in the mess hall and the occasional caw of a bird overhead. The kind of silence that meant they’d all suspected something worse, and were now one step closer to the awful truth.

Mike took a breath, grounding himself. "So whatever they were doing…it didn’t just backfire. It evolved."

Alex met his gaze, steady. "It changed. The world bled into something new. And I always suspected he made the first cut." They stood for a moment, tools loose in their hands, like soldiers at the edge of a battlefield not yet drawn.

The sun bore down harder now, and somewhere behind the prison walls, laughter echoed. Aiden’s, sharp and breathless, followed by a string of Spanish from Taylor, and a scolding from Ashlyn.

Life clawed its way forward. But the truth was still buried, and its roots ran deep.