Joeress sat in silence for a while. Like he was turning something over in his mind, weighing invisible thoughts. I stared up at the ceiling—the harsh white paint peeling at the corners, the LED lights flickering with a tired hum that made my head ache slightly.
The blue crystal. Its image wouldn't leave my mind. What even was that thing? Why did Lae appear right beside it—no, with it? Was he protecting it? Linked to it somehow? The questions spilled in like water through cracks, impossible to stop. I wanted to sleep again, let them drift away—but my body wouldn't let me. The fever had left a restlessness behind.
I turned my head slightly. Joeress was still watching me. When our eyes met, he leaned forward and pressed his hand to my forehead.
"Your fever's going down," he said, soft but certain.
"Mhm," I hummed in response.
He smiled suddenly, then leaned in and pinched my cheek—hard.
"Ow!" I winced, rubbing at my face.
He chuckled and stood, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll go get the doctor," he said, already halfway to the door. "Stay here and rest more."
I didn't answer. I was too busy rubbing the sting on my cheek. My fingers brushed against the cool surface of the ring Lae gave me. It still shimmered faintly, catching the light, the intricate markings on its surface as strange and beautiful as ever. I held it a little tighter. I wanted to meet Lae again. Ask him what the crystal was, why it called to me. And Neal—where was he? Deep down, I knew he was alive. I could feel it in my chest like a stubborn flame.
Once I'm better, I thought, I'll go look for them. Both of them.
From outside the room, I heard Joeress's voice.
"Doc, do you think he can leave now?"
"I'll check if he's alright," came the doctor's reply.
The door creaked open and the two of them stepped inside. The doctor wore a crisp white coat, stained at the hem with something dark and dried. He walked over, sitting beside the bed with a small silver box. He opened it and pulled out a thermometer.
"Put this under your tongue," he said gently. "Let's see where your temperature is now."
I obeyed, sitting up straighter and trying to look as healthy as I could. After a few seconds, the thermometer beeped. The doctor nodded, satisfied.
"Fever's down," he said. "You're stable. You can leave—but don't push yourself. Walk, don't run. No exertion. Got it?"
"Got it," I replied.
He packed up his kit and left with a polite nod. The silence that followed was light, not awkward. Familiar.
"Want to go out?" Joeress asked.
"Yes," I said immediately.
We left the clinic. The halls were quieter now. A few voices murmured in the distance, but most of the evacuees had gone. Outside, the sky was pale with late morning light. The air smelled faintly of dust and smoke. We passed scattered groups of people, sitting or standing in uneasy clumps. Most stared at the ground. Others glanced at their homes from a distance, hesitant to go inside.
"Looks like the damage is minimal," Joeress observed, his eyes sweeping the scene.
We started walking toward our house. At first, the buildings around us were scorched but still standing—windows shattered, doors off their hinges, but there. Then, as we continued, the neighborhood shifted. Structures gave way to rubble. Sidewalks were broken, and thick smoke curled from collapsed homes.
"This part of town didn't survive," Joeress said quietly, voice tinged with something solemn.
"What about our house?" I asked, heart beginning to tighten.
"Well," he said, glancing at me, "let's see if it survived."
The street curved ahead, a ribbon of debris leading toward what was left. My steps slowed without meaning to. I was bracing myself. I knew the house would be gone—how could it not be, after what happened?
But when we reached it, I stopped short.
It was there.
Intact.
Walls unscorched. Roof untouched. It stood like nothing had ever touched it—like the storm had passed around it instead of through it.
"...How is this possible?" I asked, barely a whisper.
Joeress looked just as stunned. "I don't know. Let's ask your mom."
We walked toward the porch. Mom and Aunt Gaizell were already there, standing just outside the door, looking up at the house like it might vanish if they blinked.
"Mom," I called, "how is our house still standing?"
She turned to me slowly, her face unreadable. "I don't know," she said, shaking her head.
"Did you check inside?" Joeress asked.
"Not yet. We wanted to wait," Mom said.
"I'll go first," Joeress offered. "Just in case."
"Be careful," Mom said.
While they turned toward the door, my gaze drifted. Something pulled me—no, tugged me—toward the ruins of the prison just beyond the horizon. Its walls were completely leveled. Smoke hissed upward from the wreckage.
The humanoid lay there, motionless.
Then suddenly—steam. Thick, white, and fast. It spilled out from the remains like a rising fog. People nearby shrieked and scrambled away. Within the fog, a figure appeared—feminine, slender.
A woman.
She stood motionless in the center of the ruins, her features obscured by the haze. Her presence held for only a moment. Then the body—hers, the humanoid's—began to disintegrate. Piece by piece, as if the very air was unraveling her.
No one else saw it. The fog had kept them blind. But I saw.
And my heart sank.
She hadn't been a monster. Not really. She'd been someone. And even though her time in that twisted form was short, she'd suffered.
But how was she infected? Everyone who entered the base had been screened. There were protocols—strict ones. No signs of infection. No warnings.
Then... why?
A cold feeling crept down my spine.
I suddenly felt it—a presence. Watching. Quiet, steady, intentional.
I turned sharply, eyes sweeping the smoke and ruins, the rooftops, the shadows.
Nothing.
But I knew it was there.
I turned and hurried back to the others, to Mom and Aunt Gaizell. Back to the warmth. Back to people who knew my name.
But the feeling followed me—like a breath I couldn't shake.