I scanned the area once more. The last rays of the setting sun painted the fractured warehouse walls in streaks of orange and red, as though the world itself bled from the day's battles.
There were no immediate threats—no ominous hum of approaching machines, no distant rattle of weapons. But silence, I'd learned, was as much an enemy as sound in this world. It could lull you into complacency, mask the lurking danger.
My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Devon, Jia, and my grandparents. I had fought with everything I had to ensure their escape, but were they safe now?
Had they found a place to rest for the night, or were they wandering, as lost and vulnerable as we were? The knot of worry in my chest tightened, a weight I couldn't afford to carry yet couldn't let go of.
I turned my gaze back to the group, my eyes landing on Zichen's younger sister. Her wide, curious eyes met mine, and for a moment, I was struck by how much they reminded me of my mother's. That same quiet intensity, that ability to see straight through you. My parents… the thought hit me like a blow. What had happened to them? Did they have powers too, like me? If they did, why hadn't they ever told me?
"Are you all right?" the girl asked, her voice soft but clear. It snapped me out of my spiral of thoughts.
"Yeah," I lied. "Just… thinking."
Her gaze lingered, as though she didn't believe me, but she didn't press. Instead, she gave me a small, knowing smile that unsettled me more than any accusation would have.
We reached the crumbled warehouse as the last traces of daylight faded. The building was a shadow of its former self, a hollowed-out skeleton that whispered of past purpose. Still, it was shelter, and that was more than we'd had in days.
"Stay close," I said, motioning for the others to remain outside while I, Yike, and Zichen stepped inside to assess the place. The air was damp and stale, carrying the faint metallic tang of rust and decay. Every step echoed ominously, each sound magnified by the emptiness around us.
"I don't like this," Yike muttered, his voice low.
"Noted," I replied, more sharply than I intended. Exhaustion frayed the edges of my patience, but I knew better than to let it show too much. "Let's just make sure it's clear."
As we moved deeper into the building, my thoughts refused to stay focused. They kept circling back to Zichen's sister's gaze, to the questions she had stirred within me. Questions about my parents, about the powers I barely understood, about whether my family's survival had cost me a part of myself.
"Something on your mind?" Zichen asked, his voice cutting through the gloom.
"No," I said quickly, too quickly. His brow arched, but he didn't press further. That was one thing I appreciated about him—he didn't pry, but he also didn't miss a thing.
The warehouse seemed empty, save for the shadows that clung to the corners like secrets. We returned to the group, and I gave the all-clear. Relief rippled through them as they filed inside, settling into clusters against the walls.
Baihe busied herself tending to minor wounds, her presence a quiet reassurance. Even Yike seemed less abrasive, though his watchful gaze never wavered.
As the night wore on, the group began to drift into uneasy sleep. I sat near the entrance, keeping watch, my thoughts too loud to let me rest. That's when Zichen joined me, his approach quiet but deliberate.
"Long day," he said, sitting down beside me.
"Yeah," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a while, neither of us spoke. The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Then, out of nowhere, he said, "My sister seems to like you."
I glanced at him, caught off guard. "She… what?"
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "She doesn't warm up to people easily. But with you… I don't know. It's like she sees something."
I didn't know what to say to that. The girl's gaze had unnerved me earlier, and now it felt even more significant, though I couldn't say why.
"She asked me something earlier," I said finally, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. "She asked if I remembered her."
Zichen looked at me sharply. "And?"
"I don't," I admitted. "But she said she remembers me."
His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "I'll talk to her."
"No," I said quickly, surprising myself with the force of my objection. "Let her tell me in her own time."
Zichen studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Fair enough."
I glanced at Zichen as he stared into the distance, his expression unreadable. The flickering light of our makeshift fire cast strange shadows across his face, making him appear older, wearier. For all his unflinching strength, I could see the cracks forming—the same as mine.
He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, but close. "You should still know that she always had a memory for faces. Sometimes it feels like she sees things the rest of us can't." His tone was measured, but there was an edge of protectiveness in it.
I hesitated, then pressed on. "She has this way of… looking at people. Like she's searching for something. It's unnerving."
Zichen's lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're not the first to say that. But whatever she sees in you, it's probably good. She doesn't trust easily."
I nodded, unsure how to respond. The weight of her gaze still lingered in my mind, heavy with unspoken meaning. "She reminds me of my mom," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Zichen's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he didn't comment. Instead, he shifted the conversation. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Really."
The question caught me off guard. For a moment, I considered lying—brushing it off with a casual "I'm fine." But the weight of everything we'd been through was too much to ignore.
"I'm trying," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"But it's hard. This… all of this… it feels like a bad dream I can't wake up from. Powers, those killing machines that were once human, consumed by power that they could not control, constant running—it's not supposed to be real. Stuff like this belongs in movies, not… not here."