new era? [i]
CHAPTER 3(i)
Grey's POV – Present
The office smells like dust, old ink, and stale blood.
It's the first place we've stopped that doesn't reek of rot.
That doesn't mean it's safe.
I sit against the cracked wall, just far enough from the others to breathe.
Luke looks up. Our eyes meet.
No words. Just understanding.
We made it—barely.
The cost still bleeding down the back of our thoughts.
He looks away first, fingers curling around the edge of a chipped desk, jaw set like he's holding something back.
Jane shifts closer to him. Quiet. Like she's not sure if she's allowed to.
Her shoulder brushes his. He doesn't move. Doesn't flinch.
Their silence says more than any comfort could.
Someone found a half-busted vending machine. Scarlett split what was left. Water bottles, stale granola, something melted and unrecognizable.
I chew anyway.
Scarlett stays near the door. Knife still in hand. She hasn't taken her eyes off the others.
Smart.
The strangers haven't said much either. Maybe ten of them. Maybe more. All ragged and wary. Different kinds of quiet.
Two women whisper in a far corner, watching me when they think I'm not looking. One of them keeps checking the boarded windows like she's waiting for someone. Or something.
A man with a limp offers us a rusted tin of crackers. Jane accepts with a nod. Luke doesn't move.
I don't eat from strangers.
Someone breaks the silence.
"Still no signal?"
Middle-aged guy. Sleeves rolled. Wedding ring still on.
A woman answers. "Not since morning."
Another adds, "They said we'd be evacuated. That the military was on its way."
"They were."
That voice is sharper. Bitter. Comes from a guy near the center. Younger. Hair buzzed short. "Then they turned around. Left people behind."
"They said infected zones were too far gone," someone mutters.
"So they left us to rot?"
No one disagrees.
The conversation turns slow. Uneasy.
Someone swears the government's just regrouping, waiting to retake the cities.
Someone else laughs like that's the dumbest thing they've ever heard.
No one's seen a soldier in hours. Not since the first night.
Not since the drones.
Scarlett speaks once. "The last person I met who still believed in the evacuation had half his arm gone and was still watching the sky."
Jane sighs. "He could've been right."
Luke doesn't say anything. Just flicks something small into his palm, over and over. I can't see what.
I listen.
It's all noise. Grief in different shapes.
Everyone wants to believe they were important enough to be saved.
Later, I step away. Not far. Just enough to be out of reach.
There's a breakroom half-gutted with overturned chairs and a whiteboard still scribbled with HR notes.
"Bring snacks Friday!!"
Blood dots the corner of the board. A smear under the calendar.
I sit.
Not because I'm tired. Just because I can.
They're not asking the right questions.
It's not about why the government stopped talking.
It's who they're still talking to.
Because someone's still moving supplies.
Still running electricity in places it shouldn't be.
The hum in the tunnel wasn't natural.
That hum had purpose.
I close my eyes.
Just for a second.
Eva's voice, uninvited:
"Do you think anyone ever really knows who's in charge?"
I never answered her.
She never needed me to.
Outside the window, the sky turns bruised.
We'll move again soon.
But for now…
We breathe.
That's all we get.