Chapter 75: The Weight of Night
Still Early Morning
The factory office had gone still.
Only the faint hum of the dying generator and the distant, animalistic groans of roamers beyond the barricades reminded them that the world was still broken. Pale light filtered through the broken blinds — thin, almost grey, like the sky hadn't decided if it would rain or burn.
Selene hadn't moved.
She sat with her back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of her, a half - cleaned blade resting across her thigh. The metal caught the weak morning light and reflected it in dull silver tones, like moonlight trying to survive in a dead place. Beside her, Aria lay curled beneath a blanket that looked far too thin for the weight it carried.
She had fallen asleep quickly — almost too quickly. Not with peace, but surrender. Her body had shut down, but her mind? Selene doubted it had gone far.
The crowbar still lay near the corner, streaked faintly with blood gone dry. Selene hadn't touched it. Neither had Aria.
The moment had been ugly. Not heroic. Not even memorable in the way legends preserved trauma. Just fast, brutal, real. A rotter had lunged at them in the underpass tunnels — eyes gone, mouth gaping in a soundless scream. The scream had barely left Aria's throat before instinct and desperation overtook her.
She swung.
Once.
Twice.
By the third strike, Selene had already known what it would mean.
The rotter fell. The world didn't pause.
But Aria did.
She hadn't spoken a word on the way back. Hadn't looked Selene in the eye. Her hands trembled the whole time. When Selene offered her a shirt to change out of the bloodied one, Aria's fingers had barely worked the fabric over her head. And now — she lay sleeping, or pretending to.
Selene turned her head and studied her.
At first, Aria looked peaceful. Her features soft in the wan light, lips slightly parted. Her breath came in shallow puffs, hair clinging to her damp forehead. Fragile. Almost childlike. The kind of softness Selene didn't trust anymore — not in this world, and not in herself.
But then —
A tremble.
A gasp.
Her fingers twitched. Her jaw clenched. Her lips began to move, whispering broken pieces of words caught in the undertow of sleep.
"No… don't — please — stop —"
Selene's jaw tightened. The signs were all too familiar. The nightmares always came fast after a first kill — before the mind could bury it, before survival turned blood into muscle memory. She had seen it a hundred times. And once, a long time ago, in her own fractured reflection.
She shifted, letting the blade slip soundlessly to the floor, and leaned in.
"Aria," she whispered, voice low and firm, like a tether. "You're here. You're safe. I've got you."
But Aria didn't wake.
Instead, her body jerked suddenly — then slid closer. One hand reached out blindly in her sleep, grasping the hem of Selene's shirt and clutching tight. Her fingers curled like she was holding onto a ledge and slipping anyway.
Then she burrowed forward.
Still dreaming. Still caught in the tide of whatever her mind replayed.
Selene froze.
Aria's head came to rest against the crook of her shoulder. Her legs folded up, curling toward warmth. The blanket slipped, leaving a bare shoulder exposed, warm against Selene's side. The girl was smaller than she remembered. Or maybe she'd just grown used to seeing her armored with words, wit, and that fragile defiance she clung to like a blade.
Now, she was nothing but breath and bone and need.
Selene lowered her hand, hesitant at first, then rested it on Aria's back. Her thumb moved in slow, soothing circles, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin cotton. The tremors didn't stop — but they softened, quieted like waves pulling back from the shore.
"You don't remember," Selene murmured to the crown of Aria's head. "But once, you used to hold me like this."
The memory rose uninvited — rain hammering a rooftop, Aria's body tangled around hers in a feverish grip, back when the world had just begun to fall apart. When they still thought there would be a tomorrow that mattered. Selene had held her then, too. But it had been different. Hotter. Sharper. Desperate in another way.
And then Aria died.
And now she was here again — this version of her, softer, younger, trembling in her arms.
"I won't take from you again," Selene whispered. "Not unless you ask me to."
But her arms were already around her. Already holding too tightly.
Because she couldn't not.
She didn't know what Aria remembered. If she remembered.
But her body did.
Each time a groan echoed outside or the shadow of a bird flew overhead, Aria's grip stiffened. Her leg slipped over Selene's thigh, drawing closer in instinctive fear. Her breath caught. Her body burrowed deeper.
And Selene felt every inch of it.
Aria's warmth soaked through her. The scent of her skin — sweat, citrus, faint blood — drenched Selene's senses. The girl fit against her like muscle memory, like the answer to a question Selene had stopped asking.
She closed her eyes.
And Aria began to whimper again.
In the dream, Aria was alone. The sky was bleeding, the buildings warped and melting into ash. She was running barefoot through mud and blood, but her feet made no sound. Something chased her — something she couldn't see.
"Help me —" she gasped. "Please — Selene —"
But no one came.
The rotter from the underpass was there. But it had Selene's eyes. Cold. Unblinking.
Aria screamed.
And then —
Hands.
Cold, familiar, wrapping around her.
Pulling her back.
She fell.
But into warmth.
Into scent.
Into arms.
The dream broke.
Aria let out a low sigh in her sleep. Her body slackened, no longer straining against some invisible force.
Selene felt the change instantly. The panic had passed — washed through her like a storm breaking against cliffs. But the aftermath was worse. Aria didn't let go. If anything, her grip tightened. Her breath warmed Selene's collarbone. Her lips barely grazed skin.
And Selene —
She was still ice.
But her insides were melting.
She lowered her chin just enough to feel Aria's hair brush against her mouth. Her lips ghosted against it — barely a kiss. Barely a thought.
Just instinct.
The weight of the night, the blood still under Aria's nails, the ache in Selene's chest — it all pressed in. She could feel herself unraveling slowly, thread by thread.
The girl in her arms had changed. But she was still Aria.
Selene tightened her grip, finally giving in to the full contact. Aria made a soft, contented sound — half moan, half whimper — and settled.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
The generator gave a last sputtering breath and died.
The room dimmed. Grey turned to blue. Outside, the sky began to shift — mourning cloud giving way to pale gold. A morning like any other. Except that the dead were still outside.
And Selene was still holding something she thought she'd never get back.
The weight of it sat heavy in her chest.
Because she knew what was coming.
Eventually, Aria would wake. She would remember the blood. She would recoil from what she'd done — or worse, from Selene. And Selene didn't know if she could survive that again.
So she held her tighter while she still could.
She traced gentle circles against Aria's back until the warmth beneath her palm turned into breathy sighs. Not pain. Not fear.
Just sleep.
Aria stirred slightly, her hand sliding up to clutch at the base of Selene's neck.
"Stay," she mumbled — barely audible. "Don't go."
Selene froze.
Her breath caught.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, voice hoarse now. "Not unless you make me."
And for the first time in days, she meant it.
Inside, the factory office was still.
Outside, the world rotted.
But in the narrow space between survival and something that might still be called love — two souls lay tangled in silence.
Waiting for morning to break them apart again.