Two weeks had passed since Kaela and I were attacked on the rooftops.
The physical pain was fading—her bruises softening from deep purple to faint yellow, my ribs less raw with each breath—but the memory clung like soot in our lungs. Camp 17 had gone quiet, a stillness too measured to be comfort. There was no storm. No shrieking Hollowed tearing across the night. But there was no peace either. Just a lull. Like the breath held before a scream.
The Hollowed hadn't attacked since that day. But they hadn't disappeared, either. Leni, posted on the eastern tower, reported seeing three of them almost daily. Not roaming. Not hunting. Just standing—barely moving—like living statues fixed on invisible coordinates. Sometimes, they'd shift slightly, as if adjusting to some unseen signal. Other times, they simply faced the camp from a distance, silhouettes half-shrouded by crumbling masonry or the broken skeletons of old billboards.
One morning, Jace swore he saw one climb to the edge of a collapsed dome and crouch—crouch, like it was mimicking a lookout stance. It didn't move for three hours. Then it vanished again.
There were no screams in the night. No chases. But the watchers remained. Quiet. Calculating.
The unease twisted inside us. Children stopped playing near the windows. The laughter that once slipped out during mealtime faded to whispers. People still cooked, still fetched filtered water, still repaired solar relays—but everything was tighter, slower, more restrained.
Now after two weeks, people were beginning to exhale again. Not fully. Just enough to pretend they didn't see the shapes still lingering beyond the east wall.
The corridors of Camp 17 creaked with the usual weight of morning. Boots thudded softly over wood panels warped by time and weather. My corner of the old reading wing was dim, lit by a single shaft of daylight breaking through slats in the wall.
"Everyone! I want you all to gather in the main hall in twenty minutes to discuss how we will proceed from now on," Boss called out from the upper corridor. His voice didn't rise, but it carried—command wrapped in calm.
I could hear the confidence in each step as he walked—measured, steady. No wasted movement. When he reached the fork near our sleeping area, his head turned.
"Kaela. Noah. I want you both there too."
We nodded without hesitation. Something about the way he said it meant this wasn't just another logistics update. This was something bigger. Something about the way the silence hadn't ended yet—and how that made it worse.
----
Twenty minutes later, the camp had assembled. Old chairs were dragged from forgotten offices, crates flipped into benches, and blankets spread for the kids. Boss stood at the front of the room beneath a cracked skylight veiled in tarp. The glow was faint, but it framed him like a relic of better days.
He spoke without a preamble.
"We all know what happened two weeks ago. We don't know why it happened. We don't know who or what triggered it. But we do know they haven't attacked since."
He let that settle.
"These Hollowed aren't like the ones from the early days. They don't use weapons like those did. But they are coordinated. Calculated. They hunt in packs."
"Like wolves," Tran muttered from the side.
"Precisely," Boss said. "So, for now, we're safe. As long as we stay inside the camp."
"But we can't stay inside forever, can we?" Mira's voice rose, soft but steady. "If we stop going out, crops won't be planted. Food will run out. Water filters need maintenance. If we stay still, we're dead."
"We're safe enough to figure those things out," Boss snapped. The room stilled. Boss rarely raised his voice. Today it cracked the air like thunder.
He breathed through his nose, steadying himself. "I called this meeting because we have problems to solve. Together. If anyone here would rather stand back and complain, I won't stop you. But I will keep this camp running with or without your help."
Silence. Heavy. No one moved.
"We'll start with food," he said, scanning the group. "We can use the rooftops and the inner courtyard for planting. That gives us sun without stepping outside the perimeter. The guards will still be present with each shift of workers while outside in the courtyard."
"All the outer walls have been reinforced. Unless there's a horde, we're holding," Nile added from the maintenance team.
"Then that handles food."
"Water?" Boss asked.
"Ground pumps are running. Systems holding," Rahul replied.
Boss nodded. "Good. That leaves the real problem. Scouting. Resources. We can't risk sending anyone out. And our only Link Runner," he said, nodding toward me, "is injured. Even if he wasn't, stepping outside now would likely draw their attention again."
Whispers broke out like sparks.
"We don't want Noah to go."
"He brought them back with him. Who knows what he'll bring next time?"
"Enough!" Boss shouted. The word cut sharper than any blade.
He turned, face dark with anger. "You want someone else to go out there? You think you can do what Noah's done? He walked out of this camp on days you wouldn't even open your damn eyes. He brought back medicine through storms. He tracked the Hollowed when no one else dared to leave their cots. If it weren't for him, we'd still be pretending daylight kept us safe."
Their words stung, but not because they were loud. Because they echoed things I'd thought myself. Maybe I had brought this change with me. Maybe something had followed me back. I could still feel the weight of that Hollowed gaze from the rooftops. Still hear the silence it carried. But guilt isn't proof. And fear isn't truth.
And yet, I couldn't stop the question from pulsing beneath my ribs: What if they're right?
Boss continued, his voice low again.
"I've heard the whispers. I don't care. He's earned his place more times than any of you."
From the back, Jace raised a hand.
"Boss. I know I was supposed to fix the signal jammers Noah and Kaela brought back. But I thought we could use them differently."
Boss squinted. "How differently?"
"I used their parts to restore two of our surveillance drones. They're operational again. We can use them to scout from above. Silent, fast, safer. If we map their movements, we can plan around the Hollowed instead of walking into them."
Boss exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly. "You fixed a what?"
"Drones. Two of them."
"Good work, Jace. That's exactly what we need."
Relief washed over me, but not just because of the drones. It was direction. Purpose. We weren't flailing anymore. We were adapting. Planning. For the first time in days, I didn't feel like I was holding my breath.
But the chip in my satchel felt different today.
At first, I thought it was the weight of everything finally getting to me—the guilt, the stares, the silence. But no. The warmth wasn't in my head. It pulsed faintly against my side, as if stirred by the energy in the room. Not hot enough to burn, but enough to notice.
This had never happened before. For weeks, it had been inert—just a scorched piece of circuitry hidden under layers of cloth and survival gear. But now, it was… hot. Like something was heating it up.
I didn't dare reach for it. Not in front of them. Not here.
But I could feel it, undeniably. It was like the chip didn't want to stay hidden anymore.
And whatever it was doing—it was getting harder to ignore.
"Alright Everyone, back to work. Follow the new guidelines. If you see anything strange, you report it. Immediately."
The camp began to disperse.
"Jace. Kaela. Noah. Stay."
The three of us followed Boss into his corner command post—an old librarian's office turned into nerve center. Maps were pinned across every wall. Marker lines traced routes like spiderwebs. The table in the middle was littered with gear, half-soldered circuits, and a cracked radio that still worked when you hit it twice.
Boss leaned over the map.
"You three are going to lead the next phase. We need supply runs. We need secure paths."
Jace frowned. "But we don't have more signal jammers. I used everything we recovered to get those drones flying."
Boss nodded. "Then we find schematics. Manuals. Whatever lets us build them ourselves."
I stepped forward. "There are buildings west of the ridge. Industrial shells. I've seen them before, back when the skies were clearer. Might be manufacturing sites."
Boss tapped the map. "Then that's our first target. We don't need to rush for food or water. This mission is about sustainability. Defense. And staying ahead."
I looked at the circled zone.
"I want to go alone."
Kaela turned sharply. "No. Absolutely not."
"With the drones watching, you'll guide me every step. I'll be faster, quieter. Less risk."
"Then let me go. I'm better at stealth."
"Maybe. But I know the terrain. I've been to those rooftops. I know where the shortcuts are. If anything goes wrong, I can get back quicker."
Boss placed a hand on the table. "I agree with Noah. If anyone can pull this off, it's him."
Kaela looked down. Her voice cracked. "Just promise me you'll come back. If you die out there, I'll come kill you myself in the afterlife."
I smiled and touched her cheek. "I'll be fine. You'll be my eyes."
"Then we prep first," Boss said. "We launch the drones. We map the zone. No one moves until we understand the terrain."
"Got it," Jace said. "I'll set everything up in the main hall."
"Kaela, Noah. Get some rest. You'll need it."
We nodded. The day was quiet again, and this time, the silence felt like a tide pulling back.
Somewhere, beneath the stillness, ideas had begun to move. Cautious. Deliberate. Like roots beneath dry earth, plotting their course long before the world above could bloom again.