Joseph blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights. The ceiling above him was white, sterile. Too clean. Not like the ruins they'd passed through. He tried to sit up, but his body felt… different. Lighter.
Deborah stirred next to him on the adjacent bed. "Where—" Her voice cracked. "Where are we?"
He slid off the bed and helped her up. They were in a medical room—monitors, IV poles, a table of unused syringes. But there was no one else inside. Just them. And the silence.
Then they saw it.
A full-length mirror near the far wall. Deborah stepped toward it, then froze. "Joseph… look."
He moved beside her.
Their reflections didn't match what they remembered.
They were younger. Not by much—maybe four, five years. Faces smoother. Eyes clearer. The bruises and cuts from the fight were gone. Their clothes had been replaced with plain gray shirts and sweatpants. Hospital-issue.
"What the hell—"
The door opened with a hiss.
A man stepped in. Tall. Late forties. Clean-shaven, dark skin, rimless glasses. He wore a white lab coat over a navy turtleneck. There was a clipboard in his hand, and a calm smile on his face.
"Ah. You're awake. Good," he said. "How are you feeling?"
Joseph stepped in front of Deborah instinctively. "Where are we?"
"All in good time," the man replied. "Let's take a walk. I'll explain."
They followed him through a maze of bright corridors. The floor was polished concrete, and the air had a recycled, metallic taste. As they walked, they passed children—some no older than ten, others in their late teens. A girl with glowing eyes played with fire in her hands. A boy floated inches off the ground, giggling.
"What is this place?" Deborah whispered.
"Safe haven," the man said without looking back. "For those like you."
They entered his office—a small room with books, maps, and security monitors. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk.
"My name is Dr. Elias Rook," he said, sitting down. "I'm the lead coordinator of Shelter Thirteen. We found you unconscious in a collapsed building on the outskirts of Sector 7. Very lucky, considering what's roaming out there."
Joseph leaned forward. "The monster. The eclipse. What's going on?"
Dr. Rook sighed. "It's complicated. And classified, for now. What you need to know is that you're safe here. For the moment."
He slid two forms across the desk—old-fashioned paper, with pens.
"Identification paperwork. Where you're from, age, background, anything you remember before the eclipse. It helps us help you."
Deborah glanced at Joseph, then down at the form. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up the pen.
"When you're done," Dr. Rook said, rising from his chair, "someone will show you back to your room. Get some rest. You'll need it. Things are only just beginning."
Joseph didn't like the way he said that.
Not at all.