Chapter 30: What We Leave Behind Us
The engine thrummed under Aria's hands, steady as her focus. The RV felt different with her in the driver's seat — like it was learning her rhythm now, syncing to her pulse. Selene was resting in the passenger seat, legs pulled up on the dash, arms folded, eyes half - closed but alert in that quiet, predator way of hers.
"You're staring," Aria said without looking away from the road.
"I'm not," Selene murmured.
"You are."
Selene didn't argue. She just smiled, barely.
They'd loaded up more supplies back at the last stop — just enough. Not too much. Nothing flashy. Just water, dry food, spare batteries, some old wool blankets that smelled like cedar. Aria was the one who insisted on rationing the layout of things in the RV. Selene didn't stop her. She liked watching Aria care about details like that. Liked the way she moved when she was focused — precise, like she was stitching the world back together one careful item at a time.
The sun was still low, sky dipped in silver haze. The streets stretched ahead, empty in that eerie, too - silent way. Then a shadow darted out of the alley.
Aria's foot hit the brake, hard.
It was a boy. Maybe sixteen. Sprinting like hell itself was behind him. And it kind of was. A roamer — older, twitchy, its body twisted like its bones didn't remember how to hold skin anymore — was on his heels.
"Damn —" Aria muttered and swerved.
The RV hit the roamer full force.
It made a sick crunch against the grill, body crumpling under the weight like paper soaked in oil. The teenager dropped to the sidewalk, panting, knees scraped, face streaked with dirt and panic. Aria pulled over, throwing the door open as she hopped down.
"Hey!" she called out.
The kid looked up. Still breathing. Still whole.
"You okay?"
"I — yeah. I think — holy crap, that was insane. You just — damn."
Selene joined her, eyes scanning the street behind them. "Any more?"
"Not right behind me," the boy said, catching his breath. "But they always come in clusters now."
"You alone?" Aria asked.
He nodded. "I'm trying to get to my sister. She got separated last week. I heard she was last seen near the train yard. I have to find her."
"You sure about going alone?" Aria said.
"I've made it this far."
There was something about his voice—barely steady, but not broken. Not yet. That mattered.
Aria crouched, unzipped the side compartment on the RV. Pulled out a slim black duffel. Inside were a few ration bars, two folding daggers, a flask of filtered water, and a small emergency radio.
She handed it over. "Take it. You'll need something fast and light."
The boy hesitated. "You don't have to —"
"I know."
She dug out two shirts, a windbreaker, and a pair of joggers from another bin. "For you and your sister. In case you find her."
He looked like he might cry. Instead, he nodded, clutching the supplies.
Selene gave a low whistle. "You're too nice," she said, brushing past Aria just long enough to lean in and kiss her on the cheek. "It's kind of hot."
"Stop," Aria muttered, already blushing.
"I mean it."
The kid glanced between them, awkward and clearly not used to couples mid-apocalypse. "I should go."
"Wait," Selene said, suddenly alert. Her eyes narrowed at the end of the block.
Six roamers.
No sprinting. Just that staggered, twitchy motion that meant their instincts had kicked in. They'd caught the scent. Or the sound. Or the vibration. Whatever it was that told them prey was nearby.
Aria moved first. "Go. Now," she told the boy. "We'll handle this."
He hesitated. "But —"
"Go!" Selene barked. "They won't follow you."
He took off running, ducking down the side street with one last look over his shoulder. He raised a hand in thanks, then disappeared into the overgrowth.
"Let's make it loud," Selene muttered, rolling her neck. "Give him enough of a head start."
"Blades only?"
"No powers," Selene said. "You need stamina."
Aria groaned. "You always say that."
"And you always get distracted."
"That's because you're distracting."
Selene smirked. "Good."
The first roamer lunged, and Aria spun into motion. Her blade caught it mid - step, slicing deep into its neck. It didn't drop right away — just spasmed, head half - attached, hands still reaching until she slammed her boot into its chest and sent it sprawling.
Another came from behind, arms out, mouth unhinged like it forgot how to close. Aria ducked, twisted, stabbed upward under its chin. Its eyes rolled back before it dropped like a rock.
Selene was already a storm. She moved with that effortless savagery Aria had seen before — the way her body curved and cracked, precise and fast. She didn't waste energy. Didn't waste breath. A knee to one, elbow to another. Her blade went through cartilage like it was nothing. Roamers fell around her like wheat.
"You're not even sweating," Aria muttered, wiping blood off her arm.
"Because you keep distracting me with that little noise you make when you land a kill."
"I do not make a noise —"
"You do. It's adorable."
Aria stabbed another roamer through the temple. "Shut up."
Selene lunged behind her, blade driving clean through the final roamer's spine. It hit the pavement with a messy splatter, skull cracked open.
Silence again.
Only their breath, the soft metallic drip of blood on the asphalt, and the low hum of the RV's engine waiting patiently behind them.
"You okay?" Selene asked, brushing Aria's hair back from her cheek.
"I didn't use my powers once."
"I know," Selene said, kissing the corner of her mouth. "I'm proud of you."
Aria glanced back toward the street the boy had run down. No sign of him. Just cracked pavement and distant fog.
"You think he'll make it?" she asked.
"I hope so," Selene said. "You gave him a shot. That's more than most people get now."
They wiped down their blades, tossed the worst of the bloody clothing into a trash fire they found behind the station, and got back on the road.
This time, Aria let Selene drive. She leaned against the window, eyes half - closed, fingers idly tracing the curve of her own thigh where that faint, pulsing warmth still rested under her skin. The goddess sigil still whispered to her sometimes. Still felt like something bigger wanted her to remember.
By late afternoon, they spotted a new building — an apartment complex half-cracked open by roots and age, but intact enough to hide in for the night. The stairs groaned under their weight as they crept up three floors and chose a room with one bed, no broken windows, and a closet full of dusty board games.
Selene immediately tossed her jacket down and flopped onto the mattress like it owed her rent.
"I call dibs on the soft side."
Aria laughed, toeing off her boots. "It's all moldy."
"Still softer than that bus bench you made me sleep on two nights ago."
"That bench had character."
Selene grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside her. "You have character. Everything else is negotiable."
Aria didn't argue. She curled into Selene's side like it was second nature now. It felt like second nature. And Selene didn't stop touching her — never did. Her hand slipped under Aria's shirt, fingers tracing idle circles along her ribs, never rushed, never forceful, just there. Her lips brushed against Aria's neck.
"You keep doing that," Aria whispered, heart thudding.
"Doing what?" Selene asked, feigning innocence.
"Making out with me every time I breathe."
"Is it working?"
Aria laughed, breathless. "God, you're ridiculous."
Selene's mouth found hers again, slower this time, almost lazy in the way she kissed like the world wasn't burning outside.
Eventually, they stopped pretending they weren't going to sleep like this. Aria settled back, tangled up in Selene, one hand tucked beneath her shirt, the other resting just over her heartbeat.
"You're freezing," Aria mumbled, nose brushing her collarbone.
"And you still can't stop touching me," Selene teased, voice low.
Aria shifted closer. "Doesn't bother me anymore."
Selene kissed her forehead. "It never did."
Outside, the wind picked up. The world didn't stop ending. But in the silence between those ragged breaths and stolen kisses, in the quiet under crumbling ceilings and cracked windows, they made room for something else.
Not safety.
But something close enough to keep fighting for.
And maybe — just maybe — something worth staying for.