The library still smelled of dust and stale paper when dawn broke through the shattered blinds.
Light sliced the room into strips, catching in the haze of exhaustion. No one had slept well, but everyone had changed.
Marcus stretched first. The shelf barricade creaked under the motion. His shirt clung tighter to shoulders that hadn't looked that broad two days ago. When he lifted the hammer, the air itself seemed to strain. It came down with a dull crash—and the sound didn't just echo. It rippled, dust scattering outward in a perfect circle.
Marcus grinned, boyish and cocky. "Guess I wasn't big enough already."
Tina swatted his arm but didn't bother hiding her smile.
"Bigger makes you slower," Kira murmured from her perch by the window. Her eyes caught the light strangely, like an animal's in the dark. She moved a step—and blurred, vanishing for half a heartbeat before reappearing a pace to the side. Another blink, and she stood behind Darren.
The man nearly dropped his spear.
"Bloody hell."
"Twice in a breath," Kira said, faintly amused. "That's new."
Ravi looked up from the pile of notes spread across his lap. "I've been adjusting too." His voice overlapped itself, like an echo arriving a fraction too soon. "Sometimes I say things before I say them."
He lifted a hand before anyone could interrupt. "Yes, it's confusing. No, I don't control it. But—" he pointed to a glass bottle balanced on a shelf. "That's about to fall."
A second later, it tipped and shattered. Ravi smirked. "Useful."
Caleb blinked. "That's… actually insane."
Ethan sat against the far wall, silver-blue threads pulsing faintly under his skin. When he blinked, he saw them—thin cords of light running through every one of his companions, tethering them to life and essence. He flexed his hand, and the threads brightened, answering.
"I chose Gene Anchor," he said quietly. "I can stop someone from slipping—death, mutation, collapse—for sixty seconds. Just hold them in between. After that…" He let the thought die. "After that, it's on us."
Maya had been silent until then, sitting cross-legged near the lantern. She looked from one face to the next—Marcus with his shockwaves, Kira with her blinks, Ravi with his doubled voice, Ethan glowing faintly in the dark.
"It's not that I'm behind," she said softly. "You four just got the head start. I'll get my turn."
Marcus grinned and clapped her shoulder. "Power or not, you're with us."
Ravi's voice doubled again, gentle this time. "Don't worry, Maya. You'll surprise us all."
She frowned. "Not sure if that's comforting or terrifying."
Kira snorted—the closest she came to laughing.
Ethan pushed himself upright, every muscle stiff from the last fight. "We move at first light. My sister's not here. Tina's boy isn't either. The longer we wait, the worse this city gets."
No one argued.
---
They slipped into the streets with the caution of both predators and prey.
The city wore a new face in daylight: broken windows like jagged teeth, streets littered with husks of cars, shadows that stretched too far. The silence pressed against them. Even the wind sounded wrong.
Maya walked with one palm grazing the cracked pavement. "Two… no, three roamers, one street over. They haven't scented us."
Kira flickered ahead and back. "She's right. We keep south."
Ravi checked the map scrawled on scraps of cardboard. "If your sister went looking for supplies or water, the nearest clinic is four blocks down. If she was hurt, that's where she'd head."
Ethan's chest tightened. He could still hear her voice in memory—teasing him about always picking fights, scolding him when he came home bleeding. That voice felt like a promise now.
He'd follow it anywhere.
---
The clinic appeared like a ghost at the end of the street—a squat three-story building, its sign half-hanging, the paint peeling. The doors gaped open, one cracked along the frame. Rusty stains streaked the steps.
Kira crouched and touched the blood. "Old. At least a day."
"Could be hers," Ethan said, his voice low.
"Could be anyone's," Marcus countered. "Don't lose your head yet."
Ethan nodded, but his pulse wouldn't slow.
Inside, the air stank of rot and antiseptic. Papers and overturned chairs littered the floor. A wheelchair lay on its side like a broken animal.
Maya flinched, pressing her hand to the ground. "Something's below. Heartbeats—weak but steady."
Ravi's eyes glazed as his voice overlapped. "Basement storage. They're alive, but afraid."
Kira was already moving. She found the stairwell door barred from the inside. A flick of her blade, and the lock surrendered.
The stairwell yawned dark below.
Ethan's veins glowed faintly as he took point. "Stay close. If they're survivors, they're scared. If they're not—"
Marcus hefted the hammer. "Then we clear them."
---
The basement stank of damp and fear.
A lantern built from scavenged batteries flickered weakly over three huddled figures. One gripped a length of pipe; another lay pale, his thigh bandaged with filthy cloth.
"Stay back!" the woman with the pipe shouted, voice trembling.
Ethan lifted both hands. "We're not ferals. We're human. Survivors—same as you."
They didn't lower the weapon, but their desperation was louder than their suspicion.
"Please," one of them whispered. "Don't take our food."
Marcus muttered under his breath, "They don't have enough to steal."
Ethan ignored him and knelt by the wounded man. The bandage was soaked through, the wound blackening. The man's pulse fluttered weakly—threads fraying.
Without thinking, Ethan reached inside himself.
The silver cords blazed to life, coiling around the man's essence, holding him steady between life and ruin.
Light spilled through the room like moonfire.
Gasps filled the air.
Ethan pressed his palm to the wound, pouring essence into healing. The corruption hissed, receded, and color crept back into the man's face.
By the time Ethan let go, trembling, he was alive again.
The pipe clattered to the floor.
"You're… you're blessed," someone breathed. "Chosen."
Ethan shook his head. "Just holding the line."
Marcus stepped between them, hammer raised. "Don't get ideas. He's already bleeding himself dry."
But the whispers didn't stop. Chosen. Anchor. Blessed.
Ethan looked away, heat crawling under his skin. He wasn't a savior. He barely felt human.
Then something in the corner caught his eye—a box of scavenged belongings. Among them, a scarf.
Faded red. Frayed ends.
He lifted it with shaking hands. A small tear stitched over in uneven thread.
His sister's.
"She was here," he whispered. His throat ached. "She made it this far."
Beside him, Tina's breath hitched. She reached toward a wall where faint words were scrawled in a child's hand:
> Mom & Dad I'll wait.
Her knees buckled. Marcus caught her before she fell, his face twisting with fury and hope both.
The basement fell silent except for their breathing.
Then—the creak of floorboards above.
Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.
The survivors went pale.
"They come every night," one whispered. "The hunters. If you brought them—"
A roar ripped through the clinic, shaking dust from the ceiling. The lantern flickered, guttered.
Ethan clenched the scarf in his fists.
"She was here," he said, voice hard as stone. "She's still alive."
Another roar answered him—closer this time.
And above them, death began to hunt.