The cop's parting words, "Go on home. It's where you belong," echoed in the silent street. They were meant to be a cage, a command to shrink back into the shadows he had assigned to her. A thousand years of instinct screamed at Elara to obey, to retreat to the safety and solitude of her apartment, her sanctuary. A thousand years of instinct told her to avoid complications, to remain unseen.
She watched his taillights disappear and felt a cold, defiant fire ignite within her. She had not survived the fall of her world to be told where she belonged by a petty tyrant in a uniform.
When the next bus finally rattled into view, its lights cutting through the darkness, she got on.
She bought two loaves of garlic bread from the all-night bakery, the warm, fragrant smell a stark contrast to the cold fury still simmering in her gut. She was acting on a whim, a simple, human desire, and she would not let that monster take it from her. On the way back, she stopped at a brightly lit convenience store, the sheer, mundane normality of the place a balm on her frayed nerves. She bought things she had seen the boys consume: bags of salty, crisp chips, a variety of sugary soft drinks, and a box of cheap chocolate cookies.
As she walked the final block to her apartment building, a familiar patrol car cruised slowly past. She didn't have to see the driver's face. She could feel Officer Kross's gaze on her, cold and possessive. He saw her walking freely, her arms laden with groceries, in direct opposition to his command. He saw her, and she knew he didn't like it. The silent threat hung in the air long after he was gone.
Back in the sterile quiet of her hallway, she stopped in front of her own door, 2A. The urge to retreat was immense. Solitude was safe. Solitude was what she knew. But tonight, solitude felt too much like the cage the officer had tried to build for her.
She turned and walked to the door of 2B. She knocked.
The door flew open to reveal Mike, mid-shout to someone inside. "It was a totally legit headshot, you're just a sore—" He stopped short, his eyes widening when he saw her. "Elara. Hey."
"May I come in?" she asked, her voice quiet and even.
The simple politeness of the question seemed to stun him more than anything else she had ever done. "Uh, yeah! Sure! Come on in."
She stepped into the familiar, comfortable chaos of their apartment. Sam was on the couch, controller in hand, glaring at the TV screen where a brightly coloured character was respawning. Leo was at the small kitchen table, a sketchbook open in front of him. They both looked up in surprise.
Elara held up the bags. "I brought provisions." She placed the garlic bread, chips, cookies, and soft drinks on the coffee table.
"Whoa, awesome!" Mike said, already reaching for the chips.
"What was the new video game," Elara asked, her gaze on the television screen, "the one you three seemed to be talking about a lot yesterday?"
Sam blinked, lowering his controller. "Uh, 'Galactic Overlords 4'. We were just playing." He looked from her to the snacks and back again, a slow, dawning understanding on his face. "You... want to play?"
"I am a fast learner," she stated.
That night, the four of them sat crowded on the lumpy sofa. There was no whiskey, no soul-baring trauma, no talk of ancient horrors. Instead, there was the glow of the television, the crunch of chips, and the fizz of soft drinks. Elara, with her thousand-year-old reflexes and strategic mind, picked up the game with terrifying speed, much to Mike's vocal frustration.
They talked, not about loneliness or immortality, but about which character had the best special moves, about a funny professor at the university, about the ending of a movie Leo had seen. The conversation was light, meaningless, and utterly wonderful.
For the first time since her world had burned, Elara wasn't a survivor, a monster, a predator, or a ghost. She was just the fourth player. She was surrounded not by enemies or prey, but by three idiots who had accepted her into their noisy, chaotic, and brightly lit world.
As the sun began to hint at its return, and Mike finally fell asleep mid-rant about a stolen victory, Elara looked around the messy living room. The encounter with the cop had left her feeling cold and isolated. But here, in this fortress of youthful foolishness, she felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a millennium. A quiet, simple warmth. It wasn't a cure for her past, but for the first time, it felt like a future.