We don't celebrate getting out.
There's no relief, no laughter, no moment where someone says we did it like that means anything. The glass beneath us is dark and cracked, still warm in places, like it remembers what it was made for. Every breath feels heavier than the last, like the air itself is pressing down on my chest, asking how much more I can take.
My leg drags when I move. I pretend not to notice.
Jordan walks a few steps ahead of us and stops, her posture stiff, like she's bracing for something that hasn't happened yet. Blood streaks the side of her face, dried and dark. She doesn't wipe it away. She never does.
Cameron suddenly lets out a sharp laugh.
It sounds wrong. Broken in the middle.
"So… is this it?" he says, spreading his arms slightly before immediately pulling them back in, like the motion hurts. "We just keep going?"
No one answers.
He turns in a slow circle, eyes wild, jaw tight. "Because that was—" He stops, breathing hard. "That was insane."
Jordan exhales through her nose. "We're alive."
"That's not what I asked," Cameron snaps.
She turns to face him. "We don't have time for this."
That's when something in him shifts.
"You keep saying that," he says. His voice isn't loud yet, but it's tight, like it's been wound too far. "We don't have time. We never have time. But somehow we always have time to bleed."
He gestures at himself, then at Maya's arm, then at me.
My hand is still shaking. I curl my fingers into a fist and immediately regret it—pain flares, sharp and unforgiving.
Jordan's eyes harden. "You want to sit down and talk about feelings while the world's ending?"
"I want to know why it's on us!" Cameron shouts. His voice echoes, bouncing off the glass and coming back louder, uglier. "Why are we doing this? Why are a bunch of messed-up kids supposed to carry something this big?"
Jordan steps closer. Too close.
"Because no one else can," she says.
"That's not an answer," he fires back. "That's a sentence people use so they don't have to think about how screwed up this is."
The space between them tightens. I can feel it, like static before a storm.
Jordan's fists clench. "Get out of my face."
Cameron doesn't back up. "Make me."
Maya moves first.
"Stop," she says sharply, stepping between them despite the way her arm trembles at her side. "Both of you."
Jordan barely looks at her. Cameron laughs again, bitter this time.
"See?" he says. "This is what I mean. We're falling apart and no one's allowed to say it."
Something in my chest twists.
I don't want to speak. I never do. Words feel slippery in my mouth, like if I grab the wrong one everything will fall apart worse than it already has.
But if I don't—
"I—" My voice cracks immediately. I hate that it does. I clear my throat and try again. "We can't… fight."
They both look at me now.
The pressure hits all at once. My ears ring. My thoughts scatter.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I say, quieter than I want. "I don't know how to lead. Or decide things. Or—" I gesture weakly at everything. "Any of this."
My leg buckles slightly and I have to shift my weight fast to hide it.
"But yelling at each other won't make it stop," I continue. "It just makes it… heavier."
Cameron stares at the ground. His hands are shaking now too.
Jordan looks away first.
Maya lets out a slow breath, like she's been holding it since we escaped. "We're hurt," she says. "All of us. Physically. Mentally. Pretending we're not won't fix it."
Jordan swallows. Her shoulders sag just a fraction.
"We still have to move," she says. "That hasn't changed."
"I know," Maya replies. "But how we move matters."
Silence settles again, thicker than before.
I look down at my hands. At the symbol faintly glowing against my skin. At the weapon that feels heavier every time I hold it, like it's asking for something I don't know how to give.
I didn't ask for this.
None of us did.
And standing there, bruised and bleeding on ground that shouldn't exist, it finally hits me—not like fear, not like panic, but something deeper.
This isn't about being strong.
It's about how much of yourself you're willing to give away before there's nothing left to recognize.
And I don't know if I'm ready to find out.