The fire in the broken gas station guttered low, throwing restless shadows across the cracked tile. Wind whistled through the collapsed roof, carrying the scent of rust, dust, and something faintly sweet—like flowers rotting in the sun. The boy hadn't moved since he'd spoken, his wide eyes fixed on Lena's shadow as if it were a living thing.
Caleb sat across the fire, his rifle balanced across his knees. His gaze shifted between Lena and the boy, jaw tight. He hadn't spoken since the moment he noticed her shadow's strange tilt. The silence pressed on them like a weight.
Lena forced herself to look down again. The firelight painted her silhouette long and thin, stretching across the broken tiles. And yes—there it was. Her shadow's head bent to the side, as though a noose tightened around its neck, while her own head sat straight. No trick of the flame could account for it.
Her breath quickened.
"It's nothing," she whispered, more to herself than the others. "A trick. Our eyes—"
"No," the boy cut in. His voice cracked, but he didn't look away. "It's wrong. It's been wrong since the forest."
"Quiet," Caleb snapped, though his voice lacked its usual edge. He rubbed his face hard, leaving streaks of soot on his skin. "We're tired. Seeing things. That's all."
But his hand still rested on the rifle, and his eyes never left Lena.
---
Sleep came in fragments that night. Lena drifted in and out of dreams—memories bleeding into visions, visions into lies. She dreamed of her mother's voice, calling her from the doorway of a house that hadn't existed in years. She dreamed of Harris, unraveling into light, his eyes begging her to save him. And she dreamed of the riftspawn, whispering, You carry us now. You are the gate.
She woke to the boy's muffled crying.
Rolling onto her side, she saw Caleb crouched beside him, whispering something low. The boy's shoulders shook as Caleb's hand rested on his back, trying to calm him. Their faces were half-hidden in shadow, but Lena caught a glimpse of the boy's lips shaping words: She's dangerous.
Her heart sank.
She lay back, pretending to sleep, but her mind raced. The boy's fear she could forgive—he was a child, broken by things no one should ever see. But Caleb… Caleb had fought beside her, had pulled her back from madness more than once. If his trust was slipping—if he truly believed she carried the rift inside her—then she was already lost.
---
Morning came gray and lifeless. They scavenged what little they could: a few cans of beans split three ways, stale crackers crumbling to dust in their hands. Hunger gnawed at their bellies, but it was routine now, the ache as constant as breathing.
They moved on quickly, the highway stretching ahead like a scar across the land. Buildings loomed in the distance, skeletal towers leaning against the sky. And above them, the clouds writhed with veins of violet, pulsing faintly, as if something enormous and alive pressed just beneath the skin of the world.
The boy kept close to Caleb, glancing back at Lena often. Every time she caught his eyes, he looked away, pale and guilty.
"Don't let him poison you against me," Lena muttered once when Caleb drifted near.
Caleb's face hardened. "He's scared, Lena. You can't blame him."
"I don't blame him," she shot back. "I blame the thing out there trying to turn us against each other. You saw it twist reality. It wants us broken before we reach Zone Echo."
Caleb stopped walking, forcing her to meet his eyes. "And maybe it already got to you."
The words struck like a blow. She opened her mouth, but no defense came. Instead she turned away, pushing on alone.
---
By afternoon, the ruins thickened into a skeletal city. Glass crunched beneath their boots, the wind moaning through hollow towers. Signs dangled from rusted poles, unreadable through layers of soot. Somewhere far off, metal groaned and collapsed in a long echo.
They took shelter in the shell of a bus station as night approached. The boy huddled in a corner, staring at the blackened departure boards as if they might still carry the names of places untouched. Caleb checked the perimeter, methodical, always glancing back at Lena as though she were another threat to guard against.
When darkness fell, Lena tried to close her eyes, but sleep clawed with teeth and whispers. The hum returned, faint but insistent, threading through her skull.
They will not follow you to the end, the voice murmured. They will leave you. Or kill you. Why wait for the blade when you could strike first?
She pressed her palms to her ears, rocking gently. "Stop. Stop. Stop."
The boy stirred, watching her from across the room. "You're talking to it," he whispered.
"No!" she snapped, too loud. Her voice echoed off the walls. Caleb's head whipped toward her, eyes narrowing.
The boy pointed, his hand shaking. "Your shadow. It's moving again."
Lena spun, heart hammering.
On the wall, her shadow stretched tall and thin in the firelight, but this time it was moving independently—its arm rising slowly, its hand curling into a claw. She froze, breath trapped in her lungs, as the shadow turned its head toward her and smiled.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"
The boy screamed. Caleb leapt up, rifle raised. For a split second Lena thought he would shoot her. Instead he fired at the wall, the bullet blasting through crumbling plaster. The shadow flickered, stuttered, and sank back into stillness.
Smoke filled the air, acrid and bitter. The boy sobbed openly now, clutching at Caleb.
Caleb lowered the rifle slowly. His face was pale, eyes hollow, but steady. He looked at Lena like a man staring down something he wished he didn't recognize.
"Tomorrow," he said flatly, "we keep moving. But Lena…" He paused, the weight of his next words choking the air. "One more sign—just one—and I won't hesitate."
Lena's chest tightened, heat rising to her throat. "You'd kill me? After everything—after all we survived?"
"I'll kill whatever threatens us," Caleb said. His voice didn't rise, didn't shake. That steadiness frightened her more than anger ever could.
The fire snapped. The boy whimpered.
And Lena realized, with a hollow certainty, that the riftspawn had succeeded in planting its seed.
The world outside might have been dying, but the real battle now was in their trust. And trust was unraveling faster than flesh in the light.