At first, Zone Echo dazzled her. After months of ash and silence, the compound glowed like something holy. She walked its streets in awe, overwhelmed by sights that would once have been mundane: a bakery window lined with loaves of bread, steam rising in curls; a fountain bubbling in the square; a group of children chasing each other in a game that required no fear, no hiding.
But awe dulled quickly when she realized the smiles didn't reach people's eyes.
On her second morning, she saw it in the marketplace. A man dropped an apple from his basket, and before he could pick it up, two guards in pale uniforms appeared. Their smiles were wide, pleasant, but their voices were sharp as they asked for his identification, scanning him twice, three times. Only when the scanner chimed green did they let him go. The man walked away trembling, apple forgotten on the ground.
Lena picked it up and tried to hand it back. He snatched it from her without a word, eyes darting toward the guards, and hurried off.
Something inside her chilled.
---
They gave her work sorting supplies in one of the storage depots. It was orderly, efficient—rows of shelves stacked with cans, crates, tools. But every item was logged with meticulous precision. Whenever she opened a crate, someone stood over her shoulder, clipboard in hand, counting aloud.
"You'll get used to it," said a woman beside her one afternoon, barely moving her lips. Her hands shook as she stacked jars.
"Used to what?" Lena whispered back.
The woman didn't answer. She only pressed a finger quickly to her mouth, eyes darting toward the ceiling where a camera's red light blinked.
Lena followed her gaze. Suddenly the abundance around her—the food, the lights, the walls—felt less like safety and more like surveillance.
---
At night, in the dormitory, she tried to ask about Caleb.
"Secondary testing," the attendants always said, their smiles stretched thin. "He'll be returned once he's cleared."
But days passed, and he didn't return.
The boy, when she managed to see him, had changed too. He looked cleaner, his cheeks fuller from real meals, but his eyes no longer sought hers with trust. When she asked about Caleb, he shook his head quickly. "We're not supposed to talk about that."
"Not supposed to—?" Lena pressed, but he backed away, slipping into the group of children playing under a guard's watchful gaze.
The distance stung worse than hunger ever had.
---
The whispers returned that night.
She woke to them threading through her skull, a soft hum behind the silence. This place is not what it seems. They are ours. All of them.
She sat up in her bunk, sweat chilling her skin. The other women slept soundly around her, their breathing heavy. She whispered into the dark, "What do you want from me?"
The hum deepened, almost amused. You already know. The walls cannot keep us out. They can only keep you in.
She pressed her hands to her ears, rocking. "Shut up. Shut up."
But when she looked across the dormitory, she froze.
Shadows.
Her shadow stretched along the wall, as it always did in the faint light from the lamps outside. But she wasn't moving—she was sitting still, hands at her ears. And yet her shadow… shifted. Its hands slid slowly down, revealing a face split with a smile.
Lena bit her lip until it bled to keep from screaming.
---
The next morning, she sought out Dr. Mercer.
"I need to see Caleb," she said firmly. "Now."
Mercer's pleasant smile never wavered. "He's still being evaluated. I promise you, he's in good hands."
"I don't want promises. I want proof."
Something flickered behind Mercer's eyes—annoyance, maybe, or calculation. Then she leaned in slightly, her voice soft but sharp. "You survived out there, Ms. Reyes. That means you understand what's at stake. We cannot afford instability in here. Your friend is being taken care of. For everyone's good. Do you understand?"
Lena's jaw tightened. "No," she said, her voice barely more than a breath.
Mercer's smile widened, but her eyes stayed cold. "Then perhaps you need a reminder of what it's like out there."
She walked away before Lena could answer.
---
That evening, as she walked back to the dorms, she noticed something new. A section of the compound was walled off with heavy gates, guarded more tightly than anywhere else. No children laughed near it. No lamps lit the streets beyond.
As she lingered, pretending to tie her boot, she thought she heard something from behind those walls. A sound muffled by distance, but unmistakable: a scream.
She rose slowly, heart hammering, and turned away before the guards could notice.
Zone Echo gleamed like a sanctuary. But now Lena knew the truth: it was a mask.
And masks always hid something rotten beneath.
---
That night, she couldn't sleep. She sat on her bunk staring at the ceiling, the hum crawling through her thoughts.
The boy had slipped away from her. Caleb was gone. And she was surrounded by walls that no longer looked like protection—only a trap designed to hold prey until the knife fell.
As her eyes finally closed, the whisper curled in her mind again, soft as silk.
When the glass breaks, will you shatter too?