ROSIE.
The pounding grew louder.
Fists. Boots. Tools. Anything they could find.
People slammed into the reinforced doors of the tower with desperation turned violent, howling for shelter. The chaos blurred — one voice, one panic, one ugly wall of fear and rage.
Rosie stood at the front, soaked to the bone but grinning. Her eyes glinted with something feral.
"This is it," she told Brent, who hefted a crowbar. "They'll crack soon. Just a little longer."
"You sure?" he asked, shouting over the wind. "We don't have much time—!"
Eric was already crouched by the lower access panel, sparks flying from the tampered wiring. The scout had done his job — the lock was weakened.
Josh's security had held longer than expected.
But not forever.
"Almost got it—" Eric growled.
That's when it came.
A sound. A sucking, groaning roar from beyond the shoreline.
The bay.
Not waves.
A wall.
--
JOSH.
Jules stared at the monitors.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"Josh," she whispered. "The tide just broke containment set up over on Queen Quay."
Josh looked at the screen — one of the feeds now pure black.
"No," he said. "Not the tide."
He tapped the overlay.
"The storm surge."
--
ROSIE.
It was like the sea had stood up.
A mass of black water, full of metal and bone and old city filth, crashed over the retaining line, tearing through concrete like paper.
People screamed.
And then were gone.
Rosie saw it too late. She turned, tried to shout—
"MOVE—"
But Brent was yanked sideways by the first wave.
Eric's hand slipped from the panel, eyes wide as the surge swallowed him.
Rosie was the last.
The water took her mid-scream, arms flailing in shock, her fury drowned by the weight of the city's collapse.
One moment she was leading the charge—
The next, there was no one.
Just a dark current where hope used to be.
--
JOSH.
Silence.
The pounding had stopped.
All screens fogged with static or water.
Jules lowered her hand from the emergency flood-lock override.
Josh exhaled. Slowly.
"Was that... mercy?" she asked.
"No," he said. "That was math."
--
JESSI.
The walls were too quiet now.
No pounding. No screaming. No crying children. No pleas.
Just the dull, electric hum of backup power and the occasional creak of a building designed to bend, not break.
Jessi sat at the edge of the bed, shaking.
She didn't even realize she was until she saw the water trembling in the glass on her nightstand.
Her hands clenched into her lap, then unclenched. Again. Again. Trying to find rhythm. Trying to find breath.
Her boots were still wet.
Her hair stuck to her cheeks.
But she couldn't bring herself to move.
She had wanted to open the door. She would have. For that child. For all of them. If they'd let her. If Boris hadn't spoken. If Jules hadn't looked at her like that.
And now—
Now they were gone.
"God," she whispered, her voice barely there. "What if we could have saved them?"
A soft knock.
Boris stood in the doorway, not quite entering.
"You can't save people already drowning, Jess."
She looked up at him, eyes red.
"She was just a little girl."
He didn't argue.
He didn't say you don't know she died. He didn't say you don't know what would've happened if she got in.
He just stepped forward and set something on her nightstand.
A sunflower.
Still wet. Still alive.
"Tomorrow, you help me check the south filtration system. You learn where the water comes from. And how to keep it clean."
"Why?"
"Because you're still here."
He left the door open behind him.
Jessi sat with the flower, the storm outside still raging, and the silence inside pressing tight around her ribs.
She didn't cry.
Not this time.