Time slipped by as preparations for the bonfire carried on, the square growing livelier with each passing hour.
Mikey drifted from group to group, exchanging easy words with people he barely knew. Strangers didn't feel like strangers here, not today. He even found himself laughing with Willie and Silvia—the couple who had somehow survived the chaos of the riots. Seeing them alive, standing shoulder to shoulder, made the air feel lighter.
Above them, the artificial sun shifted. The enormous floodlights dimmed, glowing a warm orange hue meant to mimic sunset on the surface. The square glowed in that soft amber light, shadows stretching long across the floor of the silo.
Mikey rolled the last barrel of booze into the plaza, sweat glistening along his arms. Nearby, Bobo swung his axe in heavy, practiced arcs, splitting logs and tossing the pieces onto a growing stack. The thuds echoed like distant drums.
Around the edges of the square, tents had been pitched, smoke curling from their makeshift grills as meat sizzled. The rich smell carried on the air—savory, mouthwatering. Mikey's stomach grumbled despite the exhaustion in his arms.
Even Ryosuke had joined in. He was stationed behind a food stall. His sword flashed with impossible speed, slicing a slab of fish so cleanly that a single strike became ten perfect cuts. Children, Angelica among them, gathered in awe, gasping before breaking into excited applause. Ryosuke smirked faintly, patting one child's head before moving wordlessly to his next task.
Mikey caught sight of Luce, laughing with a small circle of settlers already seated on the rough benches. Her voice carried warm and confident across the crowd.
He smiled to himself.
This is gonna be good.
Real good.
Bobo finally had a good idea.
He looked around at the square. Hundreds of people—faces marked with exhaustion, scars, grief—but here they were, working, laughing, pulling it all together.
This silo really is a city.
They've been through so much… but they still fight to keep this place alive.
I see why you called it home, Mom. Dad.
I'm starting to see it too.
His gaze found Marlene across the square, directing a few people with quiet authority. The thought lingered with him: somehow, despite everything, these people endured.
And so was he. Slowly.
But as the hum of voices and hammering filled his ears, something nagged at him. A missing piece.
Amelia.
He hadn't seen her all day.
Mikey walked over to where Ryosuke was cooking fresh-cut meat.
"Hey, Ryo—"
The swordsman's sharp glance cut him off. Mikey cleared his throat quickly.
"Uh—Sensei… have you seen Amelia around?"
Ryosuke tilted his head, expression unreadable.
"No. Ask Bobo. He usually knows."
Mikey nodded, swallowing down the nerves that always crept up around him, and turned toward the big man still hacking away at wood.
"Yo, Bobo!"
Bobo slung the axe over his shoulder and wiped sweat from his brow, grinning. "Hey, kiddo. What's goin' on?"
"Seen Amelia? She hasn't come out today."
Bobo frowned, his thick brows knitting together.
"Nope. Haven't laid eyes on her. Try Luce—she keeps better tabs than I do."
"Alright," Mikey muttered, already moving.
He spotted Luce laughing mid-conversation with Silvia and Willie, her hand gesturing animatedly.
"Hey, Luce."
She turned, still chuckling.
"Oh hey, there he is. We were just talking about you."
Mikey blinked.
Me? They were talking about me?
He shook it off.
"Uh, anyway. You seen Amelia? Bobo said to ask you."
Luce tilted her head, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.
"That's odd. You worrying about her?"
Heat crept into Mikey's face.
"Nah, nah. Just curious. She hasn't really helped out today, I think…"
Her eyes flicked toward a tent tucked at the far end of the plaza.
"She's in there. One of those days."
Mikey's expression softened. He'd noticed it before, these quiet disappearances. Days when Amelia holed herself away, shutting out the world.
One of those days again… she must be struggling.
I gotta get her out. At least try.
"Noted," he said quietly. "I'll go talk to her."
"You?" Luce teased, eyebrow arched.
"Yeah. It's been a while since we actually talked."
Her grin softened into something warmer.
"Go for it, then."
Mikey swallowed hard and made his way toward the tent at the far end of the plaza. The walk was short—two minutes, maybe less—but it felt longer with every step.
He reached the curtains, lifted them with care, and slipped inside.
The air was cooler here, dim. A single lantern flickered on a crate, its light throwing soft shadows across the canvas walls. The noise of the square dulled to a muted hum, as though the world outside had been sealed away.
Amelia sat curled in a chair, knees tucked almost to her chest. Her back was to him. Her, now short, midnight hair spilled down her neck in dark waves as her hand moved across the page of a notebook. The scratch of her pencil was the only sound.
Mikey cleared his throat gently.
"Not gonna join the festivities?"
His voice was calm, almost cautious.
She didn't turn.
"Don't know. Probably not. What's it to you anyway… asshole."
Mikey edged a little closer.
"Everyone misses you."
That was a lie—he came here because he missed her—but the words slipped out anyway.
Amelia's reply was sharp, clipped.
"Well, they'll see me tomorrow. Now leave me alon—"
"What're you doing?"
The question came out before he could stop himself.
He leaned over her shoulder—and froze.
On the page was an eye. Not a cartoonish sketch, not some idle doodle, but something startlingly real. Every detail was etched with precision: the glint of light across the iris, the faint ripple of color in the green, even the suggestion of tears in the corner. It was alive, staring back at him.
"Woah," Mikey whispered. "You drew that?"
Amelia's hand didn't pause.
"Yeah, I did. So? What do you care—"
Before she could finish, he plucked the notebook from her fingers.
"Mikey—!"
She twisted in her chair, her eyes finally locking on him for the first time all day.
"What the hell? Give it back!"
But he was already thumbing through it.
"This is really good… You're talented. Why didn't I know you could do this?"
"Because I don't care enough about you to tell you."
She stood, glaring, her hand stretched out in silent demand.
He ignored it, flipping another page. The lanternlight revealed Bobo and Luce, rendered with a playful style—exaggerated, cartoonish, but still them. He laughed softly.
"Holy shit. You even caught their expressions. This is incredible…"
"Give it back!"
Her voice cracked, more frantic than furious.
He turned his shoulder, holding the book out of reach as he flipped again.
"No, no. I wanna see more—oh wow!"
He chuckled.
"You even got Ryosuke's good side. I didn't think that was possible."
"Stop it, Mikey!"
She lunged at him, reaching over his shoulder, but he slipped away, grinning, darting to the far side of the tent.
"In a minute, in a minute—"
And then he stopped.
The next page wasn't cartoonish. It wasn't playful.
Green eyes, long loose black curls, a faint curve of a smile at the corner of his lips. The lines were softer here, more careful.
She had drawn him the way she saw him, not the way anyone else might.
It was Mikey.
"You… drew me?"
Amelia froze. Then color rushed to her face as she snatched the book back, clutching it to her chest.
"It's nothing!"
She bolted to the other side of the tent, her back to him.
Mikey stood there for a long beat, then let out a breathless laugh. His face warmed.
"You don't care enough to tell me about your drawings, but you cared enough to draw me?"
Amelia hunched her shoulders, hiding her face. Her voice came out muffled.
"I—I drew the others, so I drew you too. Don't think you're special or anything. I've drawn lots of people."
The venom in her words wasn't quite there.
Mikey smiled softly. For the first time since Ward 6, he felt like he was getting through to her.
He remembered the first drawing.
"That eye on the first page… whose was it?"
Her shoulders stiffened. She hesitated, then spoke quietly.
"…My dad. My real dad. He died when I was little. But I remember his eyes. So I draw them… over and over. Don't tell anyone."
Mikey's chest tightened. He nodded.
"Your secret's safe with me."
He turned toward the flap of the tent.
"Look… if you've got time to draw all of us in here, you've got time to hang out with us for real. The bonfire starts in about an hour. Maybe it's time we actually talked. Y'know… for real this time."
For a moment she said nothing. Then she glanced over her shoulder, just enough for one blue eye to meet his.
"…I'll think about it. Now get out."
Mikey raised his hands in surrender.
"Yeah, yeah. Got it."
He slipped outside, but before the curtain fell, he looked back once more.
"Just… think about it. Everyone wants you there. Maybe…"
He paused, his cheeks burning.
"…maybe I want you there too."
He smiled, then let the curtain fall shut behind him.
Inside, Amelia sank into her chair, clutching her sketchbook. She pressed it to her face, hiding skin that glowed red-hot.
"…Idiot."
Back in the square, Mikey walked toward the growing firewood pile, his steps lighter than before. The bonfire would start soon. Maybe—just maybe—Amelia would be there. For the first time since Ward 6, he felt like he was getting somewhere with her.
All he had to do now was pray he didn't mess it up. Again.