The Grey Wastes were never truly silent.
The group moved east, skirting the skeletons of buildings and roads that looked more like scars than streets. The fog swirled in lazy currents, never still, like it was breathing. Every so often, Daniel thought he saw shapes moving inside it but when he blinked, they were gone.
Nobody spoke for the first half hour. Their breathing and the crunch of boots on broken glass were the only sounds. Daniel thought maybe they'd keep it that way until Marco broke the silence.
"So…" His voice cracked, too loud in the fog. "That was… uh… good teamwork, right?"
Briggs shot him a glare. "Teamwork? You almost got your throat opened."
"I said good," Marco muttered defensively. "Not perfect."
Lena cut in before Briggs could tear the kid apart. "Eyes forward. Mouth shut. Every word is a beacon."
Marco shut his mouth, but Daniel caught his eyes darting nervously between them. The kid needed conversation like he needed oxygen.
Daniel couldn't blame him. Quiet wasn't safety here it was just the moment before something broke it.
As they walked, Daniel felt the Echo Mark thrumming under his ribs. Faint pulses in time with his heartbeat. Every time it flared, he saw things shadows darting just beyond the fog's edge, whispers like claws scraping glass. None of it felt real.
But the way his body moved now… the way his reflexes fired before thought… That was real. Too real.
He flexed his fingers on the rebar, unsettled by how steady they felt. He wasn't this fast. He wasn't this sharp. Not before the Mark.
Briggs' voice rumbled from behind. "How many, Hayes?"
Daniel glanced back. "What?"
"How many you've killed."
Daniel hesitated. "Three. Four, counting earlier."
Briggs grunted. "Figures."
"Figures what?" Daniel asked.
"That you're still human." Briggs adjusted the crowbar on his shoulder, not looking at him. "Ten in, you'll feel it. Twenty, you'll stop pretending. You'll be half fog and hunger by then."
Marco shuddered. "That's not true. It's—it's about control, right? If you stay strong—"
Briggs cut him off. "Strength doesn't mean shit. Seen men stronger than me dissolve screaming after six kills. Seen cowards hold on after twenty. Luck of the draw."
The words sank into Daniel like ice water. He looked at Lena, half-hoping she'd correct Briggs.
But Lena only said, "He's not wrong."
The silence that followed was heavier than the fog.
They pressed on, weaving through collapsed storefronts and shattered cars. The city loomed larger here, skyscrapers bent like dying trees. Daniel noticed the way Lena always walked ahead but slightly angled, keeping them just far enough from the fog's thickest swirls. She knew the streets.
Adaptation. Survival wasn't just about strength it was about patterns, instincts.
Marco stumbled over a cracked curb, muttering curses. Daniel caught his arm. The kid gave him a sheepish grin.
"You're not used to this," Daniel said.
"Not used to anything," Marco admitted. "Before this… I was just in school. Exams. Part-time job. That was my big fight. Now it's…" He gestured at the fog. "…this."
Daniel almost laughed, but it came out hollow. "I stocked pills in a pharmacy. Guess we both got promoted."
That earned a small, nervous chuckle from Marco. Even Briggs snorted quietly, though it was hard to tell if it was amusement or disdain.
A few minutes later, Lena raised her fist. The group froze.
Daniel felt it too the Mark pulsing hot, warning him.
"Movement?" he whispered.
"Not sure," Lena murmured. She crouched low, scanning the street ahead. Broken cars, overturned streetlights, the fog curling thick around them. Too many blind spots.
Briggs shifted his grip on the crowbar. Marco clutched his pipe tighter, knuckles white.
They waited. The fog shifted, then stilled. No shapes came. No shrieks.
Finally, Lena lowered her hand. "False alarm."
Briggs grunted. "There are no false alarms here."
Daniel's skin prickled. He couldn't tell if Briggs was right or just trying to scare the kid but either way, the unease stuck.
They moved again, quieter now, each step placed with care.
As the hours crawled, the group began to settle into a rhythm. Lena scanned ahead, always a few steps in front. Briggs watched their backs, slow and deliberate. Marco stuck close to Daniel, glancing at him like he was an anchor.
And Daniel… he adapted. He kept the rebar ready, eyes sweeping corners, ears tuned to the fog. His body moved sharper than it ever had, reacting before thought. It terrified him but it also kept him alive.
The Grey Wastes demanded adaptation. And whether he liked it or not, the Echo Mark was forcing him to learn.
By the time the first ruined checkpoint of the supposed safe zone came into view a barricade of rusted cars, marked with faded paint Daniel realized something.
He was starting to move like them.
Not just surviving. Adjusting. Changing.
And he didn't know if that was hope… or the first step toward losing himself.