Three days later.
The midday sun sat high and heavy, its light bleeding through a thin veil of drifting clouds. The air shimmered faintly above the cracked asphalt. Around the battered group, silence reigned broken only by the faint buzz of insects and the rasping breath of those still catching their wind.
The fight with the First Weave tiger had been brutal. Its massive body, now lying sprawled near the ruined gate. Its fur shimmered faintly with a strange dark blue sheen, mana still leaking into the air from the corpse.
Kael stood over it, bow slack in his hands, his breathing ragged but steady. Marcus leaned on his hammer, the Titan's Grasp buried halfway into the ground beside him, while Aria crouched nearby, cleaning her twin daggers with calm precision. Dave was sprawled flat on his back, muttering curses to no one in particular, his shirt torn open where the tiger's claws had almost torn him apart.
Garret hadn't moved much the entire fight. He stood apart from them, watching with a detached expression as the battle unfolded. His Chixiao blade was sheathed across his back, untouched. His eyes had been half-lidded, almost disinterested. Every strike, every scream—he'd observed it all, studying how his companions fought.
Now, as the group gathered in the shade of a half-collapsed security post to rest, Kael finally turned to him, brushing sweat from his brow.
"Do you just sit as people fight for you?" he asked.
"Don't need to." He answered flatly
"That's not the point." Kael's voice carried that same moral sharpness it always did when he was about to start something.
"You could've helped. We almost lost Dave out there."
Garret turned his gaze on him steady, dark, unreadable. "You didn't," he said simply.
Kael frowned. "That's not…" He cut himself off, sighing. "Forget it."
Garret tilted his head slightly. "No, go on. You've been wanting to say something for a while."
Kael hesitated, then crossed his arms. "You asked me once—if I'd ever killed a human being. The answer's no. And I don't plan to."
"Why?" Garret asked, his tone mild, almost curious.
Kael blinked, as if surprised by the question. "Because it's wrong, that's why. I don't care what this world has turned into, right and wrong don't just vanish."
Garret's lips twitched faintly, though not into a smile. "Interesting. Zombies were human once."
Kael's brow furrowed. "That's not the same, and you know it."
"They were people. Mothers. Fathers. Friends. You still kill them without hesitation." Garret said quietly.
Kael's jaw tightened. "They're monsters now."
"So," Garret murmured, voice low, almost teasing, "if one day a human becomes a monster, someone like you, would that make killing them right?"
Kael fell silent, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. Aria and Marcus exchanged brief looks but said nothing.
A few minutes later, Clara appeared from the east, carrying a bundle wrapped in cloth. She was dressed lightly, a pale jacket tied around her waist, and strands of hair clung to her forehead with sweat. The faint smell of cooked rice and roasted meat wafted from the bundle as she approached.
"Lunch," she announced, forcing cheer into her tone.
Marcus straightened immediately. "You're a lifesaver, Clara."
"More like stomach-saver," Aria muttered, setting her daggers aside.
As they gathered to eat, Garret remained seated on his piece of concrete, watching the horizon. The clouds had grown heavier, and a faint wind carried the scent of coming rain. Clara noticed and made her way toward him, crouching beside him and handing him one of the wraps.
"You'll get weak if you keep skipping meals," she said softly as she offered him his lunch
He took it but didn't answer. His eyes remained on the horizon.
"You didn't fight," she said after a moment.
"I watched."
"Doesn't sound like you."
He glanced at her briefly. "You don't know me."
She smiled faintly. "Then I'm getting to."
He didn't respond, but after a while, he unwrapped the food and began to eat in silence. Clara didn't press him. She sat beside him, legs drawn close, watching the clouds drift across the sky. The sound of laughter from Marcus and Dave drifted faintly in the background. A small, fleeting normalcy in a ruined world.
When Garret finally spoke, it was quiet, almost hesitant. "My sister had a locket," he said.
Clara turned to him, surprised.
"She never took it off. Ever. Our mother gave it to her before she left for school. It was… sentimental."
He stared at the dirt beneath his boots for a long moment, his voice low. "When we found the dorm, I looked everywhere. Her room was torn apart. The door was broken. But the locket, it was there."
Clara watched his face, saw the way his jaw clenched when he said it.
"So you think she…"
"She's dead," Garret said simply.
The words were cold, stripped of emotion but the pause that followed said otherwise.
"But part of me keeps thinking maybe she dropped it on purpose. Maybe she wanted me to find it, to know she was okay."
Clara's chest tightened. "There's still hope."
Garret let out a quiet laugh, "Hope gets people killed."
"But it's what keeps the rest alive," she countered gently.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Garret leaned back, resting an arm on his knee. "Belief doesn't stop the dead from walking."
"No," Clara agreed softly. "But it keeps the living from giving up."
Something in her voice made him pause. For the first time in a long while, he looked at her not as just another survivor but as someone who still saw light where he saw only shadow. There was warmth in her tone, the kind of quiet strength that reminded him of Eva.
Clara, sensing the shift, smiled faintly. "You know, you're not as scary as you look."
Garret raised an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Mm-hmm," she said, looking ahead at the clouds.
"You talk like someone who's already accepted the worst. But I think you still want to be wrong."
He didn't respond but the corner of his mouth twitched, just a flicker, gone as soon as it appeared.
Behind them, Kael was helping Marcus move the tiger's corpse away from the road while Aria scouted ahead. The light had begun to fade, orange bleeding into the pale blue of the afternoon sky. The world around them was silent, but not dead. The air felt alive, charged like the calm before a storm.
Garret's eyes returned to the horizon.
"If she's alive," he said, quieter now, "I'll find her. Even if I have to tear down the world to do it."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket. The silver was tarnished, its surface scratched, but the hinge still opened. Inside, the tiny photograph stared back at him, a young girl with bright eyes and a half-crooked smile. His thumb brushed the edge of the photo.
He didn't feel warmth. He didn't feel peace. Only that merciless spark again, the faint cruel whisper that refused to die.