The shelter never truly slept.
The air was stale, thick with dust and the faint metallic scent of rusted infrastructure. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness at a steady, maddening rhythm. Thomas lay against the cold concrete wall, eyes half-closed, senses fully awake. His body was exhausted, but his mind refused rest.
Too many eyes. Too much attention. Too little space.
Rea was close—closer than necessary. Her shoulder pressed against his arm, her breathing slow and deliberate. She had positioned herself that way without asking, as if the question itself would have been pointless. Her presence was not comforting. It was enclosing.
Across the shelter, Elisa sat with her back to a support pillar, one leg drawn up, the other extended. She appeared relaxed, almost casual, but Thomas had already learned better. Her gaze drifted to him with regular precision, assessing, calculating. Every time their eyes met, she held the contact just a fraction longer than normal.
Mira remained standing near the entrance.
She hadn't moved in over an hour.
That alone unsettled Thomas more than the darkness. Mira was not a woman who wasted energy. If she was still standing, still watching, it meant she didn't trust the situation—or the people in the room.
Including him.
A faint vibration ran through the floor.
Thomas stiffened.
Mira reacted instantly, raising a clenched fist. Silence snapped into place.
The vibration came again—stronger this time. Distant, but deliberate. Footsteps. Multiple.
Scavengers.
Mira turned slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're not alone."
Rea's hand tightened around Thomas's forearm, nails pressing just enough to be felt. Her eyes gleamed in the low light, excitement and something darker flickering across her expression.
"Good," she murmured. "I was getting bored."
Elisa rose smoothly to her feet, rolling her shoulders once. "Numbers?" she asked.
"Unknown," Mira replied. "But they're close."
Thomas pushed himself upright, heart pounding. The adrenaline surged fast, sharp, burning away the haze of fatigue. He scanned the shelter, searching for anything useful—broken metal, loose debris, a weapon he could actually wield.
Rea noticed his tension immediately.
"You stay behind me," she said, her voice firm, possessive. "I won't let them touch you."
Elisa let out a quiet laugh. "You say that like he's a child."
Her eyes flicked to Thomas. "Or like he belongs to you already."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Rea didn't look away. "He does."
Mira cut in sharply. "Enough. Focus."
But the damage was done.
Thomas felt it then—the shift. Something had crossed an invisible line. What had once been unspoken tension now carried weight. Expectation.
Ownership.
The footsteps above them grew louder.
Mira signaled positions. Rea moved instantly, placing herself directly in front of Thomas, her back to him, stance wide and ready. Elisa took the left flank, disappearing into the shadows with predatory grace. Mira remained near the entrance, rifle steady, eyes cold.
The first scavenger dropped through the access opening with a grunt, boots hitting concrete. He barely had time to react before Mira struck—fast, efficient, brutal. A second followed, then a third.
Chaos erupted.
Thomas reacted on instinct. He grabbed a loose metal rod and swung, adrenaline guiding his movements more than training ever could. He felt a jolt run up his arms as the rod connected, heard a sharp cry, saw a body fall.
Rea moved like a force of nature. She didn't fight defensively. She fought to dominate. Every strike was close, aggressive, intimate. She stayed near Thomas even while attacking, as if her priority wasn't the enemy—but ensuring no one else came near him.
Elisa was different.
She vanished and reappeared, striking from blind angles, her movements economical and cruel. She never raised her voice. Never wasted energy. When she passed Thomas, her fingers brushed his wrist—brief, deliberate.
Still alive, the touch seemed to say. Good.
When the last scavenger fled, silence crashed back down.
Thomas stood there, chest heaving, hands trembling slightly. Blood—someone else's—spattered the floor. His pulse roared in his ears.
Rea turned on him instantly.
She cupped his face with both hands, eyes intense, searching him for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," he said, though his voice shook.
Her grip didn't loosen. "You scared me."
The words were quiet—but they carried weight. Emotion. Claim.
Elisa watched the interaction with undisguised interest, arms crossed. "He did well," she said calmly. "Better than expected."
Mira approached last. She studied Thomas in silence for several seconds, then nodded once.
"You didn't freeze," she said. "That matters."
It was the closest thing to praise she ever gave.
The shelter felt smaller after that.
They regrouped, barricaded the entrance more thoroughly. No one suggested sleep again.
Rea stayed close, closer than before. She leaned against Thomas openly now, no pretense of accident. Her fingers traced slow, absent patterns along his forearm, grounding and claiming at the same time.
Elisa sat opposite them, gaze unwavering.
"You're changing," she said to Thomas suddenly.
He looked up. "What?"
"You're adapting," she continued. "Faster than most. People like that don't stay neutral for long."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Sooner or later, you'll have to choose how you survive."
Rea's fingers tightened.
"He doesn't need to choose," she said. "We'll take care of him."
Mira spoke without turning. "No one survives forever by being taken care of."
The room went quiet again.
Thomas felt something settle inside him then—not fear, not desire, but resolve.
He was done being pulled.
He straightened slightly, meeting each of their gazes in turn. Rea's intensity. Elisa's appraisal. Mira's guarded respect.
"I'm not baggage," he said quietly. "And I'm not a prize."
The words surprised even him.
For the first time, none of them interrupted.
Rea searched his face, conflicted emotion flickering beneath her possessive certainty.
Elisa smiled faintly—approving.
Mira nodded once, slow and deliberate.
"Good," she said. "Then maybe you'll survive."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was charged.
And Thomas knew, with absolute certainty, that the balance between them had shifted.
Not resolved.
But irreversibly changed.