Zak woke up breathing fast. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts as he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself it was just a dream. The room looked the same: dim light seeping around the curtain, the mark on the wall he meant to clean still there, and the faint scent of dust and morning air lingering everywhere.
His leg ached where a dark bruise had just begun to form above the knee. Training last night, he reminded himself. He'd pushed too hard again. That part at least made sense.
He reached for his phone. No notifications. No signal. The screen had frozen on the same time. He refreshed it over and over, hoping it would jump back to normal, but nothing changed.
A quiet settled around him. It wasn't peaceful; it felt empty. Like someone had flipped a switch and erased the world.
Zak sat up slowly. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and crossed the room to pull the curtain aside.
The street outside was wrong immediately. Cars were stopped, some at odd angles as if their drivers had abandoned them mid-turn. No engines, no movement, no people. Just silence.
His eyes drifted across the street and froze. The apartment building opposite was floating. Not collapsing, not twisting, just hanging a few feet above the ground. Balconies were suspended, a piece of fabric swaying slightly but not falling. His stomach lurched. He staggered back and pressed a hand against the wall.
Was he dreaming? No. The bruise above his knee reminded him he was awake. But there was no explanation for what he was seeing.
Something moved below, shifting in the street. At first, it looked like shadows. Then legs emerged from between two cars.
A spider—but unlike any spider he had ever seen. Its body scraped the asphalt as it moved, legs clicking, each step deliberate, terrifyingly unnatural.
Zak sucked in a breath and held it, unable to tear his eyes away.
The ground shook. It wasn't violent, just a low, rolling tremor that ran through the soles of his feet.
From the far end of the street, something massive appeared: a tank. Old and scarred, it dragged itself forward on treads that crushed a parked car without slowing. Metal screamed and flexed under pressure as the turret turned.
The first shot hit. The pressure struck Zak in the chest before the sound fully registered. Then the concrete of the floating building across the street vanished. Not collapsed, not fallen—just gone, ripped out in a violent bloom of dust and debris. Balconies and railings disappeared midair, chunks of masonry drifting like ash. The spider skittered sideways, legs scrambling as the ground itself seemed to recoil.
Zak stumbled back from the window, tripping over his own feet.
"Zak!"
Hands grabbed his shoulders, yanking him backward with terrifying force. He cried out as he lost his footing, almost falling.
"Get down, now!" Craig shouted.
Hassan and Chris were on either side, dragging him away from the window. His back slammed into the wall as the door hit the frame behind them. Debris rattled against the glass. Dust sifting down with the tremor of the building made Zak's stomach churn with adrenaline and fear.
"Are you stupid?" Craig snapped, leaning over him, chest heaving. His eyes were wide and alert. "You want to die?"
Zak tried to answer, but no words came.
"Inside," Craig barked, pointing down the hall. "Move. Don't think. Move."
Hassan and Chris grabbed him by the arms and practically carried him into the apartment. Another distant explosion rolled through the street, softer this time, but close enough to make Zak flinch.
They pushed him into the main living space and shut the door. The apartment was quiet now, but not safe. The faint creak of the floor beneath them and the drifting dust reminded Zak that the building itself could betray them at any moment.
Hassan sat near the balcony doors, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them. His dark eyes kept lifting to the ceiling, then snapping back to the balcony as if expecting it to drop at any second.
Abdi leaned against the kitchen counter, foot tapping, stopping and starting again, jaw tight, hands flexing and unclenching. Chris perched on the arm of the couch, long-limbed and pale, alert. Each tremor in the building made him shift, hands clenching briefly on the cushions.
Zak pressed his palm flat against the cold tiles, trying to calm himself. The apartment smelled like dust and old furniture, the faint residue of his parents who had left this place to him, now gone. He had no one else.
Craig wasn't there for a moment. The absence felt heavy. The apartment seemed larger and emptier, every creak amplified in the quiet.
Then the door opened. Craig returned, breathing hard, and behind him was Selma.
Zak noticed her before he meant to. Light-skinned and tall, with her hair pulled back messily, she moved with urgency. She stopped just inside the doorway, hands brushing against her jeans, eyes wide and darting between the walls and the others. Zak quickly looked away, heat rising in his face, annoyed at himself for staring.
The floor creaked again. Selma's hand went to the doorframe briefly, then she stepped fully inside. She wiped her hands on her jeans, chest rising and falling.
No one spoke.
Zak noticed little things: Selma's fingers curling and uncurling, Hassan rubbing his arms, Abdi swallowing, Chris tightening his jaw with every tremor. The apartment seemed to inhale and exhale with the building itself, dust drifting through sunlit air, shadows moving with the sway of the floor.
Outside, Kilimani was silent. Too silent. Cars, people, any sign of life were gone.
Zak pressed his palm to the floor again. The faint vibration ran up his arm. Then he noticed something that made his heart stutter: the bruise on his leg—the one from last night's training—was gone. Completely.
He stared, disbelief sharpening, eyes flicking between the floor, the wall, and the other people in the room. No one noticed, too focused on the building around them.