The city wall didn't look like safety anymore. Up close, it looked like a tombstone for everyone who hadn't made it back.
The survivors limped toward the Great Gate. Five figures against a mountain of stone. No celebration. No relief. Just movement, because stopping meant the dust would finish the job. Luca half-carried the boy with the torn leg, jaw locked in stubborn refusal to let him fall. Marco walked beside Frankie, hands twitching, eyes fixed on the heels of her boots like they were the only solid thing left in the world.
Then the horn sounded. A long, lonely note from the ramparts. More warning than welcome.
The gate answered with a shriek of ancient metal. Runes flared gold, arrogant and blinding. Warm city light spilled onto the grey wasteland.
Frankie crossed the threshold.
The pressure behind her eyes snapped away. Air tasted suddenly of incense and ozone instead of rot and copper. The Death Zone released her like a hand letting go of a throat. Behind them, the gate groaned shut, sealing the nightmare back into the dark.
Inside the ward, Ares guards waited. Armor gleaming. Spears humming with restrained violence. They looked at the survivors the way a butcher looked at a thin cut of meat, pity mixed with irritation.
"Five. Unit Seven," one guard muttered, tapping a metal tablet. Just numbers. Fourteen left. Five returned.
They were guided toward the healers.
The woman from the temple of Aesculapius moved like she'd never known fear. No dirt under her nails. No hesitation in her eyes. When she knelt by the boy with the torn leg, her hands glowed sickly green. Flesh knitted. Bone realigned. The boy screamed through clenched teeth as his body was forced back together faster than nature ever intended.
Then she turned to Marco. He flinched. Her hand brushed his arm. Claw marks vanished.
When she reached Frankie, the amulet pressed hot against her ribs.
Not pulsing.
Warning.
Frankie held her breath. In her mind, the silver smoke curled inward. The system dimmed. The healer's glowing eyes lingered a moment too long.
Silence.
Then—
"Bruising. Exhaustion," the healer said. "Rest will suffice. You are clean."
She moved on.
Frankie exhaled slowly. Clean. If the woman knew what sat in her chest, she'd be calling priests instead of nurses.
The debrief was ink and boredom. A single oil lamp. A scratching quill. The officer didn't bother to look up. Marco spoke for her. She backed his story. Luca filled gaps with half-truths. Lucky rats. Teamwork. No anomalies. No miracles.
The officer marked his slate and waved a clerk forward.
Frankie was handed an iron token. Cold. Heavy.
"Rations and housing credit," the clerk droned. "Two further successful sweeps permit minor citizenship application."
A reward designed for people who rarely lived long enough to claim it.
Dismissed.
No songs. No honor. Just release into the lower streets. The city swallowed them like they'd never left. Markets called. Children ran. Priests blessed fountains. Paradise running on unseen blood.
Luca walked beside her. Their shadows stretched long under the statues of the gods. Zeus. Ares. Poseidon. Perfect stone conquerors of a world already bent to their will.
"You saved them," Luca whispered.
"I survived," Frankie said. "Don't make it more than it is."
But as they disappeared into soot-stained alleys, the amulet thrummed once.
Slow. Tight. Coiled.
Not a heartbeat.
A clock wound to breaking.
Frankie lifted her eyes to the golden spires of the upper tiers. The gods believed the walls kept monsters out.
They had no idea what they had just let inside.