MILES POV
The blast. The screams. Then the growls,I jerk awake.
My chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, my lungs dragging in air like they've forgotten how to breathe on their own. My fingers curl into the sheets beneath me, gripping tightly as everything comes rushing back at once.
Smoke. Blood. Bodies.
Her.
My eyes snap open fully.
A white ceiling stares back at me.
Not cracked, nor stained. Just… clean.
Too clean.
My brows knit together as I slowly turn my head, taking in the room bit by bit. The air smells sharp—antibiotics, chemicals… something controlled. It burns slightly at the back of my throat, unfamiliar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
I try to move.
Pain answers immediately.
My leg stiffens, a sharp pull shooting up my side as I let out a quiet breath through clenched teeth.
That's when I notice what I'm wearing.
Purple.
The cloth draped over my body is smooth, fitted—nothing like the worn, stitched pieces back in Sector 4. No tears. No patches. No history.
My fingers brush against it slowly.
Where the hell am I?
Memory crashes into me again.
The fog. The sentinel. The bodies.
Her.
My head turns sharply, and there she is.
Standing beside my bed, looking right at me.
For a second, my heart forgets how to beat.
Her red hair is pulled back neatly, not a single strand out of place. It exposes her face completely—sharp amber eyes, steady and focused, watching me like I'm something to be assessed, not someone to be known.
Her fingers move across a tablet in her hands, scrolling, tapping.
Working.
Like I'm just another patient.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
Her voice is flat. Stripped of anything soft.
I didn't answer immediately.
I just stare.
"You…" My voice comes out rough. "You're real."
Her hand pauses for the briefest moment before continuing.
"Name," she says.
Just that.
Not, 'how do you feel?' Not, 'what happened.'
My lips twitch slightly, something between disbelief and frustration.
"You already know my name."
That makes her stop.
Her fingers still, against the screen as she lifts her gaze fully to me. There's a slight crease between her brows—not recognition, not warmth… just confusion.
"Pardon?"
"You said it," I continued, pushing myself up slightly despite the protest in my body. Pain flares through my ribs but I ignore it. "You told me to find you."
She studies me for a moment longer.
"You must be mistaken," she says calmly. "I'm going to need you to tell me your name."
My chest tightens.
She doesn't know me.
Not even a little.
I let out a slow breath, my gaze dropping for a second before I spoke.
"…Miles. Miles Walker."
She nods once, already looking back down at her tablet.
"Sector 4 survivor," she mutters as she scrolls. "Severe concussion. Minor fractures. Stabilized… barely stabilized, might need a brain scan."
Each word feels… distant. Like she's talking about someone else.
"You're in a Sector 3 temporary medical facility," she adds.
Sector 3.
The name settles in my chest, heavy in a way I can't explain.
Too clean, too intact.
I clutch my head slightly, breathing out slowly.
"Survivors…" My voice comes out weaker than I expected. "How many made it?"
Her finger pauses for a second before continuing.
"The death toll is still rising."
My fists tighten unconsciously, my knuckles cracking under the pressure.
"There's nothing you could've done," she says.
I look up at her.
"What?"
"You were overwhelmed by sentinel forces," she continues, her tone unchanged. "Clenching your fists won't change the outcome."
Her words land heavier than they should.
Not harsh.
Just… empty.
She glances toward the door.
"Stay here. Don't move. I'll be back to check on you."
And just like that, she turns and walks out.
I stare after her for a moment, something unsettled sitting deep in my chest.
Around me, the room feels… alive.
Low coughs. Quiet groans. The shifting of bodies trying to hold themselves together.
I turn my head.
Rows of beds stretch across the room.
People, just like me, dressed in purple, lying still, sitting up, staring into nothing.
Survivors.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The moment my feet touch the ground, my toes shrink back, cold bit into my skin, sending a sharp chill up my spine.
I steady myself, my body swaying slightly before I push forward anyway.
Staying still isn't an option.
The door slides open and I step outside.
The light hits me immediately, forcing my eyes to narrow.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Everything looks… normal.
Clean tiled floors stretch ahead, untouched and smooth. Buildings stand whole, not patched together like they're barely surviving. People move with purpose—walking, talking. Living.
I inhale slowly.
The air is light.
No ash, no burn. No weight pressing against my lungs.
It should feel like relief, but it doesn't.
It feels wrong.
My steps carry me forward anyway.
Two soldiers walk past, one of them slams into my shoulder.
"Hey, watch it," he mutters.
"I'm sorry," I replied instinctively, dipping my head slightly.
They stop.
That's when I realized I shouldn't have said that.
They turn back slowly, their eyes scanning me from head to toe.
Taking in the purple cloth.
Where I came from.
A smirk spreads across one of their faces.
"These Sector 4 animals, man."
My steps pause.
Animals?
"I don't even know why the commander chose to rescue them," the other mutters.
"We just gave badlands trash a free pass into our home."
My jaw tightens.
My teeth grind together.
The screams flash through my mind. The bodies. The blood.
And they stand here, talking.
Like it meant nothing.
"What did you say?" My voice comes out low. Controlled.
They grin.
"Oh, it talks."
I step closer.
Slow and deliberate.
"You're from the badlands," one of them continues, his tone dripping with mockery. "That makes you more animal than human."
The distance between us closes.
My fists tighten at my sides, my body vibrating with something I'm barely holding back.
"What are you going to do?" he taunts.
I didn't answer, I didn't need to.
It's already there—in the way I stand, in the tension pulling tight through my chest.
Another step, a hand grabs my shoulder.
Firm and steady.
I snap my head to the side.
Her.
"I told you to stay inside," she says.
Her voice is calm, but there's something beneath it now. Something sharper.
"I've got this," she adds, glancing at the soldiers.
They straighten immediately.
"Yes, ma'am."
And just like that, they leave.
I turn back to her, my jaw still tight.
"Is that what you call us out here?" I ask. "Animals?"
Her expression doesn't change.
"We're not having this conversation."
Dismissive, final.
"Wait."
She turns to leave.
Something snaps out of me.
"Tessa…"
She stops immediately, her steps halt mid-motion.
Slowly, she turns back to me.
This time, her eyes aren't the same.
There's something there now.
Something unsettled.
"How do you know that name?" she asks.
My mouth opens, nothing comes out.
The fog flashes in my head. Her voice. The warning.
'Find me.'
I look at her.
At the version of her standing here, staring at me like I'm a stranger.
"…I don't," I say quietly to myself.
Her gaze sharpens.