Flashes of the argument hit me out of order.
Me and Kade going at it-hard, sharp words colliding-but it felt like I was watching it through thick glass. His voice. Mine. All of it muffled, distorted.
Then the rage in his eyes.
He punched the invisible barrier between us and I flinched, hands coming up instinctively to protect my face.
"Hey," I snapped in the memory. "I don't need another scar. This face is already doing enough."
But he wasn't angry anymore.
That didn't make sense.
He was suddenly close. Too close. His voice softer than I'd ever heard it-low, steady, like when he said 'you're shaking.'
My breath hitched.
Were we even arguing just now?
Why can't I understand what he's saying?
His hand cupped my face.
I froze.
Oh shit.
And when his mouth-
I jolted upright in bed, breath ripping out of me, heart pounding like I'd just been running.
My hand flew to my lips.
Heat - Awareness - Embarrassment.
Then relief crashed in.
Oh, thank God.
Just a dream.
I dragged a hand down my face and let out a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling like it had personally offended me.
Why the hell am I dreaming about that?
Because we almost crossed a line? Because adrenaline does stupid things to your brain? Because near-death moments mess with reality?
Yeah. That's it. Has to be.
I scoffed under my breath and bit my lip, shaking my head.
I mean, he's hot. Sure. Annoyingly hot.
But not that hot.
And I promised myself something a long time ago.
No attachments.
No getting close.
No letting anyone become something I couldn't survive losing, that nearly killed me once. I wasn't doing that again.
Not now. Not ever.
Especially not when the deal was almost done.
We had the truck. Supplies. All we had to do was pack, scavenge what we could along the way, and put enough distance between us and this place to split off and disappear into our own lives.
Clean. Simple. Safe.
So why did the thought of that make my chest tighten?
I pushed the feeling down hard and swung my legs out of bed.
Focus.
I'd take one last proper shower while I could. Water was a luxury. Comfort was temporary.
And feelings?
Those were dangerous.
I wasn't broken for wanting to survive.
I was smart.
That's what I told myself as I stood up and I stuck to it.
The water does its job.
It washes the grime off my skin, the sweat, everything except the weight sitting in my chest. I scrub longer than necessary, letting the heat sting my arm just enough to remind me I'm still here.
Alive.
When I finally turn it off, the silence rushes back in.
I dry off quickly, pull on clothes, fix my hair, apply eyeliner out of habit more than vanity. The mask goes on last. Always last.
By the time I step back into the main space, Kade's already there.
Of course he is.
He's at the table, sorting gear with quiet efficiency, movements precise and familiar. He doesn't look up when I enter.
Not even a glance.
"You good?" he asks, eyes still on the supplies.
"Yeah," I say. "Still breathing."
He nods once. That's it.
A few seconds later he steps closer, checks the bandage on my arm with a quick, practiced touch. No hesitation. No lingering.
"Still wrapped," he says. "Good."
Then he steps away again.
Just like that.
I tell myself it's fine. That this is normal. That this is exactly how it should be.
Still, my eyes keep drifting back to him.
Every time I catch myself doing it, irritation flares, sharp and unwelcome. He's not doing anything differently. He's not trying to get under my skin and somehow that makes it worse. He's always been annoying like this, too controlled, too quiet, but today it feels louder. Like the space he's deliberately putting between us is something I keep tripping over.
So, I stop watching.
I grab the spare backpack from the corner and drop it onto the bed.
Pink.
I don't even bother rolling my eyes.
Obvious he grabbed the pink one for me.
Clothes go in first. Practical ones, new, leave the worn out ones. Keeping the one's I actually wear. I fold them tight, efficient, pretending it doesn't matter which ones I leave behind.
Then the small things.
Eyeliner.
Perfume.
Shampoo, conditioner, body wash.
Normal things.
Things that make me feel like a person and not just a survivor moving from one ruin to the next.
I hesitate, fingers hovering as my gaze drifts around the room.
The fairy lights tangled in the corner.
The stuffed toys stacked neatly against the wall.
The stupid little things I scavenged just to make this place feel safe.
Home.
My throat tightens.
I don't let it linger.
You can't carry everything.
You can't afford to.
The world doesn't reward sentiment.
I zip the bag closed before I can change my mind. When I finally sit on the edge of the bed, the room already feels emptier. Like it knows I'm leaving. I lie back for just a second, forearm draped over my eyes, breathing slow.
Don't.
I scrub at my face and sit up fast, wiping at the sting before it turns into something real.
No.
This is how it has to be.
The deal was always temporary. The car, the supplies, get out, go separate ways and survive.
Kade's doing the smart thing by pulling back.
By distancing himself.
I need to do the same.
I sling the backpack over my shoulder and take one last look around the room.
"Thanks," I mutter quietly.
Then I step out and shut the door behind me.
I don't look back.
Because if I do, I might not walk away.
And that's a mistake I already promised myself I wouldn't make again.
*
I sling my bag into the back of the truck beside Kade's, wedged in with supplies and weapons we've collected over time. Everything we need to survive. Everything we can carry.
When I shut the door, the sound feels final.
I pause for a second before climbing into the driver's seat, taking one last look around like the place might change its mind and ask me to stay.
It doesn't.
"Ready?" Kade asks from the passenger side.
He still doesn't look fully my way.
"Yeah," I say, hands resting in my lap as I push my sunglasses on my head down to my face.
The engine hums to life.
It's early, the kind of early where the world hasn't decided what it's going to be yet.
Best time to move.
Best time to disappear.
We roll forward, leaving behind the empty streets, the ruins we've already stripped bare. There's nothing left here worth staying for.
As the city thins out, silence settles in.
Not awkward.
Just…present.
"There's a fuel station up this road," Kade says after a while. "I passed it back when I still had my bike. Few cars might still have fuel. Maybe supplies inside."
I keep my eyes on the road. "Okay."
That's all.
I lean my head back against the seat, watching the world slide by through the window. When I'm alone with my thoughts like this, they have a habit of drifting backward, to things I don't invite but never manage to outrun.
I wonder, not for the first time, where my life would've gone if the world hadn't fallen apart.
If everything hadn't turned to shit.
Would I still be doing what I used to love?
A broken-down dance center flashes past the window, mirrors shattered, windows boarded, the sign hanging crooked like it's ashamed of itself.
My chest tightens before I can stop it.
And just like that, I'm not here anymore.
I'm back there.
-
1… 2… 3…
The numbers repeat in my head as my body moves on instinct alone.
Tiptoes barely touch the floor. Every step precise. Controlled.
1… 2… 3…
My arms float outward as the piano fills the studio, soft, familiar. I turn, lean back, spin, then extend, holding the pose just long enough before settling into stillness.
1… 2… 3…
I move faster this time, pushing into the jump, splitting the air-and land wrong.
Just slightly.
But I know.
Dammit.
"Stop."
The music cuts off.
My mother sighs as she stands from the piano, disappointment already settled into her voice. "What was that?"
I straighten instantly, correcting my posture before she has to tell me. Hands clasped together in front of me, eyes lowered, breathing measured.
All I want is to make her proud.
To be just like her.
"I-I'm sorry," I say quietly. "I'll do better, Mother."
"Straighten your back," she snaps. "And look at me when I'm speaking to you."
I hesitate before lifting my gaze.
Her eyes are sharp. Cold. Not angry-worse.
Disappointed.
She's beautiful, even now. Long black hair pulled tight, clothes immaculate, posture flawless. Even though she teaches now, she still carries herself like she owns the room.
Like she always will.
I admired her for as long as I can remember. When I was little and watched her dance, I knew, that's what I wanted to be.
Exactly like her.
But no matter how hard I try, I can never reach her standard.
I'm seventeen, I've been dancing since I was five and I've won awards -second place, third place- but never first.
Never enough.
"Again, Mei-Lin," she says, clapping once.
I move back into position.
Hours pass. My legs burn. My lungs ache. Sweat drips down my spine. Still, I dance.
Until I stumble.
"That's enough," she says at last, already turning away. "You're getting worse."
She pauses, just long enough to wound me properly.
"If you lose the next championship, there's no hope for you as a dancer."
Then she walks away.
I stand there alone in the silent studio, chest tight, sweat cooling against my skin.
I wipe my face.
Only then do I realize it's tears.
-
"Hey… Nyx?"
Kade's voice cuts in behind me, snapping me out of it.
"Mm?" I answer, turning.
"You, okay?" he asks, already scanning the area. "You kind of zoned out. We're at the gas station, stay alert."
He hops out of the truck before I can respond. I look around properly this time, realizing we're already here.
The gas station stands crooked and half-broken, windows shattered, pumps rusted and dry-looking. Too quiet but quiet always lies.
I get out slowly, shutting the door, then head straight for the building without waiting.
The moment I push the door open, a zombie lurches toward me. I shove it back on instinct, kick another aside, draw my sumiri swords and slice through the first one clean-
Too fast.
The second one gets closer than it should.
An arrow slams into its skull before I can finish the swing.
I'm panting now, chest tight, heart racing.
That was sloppy.
Kade strides over, plants his boot on the corpse's face, and yanks his arrow free. He doesn't look at me at first.
"Are you even in the world?" he says finally, irritated. "What were you thinking?"
"What?" I snap, pushing my hip out. "I can manage, thanks."
I turn away, flicking my hair as I slide my swords back into place.
It annoys me.
I can be on my own.
I've always been on my own.
I'm going to be on my own again once we reach wherever we're heading, so why does he keep hovering?
Kade exhales sharply, clearly done arguing, and turns away. "I'm grabbing fuel," he mutters before heading back outside.
I wait until the door swings shut behind him before I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
The station feels too quiet again.
I reach out and brace my hand against a shelf, fingers curling around the cold metal as I steady myself. My pulse is still racing, my thoughts tangled somewhere between now and then.
Get it together.
I close my eyes for just a second. In. Out.
Everything's fine.
We have a truck. We're leaving. This is what I wanted.
I straighten, roll my shoulders back, and adjust my mask, pulling it a little tighter like armor.
Nyx doesn't fall apart in empty gas stations.