The streets were soaked with last night's rain, shimmering under the early morning haze like a world made of broken glass.
Every step Elian took felt heavier than the last, his boots dragging against the cracked pavement, blood crusted to his torn jacket.
Beside him, Maren stumbled, and he caught her instinctively, feeling how fragile she was beneath the bruises and dirt.
Fragile, but unbroken.
None of them were broken yet.
And that terrified him more than anything — how much more they could still lose.
--
They didn't dare speak.
The enemy could be anywhere, hidden behind shattered windows, crouched in alleys, watching with dead eyes.
The city itself had become a predator, and they were prey.
Jonah was limping badly, clutching his side where blood soaked through his shirt.
Sora kept glancing at him, guilt eating her alive.
Elian noticed but said nothing.
Forgiveness was a luxury none of them could afford right now.
Survival came first.
Everything else... could wait.
--
By noon, they found a hiding place — an abandoned subway station buried beneath collapsed office buildings.
Rotting posters clung to the walls.
Slogans from a time when hope had been cheap and easy to sell.
Believe in Tomorrow!
Elian almost laughed.
Tomorrow had been sold out a long time ago.
Maren dropped to the ground with a grunt, her breathing shallow.
Jonah followed, leaning against a crumbling pillar.
Sora hovered near the entrance, keeping watch.
Her shoulders sagged under the weight of invisible chains.
Elian knelt beside Maren, inspecting the wound at her side.
It was bad.
Deep.
Infected.
His hands shook as he tried to clean it with bottled water and a dirty cloth.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Maren's eyes fluttered open, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips.
"You always say that."
He couldn't tell if it was a joke or an accusation.
Maybe both.
---
As dusk fell, the tension finally cracked.
"You should have told us," Jonah growled, glaring at Sora.
"I didn't have a choice!" she cried, voice cracking. "They said they'd kill my brother if I didn't help them!"
Jonah's fists clenched.
"And now how many of us are dead because of you?"
Sora flinched as if he had struck her.
Elian stepped between them.
"Enough."
His voice echoed in the hollow station.
"We're alive. That's all that matters now."
"But for how long?" Jonah muttered, turning away.
---
Later, when the others had drifted into exhausted sleep, Sora sat beside Elian.
The darkness wrapped around them like a second skin.
"I didn't want to betray you," she said, barely more than a whisper.
"I know," he replied, staring into the endless black.
They sat in silence for a long time.
Some wounds couldn't be stitched up.
They just had to be carried.
---
The next morning, as they scavenged for supplies, Maren found something — a small, battered radio tucked into a forgotten maintenance room.
Jonah managed to get it working after an hour of cursing and hammering.
Static filled the air, sharp and cold.
Then — a voice.
Faint.
Broken.
"...If you're hearing this, you're not alone. Resistance safehouse at Sector Seven... repeating... safehouse at Sector Seven..."
They froze.
Hope flickered again, stubborn and stupid.
A safehouse.
A chance.
A future.
Maybe.
Maren clutched the radio to her chest like a lifeline.
"We have to try," she said, fierce despite the fever burning in her.
Elian nodded.
Of course they would.
Hope was a disease they had all caught.
And it was far too late for a cure.
---
They packed quickly — what little they had left.
Sora wrapped Maren's side as best she could.
Jonah fashioned a makeshift crutch from scrap metal for his leg.
Elian kept watch, scanning the shadows for enemies he couldn't see but knew were there.
When they were ready, they stood together at the mouth of the tunnel, staring out at the ruinous city.
It stretched before them like a battlefield.
Silent.
Broken.
Waiting.
"We move fast, stay hidden," Elian said.
"If we get separated?" Jonah asked.
"Meet at the old train station. No matter what."
They all nodded.
Even Sora.
Even Maren, whose face was pale and glistening with sweat.
They knew the odds.
They didn't care.
Some battles were worth fighting, even when you knew you'd lose.
---
As they stepped into the dying light, Elian felt a strange calm settle over him.
Not peace.
Not exactly.
But something close enough to make him smile grimly.
They were not the strongest.
They were not the fastest.
They were not the best.
But they were still standing.
Still fighting.
Still hoping.
And sometimes, that was enough.
---
Far above them, hidden by the smog and storm clouds, the first stars began to pierce the sky.
Small.
Frail.
Defiant.
Just like them.
---