They followed the breathing down a corridor carved by collapse bent pipes and fractured concrete hung like skeletal ribs above them.
The fire pit upstairs still glowed faintly. Someone had been feeding it minutes ago.
Captain Rivas raised a hand. Her squad slowed, weapons held low, ready but hesitant.
The hallway ended at a half-open door. One hinge squealed faintly in the silence.
Beyond it: storage racks toppled over to form a crude barricade.
A figure darted past the crack small, fast.
Elen froze. "Did you see that?"
"Yeah," whispered Rivas. "About four feet tall. Low stance. Moved fast."
She pushed the door open slowly.
Inside was darkness layered in dust.
Suddenly movement. Fast.
Something leapt from behind a shelf.
It hit Elen like a thrown weight knees to chest, a shriek ripping from its throat.
She fell back, wind knocked out of her as the figure scrambled off and lashed toward the others wild, thin, snarling.
The creature was no older than ten. Human.
A child.
Wrapped in torn blankets, face smeared with soot, eyes feral wide and wild. Her hair was matted into knots. She moved with reflexes that didn't belong to a child, hands clenched around a rusted scalpel.
"Back!" she shouted. Her voice cracked from disuse.
Rivas didn't raise her rifle. None of them did.
The girl slashed toward them, trembling but unrelenting. "Get out! Get out!"
"We're not here to hurt you," Rivas said, hands raised. "We thought this place was abandoned."
"You lie!"
She bolted to the side, kicking over a crate, sending tools scattering.
Toma moved to flank the girl spun toward him, blade glinting.
"Wait!" Elen gasped, fumbling at her belt.
She pulled a vacuum-sealed bar from her pack slowly, she peeled the wrapper, letting the scent of chocolate fill the air.
The girl hesitated.
The scalpel lowered half an inch.
"You hungry?" Elen asked.
A long pause.
The girl took a shaky step forward.
Then another.
She snatched the chocolate, retreated into the corner like a wild animal guarding a kill.
Her breathing slowed. Shoulders relaxed. The trembling stopped. They sat quietly for a while.
The child, maybe nine or ten, curled on a blanket near the wall, biting off small pieces of chocolate and chewing them slowly - savoring it like a memory.
Rivas crouched nearby.
"What's your name?" she asked gently.
The girl didn't respond.
"Were you alone here?"
Silence. Then, a whisper.
"Mom told me to hide."
Toma exchanged a glance with Rivas.
"Where is she now?" Rivas asked.
The girl looked away.
Didn't answer.
They didn't press her.
Instead, they helped clean the fire ring. Offered her clean water. Another ration.
She didn't resist. But she didn't talk.
Not yet.
Later that night, as they huddled in a corner of the shelter with the wind howling outside, Rivas sat with the others, staring into the dim firelight.
"How did this kid survive out here?" Toma whispered. "No defenses. No weapons."
"She's not just surviving," Elen said. "She's trained. She's fast. Tactical."
Rivas nodded slowly.
"She's not alone in this story," she said. "Not really."
They looked back toward the child now asleep, curled in a nest of blankets, one hand still clutching the candy wrapper.
"Where's her mother?" Rivas murmured.