The night above the subway howled like a wounded animal. Distant roars carried through the crumbling tunnels, each one reminding Ethan that the world outside was far from safe. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breath, but every inhale carried the copper stench of blood.
His blood. The mutant's blood. The Core's blood.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but the image returned again and again—the way the creature's body had burst under his will. It wasn't just memory; it was sensation. The hot spray, the rush of strength, the sickening satisfaction that lingered like a taste he couldn't wash away.
He wanted to believe he was still human. That he could still look in a mirror and recognize himself. But his hands—trembling, faintly glowing with crimson veins—said otherwise.
Selene's voice cut through his storm of thought.
"You're not dead. That's more than most can say."
He opened his eyes. She stood a few steps ahead, half-turned toward him, her face half-lit by the failing emergency lights of the tunnel. For a heartbeat, she didn't look real.
Her hair, black as ink, fell across her pale skin, glinting faintly silver at the edges. Her coat clung to her frame, torn but elegant, the kind of fabric no scavenger could afford. Her blade, still streaked with ichor, caught the light like a shard of night itself.
But it was her eyes that held him. Gray—not dull, but sharp, alive, like steel forged in fire. Eyes that measured, weighed, and judged without mercy.
She was breathtaking. She was terrifying.
And Ethan hated that he noticed both.
He tore his gaze away, ashamed of the heat crawling up his neck. "Why are you here?" His voice cracked, weak even to his own ears.
Her head tilted slightly, as though the question amused her. "Do you think the Core dropped you into this hell by accident? No one survives alone. Not for long."
"That's not an answer," he snapped, though his voice still shook.
Selene's lips curved—just a ghost of a smile, dangerous and unreadable. "You're right. It isn't."
She turned then, walking deeper into the tunnel with calm, deliberate steps. Her presence was so assured, so composed, that Ethan felt clumsy and raw just watching her. She didn't flinch at the gore, didn't glance at the corpse he'd made. She carried herself like someone who had seen worse a thousand times and didn't care to remember any of it.
Something about that chilled him more than the monsters.
"Wait—" he stumbled after her, his voice catching. "Why didn't you kill it? That thing could've—could've ripped me apart."
Selene stopped. Slowly, she looked back, strands of her dark hair brushing across her cheek. Her eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, he felt pinned in place, like prey caught under a predator's gaze.
"Because you had to."
Ethan's breath caught. The words were simple, but the weight of them hit like iron. He wanted to scream at her, to curse her for forcing his hands red. But he didn't. Because some part of him already knew she was right.
She turned away again, her voice trailing like smoke. "If you can't kill, you can't live. And I don't waste my time on the dead."
He clenched his fists, the Core pulsing under his skin as if in agreement. His teeth ground together, shame burning his throat. She talks like it's easy. Like it's nothing. How many has she killed to speak like that?
He forced his feet to move, trailing after her. Every step felt like dragging chains, but he couldn't stop. Not because he trusted her—he didn't. Not because he wanted to—he didn't.
But because being near her, even if she was cruel, even if she was dangerous, was better than being alone in the dark with the whispers of the Core.
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the drip of water from fractured pipes and the faint hum of dying lights. At last, Ethan spoke again, his voice quieter.
"What's your name?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her pace never faltered. But after a few heartbeats, she murmured: "Selene."
The name rolled in his head, sharp and elegant. It suited her. Too much.
"Ethan," he said, almost defensively, as if she'd demanded his name.
"I know," she replied.
He frowned. "How—"
She cut him off with a sharp look. "The Core doesn't pick at random. You were chosen. That makes you important. That makes you dangerous."
Her words twisted in his gut, half-flattery, half-condemnation. He wanted to deny it, to scream that he wasn't chosen, that he didn't want any of this. But the Core pulsed inside him again, as if to mock him, and he knew it would be a lie.
Selene slowed as they reached the stairwell leading up into the open night. She rested one hand lightly on the railing, her posture relaxed but ready, like a predator deciding whether to strike. She glanced at him, her eyes unreadable shadows.
"Stay close," she said simply. "If you fall behind, I won't save you twice."
And with that, she ascended, vanishing into the dim red glow of the ruined city above.
Ethan lingered for a moment, his heart hammering, his body torn between fear and reluctant awe. She was his rescuer. She was his judge. She was his executioner waiting in silence.
And yet, he couldn't deny it—some part of him was already bound to her. Not by choice. Not by trust.
But by the undeniable gravity of someone who had already walked the path he feared would consume him.
He drew in a shaking breath, his whisper lost to the broken tunnel.
"Selene…"
The Core pulsed once, amused.
> "Good. Follow her. She will lead you to more."
And with that, Ethan followed her into the night, the shadows swallowing him whole.
The city above was worse than Ethan had imagined.
The moment he climbed out of the stairwell, the air hit him—thick with ash, sour with rot, and threaded with the faint metallic tang that he was beginning to recognize as blood. The ruins stretched in every direction, skeletal buildings lit by the pulse of crimson veins crawling across the cracked concrete. The Core wasn't just inside him. It was everywhere, a sickness stitched into the world.
Selene stood ahead of him, her silhouette sharp against the glow. The wind tugged at her coat, carrying strands of her dark hair across her face. She didn't look back to see if he followed. She didn't need to. Her confidence filled the space between them like an unspoken command: stay close, or die.
Ethan tightened his grip on his jacket sleeve, hiding the faint glow still threading through his veins. The Core was restless tonight, whispering in tones only he could hear. It urged him forward, toward her. Toward blood. Toward power.
He hated that part of him wanted to listen.
"Where are we going?" His voice was low, half-swallowed by the wind.
Selene glanced over her shoulder just long enough for their eyes to lock. The look wasn't reassuring—it was measuring. Cold. Yet, in that instant, something flickered there. Curiosity. Maybe even recognition.
"Somewhere you won't die in the first five minutes," she said.
"That's… vague."
"Better than a grave."
Her tone was final, and Ethan let the silence settle. He followed her through the hollowed streets, stepping over shattered glass, broken signs, and rusting husks of cars half-eaten by crimson growths. Every sound—the scrape of his boots, the hiss of wind through metal, the distant shriek of something hunting far away—made his nerves raw. But Selene never faltered.
She moved like she belonged here. Like the world itself bent around her stride.
Ethan's throat tightened. He remembered the way she had looked at him underground: predator's eyes, calm and cruel. And yet, when she'd spoken his name… he had felt seen.
"Why me?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. "Why save me?"
Selene slowed. Her steps softened, measured. Then she stopped entirely, turning to face him under the broken jaw of a ruined archway. The light caught in her eyes, cold steel rimmed with fire.
"I didn't save you," she said. Her voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut. "I saved what's inside you. The Core chose you, and that makes you a weapon. Weapons are useful."
The words struck deep. They weren't meant as comfort—if anything, they stripped away any illusion of safety. But beneath the harshness, there was something else. An unspoken admission.
She could have left him to die. She hadn't.
Ethan swallowed hard, his chest tight. "And when I stop being useful?"
Her lips curved into that faint, dangerous smile again. The one that unsettled him more than her blade. "Then you'd better make sure that day never comes."
The Core pulsed in his veins, as if laughing at the threat.
Ethan looked away, his jaw tense. He hated her words. Hated the truth in them. Hated that, despite all of it, he was drawn to her—magnetized by something he couldn't name.
Selene turned again, walking on without another word.
Ethan forced himself to follow. He told himself it was survival. Nothing more.
But as the ruins stretched ahead and her figure cut through the red haze, he knew the truth was more complicated.
He wasn't just following Selene because she was his only chance to live.
He was following her because some part of him needed to know—
Was she his savior… or the beginning of his end?