The safehouse smelled of metal, dust, and old blood. The kind of place where ghosts lingered, waiting for someone to remember them.
Ethan sat on the edge of the cot, head bowed, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles whitened. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The synthetic blood Selene had given him dulled the edge of the hunger, but it hadn't killed it. It pulsed under his skin like a living drumbeat.
He could hear her moving across the room — Selene's footfalls were soft but deliberate, a predator's gait. She was checking weapons, securing traps, watching him from the corner of her eye without looking like she was watching.
It was a strange kind of intimacy, the kind born from survival. She hadn't left him alone since they'd come underground. And yet, for all her nearness, she felt distant — a knife wrapped in silk.
He dragged a hand down his face. His skin was hot. His veins glimmered faintly crimson under the thin lamplight. The Core whispered again, an itch behind his thoughts. Not words, just pulses, like heartbeats that weren't his own.
Feed. Feed. Feed.
He swallowed hard. "It's worse," he muttered.
Selene turned, one eyebrow raised. "Already?"
Ethan's eyes flicked up to hers. They were steel-gray, unreadable. He wanted to hate her for the calm in them. Instead, he envied it.
"It's like…" He groped for words. "Like standing on the edge of a cliff and wanting to jump. Except the cliff's inside me."
Selene's gaze softened for just a fraction of a second. "You're fighting it. That's more than most can say."
He gave a rough laugh. "Not sure how long I'll win."
"Then we make you stronger before it makes you weaker." She walked closer, boots whispering over concrete. "You drank the synthetic?"
"Yeah." He held up the empty flask. "It's like throwing a cup of water on a wildfire."
"That's what we've got for now."
He clenched his fists, fighting the tremor running up his arms. The Core's hunger felt less like a craving and more like an engine, revving inside him, promising power if he stopped resisting. He could almost feel it flexing in his blood, testing the walls of his will.
"Tell me the truth," he said suddenly. "How many died from this? From… resisting?"
Selene's jaw tightened. She didn't answer.
"That many, huh?"
"You don't want numbers," she said finally. "Numbers won't help you."
"What will?"
Her eyes met his. "Discipline. Focus. Accepting what you've become without letting it define you."
He laughed again, but it was hollow. "Sounds easy."
"It isn't." She crouched so they were eye-level. "But it's the only way."
He stared at her. For the first time, he noticed how tired she looked under her armor of control. Dark shadows under her eyes. A cut healing on her temple. Her hands were steady but the knuckles were bruised. She wasn't untouchable; she just wanted him to believe she was.
The Core surged at the scent of her blood — a faint copper tang from the cut. His throat went dry. He shut his eyes hard.
Selene saw it. She didn't move back. "Talk to me," she said quietly. "What's it like?"
Ethan's voice cracked. "Like I'm starving. Like everything in the room is food. Even you."
Something flickered in her eyes, but she didn't flinch. "That's good."
He snapped his gaze to her. "Good?"
"It means you're aware of it. The ones who lose awareness are gone before they know it."
He leaned back, exhaling shakily. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
Her lips curved — not a smile, but something like it. "I know me."
The Core growled at her steadiness. Ethan pressed his palms to his skull. He could hear it now, more than a whisper. Take. Feed. Tear. Power.
He gritted his teeth. "Selene…"
She reached into another crate and tossed him a small, sealed vial. "Drink that. Slow."
He caught it, hands trembling. The liquid inside was darker, thicker than the first flask. Almost black-red. "This is still synthetic?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "Mostly."
He didn't ask what the "mostly" meant. He uncorked it, sniffed, and gagged. The smell made the Core thrash in his veins. He drank.
It burned down his throat, a rush of iron and heat. His veins lit up. The hunger receded a little, but something else flared — a clarity, sharp as a blade. He could hear Selene's pulse again, but it wasn't screaming at him anymore. It was just… there.
He sagged back, panting. "That's better."
Selene studied him. "Good. You're stabilizing faster than I expected."
He blinked up at her. "You mean I'm not dying."
"For now."
He barked out a short laugh. "You're terrible at pep talks."
"I'm not here to give you pep talks." She stood, slinging a rifle over her shoulder. "I'm here to keep you alive."
Silence fell. Ethan rubbed his palms together, grounding himself in the friction. He realized he was still trembling, though less than before. The Core's whisper had dulled to a low hum, like a predator sleeping.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked. "You could've left me in the street."
Selene hesitated at the door. "Because I've seen what happens when someone like you is left alone."
He tilted his head. "Someone like me?"
Her expression flickered — something dark, almost regretful. "You're not the first."
He sat up straighter. "What happened to the others?"
Her eyes went cold again. "We'll talk about that another time. Right now, you need to sleep."
He wanted to press her, but exhaustion hit him like a wave. The Core was still there, coiled in his blood, but the new vial had dulled its claws. He lay back on the cot.
Selene dimmed the lights. "I'll be outside," she said.
He reached for her voice before she could leave. "Selene…"
She paused, silhouetted in the doorway.
"Thank you."
She didn't turn. "Don't thank me yet."
The door slid shut.
Ethan stared at the ceiling, the flicker of old neon casting strange shapes across the cracked plaster. He could feel the Core moving inside him like a shadow, restless but quiet.
He whispered, more to himself than to it: "I'm still here."
For a moment, he thought it pulsed back. Almost… amused.
He closed his eyes. Sleep came like falling into deep water — heavy, endless.
Somewhere, far below that water, the Core opened its eyes.
Sleep wasn't sleep. It was sinking.
Darkness wrapped around him like oil, thick and heavy. He tried to reach the surface, but there was no surface — only a pulse in the deep, red and steady, echoing in his veins.
Feed.
The voice wasn't a whisper anymore. It was a heartbeat that wasn't his, pressing against his ribs from the inside. In the dream he saw hands — his hands — tearing through shadows, clutching at things he couldn't name. Blood poured over his palms, hot and endless, and when he looked up there were eyes staring at him through the dark: Selene's eyes, steel-gray, steady, afraid.
"Stop," he said in the dream. His voice was a snarl. "I don't want this."
But the Core didn't stop. It moved through him like a tide, showing him flashes: a city burning under a crimson sky, bodies rising, glowing from the inside out. Fangs he didn't have yet. Claws he didn't want.
When he tried to pull back, the Core pressed closer, a lover and a parasite both. We are hunger, it breathed. We are survival.
Ethan jerked awake with a strangled gasp.
He was still in the cot. Sweat soaked his shirt, slicking his hair to his forehead. His veins pulsed faintly red under his skin. For a moment, he couldn't tell where the dream ended and the waking world began.
The safehouse was dim. The monitors hummed softly. Selene wasn't inside.
He sat up slowly, palms over his eyes. His heart was hammering, not from exertion but from want. The hunger was quiet now, but it felt different — heavier, deeper, like a predator crouched and waiting. He could still taste the iron from the dream on his tongue.
"Damn it," he whispered.
He swung his legs off the cot, breathing through the tremors. In the far corner, the vials of synthetic blood glinted under the lamp. He could smell them now, the faint copper-sweet tang. His stomach clenched.
He forced himself to look away.
Somewhere above, a drone buzzed faintly and moved on.
He heard footsteps. Real ones this time.
The door hissed and Selene stepped inside. She had stripped off her coat, her dark shirt clinging to her shoulders from rain or sweat. Her hair was damp at the ends. She set a weapon on the table and looked at him without a word.
"You were gone," Ethan said.
"Scouting," she replied. "We're not alone out there. Hunters moved into the next district. We may have to leave sooner than I thought."
Ethan nodded once. "And if I'm not ready?"
"Then we move anyway." She crossed the room, pulled another vial from a crate, and set it on the table beside him. "Drink."
He stared at it. "It's getting worse. Even in my sleep. It showed me things."
Selene crouched in front of him. "What kind of things?"
"Blood. Teeth. You." His voice cracked. "I think it wants you."
Her eyes flickered, but she didn't move. "It doesn't want me. It wants what I represent."
"What's that?"
"Control."
He huffed a bitter laugh. "Funny. That's what I don't have."
"You're learning." She pushed the vial closer. "Drink."
Ethan hesitated. "If I keep drinking this stuff, am I still me? Or am I just feeding it?"
"You're still you," she said. "But only if you keep choosing to be."
The hunger twisted at her words, a living thing under his ribs. He uncorked the vial and drank. It burned, but this time he rode the burn like a wave. His breath steadied.
Selene watched him, her expression unreadable. When he lowered the vial, she said quietly, "I know what you saw."
His head snapped up. "How?"
"Because I've seen it too."
The room went still.
"You?" he said.
She straightened, eyes hard. "Not like you. Not exactly. But enough."
Ethan blinked at her, the hunger momentarily forgotten. For the first time, she seemed less like a soldier and more like someone standing on the same cliff he was.
"What are you?" he asked.
She didn't answer. She turned away, busying herself with a weapons case. "You'll find out soon enough."
Ethan leaned back against the wall, exhausted but strangely steady. The hunger was still there, but the Core's whisper had shifted again — curious now, almost watchful.
He closed his eyes and felt Selene's presence in the room like a steady anchor.
He wasn't sure if he trusted her. But he trusted that she wouldn't run.
For now, that was enough.
Outside the safehouse, the city moaned under a restless wind. Above it all, unseen, the Overseers' satellites flickered like distant red stars, watching.
Inside, the Core whispered to itself inside Ethan's blood, patient.
Soon, it pulsed. Soon.
And in the dark, Selene looked at him once — really looked at him — and for the briefest moment her face softened, the mask slipping. She whispered something he didn't hear.
Then the mask was back.
And the hunger dreamed again.