The second the gate groaned shut, the world didn't just go quiet. It went deaf.
Back in Novara Prime there was always noise—bells, boots on cobbles, the distant crackle of divine storms. Out here? Nothing. Even the wind whispered instead of howling, like it was sharing a secret it didn't want heard. Then the pressure came. Not pain, but something close. It pressed against Frankie's ribs and the soft space behind her eyes until her head throbbed.
A few of the kids folded immediately. The shaking boy from the hall emptied his stomach onto his boots. A girl nearby collapsed, gasping for air that tasted like old pennies.
"Keep moving," the officer snapped. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. "Don't you dare stop near the gate."
They marched.
Twelve hours through grey dust that clung to their legs like ash. Boots grew heavy. Throats burned. Shoulders screamed under the weight of packs, but no one complained. Complaining took energy they didn't have.
The wasteland was dead. It was broken. Buildings leaned at impossible angles. Roads curled like burnt strips of meat. Windows reflected nothing, because there was no sky worth reflecting—just a bruised haze. No birds. No insects. Only the crunch of their own footsteps.
They reached the first marker as the light began to fade. A rusted pole with a divine sigil, chewed and weather-worn.
"Camp here," the officer muttered, planting a fresh stake. "Two-hour watches. If you find rot-growth, burn it."
No one argued. Frankie and Luca crawled into the shell of a half-collapsed apartment block. The stone floor leached cold through their clothes. Luca passed her the flask. The water tasted like metal, but she drank.
Then the silence broke.
A scream tore through the ruins—sharp, high, and cut short so fast Frankie's stomach lurched. Then another. Lower. Wet. Like fruit crushed underfoot.
"Scavengers," the officer hissed. "Stay quiet. No fires. Don't run unless you're already being hunted."
Darkness didn't fall. It oozed in. No stars. No moon. Just dim, greasy grey.
Then shapes moved.
Too tall. Limbs bending wrong.
The unit didn't break—it shattered. One boy stood, eyes wild. "I'm not dying here!" he screamed, bolting into the dark.
The officer cursed and chased him. Two more followed. Then three. Panic spread faster than the creatures.
Frankie stayed still. Something pale flickered across a rooftop.
"Frankie—" Luca whispered, gripping her sleeve.
"Wait."
The scavenger dropped. No sound. Just motion. A crunch. A gargle. Then silence.
Frankie dragged Luca behind a rusted-out car.
"Don't breathe."
They watched through cracked glass as the thing dragged its prize away. Humanoid but stretched like pulled taffy. No face. Just a smooth pale head and armor that looked grown, not worn.
More shapes moved in the ruins.
"We need a better spot," Frankie whispered, pointing toward a manor across the street. Half-collapsed, but intact.
They moved low and fast. A scavenger paused, its head tilting toward them. Another scream elsewhere drew it away. They slipped through the manor's rotten doors and eased them shut.
Inside smelled of dust and forgotten lives. No rot. No ozone. Just decay.
They passed a dining table where fossilized plates still waited for a family gone twenty years. Found a small room. Closed the door. Waited.
Outside, screams slowly winked out. One by one. Until silence returned, heavier than before.
"Can't stay forever," Luca whispered.
"I know."
After looking around the manor, Frankie's eyes caught a glint beneath fallen timber. Something that didn't belong. She shoved the beam aside.
An amulet. Dark metal. Circular design. No godly symbol. No light. The moment her fingers closed around it, a pulse thudded into her palm.
Not heat.
A heartbeat.
It weighed more than it should have, like it was made of metal and secrets.
"What is it?" Luca asked.
Frankie didn't answer. Above them, something heavy walked across the roof. Slow. Deliberate.
The amulet's pulse quickened in her hand.
This wasn't divine.
It wasn't angelic.
It was something else.