"Sigh... I just hope she's somewhere in the QZ..."
After hearing Sarah's update, Bryan let out a soft sigh. He wasn't holding out much hope for finding Sylvia's sister. All they could do was try.
Then something occurred to him. "I remember Sylvia mentioned her sister was a senior at Georgia High School, right?"
"Mm..."
Sarah tilted her head, searching her memory, then nodded. "Yeah. She said that back in Calhoun."
With confirmation, Bryan continued: "We don't know if she made it into the QZ, but we can narrow it down by age. A high school senior would be seventeen or eighteen."
"So if she's in the QZ, she had two options based on her age: give up school and become a resident working daily, or enter the school system. But as I theorized earlier, someone her age would most likely have been sent to learn specialized skills somewhere else."
"Oh! Right!" Sarah's eyes lit up. She smacked her palm with her fist. "If she did enter the school system, we can check with the administrative office! See if they have her on record! What are we waiting for? Let's go!"
With renewed purpose, she started striding forward.
"What's the rush?"
Bryan quickly grabbed the back of her collar. "Lunch first. We'll go after afternoon training."
...
After lunch in the cafeteria, Bryan returned to his dorm. The moment he opened the door, he saw someone sitting on the other bed, hands rapidly twisting a Rubik's cube.
It was a Black teenager, around thirteen or fourteen, with a slightly thin frame. A gloomy aura hung around him, his entire demeanor sullen and withdrawn.
Bryan walked in, gave the boy a small nod, then went to his bed, pulled back the covers, and climbed in.
The Black teenager was his new roommate—Amir. He'd moved in a few days ago. Extremely introverted, he always seemed shrouded in darkness. But there was an upside: he was quiet. They basically existed in a state of mutual non-interference, without any conflicts or disputes.
Early on, Bryan had asked Devin about Amir. Citing privacy, Devin hadn't said much—only that the boy's parents had both died during the journey.
Learning this, Bryan understood immediately: another "lost their family" archetype. But honestly, he didn't feel much. From Sarah to Allen to Anna, he'd seen so many similar stories that he was practically immune to tragic backstories.
Still, though Bryan didn't engage deeply with Amir, he made a conscious effort to help the boy where he could.
"You're back early. Did you eat?" Half-reclining on his bed, Bryan picked up a book from the nightstand and glanced at the Black teenager, asking casually.
Hearing Bryan's voice, Amir's hands paused on the Rubik's cube. He looked up briefly, then quickly lowered his head again. After a moment of silence: "...No appetite."
"You should eat lunch. Otherwise you won't make it through afternoon training. Unless you're skipping it."
As if expecting this response, Bryan kept his eyes on his book, not looking up. Just a gentle reminder.
Silence fell over the room. As if bored with the cube, Amir tossed it aside, kicked off his slippers, and climbed onto his bed.
But as he moved, something seemed to pull painfully. He let out an almost imperceptible hiss, a flash of pain crossing his face—quickly suppressed. He slipped under the covers, facing the wall, apparently preparing for his nap.
Watching Amir get into bed, Bryan glanced at him. Noting the boy's awkward, stiff movements, his eyes flickered with something unreadable.
...
Unlike the academic classes, afternoon training was relatively relaxed. Complete your daily quota, and you could leave early. The remaining time was yours.
For most average students who couldn't quickly absorb knowledge, physical exercise was infinitely simpler than mental exertion. Training was tiring, sure, but at least it was straightforward.
"Done. You're free to go."
Bryan completed his final pull-up. Hearing the instructor's confirmation, he released the bar and dropped heavily to the ground.
He pulled a small cloth from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead as he walked toward a nearby area. His training was done—time to check on Sarah's progress.
With each passing day of training, he'd fully adapted to the current workload. Though he still felt winded and his chest tight, he no longer experienced that complete exhaustion from the early days.
Once Sarah finished, they rested briefly before heading off the field.
"Who are those people? Why are they always gathered over there every day?" As they walked, Sarah suddenly turned to look at the bleachers at the edge of the field, asking Bryan curiously.
Bryan followed her gaze. On the bleachers sat about twenty teenagers, fifteen or sixteen years old. Their faces were etched with arrogance and disdain for everything around them. They pointed at others struggling through their exercises, and whenever someone stumbled or fell, they erupted in grating laughter.
Seeing this, Bryan merely gave them a sidelong glance. In any era, where there were people striving forward, there would always be those who stood still.
Away from the dangers outside, suddenly living in a QZ without Infected, some people had selectively forgotten the perils they'd experienced. They only cared about enjoying their current comfort.
Looking at what was apparently the school's first delinquent clique, Bryan couldn't help but twitch his lips. They'd been gathering there for days now, with no intention of participating in training. They just waited until time ran out before leaving.
Their leisurely, carefree lifestyle had attracted the envy of many students sweating through their workouts. Some looked like they were sick of the daily grind and wanted to join them.
Bryan swept an indifferent glance over them, then looked away. "Just people who've given up on themselves. We don't need to bother with them—but don't go provoking them either. That would just cause trouble."
"Mm."
After leaving the field, they headed straight for the administrative office. They arrived shortly.
Pushing open the office door, they found the same simple arrangement: desk, chairs, a few storage cabinets. The elderly man was still seated, writing something—exactly like their last visit when they'd gotten Anna and the others' addresses.
"Excuse me, sir. Can you help me find someone?"
Sarah walked quickly to the desk and asked the old man.
But he seemed not to hear her. He kept his head down, pen moving silently across the paper.
Thinking he might be hard of hearing, Sarah opened her mouth to repeat her question.
"Don't rush. Let's wait a moment."
Bryan stepped forward. Seeing her anxious expression, he gently patted her shoulder and shook his head—be patient.
He could tell the old man had heard her. He'd noticed the man's ear twitch slightly. Why he was pretending not to hear, Bryan didn't know.
Mentally filed under: eccentric old man.
Hearing this, Sarah suppressed her impatience, swallowed her words, and let Bryan guide her to a chair by the door.
Time ticked by. Half an hour passed, and the old man still hadn't said a word. Several times Sarah nearly jumped up, but Bryan held her back.
Finally, just as Bryan was about to lose patience himself, the old man seemed to finish whatever he was writing. He slowly set down his pen, removed his reading glasses, and spoke his first words:
"What's your relationship to this person?"
"..."
Sarah sat there blankly. Her mind had wandered, and the old man's sudden question caught her off guard. She opened her mouth but couldn't remember what she wanted to ask.
Fortunately, Bryan had been watching the old man closely. He stood immediately and stepped forward. "She's a relative of ours. We know she lived in Atlanta, but we don't know if she made it into the QZ. We'd like to check if she's registered here."