Morning arrived softly at the shelter, not with sunlight pouring through windows but with sound. The low hum of generators vibrated faintly through the hotel's bones, steady and reassuring. Somewhere down the corridors, footsteps echoed, slow and careful, followed by murmured voices that never quite rose above a hush. The building was waking up the way a wounded animal might—cautiously, aware of itself, testing what still worked.
The hotel had once been grand. Wide corridors stretched long and straight, lined with doors that bore the quiet dignity of age. High ceilings trapped sound and light alike, and even now, with dust settled into corners and furniture pushed aside to make room for people, it felt solid. Safe. It had been built to hold thousands, and though it was far from full, there was comfort in its scale—in the knowledge that there was space. Space to breathe, to move, to survive.
Eric moved through one of the quieter hallways, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His steps were unhurried, but his eyes were alert, taking in small details without meaning to. A chair pulled closer to a wall than before. A door left slightly ajar. The smell of boiled grains drifting from somewhere below.
He was looking for his sister.
They had plans for the morning. Supplies needed sorting, new arrivals needed food and clothes, and Erica had insisted on helping with the run later in the day. It wasn't official work—not yet. Organization in the shelter was still loose—but people were starting to fall into roles, and Eric had learned quickly that if something needed doing, waiting for permission wasn't always an option.
Erica hadn't been in her room.
That alone wasn't strange. She moved around a lot, especially when she couldn't sleep well. But after checking two stairwells and the common area on their floor, Eric had started to wonder. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the boy who had arrived the night before—the quiet one with the tired eyes and the dog that hadn't left his side.
Alex.
Eric turned down a less populated corridor, one that led to a wing of the hotel that hadn't yet been assigned properly. Fewer people stayed here. Fewer voices. The air felt stiller somehow, as though the building itself had not quite woken in this part.
He stopped in front of a door a little way down the hall.
Alex's room.
Eric hesitated for a brief moment, hand hovering near the handle. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, only that something about the silence pressed against him. He told himself not to overthink it. Erica was sensible. And Alex—well, Alex looked like someone who barely had the strength to cause trouble.
Eric turned the handle.
The door opened easily.
He blinked as it swung inward, revealing the room beyond.
For a heartbeat, he simply stood there.
The curtains were half drawn, letting in pale morning light that settled gently over the bed. On it lay two figures, still and unmistakably asleep. Alex was on one side, turned slightly away, his back facing the door. Erica lay on the other, closer to the edge, her dark hair fanned across the pillow. There was space between them—not much, but enough. Enough to notice.
Eric let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
At least that part was reassuring.
Nothing about the scene felt secretive or wrong. No tangled limbs, no urgency. Just two exhausted people who had clearly reached the end of their strength at the same time.
Still, it was… unexpected.
Eric cleared his throat, deliberately loud.
Neither of them stirred beyond a small shift—Alex's shoulder moved, Erica's brow furrowed slightly before smoothing again.
Eric frowned and knocked on the doorframe, sharper this time.
The sound echoed.
Both of them jolted awake.
Alex came upright instantly, breath hitching as though he'd been pulled from a dream too fast. Erica sat up more slowly, confusion written plainly across her face. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, eyes unfocused, the events of the night before catching up all at once.
Then, almost in unison, they recoiled.
Alex swung his legs off the bed and stood, rubbing the back of his neck. Erica scrambled to her feet as well, smoothing her clothes with hurried hands, cheeks flushed. The air between them thickened with awkwardness, heavy and undeniable.
Eric watched them for a second longer than necessary, then cleared his throat again.
"Morning," he said, tone even. Casual. Too casual.
They both looked at him.
"Oh—good morning," Erica squeaked, the words tumbling out too quickly. She didn't meet his eyes for long before darting toward the door. "I—I should go."
She slipped past him, nearly colliding with his shoulder in her haste, and disappeared down the hallway.
Eric turned back to Alex.
"Get ready," he said simply. "You're coming with us. Supply run."
Alex nodded, still looking slightly dazed.
Eric gave a small nod in return and stepped away, leaving the door open behind him. As he walked back the way he'd come, a thought occurred to him belatedly—that he hadn't knocked before opening the door.
He shook it off.
What did it matter now?
Alex stood alone in the room for a moment after Eric left, the silence rushing back in like water filling a space too quickly. He exhaled slowly and closed the door, making sure it stayed unlocked this time. The handle felt loose in his hand, but it held.
Barely.
He leaned his forehead against the door for a second, then straightened and headed into the bathroom.
The mirror above the sink reflected someone he still wasn't used to seeing. His hair stuck up in places, damp with sweat, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes that sleep had not erased. He turned his head slightly, examining the faint bruise along his temple—the lingering mark from the ditch.
He ran the water and splashed his face, letting the coolness ground him.
The night replayed itself in fragments he hadn't meant to keep. The broken handle. The awkward silence. Erica sitting by the door, trying to make herself small. Her voice, gentle and steady, telling him that things would turn out fine even when he didn't believe it himself.
He shut the water off and rested his hands on the sink.
He hadn't meant for any of it to happen the way it had. He hadn't meant to sleep. Hadn't meant to let himself feel… normal, even briefly.
But he had.
And now the morning had come, and with it, a quiet shift. A reminder that he wasn't alone here—not entirely.
Alex dried his face, straightened, and stepped back into the room.