The word drops like a verdict.
"Freeze him."
Lily's voice fractures in the frozen dream around me, trembling with a grief that isn't mine but presses against my ribs all the same.
"Freeze him," she repeats, voice shaking.
"Give him the time I couldn't give her."
The dream collapses.
The freezer.
Mom.
Her throaty, thawing scream.
Lily's blade.
Blood melting into ice.
Everything slams into darkness.
And then—I'm awake.
The Storage Room
Cold air. Dust. The metallic scent of rust and old tools.
I gasp and curl inward without thinking, my arms wrapping tight around my own ribs as if I can keep myself from shattering.
My hands fly to my face. Hot tears leak between my fingers.
I pull my knees to my chest and fold over them, trying to hide inside a body that isn't entirely mine.
"Lil… what did you do?" My voice breaks into pieces. "Mom."
Her grief vibrates through me—quiet, aching—but I shove it aside. I can't look at it. Not right now.
"Okay, girl," I whisper to myself, dripping and shaking. "Get it together. Get it the hell together."
A low moan cuts through the stillness.
Eli.
I scrub my face, blink the tears off my lashes, and force myself to stand. The room tilts. My stomach lurches. Lily's sleeping pill is still dragging on my nerves like chains.
I stumble to the cot.
Eli is drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed an alarming red. His breathing is shallow, his lips dry, and his skin burning under my palm.
"Shit," I whisper. "Hot as hell."
Where the hell is Marcus?
Lily's voice flickers inside my mind—familiar now, a whisper echoing off bone.
"You're going to have to do this without Marcus."
"I know," I snap out loud. "Do what, you psycho bitch? Mom killer?"
The room goes cold.
I feel Lily flinch inside me.
Good.
She deserves that.
It'll take more than one dream for me to forgive her.
Her voice returns, small but steady:
"Save Eli."
"How?" My throat tightens. "How am I supposed to—"
Her answer cuts like ice.
"Freeze him."
I sigh hard, shaking out my hands. "Yeah? And where exactly do you propose I do that?"
Silence.
Then, a whisper:
"The bunker."
The Door Lifts
A deep metal groan vibrates through the storage room.
The whole damn floor shifts beneath my feet.
"Fuck—"
The storage unit door begins to rise. Slowly. Hands curl around the bottom edge, thick fingers gripping hard.
I reach for the nearest weapon—an aluminum bat lying next to the bed. I grab it and creep closer, muscles coiled tight.
The door inches higher.
A shadow.
Boots.
Legs.
I swing.
WHACK.
"—Aw! What the fuck?!"
I freeze.
"Marcus?" I breathe.
"Yeah, who else the hell would it be?" he snaps, limping forward, crouching to hold the door steady on one good leg.
I drop the bat like it's burned me and help him haul the door up the rest of the way. His face is slick with sweat, irritated and wind-chapped.
I don't care. Relief hits me so hard I almost sway.
"Where have you been?" I demand.
"Getting food!" he fires back, throwing the comment over his shoulder. "You're welcome, by the way."
I turn to Eli.
"He's sick," I whisper. "Marcus… I need to get him to the bunker."
He freezes.
His jaw clenches.
"I'm not going there," he says. "That place is crawling with infected. And the way there is blocked by Lantern patrol."
I point hard at Eli.
"Please. He's just a kid."
Marcus's face hardens.
"Yeah, well, kids die in this world."
"Please." My voice breaks. "For Lily."
That stops him cold.
He narrows his eyes, studying Eli again. Slowly, he steps toward the cot.
My grip tightens on the bat.
If he touches Eli wrong—
If he gives even a hint that he'll hurt him—
I will swing again.
Marcus notices.
His lips twitch—not cruel, but almost… sad.
"You'd die for him," he murmurs.
I don't answer. I just clutch the bat harder.
He nods once. "Okay."
The Escape
Shock floods me, quickly replaced by adrenaline.
We pack fast—blankets, food, water, the pill bottles I found earlier. Marcus lifts Eli with surprising gentleness.
We slip out into the dead streets.
The trek is somehow both terrifying and weirdly peaceful. Dark windows stare down at us. Burned-out cars crouch like sleeping beasts. The wind whistles through broken gutters.
Eli doesn't stir.
I push more meds into him before we left—antibiotics, painkillers. Too much, maybe. I have no idea what I'm doing. I just knew we had to keep him quiet.
We cross the outskirts of town.
"That was too easy," I whisper.
Marcus raises a finger to his lips.
We creep along the edge of the woods, staying low.
Then—
A cough in the bushes.
Too wet.
Too close.
Too wrong.