Sasha
The halls were quiet now.
Not the good kind of quiet. The wrong kind. The kind that comes after something terrible. When the screaming stops and the crying stops and all that's left is the sound of your own heartbeat and the wet slap of your shoes on blood-slick floor.
I walked through the corridor. Stepped over bodies. Didn't look at their faces. Didn't need to. I'd seen enough faces for one lifetime.
The lights were still on. They were always on. Even with half the facility destroyed. Even with the walls cracked and the machines sparking and the ceiling dripping something I didn't want to identify.
Riley was ahead of me. Walking slow. Her hands were still wet. Her bare feet left prints on the floor. Red. Dark. Every step a reminder.
I didn't ask if she was okay. She wasn't okay. Neither was I.
---
The kids were gathered in the main hall.
Hundreds of them. More than I could count. They'd come from the dormitories. From the medical wing. From the experimental chambers where they'd been strapped to tables just like Riley.
Some were crying. Some were staring at nothing. Some were holding each other. Some were alone.
They looked at Riley when she walked in.
And they flinched.
Every single one of them. Flinched. Stepped back. Pressed against the walls. Made themselves small.
She was covered in blood. Head to toe. Her face. Her hair. Her hands. Her jacket. Her bare feet. All of it red. All of it someone else's.
Her fingers were long. Too long. The nails were dark. Almost black. They caught the light like claws.
Her eyes were gray. Empty. The kind of empty that comes after something breaks and you don't know how to put it back together.
"She's one of them," someone whispered.
"She controls the Stalkers," someone else said.
"She killed everyone. All of them. With her bare hands."
"Don't look at her. Don't let her see you."
I heard it all. Every whisper. Every word.
Riley heard it too. I could tell by the way her jaw tightened. The way her hands clenched into fists. The way her shoulders curved inward, just a little. Making herself smaller.
She'd just killed dozens of people. Ripped them apart. Bent metal with her bare hands. Walked through bullets like they were rain.
And she was trying to make herself smaller.
Because they were scared of her.
Because they'd always been scared of her.
---
"How many?" I asked.
A girl near the front. Fifteen. Maybe sixteen. Her arm was in a sling. Her face was bruised. She looked at me with eyes that had seen too much.
"Three hundred and eleven," she said. Her voice was flat. Empty. Like she was reading a number off a screen. "That's how many of us are left. That we could find."
Three hundred and eleven kids.
Some as young as ten. Some as old as seventeen. From every group. Every zone. Every part of the island.
They'd brought them all back. For the final phase. For the experiments. For whatever the Project had planned next.
And now they were here. In a hallway. Staring at a girl covered in blood. Trying not to cry.
"We need to get off this island," I said.
"There's no boats," the girl said. "We checked. The docks are empty. The ships are gone."
"Planes?"
"The airstrip is destroyed. They bombed it before they brought us back. Didn't want anyone leaving."
I looked at Riley. She was staring at the floor. At the blood on her feet. At the way her toes curled against the cold tile.
"Then we swim," I said.
No one laughed. No one said anything.
---
The kids wouldn't go near her.
I watched them. Circling around Riley like she was a fire they were afraid of getting too close to. Giving her space. A wide berth. An invisible wall of fear.
A boy dropped his water bottle. It rolled toward Riley. Stopped at her feet.
He didn't go get it.
He just stood there. Staring at it. Staring at her. Waiting.
Riley picked up the bottle. Held it out.
The boy didn't move.
"Take it," she said. Her voice was flat. Tired.
He shook his head.
"Take the bottle."
"I don't want it."
"You're thirsty. I can see it in your face. Take the bottle."
He looked at her hands. At the blood. At the nails.
"I said I don't want it."
Riley set the bottle on the floor. Pushed it toward him with her foot.
He snatched it up. Ran. Didn't look back.
She watched him go. Her face didn't change. But I saw her hands. Clenching and unclenching. Clenching and unclenching.
---
"They're scared of you," I said.
We were sitting against the wall. Away from the others. The ceiling was cracked. Water dripped somewhere. The lights were flickering.
"I know."
"They think you're a monster."
"I know."
"Are you?"
She turned her head. Looked at me. Her eyes were gray. Empty. But something behind them was hurting.
"I killed everyone in that lab. I tore them apart. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop."
"They were going to kill you."
"That's not why I did it."
"Then why?"
She looked at her hands. At her fingers. At the nails that were too long and too dark.
"Because I wanted to. Because it felt good. Because for the first time in months, I wasn't the one screaming."
She looked at me.
"What does that make me?"
I didn't have an answer.
---
Riley
Sasha asked me how I did it.
How my fingers grew back. How I bent the metal door. How I killed them all. How the bullets didn't hurt.
We were alone. The others were on the other side of the hall. Giving us space. Giving me space.
I looked at my hands. At the regrown fingers. At the nails that were still too dark.
"The experiments," I said. "They changed me. Made me faster. Stronger. Made me heal."
"But grow back whole fingers? Bend steel? Walk through bullets?"
"Vessel."
"What?"
"When Vessel takes over, the changes accelerate. The healing. The strength. The... everything. Vessel doesn't have limits. Vessel doesn't feel pain. Vessel just... is."
"And the bullets?"
"I don't know. Maybe my skin is different now. Maybe Vessel makes it harder. Maybe the Project put something inside me that I don't understand yet."
I looked at my arm. Where the bullet had hit. There was a mark. A bruise. Fading already.
"I should be dead," I said. "A dozen times over. But I'm not. Because they made me into something that can't die."
"Can you?"
"Can I what?"
"Die. Can you still die?"
I thought about that. About the table. About the needles. About the machine that stopped my heart.
"I don't know," I said. "I don't think I want to find out."
---
Sasha
She was different now.
Not just the fingers. Not just the nails. Something inside her had changed. Something fundamental.
She used to be cold. Empty. A void where feelings should be.
Now she was something else. Something that felt too much and couldn't stop. Something that was drowning in guilt and rage and grief.
Hannah's death had cracked her open. All the things she'd been holding back were flooding out. And she didn't know how to handle it.
"You need to sleep," I said.
"I can't."
"You haven't slept in days."
"Every time I close my eyes, I see her. Hannah. The way she said goodbye. The way she faded. The way I couldn't save her."
"That wasn't your fault."
"Whose fault was it, then? Marlow? She's dead. I killed her. I punched her face until there was nothing left. It didn't bring Hannah back."
Her voice cracked. Her hands were shaking.
"Nothing brings her back. She's gone. And I'm still here. Still in this body. Still in this nightmare."
She looked at me. Her eyes were wet. Not crying. Just... wet.
"What's the point, Sasha? What's the point of surviving if everyone around me dies?"
I didn't have an answer. So I just sat there. Next to her. Not touching. Not leaving.
---
The kids didn't come near us.
They stayed on the other side of the hall. Whispering. Pointing. Stealing glances at Riley like she was a wild animal that might bite.
I heard what they said.
"She's not human."
"She's one of them. One of the Stalkers."
"Did you see what she did to the guards? I saw the bodies. They were... pieces. Just pieces."
"My cousin was in Allen's camp. She said Riley sent the Stalkers. Just pointed at people and the monsters tore them apart."
"She's worse than Allen. Than Marlow. Than anyone."
"Don't make her angry. Don't even look at her."
I wanted to scream at them. To tell them that Riley was the reason they were alive. That she'd killed for them. Bled for them. Broken for them.
But I didn't. Because they wouldn't believe me. Because they were scared. And scared people don't listen.
---
Riley
I heard them.
Every whisper. Every word.
Monster.
Freak.
Worse than Allen.
I wanted to tell them they were right. That I was a monster. That I'd killed people and felt good about it. That I'd enjoyed the way their bodies broke. That I'd smiled while the Stalkers tore through Allen's camp.
But that wasn't the whole truth.
The whole truth was that I was scared. Scared of what I was becoming. Scared of what I'd already done. Scared that Hannah was dead because I wasn't strong enough to save her.
I was scared that Sasha was next.
That one day, I'd lose control. That Vessel would take over. That I'd look down and see Sasha's blood on my hands.
"You're thinking too loud," Sasha said.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just... talk to me. Tell me what's going on in your head."
I looked at her. At her scar. At her eyes. At the way she looked at me like I wasn't a monster.
"I'm scared," I said.
"Of what?"
"Of myself. Of what I'm becoming. Of the fact that I don't feel bad about killing those people. I should feel bad. But I don't. I just feel... empty."
"That's not true."
"It is."
"No. You feel bad. You just don't know how to show it. You've been trained not to show it. By the foster homes. By the Project. By everyone who ever told you that feelings are weakness."
She touched my hand. Her fingers were warm.
"But you're not weak, Riley. You're the strongest person I know. Not because you can bend metal or grow back fingers. Because you're still here. Still fighting. Still trying to be human even when everything is trying to make you into something else."
I stared at her.
"What if I don't want to be human anymore?"
"Then you won't be. But that's your choice. Not theirs. Not the Project's. Not Marlow's. Yours."
She squeezed my hand.
"And whatever you choose, I'll be here. I'm not leaving."
---
Sasha
I didn't know if she believed me.
Her eyes were still empty. Her hands were still shaking. Her body was still coiled like a spring, ready to snap.
But she didn't pull away. Didn't tell me to leave. Didn't shut down like she used to.
She just sat there. Letting me hold her hand. Letting me stay.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
---
The kids eventually came to me.
Not to Riley. To me. Because I wasn't covered in blood. Because I didn't have black nails and gray skin. Because I looked human.
"What do we do?" they asked. "How do we get off the island? How do we survive?"
I looked at Riley. She was staring at the wall. At the cracks. At the water dripping down.
"We wait," I said. "We rest. We figure out a plan. And then we leave."
"How? There's no boats. No planes. No—"
"We'll find a way."
"And her?" The girl pointed at Riley. Her hand was shaking. "What about her?"
"What about her?"
"Is she... is she coming with us?"
I looked at the girl. At the fear in her eyes. At the way she was pressing herself against the wall like she wanted to disappear into it.
"Yes," I said. "She's coming with us. And you're going to treat her like a person. Because that's what she is. A person. Who saved your life. All of your lives."
The girl opened her mouth. Closed it.
No one argued.
But I saw the way they looked at Riley. The way they kept their distance. The way they whispered when they thought she couldn't hear.
They were scared of her.
And nothing I said was going to change that.
---
That night, I sat with Riley while the others slept.
The lights were still on. They were always on. But the kids had learned to sleep with their arms over their eyes, their backs to the walls, their bodies curled into tight balls.
Riley wasn't sleeping. She was staring at her hands. At her fingers. At the nails.
"What are you thinking about?" I asked.
"How long until I don't recognize myself?"
"What do you mean?"
"My fingers grew back. My nails are black. My teeth are sharper. My skin is changing. Every day, something new. Something wrong."
She looked at me.
"How long until I look in the mirror and see a Stalker looking back?"
"You're not a Stalker."
"Not yet."
She turned back to her hands.
"But I'm getting there. And I don't know how to stop."
I didn't have an answer. So I just sat there. Next to her. Not leaving.
---
End of Chapter Eighteen