Chapter 25
JILLIAN
We walk back to camp just after dawn.
I don’t speak much. Neither does Maug. But we don’t need to.
The silence between us isn’t awkward—it’s heavy, thick with everything we shared.
His hand brushes mine every now and then, fingers twitching like he wants to hold on and isn’t sure if he’s allowed to.
I don’t take his hand, but I don’t move away either.
We’re separate now, but close.
That’s how it has to be. Back in camp, we can’t be… us. Not like last night. Not like this morning when I whispered his name against his shoulder while the firelight painted gold across his skin. Not when everything here feels wrong.
And it does feel wrong. Immediately.
The second the dome comes into view, my skin tightens. The air smells different—staler, chemical. The sunlight doesn’t quite make it past the haze. There’s a film over everything. Or maybe it’s just in my head. But I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve returned to something rotting.
Ciampa is pacing near the storage bay when we arrive. He doesn’t see us at first—his eyes are locked on something inside one of the sample crates. I catch the glint of moisture in the corners, thick and gelatinous, lining the metal like mucous.
He turns when the gravel crunches under Maug’s foot.
His face splits into a grin, too wide, too toothy. “Well, well. Look who finally returns from their little love hike.”
I stiffen.
He shouldn’t know.
He shouldn’t know.
I feel Maug tense beside me, but I throw out a hand, stopping him before he can speak. “We were collecting soil samples. You know, the job we’re here to do.”
Ciampa tilts his head. His pupils look… off. Too wide. Too dark. “Of course. Just doing the work. Very diligent, Jill.”
He turns away, but I don’t miss the twitch in his jaw. The way his fingers flex at his sides like they’re learning how to move again.
Maug leans close, voice a rumble only I can hear. “He’s wrong. Something’s wrong.”
“I know,” I murmur.
We split up then—on purpose. He heads toward the perimeter fencing to check the sensors. I go to the med dome, pretending I need a report logged. The lie tastes bitter, but I swallow it down.
Inside, the air’s thicker. More humid.
The samples are everywhere.
There’s no containment protocol anymore. No tags. No protective casing. Fungal clusters sit in open dishes on desks, in unsealed canisters shoved beneath bunks, some of them glowing faintly now, a phosphorescent pulse like a heartbeat.
I check the water station.
The edges of the tank are lined with something sticky. A faint shimmer of film. I dip a finger in and rub it between my thumb and forefinger.
Slippery.
Faintly acidic.
They’re drinking this. We’ve been drinking this.
I wipe my hand and try not to throw up.
The others—God, the others—they’re just… existing.
Eli passes me in the hallway. Doesn’t look me in the eye. His steps are too smooth. Mechanical. I watch him blink and time it.
Eleven seconds.
No one goes that long without blinking.
They don’t laugh anymore. Don’t argue. No teasing, no bickering over shift assignments or card games. Just eerie calm and an ever-present hum of compliance.
They’re docile.
Like pets.
No—like hosts.
I find Em later in the main lab, staring into a petri dish with her nose nearly touching the glass. I call her name twice before she reacts. When she turns, her smile is dreamy.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks.
I glance down. The fungal growth has formed a perfect spiral in the dish. Pulsing. Moving.
“It’s... something,” I say.
She doesn’t notice the hesitation.
“We’ve been chosen,” she says.
My stomach flips. “Chosen?”
She nods. “To understand. To receive. It’s a gift.”
I leave before I vomit.
I find Maug again near the edge of camp. He’s crouched low, sifting through the gravel. He doesn’t look up.
“They’ve got the water,” I say.
He grunts.
“They’ve got the people.”
“I know.”
I kneel beside him, and our eyes meet. I see it—he’s scared. Not for himself. For me.
“I think I’m immune,” I say, quietly. “Or resistant. Something.”
His brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because I see it. And they don’t.”
He’s silent for a long beat.
Then: “We leave tonight.”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not yet. If I leave now, they’ll know. They’ll come for me.”
His jaw tightens. “Then I stay.”
“We don’t even know where to go.”
His gaze softens slightly. “We’ll figure it out.”
I want to believe him.
I want to.
But then I hear Darwin call my name.
We both freeze.
Maug vanishes into the shadows.
I turn, smiling like nothing’s wrong.
Darwin’s teeth are too white in the dusk. His skin too smooth. His eyes too calm.
“Hey, Jill,” he says, tone casual, but there’s something under it. “Can we talk?”
I nod.
He leads me behind the hydro unit. It smells like mold.
“I just wanted to say,” he begins, “everything’s fine now.”
My blood chills.
“The mission’s almost done. You’ve done your part. You can rest.”
I stare at him.
He steps closer. “You don’t have to fight anymore. Just… come with me. You’ll feel better after.”
“No thanks,” I say, keeping my voice light.
His head tilts. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
He walks away.
Just like that.
But when I get back to my bunk, the pillow is wet.
Not soaked. Just… damp.
I didn’t drink anything. I didn’t spill anything. There’s no condensation.
Just water.
I don’t sleep.
I pack.
I’m getting the fuck out of here at the earliest stealthy opportunity. .