Chapter 27
JILLIAN
Itest the water again at dawn.
There’s no pretense anymore. I don’t even try to fake a task log or cover the vials under a biohazard tag. No one’s watching in the way that matters—not with curiosity or caution. They watch with a kind of quiet consensus. Like I’m already the outsider.
Like they’ve all agreed and I just wasn’t at the meeting.
I unseal the newest tank, the one marked with a fresh filtration date from yesterday. The label looks clean, but that doesn’t mean anything anymore. The sample goes under the scope, and I start the molecular scan with fingers colder than they should be.
The screen flickers. Then stabilizes.
And my blood runs cold.
It’s not the same water.
The mineral balance is off. Barely—but it’s off. Sodium shifted. Trace metals nearly gone. There’s something added—a protein structure I don’t recognize, pulsing faintly at the edge of visibility. Organic. Living.
The base signature is fungal.
But that’s not what scares me.
What scares me is what’s missing.
I reach into my boot and pull the hidden vial from where I taped it three nights ago. Purgonis wild water. Unfiltered. Untouched. I saved it not for hydration, but for sanity. Just in case I needed to remind myself what real looked like.
I run the comparison.
And there it is.
Plain as day.
The wild water holds trace protective proteins—something natural in the ecosystem. Maybe a byproduct of the native bacterial flora. Something that’s kept me from slipping into the haze. But in the new camp supply, it’s gone.
Stripped.
Replaced.
My fingers shake as I close the analyzer. I don’t drink the camp water. I haven’t since Maug told me something was wrong. But now I know it’s not just off.
It’s been altered.
Intentionally.
I step away from the desk and suddenly feel the weight of eyes.
Turning, I catch Em across the dome. She’s just standing there. Smiling faintly. Nothing in her hands. Nothing to do. Her eyes don’t flinch away when I meet them.
She knows I’m awake.
Not awake in the literal sense. Awake as in not them.
They’re not just infected. They’re watching me now.
I leave the lab in a slow, measured stride, forcing my breath even. Don’t run. Don’t panic. That’s what they’d expect.
Darwin intercepts me before I reach the bunks.
His grin’s too wide. Every tooth gleaming like a billboard ad. “Morning, sunshine.”
I keep my voice cool. “You’re up early.”
“Didn’t sleep much,” he says, shrugging. “Too excited. You know how it is. Big things happening.”
My stomach flips. “Like what?”
“Oh, you’ll see,” he says, tapping the side of his nose. “Ciampa’s got something special planned. Wants all of us to be there.”
I nod slowly. “Right.”
“Hey,” he adds, stepping closer. “You ever think about how quiet it’s been lately? How peaceful?”
His eyes are glass. Wide. Too wide.
“Sure,” I lie. “It’s nice.”
He nods like I passed a test.
When I get to my bunk, I lock the curtain shut and sit on the edge of the cot.
Something is wrong. I mean, it’s all wrong—but now it’s turning. Sharper. Deliberate.
I reach for my compad to log what I saw in the tank.
It’s gone.
In its place is a blank unit. Fresh from storage. No logs. No personal notes. No encryption. No trace of my data.
Erased.
They know.
I clench my fists and bite down on the inside of my cheek to stay grounded. Taste copper. Feel the grit of blood.
I lie down. Force myself still. Eyes closed.
Night falls.
I fake sleep.
And that’s when I hear it.
Voices.
Not loud. Not in conversation. Just soft murmuring—like prayer.
Except not to anything.
With something.
They’re singing.
To the fungus.
I hear Em’s voice. Eli. Even Darwin.
Whispers. Melodies with no structure. Just droning tone, strange rhythms, repeated syllables like a forgotten language re-learned in dreams.
It sounds wrong. Too smooth. Too synced. The way a hive might sing if it had tongues.
I lie there, still as death, and feel every hair on my arms stand up.
I have to leave.
But I don’t know how to do it without Maug.
He’s out there somewhere. I don’t know how close. Or if he’s already seen what I saw.
But I can’t do this alone.
And I think... I think they’re getting ready for something.
Big.
I just hope I’m not here when it starts.