Chapter 14
We never make it to the settlement perimeter.
The last hundred meters, the safe zone, is an illusion.
There’s no transition. No warning. Just the sudden arrival of a new predator: the whir of a drone, low and invasive, the way the world lights up in strobing blue-white with each sweep of its search beam.
Maven flattens instinctively, pulling me down into the ditch. I barely make contact with the ground before the first bullet shreds the air above us. It’s a warning shot—close enough to shear the bark off a tree, not close enough to kill.
The Ghouls react, but not the way I expect. They freeze, then scatter, diving for cover as if they remember the taste of lead. I peek over the lip in time to see a patrol of Authority soldiers step out of the shadow, weapons drawn in a fan-shaped pattern.
At the center: Captain Kang. His uniform is cleaner than it should be, the insignia at his collar sharp as a blade.
The tattoos on his arms pulse with the cadence of his heartbeat, veins standing out against the night pallor.
He moves like he’s not afraid of anything—like he’s already factored every risk, every variable, and come up winning.
The Ghouls charge the patrol. The first two never make it—caught in a crossfire that stitches their torsos into lace.
The third goes for Kang, and for a second, I see something I never expected: the smallest hint of a smile, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He sidesteps the Ghoul’s lunge, grabs its arm at the elbow, and uses its own momentum to throw it into the path of a waiting soldier’s knife.
The fight is over before it starts. Four Ghouls dead, the rest gone.
I think it’s over, but then the one with the resin pad in its mouth—smarter, meaner—comes back around, eyes blazing. It goes for Maven, ignoring the soldiers. Maven raises the pipe, but it’s useless. The Ghoul knocks them flat, claws outstretched.
My body moves before my brain does. I launch myself into the Ghoul’s path, arms extended.
There’s a flicker—like a flashback, but real—and suddenly I’m not Diana the scavenger scientist, I’m Diana the weapon.
The muscle memory is alien, surgical: I grab the Ghoul’s wrist, twist it behind its back, and drive my knee into the base of its skull.
The movement is so clean, so efficient, that the Ghoul is dead before it understands what happened.
I blink, and the world catches up. Maven stares at me, eyes wide.
Kang sees it too. His gaze lingers on my posture, the way my hands settle automatically into a defensive stance.
For a second, I think he’s going to say something, but he just reloads his rifle and moves on.
The soldiers sweep the area, checking for survivors.
None. Maven climbs to their feet, brushing dirt from their face.
“Did you see—” they start, but I cut them off.
“Later. We need to go.”
Kang’s voice booms across the night, not loud but loaded. “You two. Over here.”
We go. There’s no choice.
Kang stands apart from his men, weapon slung but not loose. His eyes are the same—cold, calculating, but with a new glint. He gestures at the ditch.
“Explain,” he says.
Maven starts to talk, but Kang ignores them, looking straight at me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, voice flat.
“Neither are you,” I reply, matching his tone.
A flicker of amusement, then gone. “The Ghoul pack was tracked for two days. We baited them with the blue resin. You walked into the middle of an experiment.”
“I don’t care about your experiment,” I say. “We were just trying to get home.”
He looks at the RadShield pendant at my throat, then at the pack on my back. “You have something you’re not supposed to have. Protocol says I take it.”
Maven bristles. “She saved my life. Is that against protocol, too?”
Kang ignores them. “You’re a scientist. But you fight like a soldier.”
I shrug. “Maybe I used to be.”
He steps closer. The tattoos on his arms are trembling now, the lines blurring with each pulse. “You’re not listed in the registry. Why?”
I stare him down. “Guess they wanted to forget me.”
For a moment, the silence is absolute. The drone hovers overhead, casting a perfect blue circle around the three of us. Then Kang nods, just once. He signals his men. “Sweep’s done. Burn the bodies. We move.”
The soldiers comply without a word. They drag the Ghouls into a pile, douse them with accelerant, and set them alight. The smell is worse than anything in the labs, a mix of seared meat and ozone and old, old fear. Kang turns to leave, but then pauses, glancing at Maven. “Watch your friend.”
Then he’s gone, leading his men back into the dark.
Maven and I stand there, the heat of the fire licking our faces. I feel empty, like the part of me that fought the Ghoul is gone again, buried under the weight of the night.
Maven finally breaks the silence. “Lucky timing,” they say, voice thin.
I nod. “Yeah. Lucky.”
But inside, I know better. Nothing in this world happens by accident.
And Kang knows it, too.
By the time the Ghouls are nothing but cinder and the blue resin smell has faded, the night’s heat is spent.
The soldiers spread out, boots scuffing the ground in a practiced choreography, rifles slung in that too-casual way that means readiness, not relief.
Kang moves with them—at first—then steps out of their orbit and makes a beeline for me.
He holsters his sidearm, hands free, posture loose but eyes locked. A heartbeat later, Maven materializes at my side, running interference with a cocked eyebrow and a curl of the lip.
Kang stops close enough that I can see the sweat beading at his temple, the cut on his jaw from where a Ghoul must have nicked him in the scuffle. If it hurts, he doesn’t show it.
“Diana,” he says, flat and uninflected. “You’re a long way from anywhere you’re supposed to be.”
Maven starts to reply, but Kang’s focus is absolute; the rest of the world dissolves.
His gaze flicks over my hands, my face, then down to the RadShield pendant at my collar.
Before I can answer, a junior soldier—female, built like a pile driver—edges in.
She tugs the sleeve of Kang’s uniform with a familiarity that says she’s allowed. “Captain, comms wants your report.”
He doesn’t look at her. “Tell them to hold. Five minutes.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Reyes, sir. I’ll relay.” She withdraws, but not before shooting me a stare loaded with a thousand unasked questions.
Kang returns to me. “You’re bleeding,” he says, and I realize there’s a line of blood running from my ear to my chin, sticky and warm.
“Occupational hazard,” I say, trying to brush it away.
He watches my hand shake, then pulls a packet from his own kit and hands it to me. I hesitate. He holds it out, insistent. I take it, press it to my skin. It stings, which means it’s working. “You were gathering supplies?” he prompts, voice bored, but the micro-muscles in his jaw twitch at the lie.
I nod. “That’s right.”
He stares for a full three seconds, then lets it pass. “Next time, use the northern route. This sector’s not stable.” I want to snap at him, tell him he’s not my keeper, but my tongue feels swollen. Instead, I just say, “Noted.”
The silence is heavy, loaded with all the things neither of us wants to say. Maven clears their throat, breaking the tension. “Are we free to go, Captain?”
He nods once. “Escort’s at the perimeter. Don’t stray.” He turns, but as he does, my foot slips on the damp grass. I catch myself, but not before his hand shoots out, steadying me by the upper arm.
For a split second, our bodies are close.
Too close. I feel the heat of his palm through the sleeve, the way his fingers press—not soft, not hard, just perfectly calibrated for control.
I jerk away, but the jolt lingers, a current running up my spine.
His face changes—not much, just a softening around the eyes, a question that’s immediately erased.
He lets go. “You’re fine,” he says, but it sounds more like an order than an observation.
Reyes returns, breathless. “Perimeter’s clear, sir. Orders?”
“Document and burn,” Kang says, then jerks his chin at us. “Home. Now.”
We move, Maven and I, through the field of soldiers and ashes. At the perimeter, I catch Kang watching us. Not just a glance—full-on, eyes narrowed, brain running a thousand parallel simulations.
He brings a finger up, taps it once against the RadShield at his own collar, then lets his hand fall to his side. I don’t know if it’s a warning or an invitation.
Maven mutters, “Weird bastard.”
I can’t disagree.
We walk the last hundred meters in silence. At the gate, the guards let us through without question, and the world contracts to the thin line of light spilling from Maven’s hut.
Inside, I peel off the jacket, examine the wound. It’s nothing—just a scratch, but it bleeds like it’s got something to prove. Maven hands me a rag, eyes dark.
“You fought like a goddamn spec ops tonight,” they say. “When were you going to tell me you were a lethal weapon?”
I laugh, but it comes out choked. “I didn’t know.”
Maven shakes their head. “That’s not normal, Diana. None of this is.”
I want to argue, but instead I just stare at my hands, stained and shaking, and wonder what else is buried in the part of me the world tried to erase.
On the table, the RadShield pulses—steady, unwavering. Outside, the guards close the gates for the night.
And somewhere, not far enough away, Kang waits.
I should be afraid.
But what I feel is worse.
I want to know what happens next.