Chapter 19: The Tides That Reshaped Us II
They hadn't left the city yet. Not entirely, though the air felt like it had already shed the weight of everything familiar. Smoke still clung to the skyline, curling in slow, suffocating spirals. Sirens had gone quiet. Even the wind moved differently—hesitant, as if the city was holding its breath.
Selene and Aria had been on the move for days, scavenging supplies, planning an escape that always felt a day too late. But as evening settled in and the streets emptied into that dangerous, aching quiet, it felt like the city was still gripping their ankles, refusing to let them go.
They'd holed up in a forgotten apartment building—windows fractured, wallpaper blistering off, the air thick with dust and rot. The decay was quiet here. It was better than being outside. But not by much.
Selene moved through the apartment like she belonged in the ruin. Her footsteps were sharp, steady, boots cracking against tile. Her presence carved through the silence. Even now, she was checking windows, shifting boxes, adding weapons to their slowly growing stockpile.
"You should sleep," she said without looking at Aria. "We leave at dawn."
Aria sat curled on the floor, her knees drawn close. She glanced up at Selene, but her eyes didn't hold the contact. "I don't think I can."
Selene paused. The room held its breath.
"You haven't slept in three days." Her voice softened just enough to sting. "You won't last another if you don't rest."
Aria shook her head, slow, like the weight of it resisted. "It's not that. I just… feel like something's slipping. Like I'm losing pieces of myself, and I don't know how to stop it."
Selene turned. Her green eyes pinned Aria from across the room—measured, unreadable. But there was something else in them tonight. Something slower. Tired.
She crossed the floor and lowered herself beside Aria, the space between them charged, magnetic. She didn't offer comfort—Selene never did. She offered presence. And somehow, that was worse.
"I can't stop feeling like I'm vanishing," Aria whispered. "Like I'm filling up with someone else's silence."
Selene didn't answer right away. Her gaze flicked toward the corner, where a crack in the wall spiderwebbed toward the ceiling. "We don't have to leave," she said.
Aria blinked. "What?"
"This place is holding," Selene murmured. "It's broken, but it hasn't collapsed. We could stay a little longer."
Aria stared at her, throat tightening. "You said we had to go. That staying was a death sentence."
Selene's mouth twitched at the edge. "Maybe I was wrong." She glanced at Aria then, and there it was—vulnerability, flickering like a wound she couldn't stitch. "Maybe I just didn't want you to see what happens when people wait too long."
A slow panic stirred in Aria's chest. "You're scaring me."
"I should be," Selene said, her voice low. She stood and turned her back, walking toward the window where the city loomed like a bruise. "It's not just the fires. Not the looters, not the infected. It's the waiting. The rot that sets in while you hope things will get better. The city doesn't just burn, Aria. It twists people. Makes them forget who they are."
The smoke was thicker now. Outside, the skyline blinked like it was dying. Aria couldn't tear her eyes away from Selene's silhouette—how rigid her shoulders were, how her hand trembled for half a second before she clenched it.
"Why are you doing this?" Aria asked. "Why me?"
Selene didn't move. "Because I don't have a choice."
"That's not true," Aria said, her voice rising. "There's always a choice."
Selene turned, slowly, and for the first time Aria saw her face—really saw it. The cracks were no longer invisible. There was something undone about her tonight. Something hollow.
"Maybe I don't have the luxury of choice anymore."
A chill spread through Aria's spine. Selene looked worn in a way she hadn't before. Her beauty—the sharp, commanding kind—was blurred now, fraying at the corners. She looked like she was losing her grip on something she'd always controlled.
Aria stood, instinctively closing the space between them. "You're not alone in this."
Selene didn't step back, but her expression turned unreadable again. She studied Aria in that heavy way she did when words weren't enough. And then—just faintly—she exhaled through her nose. Like she'd been holding in something for too long.
"I know," she whispered.
They didn't speak for a while after that.
The night settled like dust in a lung—slow and dangerous. Outside, a distant boom echoed, too low to place. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm screamed once and fell silent again. The city was shifting. Aria felt it in her bones, in the silence inside her that no longer felt like her own.
Selene checked the locks again. Her hands moved out of rhythm—she was distracted, stuck somewhere between memory and wariness.
From the corner of the room, Aria whispered, "Do you still trust yourself?"
Selene didn't turn. "Not really."
The wind pushed against the cracked window. Aria let herself lie down, finally, even as her mind thrashed. She could still feel Selene's presence like heat. Like pressure.
"You'll wake me?" she asked.
"If I don't… you'll already know."
Aria's eyes fluttered shut. And for the first time in days, she almost slept.