It was pitch black in the darkened room, and i sat motionless on the worn sofa without saying anything or making any sound that might draw attention.
She’d been brought to this place hours ago by Gaspar, and since her arrival, absolutely nothing had happened. No interrogation, no threats, no explanations—just enforced isolation in this locked bedroom.
Not that she would have tried anything even if the opportunity presented itself.
From what she’d managed to observe briefly during the journey—catching glimpses through gaps in whatever covering they’d used to obstruct her vision—she’d been taken out of Atlantic City proper. Not trendously far from the area, but definitely across territorial boundaries.
She was now positioned on the other side of the Absecon Inlet, separated from the Boardwalk and the areas she’d beco familiar with over recent days.
Based on the brief views she’d caught and the duration of travel, she estimated she’d been brought to Brigantine—a small city of its own that sat adjacent to Atlantic City but was technically independent, connected by bridges across the inlet.
She’d been brought specifically to a house—that was the extent of what she knew about her current location with any certainty. Gaspar had kept her vision obscured during most of the transport, not like she wanted either she was capable of seeing with how he jumped like a monster from building to building.
Gaspar then had handed her off to other strangers upon arrival—people whose faces she hadn’t clearly seen—who’d escorted her inside this particular bedroom and given her simple, direct instructions: stay here, don’t attempt anything foolish, and wait.
The only source of illumination in the room was a single candle positioned in the center of a small table—its flickering fla creating dancing shadows on the walls that moved with unsettling randomness.
The window had been completely covered with wooden planks nailed securely across the fra from the outside, blocking any view and preventing escape. Only through tiny gaps between the boards could she perceive anything about her surroundings—enough to tell she was definitely near the ocean based on the salt sll and distant sound of waves, but none of the limited views seed familiar or helpful for orientation.
She knew intellectually that she hadn’t been taken trendously far from Atlantic City, probably only a few miles at most. But it also wasn’t close enough that she could realistically attempt to walk back, especially not through hostile territory she didn’t know.
Sitting on the uncomfortable sofa and staring at the flickering candle fla, i maintained her silence and tried to think through her situation rationally.
She didn’t know exactly how many hours had passed since being locked in this room, but it had clearly been more than three based on how the quality of light filtering through the plank gaps had shifted from afternoon to evening to complete darkness.
No one had co to check on her or speak with her during that entire ti, and she hadn’t made any attempts to call out or escape.
She knew such efforts would be completely useless and potentially fatal.
From the little she’d observed during her brief ti outside this room, she was clearly deep inside territory controlled by Callighan—surrounded by dozens or possibly hundreds of his ard followers operating throughout the area. She wasn’t going to waste her limited energy and risk getting herself killed for a futile escape attempt that had essentially zero chance of success.
Better to conserve strength, gather information, and wait for a genuine opportunity rather than acting on desperate impulse.
"What an idiot," i muttered suddenly to herself, still staring at the flickering candle fla.
She’d brought this situation on herself, hadn’t she? Made choices that led directly to this outco?
Since when had she beco soone altruistic and self-sacrificing—soone who would risk her own life helping a person like Rebecca, with whom she’d never had a particularly good relationship to begin with?
The entire decision had been objectively stupid and irrational from a pure survival perspective. Yet she’d made it without significant hesitation when the critical mont had arrived and action was required.
Why had she done it?
Maybe Ryan asking her this morning to watch over the others and keep them safe had played a significant role in her decision-making. His words had been on her mind when the situation developed.
But there was also a part of her that had chosen this course of action independently—sothing deeper than just following instructions or fulfilling an obligation.
She rembered Rebecca’s harsh words from their previous confrontation—the accusation that i had no one to call family, no one who actually loved or cared about her beyond surface-level social obligation.
However cruel and hurtful those words had been intended, they were also true. That was perhaps what had made them cut so deeply.
Rebecca had a devoted older sister in Rachel—soone who would sacrifice anything for her, who loved her unconditionally despite her flaws and mistakes.
i had absolutely no one like that. No family, no deep emotional connections, no person who would mourn her loss in any genuine way.
So maybe that loneliness was why i had made the choice she did—why she’d acted to save Rebecca when the mont ca.
Would anyone actually mourn her disappearance anyway? Would her absence create genuine grief in anyone, or would it just be acknowledged as an unfortunate loss and then life would continue?
She’d lost her mother when she was young—too young to have ford complete mories or a full relationship. And her father had never genuinely cared about her beyond her utility as a potential heir or bargaining piece in his business dealings. He’d always been far more interested in expanding his corporate empire than in actually raising or knowing his daughter.
She’d never thought of him as real family, which was why she’d never particularly cared about what had happened to him during the outbreak. His probable death had registered as a fact to acknowledge rather than a loss to grieve.
And since the outbreak had destroyed the old world, nothing had really changed for her except that she’d found herself swept up into this unusual group of survivors.
It hadn’t been planned or willful or the result of conscious choice. She’d simply been dragged into Ryan’s orbit because she happened to be a student at Lexington Charter when everything collapsed.
She’d chosen to gamble on Ryan’s risky plan to escape that place, recognizing he offered better odds of survival than the alternatives.
Then she’d followed along to Jackson Township and sohow ended up living there among these people for weeks, becoming part of their community almost by accident.
Yet throughout those three months of survival, she’d never gotten as genuinely close to the others as they’d beco to each other. While Rachel and Sydney and Cindy had ford deep bonds, while Christopher had integrated seamlessly, i had remained sowhat separate—present but not fully connected.
To be completely honest with herself, she wasn’t naturally a friendly, outgoing person who ford easy emotional attachnts. She recognized that about herself and didn’t particularly regret it. She felt fine being the way she was—haughty, critical, self-contained, observant rather than participatory.
And if other people didn’t particularly like her or found her cold and distant, that wasn’t really their fault. She gave them little reason to feel otherwise.
Despite her general isolation, though, she did have people who watched over her in their own ways. Maybe even three people, actually.
Ivy, who’d been the nurse at her high school before everything collapsed. They’d gotten along reasonably well specifically because neither of them had that outgoing, friendly personality that seed to exhaust them both. Their mutual introversion had created a kind of understanding.
Then there was Rachel, who was predictably the kindest and most genuinely caring person in the entire group. Rachel had made efforts to include i and check on her wellbeing even when i gave little encouragent for such attention.
i herself found it slightly irritating how Rebecca apparently didn’t fully appreciate how lucky she was to have a sister like Rachel—soone so devoted and protective.
And finally, there was Ryan.
He was sohow even more ddleso and persistently concerned than Rachel, constantly inserting himself into situations and checking on people whether they wanted that attention or not.
It had been genuinely irritating to i at first, his constant questions and observations, his refusal to just leave her alone to handle her own problems.
But gradually she’d beco accustod to it. And then, almost without noticing the transition, she’d actually beco fond of that quality in him.
The knowledge that soone actually cared enough to be annoying about her welfare had beco... comforting, in a way she hadn’t expected.
And Ryan was definitely the person with whom she felt most genuinely at ease, alongside Ivy.
Because he simply didn’t care about whatever she said or how she acted—didn’t react in any negative or judgntal way toward her personality or mannerisms. She didn’t need to constantly second-guess herself around him, didn’t need to worry that she’d said sothing wrong or done sothing socially questionable that would damage their relationship.
More importantly, he’d risked his life for her so many tis already—more tis than she could easily count. He’d shown a level of concern and worry for her wellbeing that absolutely no one else in her life had ever demonstrated, not even close.
It wasn’t exactly the sa as being loved in a romantic or familial sense. But the simple fact that soone genuinely cared about her welfare like that—prioritized her safety, rembered to check on her, noticed when sothing was wrong—felt undeniably good in a way she hadn’t experienced since her mother’s death.
Sothing that reminded her distantly of what having a parent who actually cared had felt like, before that was taken away.
Now she found herself wondering—perhaps stupidly, perhaps naively—about sothing that made her feel slightly embarrassed even thinking it.
She was curious, in a way that felt almost childish, about what Ryan might be feeling right now in this mont.
He should definitely be aware by now of what had happened to her—Clara and the others would have told him imdiately upon his return to the hotel. The question was how he’d reacted to that information.
She wondered if he was worried about her fate. Or if he was perhaps already actively searching for her, refusing to accept her disappearance passively.
Was she actually hoping he was looking for her? Did she want to be rescued, or was she content to handle this situation independently?
Knowing Ryan as she did after three months of observation, she felt certain he was indeed looking for her right now. That was the one thing she could be confident about without any doubt.
At that mont, the bedroom door suddenly opened with a prolonged creak, revealing a brown-haired young man who appeared maybe a year or two older than her—early twenties at most.
It was Liam, a Senior student from Ryan’s Highschool.
"Enjoying the romantic darkness, beauty?" He asked with an obnoxious smirk, clearly trying to be provocative.
i gave him a withering, disgusted look before turning her attention back to staring at the candle fla, dismissing his existence entirely.
"Stand up," he ordered, his tone shifting to sothing more serious and threatening. "Callighan wants to see you now."
"Then tell him to co here if he wants to speak with so eagerly," i retorted, not moving from her position on the sofa.
"Don’t make actually touch you to force compliance," Liam said, his voice taking on a nacing edge as he gave her a sharp, dangerous look. "Because I won’t hold back or be gentle about it if you make that necessary."
i gave him another look of profound disgust at the thinly-veiled threat, but she recognized the futility of resistance in this situation.
She stood up slowly and then she followed him out of the bedroom into the corridor beyond.
As they walked through the upper floor hallway of what was clearly a large house, i observed her surroundings carefully, gathering whatever informations might prove useful.
She noticed three other closed bedroom doors along this corridor—suggesting other prisoners or residents confined to specific rooms like she’d been.
And there were ard guards positioned strategically throughout the hallway—people just standing there with weapons visible, clearly tasked with preventing escape attempts or unauthorized movent.
"Where do you co from originally?" Liam asked as they walked, apparently trying to make small talk or gather information.
i ignored him completely, not even acknowledging the question with a glance.
"You’ll be talking soon enough anyway, so you might as well start cooperating now," he snorted dismissively, then stepped aside and gestured for her to descend the staircase leading down to the ground floor.
i descended slowly and carefully, using the opportunity to catch glimpses of the layout below.
She could see a large living room space where roughly ten or more people were gathered—all of them appearing to be Callighan’s followers based on their weapons and alert postures.
They were scattered throughout the room in a loose periter formation, all oriented toward a single figure standing in the center of the space.
She could see his broad back from her elevated position on the stairs—a tall man wearing a dark jacket, currently looking down at sothing on a table in front of him.
The Alien Matrix device that Gaspar had stolen from them. He appeared to be scanning or examining it with intense focus.
"Callighan," Liam called out from behind i as she reached the bottom of the staircase. "I brought her."
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