Chapter 104: Annie and Yas

A hand covered the woman’s eyes from the light above as her mind forced her to remember everything.

—

January 2nd, 2016.

The jewelry shop smelled like metal polish and incense. A fan turned slowly overhead, pushing warm air around. The happy new year sign looked old and worn out, despite being set up just a few days ago.

“You sure about this?” Annie muttered, eyeing the glass case full of shining caps.

Yasmine grinned. “You scared?”

“I just don’t want to look like a SoundCloud rapper.”

“Do you want to look bad ass like your big sister or not?” Yasmine shot back.

Annie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

They leaned over the counter while the jeweler pulled out trays. Silver. Gold. Different cuts.

Yasmine leaned over the glass counter. “Lemme see the silver again.”

“Silver?” Annie asked. “That’s boring.”

“It’s classy,” Yasmine said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Annie stared at the gold set. It was flashy. Loud in a way that fit her.

“I’ll take these.”

Yasmine looked at her. “You’re gonna regret that.”

“Watch me not.”

They sat in cracked leather chairs while the molds were fitted. Annie gagged twice and cursed the guy out. Yasmine laughed so hard she almost choked.

When they stepped outside, the sun hit their faces, the cold winter breeze making Annie shiver.

“Damn, my ass hurts. Felt like I was sitting there forever.”

“Ready?” Yasmine asked.

They grinned at each other.

Silver flashed cool and bright.

Gold caught harder, warmer.

Yasmine pulled out her phone. “Don’t make it weird. Just smile.”

“I am smiling.”

“Not like that. You look angry.”

“I’m trying, alright?”

They laughed and kept taking pictures until the jeweler told them to move from the doorway.

—

The news played in the background while they ate dinner on the couch. A reporter stood in front of a hospital, mask on, voice tight. Words like outbreak and containment crawled across the bottom of the screen.

Yasmine muted it.

“They say that every year,” she said, reaching for another fry.

Annie shrugged. “As long as it’s not here.”

But it was here.

They felt it for real in the middle of a corner store three weeks later.

The power had flickered twice while they were inside. Half the shelves were empty. Yasmine was arguing over the last case of bottled water when a man stumbled into her.

“You good?” she asked, annoyed.

He looked up.

His eyes were wrong. The whites webbed with red veins, pupils blown wide.

He lunged.

“AUGH!!! FUCK!!!”

His teeth sank into her shoulder.

Annie reacted without thinking. She grabbed a kitchen knife from a display rack and drove it into his throat. Once. Twice. She felt cartilage give. Warm blood splashed across her hands.

He collapsed, choking, fingers twitching at the handle sticking out of his neck.

Yasmine staggered back against a shelf.

Annie dropped to her knees and pressed both hands over the bite. Blood soaked through her fingers and dripped to the floor.

“Yas, Yas… stay with me. Please. I’m gonna find you some help. I swear.”

Yasmine’s face had gone pale. Her silver grill flashed when she tried to laugh through the pain.

“Guess I should’ve gone gold,” she muttered.

“Shut up,” Annie snapped, voice breaking.

Annie said a lot of things after that. She said she’d find a doctor. She said she’d rob a hospital if she had to. At one point she said she’d let something bite her too so they’d match.

It didn’t even sound crazy to her.

They had gotten permanent grillz at eighteen. Dropped out of school at nineteen. Moved into a place they couldn’t afford just because it had a skyline view. Absurd was normal. Annie would have followed Yasmine anywhere.

The fever started that night.

By the third day, Yasmine couldn’t stand without help. Her skin burned under Annie’s hands. They joined a crowd in a hospital parking garage, people wrapped in blankets, crying, yelling at locked doors.

A man in a dark hoodie moved through the rows of cars like he was shopping.

“Bit?” he asked quietly.

Annie nodded.

He unzipped a backpack and opened a hard case.

Inside were small glass vials filled with glowing amber liquid. The light caught inside them like honey under the sun.

“It slows it,” he said. “Not free.”

Annie didn’t argue. She shoved crumpled bills into his hand. He counted without looking at her.

When he glanced up, his eyes caught the light. For a second, the brown around his pupils looked rimmed in something brighter. Warmer.

She took the vial with shaking, sweaty hands.

They found someone willing to inject it in the back of a van.

Yasmine hissed when the needle went into her neck. Annie held her still.

They waited.

The shaking eased first. Then her breathing slowed. The fever broke enough for her to open her eyes fully.

She looked at Annie and gave a small smile.

Silver flashed.

After that, everything sped up.

People whispered about supply. Labs. Recipes. Control. The surge didn’t just spread infection; it built power structures around the cure that wasn’t a cure.

The sisters stayed in Chicago.

They learned who controlled the flow of Amber and who wanted in. They learned who could be paid and who had to be removed. One favor turned into ten. Ten turned into a crew. Crews turned into territory.

They built something out of chaos. Not clean. Not kind. But organized.

For them, life after the surge had rules. Before, they were drifting. After, they had purpose.

Yasmine handled negotiations. Annie handled enforcement.

Silver and gold became known.

—

Annie woke with a sharp inhale.

Sweat soaked her shirt. The room was dark except for city light bleeding through the blinds.

For a second, she didn’t know where she was.

Then she rolled onto her side and nearly fell off the bed reaching for the counter. Her hand knocked over an empty glass before closing around a vial.

The amber inside glowed faintly.

Her fingers were steady when she pulled the cap off. She didn’t hesitate. She plunged the needle into her neck and pressed down.

The burn spread fast. Familiar. Grounding.

She closed her eyes as her pulse evened out.

When she opened them again, they were clear.

Hard.

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