Chapter 78: No one’s coming to save you

Aubrey hit the ground hard.

Her knees buckled first, then the rest of her followed, gravel biting into her skin as she caught herself with a trembling hand. A sound tore out of her chest—raw, broken—and before she could stop herself, she slammed her fist into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

The tears came anyway.

By the time she looked up, the convoy was already gone. The vehicles that had taken Adrian and Lila were nothing more than shrinking shadows beyond the compound walls—dust settling where hope had been ripped away.

Terri knelt beside her without a word, small hands rubbing slow, steady circles into Aubrey’s back like she was afraid she might shatter completely if she stopped.

Aubrey’s shoulders shook.

Cherie didn’t move.

She stood rigid, jaw locked, eyes fixed on the distant road where the Crucible had disappeared. After a moment, her gaze dropped—to the studded bat clenched in her hand.

The weight of it felt wrong.

She turned it once, then again.

She had never used it for anything good.

Behind them, Callahan exhaled sharply and adjusted the strap of his rifle.

“Good riddance,” he muttered.

He turned to walk away.

“Alright fellas how about we clean this mess up? Be on alert for any infected. The tank’s noise may have attracted them.”

“—Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

The yard froze.

Adira’s voice was low, controlled—but it carried. Carl lifted a hand instinctively, half a step forward, but it was useless. She was already moving.

Callahan stopped.

Slowly, he turned.

Up close, his eyes narrowed, scanning her face like he was digging through an old memory.

“You look familiar,” he said. “You a friend of his?”

Adira didn’t blink.

“Commander Adira,” she replied evenly. “Formerly Chicago PD. Twenty-first district.”

A beat.

“Don’t know if that matters anymore.”

Something shifted behind his eyes.

He studied her properly this time.

Then he scoffed.

“You of all people should understand,” Callahan said. “Sacrifices. Compromises. That boy—” his gaze flicked toward Aubrey, Cherie, the others “—and his little group have been nothing but trouble since the moment they stepped foot here.”

Adira’s expression hardened.

“Food runs. Attacks. Chaos,” he continued. “We did what we had to do.”

He turned away.

He didn’t get far.

In a blur of motion, Adira grabbed him by the collar.

Gasps rippled through the yard as she lifted him clean off the ground—boots kicking uselessly in the air, rifle clattering against his chest.

Even his soldiers froze.

No one moved.

Aubrey looked up through tears. Terri’s hand stilled. Cherie’s grip tightened around her bat.

Adira’s eyes burned.

“You used him,” she said, voice shaking with fury. “Sent him out there to bleed for your precious compound because you couldn’t do it yourselves—”

She yanked him closer.

“And now you abandon him?”

Callahan struggled, choking, hands clawing at her wrist as his face flushed red.

“Has the apocalypse,” Adira demanded, “truly stripped you of every value you ever claimed as a soldier?”

Silence.

The kind that presses on your ears.

Then—

A hand landed gently on her shoulder.

“Adira,” Hale said quietly.

She held Callahan there for one more heartbeat.

Then she let go.

He collapsed onto his feet, stumbling back, coughing violently as his soldiers rushed to steady him—but none of them looked her in the eye.

Adira didn’t wait.

She turned and stormed off across the compound, boots striking concrete like gunshots, fury radiating from her in waves.

Behind her, Aubrey watched the empty road.

And somewhere far beyond the walls—

Two lives disappeared into the dark.

I’d gotten used to the cold.

Not in the heroic way people imagine—no grit, no triumph. Just exposure. Hours of it. Long enough that my skin stopped flinching and my thoughts stopped racing. The chains helped. The weight of them around my wrists—too tight, too real—kept me anchored. Pain has a way of doing that. It reminds you that you’re still here.

Still breathing.

Still thinking.

And thinking was all I had left.

From the time I’d been sitting here, I’d learned a few things about the room they’d put me in.

It wasn’t meant for comfort. That was obvious. Bare concrete walls, no windows, one light bolted into the ceiling behind a metal grate—positioned just wrong enough to cast uneven shadows. On purpose. Disorientation tactic. No corners fully dark, no corners fully lit.

The air vent was real—but filtered. Too quiet. Too controlled. That meant the airflow was mechanical, centralized. No loose screws. No vibration. Not something I could exploit.

The walls weren’t padded, which told me this wasn’t an interrogation room designed for screaming. It was a holding room. Observation. Waiting.

The floor had been swept recently. No debris. No dust buildup. Someone wanted to know if I moved.

And the chair—

The chair was the real tell.

Solid steel. Bolted legs. Heavy enough that even shifting my weight dragged it across the floor with a sharp, ugly scrape. Any movement would echo down the hall like a confession.

Smart on their part.

The chains gave me just enough slack to breathe, to think—but not enough to do anything useful. Whoever designed this room didn’t underestimate patience.

I exhaled slowly.

Then the door creaked open.

I didn’t stiffen. That would’ve been pointless. I counted footsteps instead.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Different weights. Different rhythms. At least one woman—lighter step, quicker cadence. No hesitation. Authority.

What were they planning now?

Hands grabbed my face from behind—sharp, sudden—fingers digging into my jaw and cheekbones, forcing my head up.

“Forward,” she said.

A box TV rolled into view.

Old. Analog. The kind with a rounded screen and faded plastic casing. Someone had gone out of their way to find this thing.

I struggled instinctively, chains rattling, chair screaming against the floor. The woman behind me tightened her grip.

I scoffed, even as my chest tightened.

“What,” I muttered, voice rough. “You gonna try and scar me with a horror movie?”

“Quiet,” she said flatly. “And pay attention.”

The TV flickered.

Then—

My breath caught.

Lila.

She was sitting in a chair in a room I recognized instantly—same concrete, same lighting, different angle. Must have been a few rooms over. Close enough to hear me scream if I did.

My eyes widened despite myself.

“…What the hell is this?”

A woman sat across from her. Calm. Professional. Clipboard in hand. The posture of someone who listens for a living.

An interview.

My stomach dropped.

I knew what this was the second Lila opened her mouth.

“Do you know what true love really means…?” she asked, voice trembling.

The woman frowned thoughtfully. “Of course I do. Is there someone you feel that strongly about?”

Lila smiled.

It was fragile. Shaking. Like it might crack her face in half.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

“Yes,” she said. “I love him. I love him so much my whole body aches. I’d do anything under the sun for him… anything—”

She faltered.

Her pupils dilated.

“But?” the woman prompted gently.

“There must be a but, right?”

Lila looked up slowly.

“He’s so special to me….but he makes it so hard for me to protect him.”

My chest felt hollow.

The woman leaned forward. “Why don’t you take matters into your own hands?”

Lila shook.

“I already have,” she whispered. “Just… small things.”

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“Unloading his gun,” Lila continued, voice barely holding together. “So he’d have to rely on me. Letting him almost die— just so I could save him. So he’d cling to me more.”

I thrashed, a broken sound tearing out of my throat. The chair shrieked. Chains bit into my skin. The woman behind me held firm, unmoving.

“The way his hugs feel…they’re so warm. Comforting. He’s always been my light source to keep going…”

I tried to turn away.

Couldn’t.

“I’ve thought about it…” Lila said.

“Thought about what?” the interviewer asked.

Lila swallowed.

“Breaking his limbs while he sleeps,” she said softly. “So the only person he’d truly have to rely on… would be me.”

My vision blurred.

Tears poured freely now, hot and humiliating. I shook my head, a silent no, but the screen didn’t care.

A pause.

Then Lila broke down completely.

“But I could never hurt my darling,” she sobbed. “Not like that… not so cruelly.”

The woman nodded, as if this made sense.

“But ultimately,” she said, voice smooth as oil, “it’s for the greater good, isn’t it?”

Lila looked straight ahead.

Straight through the camera.

“Yes,” she whispered.

The screen went black.

The room felt smaller.

The chains felt heavier.

I wanted to tell Vivian how sick she was to her face, but I know that wasn’t gonna help anything.

I felt the fracture already forming despite how I fought it so much.

And for the first time since they’d locked me in here, I understood something with perfect clarity:

They weren’t hurting me. They were trying to rewrite the Lila I already had in my head.

And whatever came next—

Wasn’t going to be about pain.

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