Chapter 83: The winning side

The smell of blood and gunpowder burned through my nostrils as we moved through the corridors.

None of us ran, or rushed.

We walked.

The building was almost silent now—except for the wet, abrupt sounds of it ending. A scream cut short. A knife dragged free. A single gunshot echoing once, then not again. Our people were thorough. They always were.

I should’ve felt relief.

We’d won. I was free. The neural lattice hadn’t finished chewing through my brain, hadn’t turned me into whatever Vivian wanted me to become.

But it was still there.

I could feel it—like a foreign thought lodged behind my eyes, humming softly, waiting. Something inside me had shifted. And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that whatever walked out of this place wearing my face wasn’t the same person they’d dragged onto that table.

Vivian stumbled beside us.

I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying anymore. The sounds bled together—sharp breaths, broken chuckles, something hysterical clawing its way out of her chest. Her hands were bound, but her posture was still rigid, stubborn to the end.

It was jarring to see her like this.

The Crucible’s commander. Controlled. Precise. The woman who’d looked at me like I was a resource, a tool, a future she could shape with enough pain.

I realized then—now that the walls were burning and her empire was collapsing around her—that I had been afraid of her.

Truly afraid.

And still… watching her lose everything, watching her people die in front of her eyes—

I understood it.

That kind of pain doesn’t care who deserves it.

I hated myself a little for that sliver of empathy.

The doors ahead burst open.

Night air slammed into us, cold and sharp, carrying the stench of rot.

Outside, the infected surged.

Not a horde. Not an army.

Enough.

Enough to be a problem. Enough to remind me that the world beyond the Crucible was still broken, still hungry.

Our remaining soldiers didn’t hesitate.

Rifles came up. Muzzles flashed. Brass hit the ground in a steady rain as infected bodies jerked and dropped, skulls snapping back, limbs folding wrong. I moved with them without thinking, borrowed muscle memory guiding my hands as I fired into the dark.

One fell too close.

I put a round through its head before I realized I’d aimed.

That scared me.

We carved a path through blood and twitching corpses, boots crunching over bone, until the night finally opened wide enough to breathe.

Everyone was silent as the trucks were loaded.

No orders. No shouting. Just the metallic clank of crates being slammed shut and the low idle of engines chewing through the night. Headlights cut long, pale scars across the ground.

I stood still.

A shadow fell across my eyes, heavy and unmoving. My mouth stayed shut. I didn’t trust it to open without something ugly spilling out. I didn’t think a year in a five-star hotel—soft sheets, warm water, or silence—could ever scrub what that building carved into me.

It wasn’t just memory.

It lived in my body now.

In the corner of my vision, I saw her smile at me.

It was small. Hopeful. Like she still believed in something that no longer existed.

She was part of it. Of the trauma. Whether I wanted to admit it or not. The nights I couldn’t sleep. The way my hands still shook when someone touched me without warning.

She was a problem.

I knew that now.

Everyone did—after Texas. After the stunt she pulled that showed everyone at camp who she really was.

She started walking toward me.

Slow. Careful. Like approaching an injured animal.

She didn’t get close.

“Keep away from him.”

Aubrey’s voice cut sharp through the air, venomous. Final.

Lila froze.

Her expression darkened—not anger. Fear. The kind that sinks in when you realize the room has already decided what you are.

Still restrained, she couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t reach me. Couldn’t fix it.

Everyone noticed.

And the murmurs came like flies.

“Josephine said she only needed one intelligent infected, right? We already have Vivian.”

“We don’t need her.”

“That psycho’s becoming a liability.”

“I don’t want her back at camp.”

“She’s unpredictable… that’s scary.”

The words stacked. Layered. Buried her alive.

I heard every single one.

So did she.

“…baby…?” Her voice cracked. “What’s going on?”

I didn’t answer.

I never did.

Silence stretched until it hurt.

Then someone said it—calm, practical, merciless.

“It’s your call, Adrian. It’d be best if we left her here.”

Her eyes widened.

Realization hit her all at once. Tears swelled, spilling over before she could stop them.

I stared at the ground.

I’m not strong enough to save her.

The thought landed fully formed, absolute. She was dangerous. To me. To everyone. Loving her didn’t change that. It only made it worse.

“I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of her.”

My voice was barely above a whisper.

But everyone heard it.

Aubrey moved immediately.

She grabbed Lila by the restraints and dragged her toward a rusted metal beam half-buried near the trucks.

“Baby—?” Panic tore through her voice. “BABY WAIT—WHAT’S GOING ON?! WHERE IS SHE—GET THE FUCK OFF ME—!”

She thrashed, screaming, sobbing, chains rattling violently as Aubrey hauled her forward.

“Adrian, you can’t do this,” Lila cried. “I swear I’ll be better—I SWEAR! PLEASE! WE CAN FIX THIS—!”

My eyes burned.

I couldn’t look at her.

Couldn’t stomach the sound of my name in her mouth anymore.

“You said you wouldn’t abandon me!” she screamed. “YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME—THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID!”

My fists clenched so hard my nails bit skin.

Aubrey locked the chains around the metal beam.

Solid. Unforgiving.

Lila collapsed against it, then exploded—kicking, screaming, sobbing openly. No dignity left. Just raw terror. Ugly, desperate crying that echoed across the clearing.

“ADRIAN NO—YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! YOU CAN’T LEAVE! PLEASE—I’M SORRY—I’M SO SORRY!”

I turned away.

Stepped toward the truck.

“PLEASE!” she sobbed, choking on her own breath. “I’M SORRY!”

“We should leave,” Aubrey muttered as she climbed in. “Before her screams draw more infected.”

Slowly—

Reluctantly—

I followed.

Or I was about to.

“I’M PREGNANT.”

The words detonated.

I froze mid-step.

The world tilted.

Aubrey went still, rubbing her eyes like she didn’t want to see what was in front of her.

Carl stiffened, arms folding awkwardly around himself, eyes wide. Someone coughed. Too loud. Too human.

I turned back.

Lila was crying harder now—face wrecked, eyes wild, voice breaking.

“I didn’t want to tell you like this,” she sobbed. “I didn’t want it to be like this—”

The chains rattled as she leaned forward helplessly.

And for the first time since the trucks started loading—

Everyone looked at me.

Waiting.

After a moment of silence—

I breathed.

Deep. Slow. Like I was trying to keep something inside my chest from tearing its way out.

“Unlock her chains.”

The words landed wrong. Too soft for what they did.

Lila looked up at me like I’d just pulled her back from the dead. Her eyes were wide, shining, unfocused. A smile broke through her tears—ugly, desperate, grateful. She laughed once, breath hitching as she wiped at her face with her shoulder. Or tried to.

“I—I knew you wouldn’t,” she whispered. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me…”

Aubrey snapped toward me.

“Are you fucking serious?” she said. “Adrian, she could be lying. You don’t know that she’s—why are you so—”

“Just fucking do it.”

My voice cut clean through hers.

I looked at Aubrey then.

Really looked.

My eyes felt empty. Cold. Like whatever used to hesitate in me had burned out back in that building.

Everything stopped.

Engines idled. Soldiers froze mid-motion. Someone halfway through loading a crate just… didn’t finish.

Everyone was staring.

Hale exhaled through his nose and pinched the bridge of it, eyes closing briefly—not angry. Disappointed. Like he’d just watched a line get crossed that couldn’t be uncrossed.

Adira said nothing.

Neither did the others.

They didn’t need to.

Aubrey stared back at me, jaw tight, fingers flexing at her side like she was holding herself back from saying something she could never take back.

“Don’t make me have to tell you again.”

The silence after that was heavier than the gunfire had been.

For a second, Aubrey didn’t move.

Then her shoulders dropped—just a fraction.

She turned toward Lila.

The chains rattled as she knelt, fingers moving fast, rough, unceremonious. Metal scraped against metal. The lock snapped open.

The sound echoed.

Final.

Lila sagged forward as the restraints fell away, breath breaking into sobs as she pressed her forehead to the beam, then pushed herself upright.

Free.

She took one unsteady step toward me.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t reach out.

Didn’t trust myself to.

Behind me, I could feel it—the shift. The quiet understanding spreading through the group.

This wasn’t relief.

This was a fault line.

And I was standing right on it, watching it crack open beneath my feet.

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