An excerpt from 508.75UJ, section D of the Whitewick castle library. Translated by Guido Maniscalchi. 

Nitor is her name. She said it’s a common enough name among the avian community she’s from. I think she doesn’t like to talk about that, because she got really quiet after telling me. Quieter than usual, I mean. 

I can’t blame her. I don’t like to think about the Before either. People like her and me, we got the short end of the stick. Born just in the nick of time to experience a kinder, softer world that’s not here anymore. 

At least our parents had the chance to grow into adulthood without everything falling apart at the seams around them. Nitor and I got one peek at the life we could’ve had and then bam—ominous streaks of energy across the sky every single day. The collapse of society as we knew it. 

I’m starting to regret not bringing more clothes with us. I didn’t want to steal from any of the other kids, though, so I’m stuck with my hoodie, Mom’s old wind jacket and my cape to keep myself warm. Nitor’s sweater looks like it’s two seconds away from unraveling, but she said she can mend it if we find some sewing supplies. 

Guess I’ll have to look for those the next time I risk a visit to the market. I don’t like that place, but we’re running low on cold medicine anyway. Sleeping in a damp abandoned building without a roof doesn’t exactly do wonders for your health. 

These days we huddle together. We didn’t at first; Nitor kept staring off into space with those glassy yolk eyes of hers and she would get all tense if I tried to approach her. Even though she was the one who had followed me in the first place. I thought it was annoying, but then it hit me. Just because I’d been her way out of the Pen, it didn’t mean she was going to easily trust me. Ours was a partnership of convenience.

So I worked at it. I kept a safe distance, I shared the rations I’d stolen for myself, and I let her cling to the hem of my jacket when we went to the market. She’s the one who eventually closed the gap. 

I think I heard her humming to herself the other night. I was drifting in and out of sleep, so I might have dreamed of it, but I could swear I heard a low, humming voice next to me. When I woke up for my shift of the watch, I caught a glimpse of a smile on her lips. 

I hadn’t woken up to someone smiling in a long time. 

Bruno