Chapter 7

The next morning, I pack up my stuff, slinging my bag over my shoulder and heading toward Vesper.

“Hey, where’s Ashley—?”

I stop cold.

He looks… awful.
Eyes red-rimmed, face pale, like he hasn’t slept a second.
I remember hearing shouting last night—figured it was nothing. But maybe… it was them.

He rubs at his eyes and looks up at me, trying to pull it together. I just stare at him, unsure.
I don’t get why he cares so much about her. Why anyone does.
Ashley used him. Lied. Didn’t even say sorry. She just disappeared like it meant nothing.

That kind of betrayal? Makes my skin crawl.
It’s why I stopped letting myself care in the first place.

“Liora? You good?”

His voice snaps me out of it.
I blink. I’ve been standing there staring at the ground for… who knows how long.

“Yeah,” I mutter, scratching the back of my neck. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t quite believe me, but he lets it go, walking off before I can say anything else.

I watch him leave, jaw clenched.
If he won’t stand up for himself, I will.

Ashley’s gonna apologise. One way or another.

Problem is… where the hell is she?

I head toward the stables and ask one of the guards, “Hey, you seen Ashley?”

He nods. “Went on patrol not long ago. You could probably catch up if you leave now. Want a horse?”

“Yes.”

He marks the route on a map and I ride out.
It’s freezing. Wind slapping my face, snow stinging my skin, but I don’t stop.

At one point I spot a lone NeuroSick shuffling through the snow. Creepy as hell, but I ride past it. No time.

Eventually, I reach a forest. I slow the horse—snow crunching under hoof—until I see it: fresh tracks.

Found you.

“Thanks for leading me right to you,” I mutter.

The tracks lead to a clearing. There’s an old shed nearby—probably used as a NeuroSick trap. I tie up my horse inside, make sure it’s safe, and move toward the building.

That’s when I hear it.

Groans. Screams. Shuffling bodies.
Chaos.

I break into a sprint.

Inside, Ashley’s surrounded, barely holding her ground. She’s fighting—but she’s losing. Fast.

I yank out my blaster, shooting through infected skulls like it’s clockwork. She turns, stunned, as I grab a rusted pipe off the floor and slam it into one of them. A sickening crunch. Blood splashes on me.

She flinches.

“Ashley?” I pant, lowering the pipe. “You alright?”

She nods. Doesn’t speak.

I walk toward her. She steps back, staring at the blood on me.
Yeah, I probably look wild—visor off, hair loose, red splattered all over me.

I pause. Then turn away, stepping outside to breathe.

Why am I even helping her?

Maybe… maybe I wanted her to see I’m not just background noise.
I protect people. Even ones who don’t deserve it.

A loud crash yanks me back to reality.
Then—bang. Footsteps. Something dragging.

I bolt inside.

There’s a long trail of blood smeared across the floor, leading to a rusted door. I shove against it.

“Come on—!”

It bursts open.

Ashley’s on the ground, unconscious.
One arm’s mangled—soaked in blood—and a NeuroSick is closing in on her.

I fire.
It drops, twitching before it goes still.

I drop to my knees, checking her pulse.
Still alive. Barely. But the blood loss is bad.

“Dammit…”

I tear fabric from my jacket and bandage her arm. My hands are slick with blood, shaking hard. I throw my mask on—just in case she’s infected—and hoist her over my shoulder.

I carry her into a back room, breathing heavy. Then—footsteps. Close.

I duck beneath the window—a long sliver between the walls. I can see out, but they can’t see in.
I wedge a chair under the door handle, locking us inside.

Ashley’s still bleeding. I lay her down and check her wound again—and that’s when I see it.

A pipe.
A literal pipe stabbed clean through her arm. I hadn’t noticed it before. No wonder the bleeding’s so bad.

It makes my stomach turn, but I push through it. I remember the first aid training Xander drilled into me.

Don’t remove the object. Not unless you're safe.

I clean around the wound as best I can, then wrap it up to stop her from bleeding all over the damn floor and attracting more NeuroSick.

I look around the room. Nothing.
No med supplies, no weapons—just a busted restroom. I check it anyway.

Inside, there’s a jar of pills on a rusty shelf. The label’s half-torn, ink bled everywhere.
I can barely make out the word “Parace—” before it smears off.

Probably paracetamol. I’m not gonna risk it, but maybe someone back at camp can ID them. I stash the jar in my pouch.

Ashley groans. She’s stirring.

I grab the scanner Vesper gave me and check her for bots.
Clear.

I breathe out. Then turn to peek into the hallway again.
Silent.

Too silent.

Then—click.

I whip around.
Ashley’s awake.
She’s pointing a pistol right at me.

“Hands up.”

I raise them slowly.
Her eyes twitch. Furious. Broken.

“You ruined my relationship.”

I stare at her. Then glare. “You ruined it yourself.”

She fires.

I drop low just in time—the shot explodes into the wall behind me. I tackle her. She fires again—straight into the ceiling. Cracks splinter above us.

Shit. We need to go.

I try to grab her arm, but she swings the gun toward me.

I stumble, dizzy, but I don’t stop. I caught her wrist—another shot. This one blasts through the window, shattering glass everywhere. I twist her wrist hard—she screams, dropping the pistol. I kick it across the room. I vault through the broken window and dash upstairs.

Behind me—footsteps. Not hers. 

NeuroSick.