Traveling together settled into something uneasy but workable. No one said they trusted the other group, but they stopped watching every movement like it might turn into a threat. They shared food when it made sense, took turns on watch without arguing too much about it, and kept the same pace without needing to negotiate it each time. It wasn’t unity. It was survival doing what it always did, smoothing the edges just enough to keep people moving.

Charles kept to himself more than before. It was easier that way. The work didn’t change much. Injuries still came in small bursts, cuts that needed cleaning, fevers that wouldn’t break, the occasional case that sat heavier than the rest. He handled what he could, passed off what he couldn’t, and tried not to think about the difference. The others started to rely on him without saying it. Supplies got handed to him before he asked. Space cleared when he needed it.

Yiannis watched all of it.

Not openly, not in a way that would draw attention, but Charles felt it anyway. A glance that lingered a second too long, a question that came at the right time without being asked out loud. It was the same quiet pattern from years ago, only sharper now. Grounded in something that had less patience for hesitation.

On the fifth night, they stopped in what used to be a roadside shelter. Half the roof was gone, and the wind came through without resistance, but the walls still stood. It was enough. People spread out in familiar positions, some settling, others taking watch. Charles cleaned his hands with what little water they could spare and sat against the wall, letting his shoulders drop for the first time that day.

Yiannis came over without making a point of it. He sat a short distance away, not close enough to crowd, not far enough to feel like avoidance.

“You missed a spot,” he said after a moment.

Charles glanced down. There was dried blood along the edge of his wrist he hadn’t noticed.

“Occupational hazard,” he muttered, wiping it off with the corner of his shirt.

“You should be more careful.”

“You volunteering to take over?”

Yiannis huffed something that might have been a laugh. “Not my skill set.”

“Then let me do mine.”

A pause settled between them, not uncomfortable, just there.

“You’ve changed,” Yiannis said eventually.

Charles stilled for a second. “You say that like you knew me before.”

Yiannis didn’t answer right away. His gaze shifted, not quite meeting Charles’s.

“People don’t usually hold steady like that,” he said instead. “Not in this.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” Yiannis agreed. “It’s not.”

Charles let it go, though the question stayed. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment, just long enough to feel the weight of the day catch up with him.

“Why’d you stay?” Yiannis asked.

“At the station?”

“Yeah.”

Charles opened his eyes again, staring up at the broken edge of the roof.

“Didn’t have anywhere better to be,” he said. Then, quieter, “Thought my family might find me there.”

“And did they?”

Charles shook his head once. “No.”

Yiannis didn’t follow up. He nodded like that was enough, like he understood what wasn’t being said. It should have felt intrusive, but it didn’t. That was the part that bothered Charles more than the question itself.

“You?” Charles asked after a moment. “Why’d you take this route?”

Yiannis leaned back, mirroring his posture.

“Because it keeps people alive,” he said. “Most days.”

“That’s a low bar.”

“It’s the only one that matters right now.”

Charles glanced at him, studying his profile in the dim light. There was something steady there, something that didn’t bend easily. It wasn’t comforting exactly, but it was reliable.

“You always talk like that?” Charles asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re picking your words so you don’t say too much.”

Yiannis turned his head slightly, meeting his gaze this time.

“Do you always notice things you’re not supposed to?”

Charles held the look for a second, then looked away.

“Depends,” he said. “Sometimes it’s obvious.”

“Sometimes,” Yiannis echoed, like he was agreeing with something else entirely.

The conversation thinned after that. Not abruptly, just naturally, like both of them had reached the point where more words wouldn’t add anything useful. Around them, the others settled into sleep or quiet watch, the soft sounds of shifting fabric and low murmurs filling the space.

Later, when most of the shelter had gone still, Charles found himself awake again. It had become a habit he couldn’t shake. Sleep came in pieces, never long enough to feel like rest. He turned his head slightly and saw Yiannis still awake, sitting near the opening, watching the dark beyond it.

“You don’t sleep?” Charles asked quietly.

“Not when I don’t have to,” Yiannis replied.

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Neither is any of this.”

Charles let out a faint breath. “Fair.”

Silence settled again, but it felt different this time. Less guarded. The kind that didn’t need filling.

“You ever feel like this isn’t real?” Charles said after a while. “Like it’s something that’s going to stop if you wait long enough.”

Yiannis didn’t turn, but his voice came steady.

“No.”

Charles almost smiled at that. “Straight answer.”

“You asked for one.”

He shifted, pulling his knees up slightly, resting his arms on them.

“I used to think that,” Charles admitted. “At the start. Thought there’d be a point where it just… reset.”

“And now?”

Charles watched the darkness beyond the shelter, the way it seemed to press in without moving.

“Now I think this is it,” he said. “Whatever this is.”

Yiannis nodded once, slow.

“Then you adapt,” he said. “Or you don’t.”

“Those are great options.”

“They’re the only ones.”

Charles didn’t argue with that. He didn’t have anything to counter it with.

A sound cut through the quiet then. Not loud, but wrong. Too sharp to belong to the wind, too deliberate to ignore.

Yiannis was on his feet before Charles fully registered it.

“Up,” he said, low but firm. “Now.”

Everything shifted in an instant. Sleep dropped away, replaced by movement, hands reaching for what they needed, voices kept tight and controlled. Charles pushed himself up, pulse quickening, already scanning for what he could do.

Another sound followed, closer this time. Then another.

“Ambush,” someone hissed.

It didn’t need to be confirmed.

The first shot came from the dark, tearing through the fragile quiet they’d been holding onto.

------

The first shot didn’t feel real until the second one followed it. Then the space around them broke apart. People moved fast, grabbing what they could, dragging others up, voices low but urgent. Charles dropped to his knees beside the nearest person who had gone down, hands already working before his thoughts caught up. Blood spread quick under his fingers. Too quick.

“Leave him,” someone snapped.

“I can’t—”

“You can if you want to live.”

A hand grabbed Charles’s shoulder, pulling him back just as another shot tore through the wall behind where he had been. Splinters hit his cheek. He didn’t feel it right away.

“Move,” Yiannis said, close enough that Charles could hear the strain he was holding down. “Now.”

Charles hesitated for half a second. It was enough for Yiannis to shove him toward the rear opening. There was no time to argue, no space to decide what kind of person he wanted to be in that moment. Survival made the choice for him.

They ran.

Not together, not in any kind of formation. Just bodies moving in the same direction, trying to outpace something that was already closing in. The ground was uneven, the dark thick enough to trip over, but stopping wasn’t an option. Shots followed them, not constant but enough to keep the pressure tight.

Charles’s lungs burned fast. He kept going anyway. Someone stumbled ahead of him and didn’t get back up. He didn’t look long enough to see who it was.

They didn’t slow until the sounds behind them thinned out, replaced by distance and the kind of silence that comes after too much noise. Even then, no one spoke right away. They just kept moving, slower now, breaths rough, steps less certain.

When they finally stopped, it wasn’t planned. It just happened. One person dropped, then another, and the rest followed like the decision had already been made for them.

Charles bent over, hands on his knees, trying to pull air back into his chest. His hands were shaking. He pressed them against his thighs to hide it, though no one was looking at him.

“Count,” Yiannis said.

It cut through the moment clean. People straightened, looked around, voices low as they started calling out names.

The count didn’t take long.

It was short.

Too short.

“Where’s—” someone started, then stopped when no one answered.

Charles felt it settle in slowly, like something heavy finding its place. Faces that had been there hours ago were just… gone. No confirmation, no closure. Just absence.

“We can’t go back,” one of the others said, already defensive, like the argument had been waiting.

“No one’s saying we should,” Yiannis replied.

It wasn’t harsh, but it ended the conversation anyway.

Charles sank down onto the ground, back against a rough stretch of stone. His legs felt like they didn’t belong to him. He stared ahead without really seeing anything.

“I should’ve stayed,” he said under his breath.

Yiannis heard him anyway. He always did.

“You wouldn’t have made it,” he said.

“That’s not the point.”

“It is.”

Charles looked up at him then, something sharp cutting through the exhaustion.

“They were right there,” he said. “I could’ve—”

“Done what?” Yiannis cut in, not raising his voice but not softening it either. “Gotten yourself killed too?”

“At least I wouldn’t be here wondering why I’m not.”

The words hung there, heavier than anything else that night.

Yiannis held his gaze for a moment, then looked away, jaw tightening just enough to notice.

“You think they’d want that?” he said.

Charles didn’t answer. He didn’t have one that felt honest.

“They made their choice,” Yiannis went on. “You don’t get to undo it because you don’t like how it feels.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“You think I haven’t lost people?” Yiannis shot back, the edge slipping through for the first time. “You think you’re the only one carrying that?”

Charles flinched, more at the tone than the words.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence dropped between them, thick and uncomfortable. The others kept their distance, pretending not to listen.

Charles dragged a hand over his face, pressing hard against his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he said, quieter now. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with all of this.”

Yiannis exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.

“You keep moving,” he said. “That’s it.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It has to be.”

Charles let out a short, humorless breath. “You really believe that?”

Yiannis didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was quieter.

“No,” he said. “But it’s what we have.”

That sat differently. Not reassuring, but honest in a way Charles couldn’t push against.

He looked away, gaze drifting over the small group that remained. Fewer than before. Too few.

“What now?” he asked.

“We keep going,” Yiannis said, like there was no other version of that answer.

Charles nodded once, even though every part of him wanted to stay right where he was and not move again.

They rested for what little time they could afford. No one slept properly. Not after that. Every sound pulled at attention, every shift in the air felt like a warning.

When they started moving again, it was quieter than before. Not just in sound, but in everything. Fewer voices. Less space between people. The kind of closeness that came from knowing how quickly things could break.

Charles walked near the back this time. Not by accident. He kept scanning behind them, eyes adjusting to the dark, searching for any sign they were being followed.

At some point, Yiannis slowed enough to fall into step beside him.

“You’re limping,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Charles glanced down. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now that he paid attention, there was a dull ache running up his leg.

“Just a twist,” he said. “It’ll pass.”

Yiannis didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it.

“Stay close,” he said instead.

“I am.”

“Closer.”

Charles frowned slightly but adjusted his pace anyway, the space between them narrowing until it felt deliberate.

They moved like that for a while, steps falling into a shared rhythm without needing to match exactly.

Then the ground ahead shifted.

It was subtle. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it. A slight change in the terrain, the kind that didn’t belong to anything natural.

Yiannis stopped.

“Wait,” he said.

Too late.

The sound came from beneath them this time. A sharp crack, followed by a rush of movement that didn’t give them time to react properly.

The second ambush wasn’t from a distance.

It was already under their feet.