The housing area didn’t look any different from the rest of the camp, but it felt tighter the moment Charles stepped inside. The air carried the same low murmur of voices, but they were softer here, contained, like people were careful about how much of themselves they let out. Beds were arranged in rows, separated just enough to suggest privacy without actually giving it. Someone glanced up as he entered, then looked away just as quickly.

A woman approached him with a clipboard tucked under her arm.

“Charles,” she said, already checking something off. “You’ll take the third section. Follow me.”

He did.

She didn’t make conversation. Just pointed out a bed, a storage crate, a narrow space that was now his. It was efficient in the same way everything here was. Nothing extra, nothing missing, nothing personal.

“You’ll receive further instructions tomorrow,” she added.

“Of course I will,” Charles said.

She nodded like that was expected, then moved on to the next person without another word.

Charles stood there for a moment, taking it in. Not the space itself, but what it meant. This was where he was supposed to stay. Where he was supposed to wait.

He sat down slowly, careful with his leg, and let his hands rest on his knees. Around him, people kept to themselves. Some lay down immediately, turning toward the wall. Others sat like he did, staring at nothing in particular.

No one asked questions.

Time passed without much happening. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful, just empty.

At some point, someone sat down on the bed across from him. A young man, maybe close to his age, though it was harder to tell these days.

“First night,” the man said, not looking at him directly.

“Yeah.”

A small pause.

“You get used to it,” the man added.

Charles let out a quiet breath.

“Doesn’t sound convincing.”

“It’s not,” the man admitted.

They sat in silence for a bit after that.

“They already told you,” the man went on, voice lower now.

Charles glanced at him. “Told me what.”

“What happens next.”

Charles looked away again.

“They told me enough.”

The man nodded slightly.

“Same.”

Another pause.

“You from the outside,” the man asked.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

That was all they shared. It felt like enough.

Later, when the lights dimmed, the room shifted into a different kind of stillness. People settled in, some restless, some already gone to sleep. Charles lay back on the thin mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

He didn’t expect to sleep.

He didn’t.

His thoughts kept circling the same place, the same realization he couldn’t quite push away. It wasn’t just what they planned for him. It was how easily it had been decided. How little space there had been for anything else.

He turned onto his side, then back again, the motion restless and unhelpful.

At some point, he heard movement near the entrance. Quiet, deliberate.

He didn’t sit up right away. Just listened.

A low voice spoke, too soft to catch the words. Another answered. Then footsteps moved further in.

Charles pushed himself up slightly, enough to see past the row of beds.

Yiannis stood near the far end.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. That much was obvious from the way one of the staff hovered nearby, watching him with thinly veiled disapproval. But they hadn’t stopped him. Not yet.

Charles stayed where he was.

Yiannis’s gaze moved through the room until it found him. It didn’t take long.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Yiannis walked over.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Charles said quietly.

“I know.”

“Then why are you.”

Yiannis stopped a short distance away.

“Because I didn’t like how we left it,” he said.

Charles let out a small breath.

“It wasn’t exactly up for discussion.”

“It should have been.”

Charles shook his head slightly.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Maybe not.”

A pause.

“But I still needed to say it.”

Charles looked at him, something guarded settling back into place.

“Say what.”

Yiannis hesitated. Not long, but enough to notice.

“That you’re not just… what they think,” he said.

Charles almost smiled.

“Yeah,” he replied. “We’ve been over that.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Another pause stretched between them.

“That doesn’t change how this works,” Charles added.

Yiannis’s jaw tightened slightly.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

Silence settled again, quieter this time.

“You could still leave,” Yiannis said.

Charles looked away.

“You really don’t let that go.”

“No.”

“That’s going to be a problem for you.”

“It already is.”

Charles let out a faint breath, something softer slipping through.

“Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”

A longer pause followed.

“You going out again,” Charles asked.

“Yes.”

“When.”

“Soon.”

Charles nodded slowly.

“Then you should go,” he said. “Before someone decides you’ve been standing here too long.”

Yiannis didn’t move.

“Charles—”

“Don’t,” Charles said, not harsh this time, just tired. “We’ll just end up back where we were.”

Yiannis held his gaze for a moment longer.

“I’m not leaving this like it’s nothing,” he said.

“It’s not nothing,” Charles replied. “That’s the problem.”

Another pause.

“Take care of yourself,” Yiannis said.

Charles almost laughed.

“Seems like that’s the plan,” he said.

Yiannis nodded once, like he accepted that even if he didn’t agree with it.

Then he stepped back.

Charles watched him go this time. Not long, just enough to see him disappear past the doorway again.

The room settled back into its quiet rhythm after that, like nothing had happened.

Charles lay back down slowly, staring up at the ceiling again.

Sleep didn’t come any easier.

But this time, the emptiness felt a little different.

Not better.

Just heavier.

Morning came too quickly, or maybe it just felt that way because Charles never really slept. The room shifted from quiet to movement without warning. People got up, made space for each other without speaking, folded what little they had like it mattered. It all felt practiced, like everyone had already learned how to exist here without drawing attention.

Charles sat up slowly, his leg stiff but holding. For a moment he stayed there, watching the rhythm of it. Then he stood, because staying still too long made things worse.

A staff member called out names from the doorway. Not loud, just enough to carry. Charles heard his halfway through.

He stepped forward with the others, forming a loose line that didn’t need instructions to hold.

They were led to another section, deeper inside than he’d gone before. The walls here were reinforced better. Fewer people moved through the space, and the ones who did wore the same neutral expressions, like they’d trained themselves out of reacting.

The room they entered was larger, but it felt smaller. A table at the center, a few chairs, another clipboard waiting to be filled.

“Sit,” someone said.

Charles did.

Across from him, another omega sat down, a woman this time, shoulders straight in a way that looked like effort. She didn’t look at him. He didn’t push for it.

The coordinator started speaking. Same tone as before. Measured, clean, like nothing here needed explaining twice.

“Assignments will begin in stages,” he said. “You’ve been cleared for compatibility. Further placement will be based on pairing schedules and camp needs.”

Charles kept his face still, even as the words settled in.

The woman across from him spoke first.

“How long,” she asked.

“Undetermined.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It’s accurate.”

She looked away after that.

Charles didn’t ask anything. He already knew how the answers would sound.

When they were dismissed, he stood without waiting, stepping out into the corridor before the room could close in any further.

He didn’t realize he was heading toward the medical wing until he was already halfway there.

It made sense. It was the only place that still felt like his.

They didn’t question him when he stepped back in. Someone handed him a set of supplies without asking if he was on shift. He took them, moved to the nearest patient, and started working.

It helped. A little.

He focused on what was in front of him. A cut that needed cleaning, a fever that needed watching, a hand that needed something steady to hold onto. It was simple in a way the rest of this wasn’t.

He lost track of time.

At some point, a familiar voice broke through the rhythm.

“You’re not scheduled.”

Charles didn’t look up right away.

“I didn’t realize I needed permission to help,” he said.

Yiannis stepped closer, stopping just short of the bed.

“You don’t,” he replied. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Charles finished tying off the bandage before answering.

“Then what did you mean.”

Yiannis waited until the patient was moved before speaking again.

“They started assignments,” he said.

Charles finally met his gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I noticed.”

A pause.

“You shouldn’t be here right now,” Yiannis added.

“And where should I be.”

Yiannis didn’t answer immediately.

“That’s not my decision,” he said.

Charles let out a small breath.

“Funny how that works,” he murmured.

Yiannis’s expression tightened slightly.

“Charles—”

“I went to the room,” Charles cut in. “Listened to the speech. Sat through the part where they tell you it’s all necessary.”

“And.”

“And nothing,” Charles said. “Same as always.”

He set the supplies aside, hands stilling for the first time since Yiannis walked in.

“They’ve already decided,” he added. “Everything else is just… process.”

Yiannis stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“It doesn’t have to go that way.”

“It does here.”

“Not if we leave.”

Charles shook his head, not even considering it this time.

“We’ve had that conversation,” he said. “You remember how it ends.”

Yiannis didn’t argue that.

A quiet moment passed between them.

“You’re different here,” Charles said suddenly.

Yiannis frowned slightly. “What do you mean.”

“Out there, you move like you know what you’re doing,” Charles said. “In here… you sound like you’re convincing yourself.”

Yiannis held his gaze, something sharp flickering behind his eyes.

“Maybe I am,” he said.

Charles blinked, not expecting that.

“That’s… honest,” he said.

“It’s the truth.”

A pause stretched between them.

“You could come with me this time,” Yiannis said. “On the next run.”

Charles frowned.

“As what.”

“As part of the team.”

Charles let out a quiet breath.

“That’s not how they see me.”

“I don’t care how they see you.”

“They do,” Charles replied. “And you work for them.”

Yiannis’s jaw tightened.

“I work with them,” he corrected.

“Same difference right now.”

Silence settled again.

“You’re good at what you do,” Yiannis said. “Out there, that matters more.”

Charles looked at him for a long second.

“And when we come back,” he asked. “What then.”

Yiannis didn’t answer.

“That’s what I thought,” Charles said softly.

He stepped back, putting a little space between them.

“I can’t keep pretending there’s an out here,” he added. “There isn’t.”

Yiannis didn’t move.

“There could be,” he said.

“Not for me,” Charles replied.

Another pause.

“Then what are you going to do,” Yiannis asked.

Charles glanced around the medical wing, at the people who needed something real, something immediate.

“I’m going to do this,” he said. “As long as I can.”

“And after.”

Charles looked back at him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But at least this part makes sense.”

Yiannis held his gaze for a moment longer, like he wanted to say something else.

He didn’t.

Charles turned back to his work, picking up where he left off like the conversation hadn’t shifted anything.

But it had.

Even if neither of them said it out loud, the distance between them wasn’t just space anymore.

It was direction.

And neither of them knew if it would ever line up again.