(POV: Ava)
We found shelter in the bones of a half-destroyed library.
The ceiling had collapsed in one wing, leaving piles of crumbling plaster and broken books. The children's section was the only area still intact—tucked in a corner like a forgotten memory, guarded by stuffed animals and faded murals of smiling suns.
It was ironic.
That in a world swallowed by darkness, we took refuge among fairy tales.
Kael didn't speak much after the fight. He was bleeding again—his wounds healing slower than before. The black veins on his neck had spread, creeping along his jaw like the roots of something ancient and terrible.
"I need to rest," he finally said, his voice dry.
I nodded and helped him onto a tattered beanbag chair. He didn't flinch when I touched him. That alone terrified me more than anything else.
Because it meant he was tired.
And Kael never let his guard down.
***
I sat across from him in the flickering glow of a half-burned candle, listening to the wind press against the shattered windows. The mist was thinner up here, like it couldn't find its way inside—like the books still remembered a time before monsters and refused to let the evil in.
I watched him sleep. Or try to.
His body twitched now and then, jaw clenched, hands flexing like claws. His lips moved in whispers I couldn't hear.
I didn't know if he was dreaming. Or remembering.
I wrapped my arms around myself, pulled my knees close.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask.
What was it like, turning into something you hated?
What did it feel like to still have a heart while your body betrayed you?
Was he afraid?
I already knew the answer to that last one.
I'd seen it. In his eyes.
Every time he looked at me.
***
It was hours later when he woke—gasping, eyes wild, his body soaked in sweat. I rushed to his side without thinking.
"Kael—!"
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. Hard.
Too hard.
"Ava," he breathed, pupils dilated, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
"It's okay," I said, trying to stay calm. "It's just me. You're safe."
His grip didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened. I could feel the bones in my wrist straining.
"Let go," I whispered, not sure if I meant the words for him… or for myself.
His eyes snapped fully open. For one horrible second, I didn't recognize him. They weren't red anymore. They were black. Endless. Empty.
And his mouth opened—not to speak.
To snarl.
I froze.
"Kael," I whispered. "Please."
Then, just as quickly as it happened, he blinked. The black bled away, his grip released, and he stumbled backward like he'd just come out of a trance.
"I'm sorry," he choked. "I didn't mean to—I wasn't—God."
He turned from me, gripping the side of a shelf, his breath shaking, his back rising and falling like he'd run a marathon.
"It's getting worse," he muttered.
I approached slowly, despite the aching in my wrist.
"Kael…"
"I felt it," he said through clenched teeth. "The hunger. The part of me that wants to hurt. That wants to taste blood. It wasn't quiet this time. It was screaming."
I laid a hand on his back. He tensed but didn't move away.
"You didn't hurt me," I said.
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
He turned toward me, and for the first time, I saw tears in his eyes.
"You think I'm strong because I fight it, Ava?" he whispered. "No. I'm not strong. I'm terrified. Every second, I'm one breath away from becoming the thing you should run from."
I stared at him. Then I stepped closer.
"Then I won't breathe."
He blinked.
"I won't give up on you, Kael," I said softly. "So don't give up on yourself."
He stared at me like I'd just said something impossible.
Then he did something that shattered my heart.
He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands.
***
We spent that night in silence, sitting beside each other on the library floor, the candle burning low. I didn't sleep—not really. I watched him as he drifted in and out, jaw twitching, lips moving in prayers or curses or memories I couldn't hear.
Once, in the dead of night, he reached for my hand. I let him hold it.
His palm was cold. Scarred. But his grip was human.
And that was enough.
***
At sunrise, we moved again. We were low on food and lower on hope.
We stuck to alleys and ruined streets. We passed the bodies without looking down. We avoided the ones still twitching.
The air was colder today. The mist thinner.
Something was changing.
We made it to the outskirts by dusk. There was a bridge that led out of town. The sky beyond it was clearer—less sick, like maybe the infection hadn't spread that far yet.
Kael stopped at the edge of the bridge and stared.
His jaw clenched.
"What is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
Then I saw it.
On the other side of the bridge stood a figure.
Tall. Still. Pale.
Like Kael.
But not Kael.
Its eyes were pure white. Its smile stretched too far. It raised one hand—slowly, like in mockery of a greeting.
Kael inhaled sharply. "It's one of the First."
"What does that mean?"
"It's… one of the originals. The ones who made us. The ones who feed the mist."
My blood ran cold.
It didn't move. Neither did we.
Then Kael reached for my hand again.
"If it comes for us," he said quietly, "you run."
"No."
His eyes turned to me—bleeding red and raw.
"You run, Ava."
I shook my head, eyes burning. "Not without you."
He stared at me. And in that moment, I saw it—the flicker of something raw and vulnerable behind all the fear and fury.
He nodded once.
And together, we stepped onto the bridge.