Eli woke with a start, his body stiff and aching from the floor. The thin carpet had done little against the hardness beneath, and his ribs still protested every time he drew in a deep breath. The dim light leaking through the clinic office's frosted window told him it was early—still black beyond the glass, though the edges of the world hinted at softening.
He blinked, pushed himself upright with a grunt, and glanced toward Paolo. The boy sat against the wall near the door, his splinted leg stretched out before him, eyes faintly shadowed but alert.
"You didn't wake me," Eli muttered, rubbing at his temple. His voice was rough from sleep. "We were supposed to take turns."
Paolo shrugged, fiddling absently with the strap of his splint. "You needed the rest more than me."
Eli scowled. "That wasn't the deal. You think you're indestructible now?" His gaze drifted down to Paolo's leg. "Because last I checked, rest was the first letter in R.I.C.E. —and you're already doing a bad job at it."
Paolo smirked faintly, though it was tired at the edges. "Yeah, yeah. Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation. You've said it enough times I could recite it in my sleep."
"Then act like it," Eli said firmly. He shifted closer, checking the splint's binding with careful fingers. "Healing means not pushing yourself. Sprains don't just go away because you feel like playing tough."
Paolo made a show of sighing, leaning his head back against the wall. "Fine, Dad."
Eli's lips twitched despite himself. He fastened the last strap and gave Paolo a look. "Don't call me that."
Silence stretched a moment, softer than before. The office carried a hushed stillness, shelves of faded binders looming in shadow, the faint smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. Somewhere far outside, a dog barked once and then cut off abruptly.
Eli broke the quiet. "Did anything happen while I was out?"
Paolo's expression sobered. "Some noises. A few streets over, I think. Too far to matter, but close enough I kept listening. Didn't think it was worth waking you."
Eli nodded slowly, though his jaw was tight. "And the rain?"
"Stopped around two," Paolo answered. "Sky's still heavy, but it's clear now."
Eli stood, his muscles groaning, and walked toward the window. "Good." He stared out at the street below. The puddles glistened, black and oily from last night's storm, reflecting the faint line of dawn where the horizon cracked open. It was still too dark to see much, but the world felt raw, like a wound that hadn't begun to close.
"Get some rest now," Eli said over his shoulder.
Paolo made a face. "You just said—"
"Exactly. R comes first. Rest." Eli turned back, arms folded. "Close your eyes before I find some tape and keep them shut for you."
Paolo huffed, but his body betrayed him, slumping slightly against the wall. "Fine. But only because my babysitter insists."
Eli smirked faintly and settled by the window again. He kept watch as Paolo's breathing slowed, the boy's sharp edges finally giving way to exhaustion.
By the time the sun began bleeding pale light into the sky—around half past five—the street below revealed itself. Shattered branches sprawled across the wet concrete, and the puddles had turned the road into scattered pools of tar. The city felt deserted, but Eli knew better. Things always moved in the quiet.
He pulled his phone from his pocket. The battery held steady at full charge, though the signal bar flickered—two lines, weak but there. His stomach tightened when he noticed the unread notification.
A message.
His thumb hovered before opening it. His face shifted as he read, tension sharpening his features, jaw set. He typed something back quickly, expression unreadable. Then he locked the phone and slid it away, his hand lingering at the pocket for a moment too long.
The quiet stretched.
At seven, a sudden sound cracked it open—a wet, dragging scrape outside. Eli stiffened and leaned toward the window.
An obscurant staggered into view.
Even from above, Eli could tell this one was different. Its skin was pale, stretched almost translucent over a frame too thin. Its arms hung unnaturally long, fingers ending in nails darker and sharper than any he'd seen before. The eyes—black pits—caught what little light there was, soulless and empty. Its gait was crooked, hunched, as if its own body resisted itself.
It dragged a limp dog behind it, the corpse leaving a faint trail over the wet road. But it didn't eat. It simply carried the body, claws hooked into the fur, as though the motion alone sustained it.
Eli's breath hitched. He stepped back from the glass and crossed to Paolo, nudging his shoulder. "Wake up. Trouble."
Paolo groaned, half-asleep. "What—?"
"Look." Eli pointed to the window.
Paolo forced himself up, blinking the haze from his eyes. When he finally saw, his face twisted. "It's… dragging it. But not eating?"
"Not yet," Eli muttered.
Paolo frowned deeper. "Why carry it at all then? That's—wrong."
Eli didn't answer, his eyes locked on the thing below. Every detail unsettled him: the hunched posture, the inhuman patience, the way its claws flexed as if itching for something more.
He tore himself back with effort. "Eat light," he said briskly, moving toward the stacked boxes of supplies. "If we have to run, I don't want us weighed down."
Paolo snorted faintly. "Somehow I don't think a granola bar's gonna slow me down."
"Good," Eli muttered. He dug into a box, pulled two bars free, and handed one over. Then he crouched by his pack, rifling until he found a blister pack of pain relievers. "Here."
Paolo blinked at the tablet Eli pressed into his palm. "For what?"
"Your foot." Eli sat back on his heels, gesturing. "Pain means swelling, swelling means longer recovery. Take one after you finish eating. Don't argue."
For once, Paolo didn't. He just popped the granola bar open, chewing through the dry crunch with more obedience than appetite. When the last bite was gone, he swallowed the tablet with a few gulps of water from his bottle.
"Thanks," he muttered, quiet but genuine.
Eli only nodded, already checking the splint again. His fingers pressed lightly against the bandaging. "Not as swollen today. That's good."
Paolo smirked faintly. "Guess the R.I.C.E. sermon worked after all."
"Don't get smug," Eli muttered, though the edge of relief softened his tone.
Paolo leaned back, letting the quiet settle for a moment before breaking it again. "So what's the plan now?"
Eli's gaze flicked toward the window, then back. "There's a military evacuation site. Police station, near the city hall."
Paolo raised a brow. "That's… far. And we don't even know if it's still there. What if it's overrun?"
Eli hesitated. His hand brushed the pocket where his phone rested. "…All I know is it was still active. Recently."
Paolo studied him sharply. "How do you know that?"
Eli's jaw tightened. "Got a message. Earlier."
"From who?"
Eli shook his head. "Not ready to talk about that. Not yet."
For a long moment, Paolo's eyes stayed on him—steady, sharp, measuring. At last he exhaled, leaning back against the wall. "Fine. You've got your secrets. Keep them. But if you're heading there, I'm not staying behind."
Eli huffed out something caught between a laugh and a sigh. "Didn't think you would."
Paolo smirked faintly. "Good. Just making sure you know I'm not dead weight."
"You're weight," Eli said dryly, "just not dead."
Paolo rolled his eyes, but his grin cracked wider. "Jerk."
They finished their food in silence, the crunch of granola giving way to the hollow drip of water somewhere in the building. Shadows thinned as dawn bled into day, but the air inside the office grew heavier, as if the walls themselves had absorbed their unspoken thoughts.
Outside, the city stirred with unseen things.