Runa's body was limp against him, her breathing uneven as the last shivers of pain wracked her frame. Renji held her carefully, his arms supporting her weight as he guided her down the hall to her bedroom.
Her face was pale, lips trembling, eyelids fluttering as though trapped in a fevered dream. Whatever this "awakening" was, it had left her drained, unconscious, and frighteningly still.
He lowered her gently onto the bed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders. For a moment, he stood there, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest. He wanted to believe she'd open her eyes in minutes, that this was just some strange, passing illness… but deep down, he knew better.
Closing the door behind him, Renji stepped back into the upstairs hall—
And froze.
A low, distant roar carried through the morning air. Not the rumble of thunder, not the hum of passing traffic… but something else. Shouts. Screams. The wail of sirens cutting through the quiet like jagged glass.
His stepmother had heard it too. She stood near the stairwell, eyes darting toward the sound. "Renji…?"
He didn't answer. His legs were already moving.
Down the stairs. Past the empty dining table. Straight to the front door. The noise outside seemed louder now, pressing against the walls as if the world beyond was trying to get in.
He slid the deadbolt into place with a heavy clack, then twisted the secondary lock for good measure. Only when the metal was secure did he turn away and head back toward the living room.
The flat-screen came to life under his hand, flashing images of chaos. Streets choked with panicked crowds. Police lines breaking as people—no, not people—lunged at them with inhuman speed. Cars swerving, colliding. News anchors trying to keep their composure, their voices steady even as footage behind them showed bodies collapsing mid-step, only to rise again moments later.
His stepmother descended the stairs, her robe trailing behind her. She stopped halfway into the room, staring at the screen. Her voice was almost a whisper. "What… what are we supposed to do now?"
Renji didn't look at her. "…Nothing."
They stayed like that for a while, the two of them, the television painting the living room in flickering light and shadow. The sounds from outside mixed with the chaos on the screen until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
After a while, Renji reached for his phone. His fingers moved quickly, scrolling through social media feeds and news platforms.
It didn't matter where he looked—Twitter, local forums, international news sites—everywhere, it was the same. Videos of strangers convulsing on sidewalks, their bodies twisting into something grotesque. Photos of loved one's moments before and after the change. Threads filled with frantic speculation, half-baked theories, and desperate pleas for help.
Every post felt like another nail sealing the reality around them.
He set the phone down, meeting his stepmother's gaze at last.
"For now," he said quietly, "the only thing we can do is stay in the house."
Renji kept his eyes on the television, though the words of the news anchor had long since blurred into meaningless noise. His mind wandered back upstairs, to the locked door at the end of the hall.
His stepmother shifted beside him on the couch. "Renji… what happened to your brother?"
The question hit harder than he expected. He stayed silent, hands curling into fists. He didn't look at her.
"Renji."
Still, nothing.
And then he saw it—the way her face changed. The realization crept in, slow at first, then all at once. Her lips parted as she began to shake her head. "No… no, he—he's fine. He'll be fine."
Renji swallowed hard. "…He will be okay. Don't worry."
Neither of them believed it, but neither wanted to hear the truth spoken aloud.
They stayed that way for some time, the room lit by the cold glow of the TV, the noise from outside a constant reminder that the world had shifted while they sat still.
The sound of soft footsteps drew their attention to the stairs.
Runa appeared, one hand gripping the railing for balance. She looked pale, but her eyes were open and alert now.
"Are you okay?" his stepmother asked quickly, rising to meet her.
"I… think so," Runa murmured. "My whole body feels sore, though. Like I've been running forever. But… I don't know why."
Renji stepped closer, scanning her expression, her posture. "…As long as you're okay."
A quiet grrrk broke the moment.
Runa blinked, then placed a hand on her stomach, embarrassed. "Uh…"
Renji and his stepmother exchanged a glance, and it hit them at the same time. They hadn't eaten since waking.
His stepmother exhaled slowly. "Alright. I'll make breakfast. You two, go sit in the dining room."
For the first time that day, the three of them moved together, away from the noise, away from the screens, and toward something normal. Even if it wouldn't last.
They ate in near silence, the clinking of utensils the only sound between them. The chaos outside felt distant now, muted by walls and locked doors, but none of them could forget it was still there.
When the plates were cleared, Renji leaned forward at the table. "We need to talk about today."
His stepmother gave a slow nod. "We're not going outside."
"Exactly. Which means we need to know what we have to work with."
For the next half hour, they moved through the kitchen and pantry, taking stock of everything—bags of rice, canned goods, bottled water, and the few fresh vegetables left in the fridge. Renji wrote it all down, his pen scratching over paper in short, efficient strokes.
When they finally stepped back, the list was depressingly short.
"…A week," he muttered, tapping the page. "If we ration it, maybe a little more. But not much."
His stepmother frowned. "A week isn't long."
"I know." He folded the paper and set it on the table. "That means we'll have to go out soon. Just… not today."
They all glanced toward the windows. The daylight outside seemed colder now, the world beyond the glass hostile and unknowable.
Runa hugged her knees to her chest. "Then… for today, we just stay here?"
Renji nodded. "For today, we stay inside. We watch. We listen. And we get ready."
It wasn't much of a plan. But for now, it was enough.