Still Breathing

Chapter 18

Shattered Reflections

Max paced the length of the command center, his heart a jackhammer in his chest, every nerve strung wire-tight. His gaze darted from Sebastian's tense form hunched over the control panel, to Chris and James arguing in low, urgent voices by the door, to Nina pressed against the window, her face ghostly pale in the weak light.

It had been hours since they'd escaped the ravenous horde, since they'd lost Rose and the others in the chaos of blood and fear. Hours of huddling in this tomb of blinking screens and humming equipment, waiting for death, for absolution, for some flicker of hope in the screaming dark.

But there had been no word, no sign. Just the oppressive silence of the compound, the distant moans of the hungry dead. And with each passing minute, each hitched breath and clenched fist...the certainty sank deeper into Max's bones.

They were gone. Torn apart by gnashing teeth, ripped from this world in a red haze of agony. Margot, his fierce, beautiful warrior, the girl who'd captured his heart with her razor wit and hidden softness. Tobias, the irreverent jokester, the unexpected rock at his back. And Rose...brave, determined Rose, the glue that held them all together.

His friends. His family.

Shattered. Like so much brittle glass.

A broken sound clawed its way up Max's throat, half-sob, half-snarl. He slammed his fist into the wall, relishing the bright flare of pain, the sharp crack of breaking skin. Again and again, he drove his knuckles into the unyielding concrete, painting it with streaks of crimson.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind, hauling him back. He struggled wildly, a scream building in his chest. He needed this, needed the physical outlet, the visceral proof that he was still alive, still fighting.

Still bleeding.

"Max, stop!" Sebastian's voice, harsh with command, with barely leashed desperation. "This isn't helping. You're just hurting yourself."

"Who cares?" Max spat, wrenching himself free. He rounded on the older man, a wild, reckless grief burning in his eyes. "They're dead, Sebastian. Margot, Tobias, Rose...they're fucking gone. What does it matter if I break my hand? What does any of it matter?"

Sebastian flinched as if struck, his craggy face crumpling. For a moment, he looked unspeakably old, the weight of the world bowing his proud shoulders.

"We don't know that," he said hoarsely. "They could still be out there. They could still be fighting."

"Wake up!" Max roared, a red mist descending. "You saw those things, same as I did. You saw what they can do. Our friends are gone, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner we can focus on getting the rest of us out of this hellhole alive."

Nina made a small, wounded sound, pressing a hand to her mouth. James reached for her, but she shied away, wrapping her arms around herself like she could physically hold in the grief, the howling loss.

"He's right," Chris said quietly, his usually booming voice heavy with sorrow. "We can't...we can't just sit here waiting for ghosts. We need a plan. We need to move."

Sebastian looked stricken, torn between duty and desperate, clinging hope. His dark eyes found Max's, pleading, commanding.

"We can't give up on them," he said fiercely. "Not yet. Not while there's still a chance."

Part of Max wanted to believe him, to cling to that fragile thread of possibility. But the realist in him, the cold, hard voice of self-preservation...it knew better. Knew the brutal calculus of this new world, the cost of survival in blood and bone.