𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖙

Speak No Evil

The garage door rattled as it came down with a metallic clank, sealing off the base from the outside world. It was the first time in days that the group could breathe a little easier, knowing that, at least for now, they were safe.

Inside the dimly lit garage, the atmosphere had lightened from the earlier tension on the road. The dull sound of tools being set aside echoed as Julian leaned against the concrete wall, wiping sweat from his brow.

Paige was perched on top of her battered pickup truck, a cigarette between her lips, a smirk playing on her face. Her wild blonde hair, now frizzy from the day's work, was pulled into a messy ponytail, and she surveyed the newly built garage like a general admiring a battlefield.

"I gotta admit," she said, exhaling a plume of smoke, "I didn't think we'd finish this thing so fast. We make a good team." The others were scattered around the space, tired but satisfied. Russell leaned against the doorframe, tapping his foot absentmindedly as he glanced over at Nathan and Kaylin, who were busy sorting the tools they'd used.

Emma was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring up at the ceiling as if she were trying to catch her breath after what had been a whirlwind couple of days.

The base, once just an abandoned building, was slowly becoming more of a home. It was far from perfect—there were still cracks in the walls, and the lights flickered every so often—but it was theirs. And after weeks of running and hiding, that meant something.

Paige took a long drag from her cigarette and jumped off the truck, landing with a thud that echoed across the concrete floor. She stretched her arms over her head and gave a half-grin to the others. "Not bad for a bunch of misfits."

Nathan, sitting on a workbench with a wrench in hand, glanced over at her. His expression was tired, but he managed a small smile. "Not bad at all."

For a moment, it felt almost normal. Like they were just a group of friends hanging out after a long day of work. But the weight of the world hadn't left them—it never truly did. It just sat in the background, waiting for the right moment to remind them of the loss they'd suffered and the battles still ahead.

The sound of laughter echoed faintly from one corner of the garage. Kaylin and Emma were talking quietly, trying to bring some levity to the evening. They deserved a moment like this, after everything. But Nathan's mind was elsewhere.

Julian cleared his throat, his gaze shifting to Paige, who was now idly inspecting her rocket launcher, her carefree attitude masking the storm that always seemed to brew just beneath the surface. He knew they couldn't avoid the conversation any longer. They had been avoiding it ever since they found her on the road.

"Paige," Julian began, his voice measured.

Paige didn't look up right away, too busy fiddling with the strap on her weapon. "Yeah, what's up?" she asked, taking another drag of her cigarette.

Julian glanced at Nathan, who was staring at the floor now, and then at Kaylin. Everyone had gone quiet, and that silence told Paige everything she needed to know—something was wrong.

Slowly, she lowered the rocket launcher and looked around at the group. Her smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Alright, what's with the funeral vibe? Someone wanna clue me in?"

Kaylin took a deep breath, stepping forward. Her heart was pounding, and the words felt heavy in her throat. She hated this part. "Paige, there's something we need to tell you," she said, her voice softer than usual.

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the shift in the room's atmosphere. She crossed her arms, the cigarette dangling from her lips, still smoldering. "Spit it out, Kaylin. What's going on?"

The silence that followed made Paige's smile falter. She took another drag of her cigarette, clearly sensing something was wrong. "Okay, seriously, what's going on?"