Eve’s body moved with every jolt of the wagon. Night had finally come, and she still couldn’t get the Dreamers out of her mind. The ones lying in the stairwell, the ones lying in the hallways, the ones in those cold, dark apartments. All of them, dead. Bleeding, somehow, while their bodies looked drained dry.

  It made no sense.

  Corpses weren’t supposed to bleed, not like that. It was a fact that troubled the Medical Function greatly. Such an anomaly would only intensify the growing superstitions about Dreamers. Though Ava tried to hide it, she clearly thought the same thing.

  Eve didn’t blame her.

  After seven years without an incident of this nature, the bloody sight had unnerved her as well. She remembered the horrific footage that had come back from the war. A surprising leak President Thurne had tried his hardest to stop. The scene in the hold rang was far too close for her comfort.

  The wagon finally stopped in front of the apartment building. She almost screamed at the stillness of the street. The Dreamhold had been just as still. That eerie quiet only death could bring. She worked her shoulders uncomfortably, pointedly keeping her gaze on the building before her as she got off.

  Behind her, Ava was saying something to the driver and the other medics who were still on the wagon, waiting to be taken to their buildings next. Unless Eve was imagining it, she thought she could hear a certain hollowness in her friend’s tone as well.

  And that’s when Eve realized it. They’d all been sorely reminded of just how feeble humanity was, if they’d needed the reminder at all.

  The wagon rattled away, going right off 3rd and onto Short. She tracked that movement purely from her memory of the town and wagons’ paths. Right now, her only focus was the building before her.

  “Eve.” Ava’s voice. Sounding concerned. “Come on,” she continued gently. “Let’s go in.”

  A soft hand landed on the small of her back and gently guided her in. When they were no longer on the street, Eve came back to herself. She knew if she said nothing, Ava would take her dissociation as a sign that she wasn’t well enough to return to her Function.

  “Ava, this is scary. I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone else. All the bodies in the stairwells had their left carotids severed, but their right ones intact. The cuts were all clean and precise—whoever did this knew what they were doing.”

  Ava nodded sadly as they started up the stairs. “I noticed that as well, but I hoped it was just a coincidence.” She shook her head. “It’s like they were punished for trying to crawl away. Can you imagine what their last moments were like? Unable to call for help? If they could even think to call for help.”

  Again, Eve shrugged uncomfortably. That was one of the thoughts she hadn’t allowed herself to think as she’d walked through the building. But now that Ava had voiced it, there was no running from it. Whoever had killed them had been cruel.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Eve said, trying to push those thoughts away.

  “Don’t forget, the Head wants us to continue examining the bodies tomorrow. I’d skip breakfast.”

  Eve scowled. “I told you I didn’t lose my memories, Ava. I know what we’re doing tomorrow. But you’re right, it’s probably better if I don’t eat.”

  Ava smiled, giving her a tight hug that perfectly encapsulated everything they’d been through for the last few hours. And we’ll have to do it all again.

  Ava and Peter had the apartment right next to theirs, but annoyingly, Ava stood by her door and waited until she entered first. Being fretted over like she’d lost the ability to live without aid was not something she particularly enjoyed. She’d have to have a talk with them.

  She only heard Ava open and enter her apartment once she was inside.

  “How did it go?” John asked immediately.

  He was seated at the table, their night rations sitting on the counter.

  “Did you manage to save one of them?” he asked softly.

  She shook her head, sighing softly. It took a minute for her to summon enough of her strength to make it across the room to where her ration sat waiting for her. She noticed then that both Oliver and John had already finished theirs.

  She took a deep breath, glancing at Oliver’s door. “How is he?” she asked softly.

  “Fine, for the most part,” John said. “He seems distracted, though. I think it put him on edge, what happened at the hold.”

  “Understandably,” she said, picking up the spoon sitting beside the bowl.

  “You’ve been busy with the bodies, so I don’t think you heard the latest development.”

  She winced at the mention of bodies, then had a spoonful of food. Mashed potatoes with another variation of lentil and bean stew.

  The cooks were doing an amazing job, keeping everyone fed with enough calories for them to perform for their Functions, but she lamented, as she did every time she ate a meal, all the different tastes of food they’d simply never have again.

  “Development?” she asked around the mash.

  “I don’t know if you remember the Rades? Lucas—he works in the medical ward.”

  “I know Lucas,” she said with a nod. “What about him?”

  “His brother was in the hold. Apparently, during the attack, while the building was in chaos, he managed to make it out and headed straight for Lucas’s apartment. Lucas found him there when he came back from the ward.”

  “He...” she glanced again at Oliver’s door. “He’s sane?” she asked.

  “Apparently. This was after sunset, so right now it’s just rumors, but it seems he’s as sane as Oliver.”

  She nodded. “At least, one of them survived,” she said. “He knows about it?”

  “He brought the news,” John said. “Seemed very tired, though. I guess the shooting range took more out of him than I thought it would.”

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  “John, don’t overwork him, okay?”

  He looked at her, his expression blank, though his eyes were slightly narrowed. His version of mockery.

  “Don’t you dare,” she warned, spooning the last bit of food into her mouth.

  He simply shrugged his shoulders, getting up from the chair. As long as they’d been together, she knew very well what he’d been about to say. After the afternoon she’d had, that was the last thing she needed now.

  “What are the Functions saying about the attack?” she asked next, scraping her bowl down for anything she’d missed.

  “It’s not good,” he said, placing the bowls back in the black bag he used for rations. “From what we’re able to gather, Michel’s already using this to her benefit. With everyone as spooked as they are now, she’ll get more support.”

  “I saw the way people were looking at the hold, John,” she said, recalling their faces. “The enforcers outside make it obvious that someone forced their way into the building. That’s the only possible explanation for what happened.”

  “Fear brings a lot of possibilities,” John said. “Rational or not.”

  “John, if we don’t find the actual killer, they’re going to run with the story that demons tore through their bodies. Can you imagine what that’ll do for Oliver? For Noah? I can’t believe Kevin still hasn’t found the culprit. I saw them searching the streets, talking to people. You know, if this were anyone else, they would’ve been replaced as Function head by now.”

  “I know,” John said. “Try not to get too worked up by that. You know what your mother does to you. And—”

  “And I just came out of a coma,” Eve finished. “Yes, I know. I’ve heard it already. Even though I feel and look as healthy as ever. I swear, you and Ava.” She shook her head. “Tell me, do I look like someone who was in a coma?”

  John simply shrugged his right shoulder, turning for the room. “Just saying.”

  Eve looked down at herself, thinking of all the blood she’d touched and the corpses she’d bent over. Of course, she’d washed her hands before coming back, but she hadn’t bathed. However, she didn’t have the energy to do it now, and she couldn’t very well drag that dirt into the bed.

  Which meant she’d have the couch tonight.

  She went to Oliver’s room, clapping her hands lightly just before she cracked the door, peeking inside. Oliver was fast asleep, a few breaths away from snoring. It was so odd, he used to snore all the time. Still, he was sleeping, something she was desperate for herself.

  She closed the door and went back to the couch. She only realized then, as she took off her shoes, that she’d dragged in some of the ash. She’d have to sweep that up, but not now. She was too tired for that.

  Her eyes were so heavy, when she lay her head on the armrest, it was a struggle to keep them open. Not that she tried. The lovely feel of darkness quickly embraced her, and before she knew it, she was gone.

  “You coddle her, Thomas,” her mother said. “That’s the real problem here.”

  She blinked, looking around the hallway of her old home. She started as she found the younger version of her standing two paces away from the door to her father’s study. She glanced behind her and found the hallway stretched on into a black tunnel with no end in sight.

  That wasn’t right. The hallway wasn’t supposed to be that long and that empty. As she focused on it, the hall abruptly shortened, the wooden floorboards, small stands, and other trinkets falling back into place as if materializing from thin air.

  However, the door the younger her had been eavesdropping started shaking, as if demanding attention. She suddenly understood that the conversation in the room was the anchor of the memory. The longer she tried to ignore it, to focus on details younger her hadn’t been focusing on, the more unstable everything became.

  She turned back to the door, the hall disappearing back into that blackness even as she turned away.

  “There’s no problem,” her father said wearily, as if they’d had this conversation many times already.

  “There’s no problem,” her mother repeated mockingly. “She has no interest in her heritage. In her family. And you don’t see the problem?”

  “Darlene, William’s the Head of the family. He has a wife, two sons; there is no possible reason to force her into anything if she has no interest in it. I did try, but she didn’t want to.”

  “She is our daughter. Our child. She should be doing what we tell her to, whether she wants to or not. That’s what you don’t seem to understand,” she responded scathingly. “You never know what might happen. I don’t wish for it, but anything could happen to William, to his family, and we would be expected to take over. Wouldn’t we?”

  “Nothing will happen to William,” he responded.

  Eve frowned, staring at the door. She didn’t remember this, not one bit of this conversation. Looking at her younger self, she must’ve been around seven or eight.

  Suddenly, that strange knowledge told her she didn’t need to know she remembered something for the memory to still exist.

  “I can’t believe you,” Darlene snarled. “William would never be satisfied remaining where he was. Never aiming for more.”

  “I guess that’s the difference between us,” Thomas said, his tone still as weary as it had been at the start of the conversation.

  “It is,” she bit out. “The difference between mediocrity and success. Night and day. Your family has always aimed for so much, but here you are, just... content,” she said the word as if it were a slur. “You’re an embarrassment to your family.”

  “My family,” her father emphasized. “You always forget that small detail. You married into this family; I was born into it. And no matter what happens, blood will always be important. You can try your hardest, but you will never be more than what you currently are.”

  Her mother was quiet. A few seconds later, the door was thrown open before she stepped into the hall. She slammed the door behind her and turned to find younger Eve standing there, her eyes wide with panic, but her chin raised in defiance.

  If her mother was startled to see her there, she gave no inclination at all. She leaned down, her eyes narrowing on her daughter’s face. “You were a waste,” she said so softly and tenderly, she might’ve been professing her love.

  Right then, Eve recalled the heat of her mother’s breath on her face, even as the younger version of her refused to move an inch. Instead of uttering anything else, Darlene walked off down the hall, her body disappearing into the dark.

  The younger Eve walked on in the other direction, past the study door to her room at the end of the hall.

  She took two steps before she froze, the dream collapsing away into nothing. Before she knew it, she was back in that swirling void, flashes of her memories swirling up into a never-ending upward spiral.

  As she watched, the black ground beneath her started sprouting wheat, areas of farmland sectioned out like the farm back in Camp Twelve. Workers started walking down the pathways, carrying buckets, shovels, cutters, and the like. The heavy machinery moving across the crops told her that this was from before the collapse.

  Her father materialized just down the lane from where she stood, having an animated conversation with one of the country’s old ministers. Eve thought he might’ve been in charge of agriculture.

  She started awake, greedily breathing in gulps of air as she recentered herself. These recollections hadn’t come to her last night. It was the last thing she wanted. Her mother’s hot breath and snarl were still clear. Now that she’d seen it, she could clearly recall the memory.

  Who wanted to relive their childhood memories in such startling detail? She’d hoped it had only been something she experienced in the medical ward, something that would clear once she regained consciousness, once she got back home.

  But clearly, that wasn’t the case. She didn’t know what it was, but there was one person she thought would know what was happening with her, but the mere thought of relying on her turned her stomach, made her close her eyes, and take a deep, steadying breath.

  The Ospelian had said it’s over. He’d confirmed it, he’d shown it, and that was that. Besides, she’d much rather take sleepless nights than approach Darlene with a problem.

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