Edwin rubbed his eyes, wondering if he'd had too much wine. He scrolled back up through the files, pulled up the report again, and forced himself to focus on the screen.
Lucien: Not Infected.
Edwin's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he forgot how to inhale. His hands trembled above the keyboard as the words burned into his vision.
He forced himself to steady his nerves. Panic would only cloud his judgment. He reopened the files and reviewed every line from the beginning. He checked the data once, then again, and a third time, searching for the slightest inconsistency.
Rick: Infected.
Shane: Infected.
Lori: Infected.
Carl: Infected.
Andrea: Infected.
Glenn: Infected.
Every subject carried the virus.
All except one.
Lucien: Not Infected.
He shoved his chair back so violently that it rolled across the room. He rose and paced to the far wall, then turned and retraced his steps. His thoughts spiraled through a chain of explanations, each less plausible than the last.
A laboratory error seemed unlikely. He had run the tests three separate times using different equipment.
Sample contamination was impossible. The safety protocols were uncompromising.
A false negative did not fit either. The viral markers were not merely suppressed. They were completely absent.
For months he had tested samples, tracked the virus across every demographic and blood type, and watched it prevail again and again. Now, at last, he had found someone untouched.
Edwin broke into a run.
He rushed to the cold storage unit, tore open the refrigeration drawer, and seized the vial marked with Lucien's name. The glass bit cold into his palm as he sprinted toward the high-security laboratory.
He had to determine whether this discovery was real or merely a mirage conjured by exhaustion and too much wine.
But if it was real, if the boy truly was immune...
He burst through the laboratory doors and reached for his instruments before he had fully crossed the threshold.
---
While Edwin was having his world turned upside down in the lab, Lucien was enjoying his first proper shower in weeks.
The hot water alone felt priceless. In a world like this, its value rivaled gold or ammunition, depending on which currency mattered more in the apocalypse.
He kept it brief, though. He stayed under the spray just long enough to wash away the grime of the road and erase the smell of prolonged travel. Once he looked reasonably human again, or at least no worse than anyone else around him, he dressed and headed straight for the recreation room.
The space was larger than he had expected. A pool table occupied one corner. And a vintage arcade cabinet stood against the wall. Shelves held board games, DVDs, and a modest collection of books.
He went straight for the shelves.
The selection was limited. He found CDC emergency manuals, an introductory text on virology, a few worn paperback thrillers, and several pre-apocalypse magazines whose smiling celebrities were likely long dead.
There was no copy of Harry Potter.
He'd known it was a long shot. The CDC was not in the habit of stocking children's novels, yet he'd hoped anyway.
But without the book, he had to rely on memory alone, and his recollection of that particular passage remained frustratingly indistinct.
Lucien checked his watch. It was late enough that most of the facility had probably settled into sleep. Seeing little reason to stay, he returned to his assigned room.
The office-turned-bedroom was comfortable. Leagues better than sleeping in the RV or on the ground. But he didn't head for the couch that served as a bed. Instead, he pulled his trunk from where he'd stashed it in the corner and opened it.
The books were all there.
He pulled out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 and sat down with it.
These books were irreplaceable. One of a kind, as far as this world was concerned. He'd thought about using a Shrinking Charm to make them easier to carry, or an Undetectable Extension Charm to hide them better. But there was a simpler, more primitive method of preservation.
Memorization.
He could not cast most of those spells yet. He was still struggling with the Mending Charm, even after weeks of practice. That, however, was beside the point. What mattered was securing the knowledge in his mind, where it could not be lost, stolen, or destroyed.
In the apocalypse, nothing was certain. Even constant vigilance could fail, and there would inevitably be moments when his guard slipped. If his trunk were lost or damaged, if it were stolen, burned, or abandoned in a desperate escape, the consequences would be severe.
He would be a wizard without spells, which was no different from being a Squib.
That possibility was unacceptable. As a result, he committed himself to memorizing everything. He began with the most practical spells and worked through the curriculum. By now, he had memorized most of the first-year material, along with the more useful entries from The Practical Spell Compendium.
Tonight, he focused once again on the Mending Charm. He carefully reviewed the wand movement, the exact pronunciation, and the mental discipline it required. Mastery would come eventually. It had to.
A sharp knock at the door broke his concentration and left him frozen in place.
He quickly closed the book and shoved it back in his trunk. He stood, checking that nothing looked out of place, then opened the door.
Edwin stood there, chest heaving like he'd been running. His face was flushed.
"Lucien..." He paused, catching his breath. "I need to talk to you. It's important."
Lucien felt something settle in his chest. A suspicion he'd been carrying since the blood tests finally clicking into place.
"Can we talk?" Edwin glanced down the hallway, then back at Lucien. "It concerns your life and safety."
Lucien hesitated just long enough to look like a confused kid, then nodded. "Alright."
---
Edwin led him through corridors Lucien hadn't seen yet, until they reached what looked like the CDC's primary research facility.
He stopped at a control console but didn't speak right away. He just turned and looked at Lucien.
Finally, he took a deep breath.
"What I'm about to tell you is critical. I don't know if it's right to burden you with this. But I don't think I have a choice. I can't..." He trailed off, then tried again. "I can't risk telling the wrong person."
"You came to see me because of the virus, didn't you?"
Edwin's eyes widened. "You know?"
"Not for certain. But we all had blood tests earlier. The results would be ready by now. You avoided everyone else and came straight to me. You said it concerns my life and safety. It seemed like the logical conclusion."
Edwin's expression shifted. "You're sharper than I gave you credit for."
"I get that a lot."
"Yes." Edwin stepped forward. "You're right. It's about the virus. I need to tell you..."
They both spoke at the same time.
"I'm infected, aren't I? How long do I have?"
"You don't have the virus!" Edwin said.
Silence.
They stared at each other.
"What?" Lucien blinked.
Edwin looked just as confused. "You didn't know?"
"Know what?" Lucien felt lost now. "You looked so serious, I thought you were about to tell me I was dying."
"No! No, that's not..." Edwin ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He took another breath, organizing his thoughts. "Everyone in the world is infected. Every living person carries the virus."
Lucien's eyes widened. "What? Everyone?"
"Yes. Whether you've been bitten or not, the virus is already in you. When you die, you turn. It takes anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, but it's inevitable. Being bitten or scratched just accelerates the process."
In the show, this had been revealed at the CDC too. The big twist: they were all infected. Death was the trigger, not the bite.
He'd known it was coming, but hearing it confirmed still hit differently.
"But that's not what I came to tell you," Edwin continued. "What I came to tell you is that I tested your blood. And you..." He paused, making sure Lucien was listening. "You don't have the virus. Out of hundreds of samples we've tested, you're the only person who isn't infected."
The only one.
He had used Episkey on Duane. When he cast the spell, the drain on his magic had been enormous, far greater than a simple wound should have required. At the time, he suspected the spell had been struggling against the virus, attempting to repair cellular damage while purging the infection at the same time.
If that assumption was correct, then Duane should have been cured as well. Yet Edwin insisted that Lucien was the only exception.
That contradiction left only a few possibilities. Either Episkey had not truly eliminated the virus and had merely suppressed it while closing the wound, or Duane had been infected again almost immediately afterward.
There was also the chance that the spell functioned differently than he understood. It might remove an active infection without providing any protection against reinfection, which would be a serious limitation in a world saturated with the virus.
He set those questions aside and stored them for later analysis.
For the moment, speculation was a luxury he could not afford. He still had a part to perform.
"So I'm..." Lucien let hope creep into his voice. "I won't be infected by the virus?"