Ryan moved through the gymnasium at an unhurried pace.
He didn't need to look to know people were watching him.
The weight of their attention pressed against his back—uneven, layered.
Fear.
Respect.
Gratitude.
That last one lingered the most.
It made his steps feel heavier.
He let his gaze drift across the room instead.
Clusters of survivors sat on the hardwood floor, shoulders hunched, voices kept low as if sound itself might attract something dangerous.
Some people kept glancing toward the hallway doors.
As if expecting something to walk in.
Too many bowls sat nearly empty.
Too many people pretended not to notice.
And then—
A smaller group, off to one side.
Full portions.
Straighter backs.
Quiet confidence.
Ryan's eyes lingered on them for half a second longer than necessary.
Simon's people.
Of course they were.
Ryan exhaled slowly through his nose.
Same pattern. Different timeline.
He turned toward the gym entrance just as a voice carried over the low murmur.
"—we rotate in pairs. No exceptions. I don't care if you think it's overkill."
Ryan's steps slowed.
Captain Ward stood near the doorway, speaking to two men who nodded with varying levels of enthusiasm.
"…and if anything feels off," Ward continued, "you don't investigate alone. You come get—"
Ryan stepped closer.
"Is there something wrong?"
Ward cut off mid-sentence and turned.
Up close, the man looked worse than before. The exhaustion wasn't just in his eyes—it sat in the way his shoulders sagged, in the slight delay before he spoke.
He gestured for the two men to move along.
They didn't argue.
That alone said something.
"It seems," Ward said, voice lower now, "we've lost two more people."
Ryan's expression tightened.
"Two more?"
Ward gave a short nod.
"One during the night. Another sometime early this morning." He paused. "Both were in assigned rooms."
A flicker of cold recognition passed through Ryan's mind.
The thread of corrupted mana he'd felt earlier tightened into something sharper.
"Anyone see anything?" Ryan asked.
"No." Ward's jaw flexed. "No sounds. No signs of a struggle. Nothing."
Ryan folded his arms.
"Did anyone feel anything?"
Ward's brow creased.
"Feel?"
Ryan tilted his head slightly, watching him.
"People with higher mana sensitivity—sometimes they pick up on things others don't."
Ward studied him for a moment longer than comfortable.
"…Like what?"
"Corrupted mana."
The words settled heavier than they sounded.
Ward's expression shifted—not quite confusion, not quite disbelief.
"…You're going to have to explain that one."
Ryan didn't hesitate.
"It's what those things outside give off."
"The zombies?" Ward asked.
Ryan shook his head once.
"They're not undead."
A small pause.
"We call them Fallen."
Ward's eyes narrowed slightly, absorbing that.
"People?" he asked.
Ryan met his gaze.
"People who couldn't handle the Awakening."
"The mana overload tears through them. Twists the body. Burns out the mind."
Ward didn't speak immediately.
Then—
His hands came up, gripping Ryan's shoulders with sudden urgency.
"Can they be cured?"
Ryan didn't answer right away.
He held the man's stare, steady and unmoving.
A hundred years of failure sat behind his eyes.
Hospitals.
Experiments.
Cities reduced to silence.
He shook his head.
"No."
The word landed flat.
"There's no reversing it."
Ward's grip loosened.
"For all intents and purposes," Ryan continued, quieter now, "they're already gone."
Ward stepped back slowly.
His gaze drifted across the gym.
A child curled against their mother.
An elderly man staring at the floor.
A teenager pretending not to cry.
"…Some of them lost people to this already," Ward muttered.
Ryan didn't respond.
Ward looked back at him.
"Could it happen again? Here?"
Ryan stepped beside him, following his line of sight.
"It won't."
Ward blinked.
"That's a strong statement."
Ryan's voice didn't change.
"Everyone here already survived the influx."
"That means their bodies adapted."
"They won't turn."
Ward glanced sideways at him.
There it was again.
That certainty.
Too clean. Too absolute.
"How do you know all this?" Ward asked quietly.
Ryan met his eyes.
A beat passed.
"I was going to talk to you about Simon."
A shift. Clean. Intentional.
"But that can wait."
Ward noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn't push.
"…Right," he said instead. "Somewhere private."
Ryan nodded once.
The hallway outside felt wrong.
Not empty—wrong.
Their footsteps echoed too clearly, each sound stretching further than it should.
Lights flickered weakly overhead.
The air carried that faint, stale smell of old buildings… mixed with something else.
Something Ryan couldn't quite place yet.
He didn't like that.
They reached the principal's office.
Ryan stopped just short of the door.
For a second, the present slipped.
The scuffed floor.
The faded plaque.
The memory of sitting in that office, younger, angrier—
The crack of bone.
A bully screaming.
Ryan's lips twitched.
[I see you had a habit of solving problems directly.]
Ryan huffed under his breath.
He had it coming.
[They usually do.]
There was something in her tone.
Not teasing.
Not entirely.
Ryan's eyes narrowed slightly.
That sounded like you've seen it more than once.
A pause.
Then—
No response.
Not even her usual presence.
For the first time since returning—
Iris was completely silent.
Ryan frowned faintly.
That was… unusual.
The door opened.
"Come in," Ward said.
Ryan stepped inside.
We'll talk later.
Silence.
The office hadn't changed.
Dust coated the desk in a thin, even layer. The chairs creaked slightly as they moved—familiar in a way that felt almost out of place now.
Ryan sat.
Ward lowered himself into the chair behind the desk, exhaling as he leaned back.
"So," Ward said, folding his hands together, "let's hear it."
Ryan leaned forward slightly.
"The disappearances."
Ward's mouth tightened.
"There isn't much more than what I told you."
"Three people. All either injured or elderly."
"Limited mobility."
He shook his head.
"One moment they're there."
"The next… gone."
Ryan's fingers tapped lightly against his armrest.
"No signs of movement?"
"None."
"No noise?"
"Nothing."
"No blood?"
Ward hesitated.
"…No."
A faint sound slipped through the wall.
Ryan's head snapped toward the door.
…Scratch.
Soft.
Dragging.
Like something brushing slowly along the hallway floor.
Ward froze.
"You hear that?"
The sound stopped.
Just like that.
Gone.
The silence that followed felt thicker than before.
Ryan didn't relax.
If anything… his expression hardened.
Ryan leaned back.
That was wrong.
Not unlikely.
Not strange.
Wrong.
No struggle.
No trail.
No disruption.
Just absence.
His frown deepened.
Too clean.
"Anyone report sounds?" Ryan asked.
Ward raised an eyebrow.
"What kind?"
"Scratching."
"Movement where there shouldn't be any."
"Footsteps that don't match anyone nearby."
Ward let out a tired breath, something close to a laugh.
"Ryan… the world ended two days ago."
"We're packed into a dark school with strangers."
"People are hearing things everywhere."
Ryan muttered under his breath.
"…Damn it."
Ward leaned forward slightly.
"What?"
Ryan stood abruptly.
The chair legs scraped sharply against the floor.
"This is too early."
Ward's expression sharpened.
"Ryan."
Ryan was already moving.
"You need to move everyone back into the gym."
Ward blinked.
"…What?"
"No one stays isolated," Ryan continued, voice firm, already shifting into command. "No classrooms. No small groups."
"Everyone central."
"Movement in pairs minimum."
"We set watches. Armed where possible."
He turned back, eyes locked on Ward.
"And no one ignores anything that feels off."
Ward had already grabbed a pen.
He paused halfway through writing.
Not at the orders.
At himself.
When had he—
Ryan stopped pacing.
The air in the room felt heavier now.
"Ryan," Ward said slowly, "what are we dealing with?"
Ryan's gaze shifted toward the hallway.
Dark.
Quiet.
Waiting.
His voice dropped.
"I think…"
A beat.
Then—
"…it's already hunting."
Author's Note:
Something is inside Havenbrook.
And it's not attacking blindly.
It's choosing its targets.
What do you think Ryan is dealing with?