Watching Sarah quietly, Bryan turned her words over in his mind and recognized the pattern immediately—she'd trapped herself in a vicious cycle of her own making.
Any reasonably well-adjusted person would feel the helplessness, sure, but they wouldn't internalize the blame like this. Sarah's childhood trauma had been seared too deeply into her psyche. With no one to guide her through it, the guilt had metastasized into what he was seeing now.
Bryan sighed inwardly. He'd been there when Sylvia died, but at the time, rioters and Infected had been appearing at every turn. His mind had been consumed with tactical survival. He'd completely missed this festering wound.
"Sarah, I need you to hear this. None of that was your fault."
After a long pause, he gently lifted her chin so she was looking at him. "Sylvia's death wasn't your fault either. Back then... we were all powerless."
He pressed his forehead against hers and continued softly. "You don't need to carry all the blame on your own shoulders. That in itself is the mistake. Whether someone lives or dies—all we can do is give everything we have and live with a clear conscience. No one is God, Sarah. Doctors are just ordinary people trying to steal lives back from death's hands. That's all."
Sarah fell quiet. Her lashes lowered, and she sat perfectly still.
But after years together, Bryan knew that silence well. She'd heard him. She was processing. He said nothing more—even the closest person's comfort could only open the door. Walking through it was something she had to do herself.
"You're too good to me."
After a long, still silence, Sarah slowly raised her head. She reached up to wipe her face, only to find her cheeks already dry—Bryan had cleaned away every tear with a tissue at some point without her noticing.
Warmth bloomed in her chest. She leaned in and pressed her lips softly against his cheek, once, twice, her voice small and sweet.
"Heh. Just glad you're okay."
Looking at the genuine smile that had returned to Sarah's face, Bryan let out a quiet breath of relief. He could tell her heart wasn't entirely unburdened—but she was markedly better than before. It didn't need to happen all at once. These things took time.
"Oh—!"
Sarah suddenly sat up straight, as if remembering something important. "I heard something at the hospital recently. Apparently, a week from now, the QZ is sending a mail convoy to Pittsburgh."
"...Uh, okay? What about it?"
Bryan gave her a quizzical look. Mail convoys between Quarantine Zones were nothing unusual. But he knew Sarah wouldn't bring it up without reason.
She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, then lowered her voice. "One of the senior doctors told me—this might be the last time the QZ ever sends one."
"What?" Bryan's pupils contracted, and he stared at her in shock.
Ever since the outbreak, the establishment of Quarantine Zones had sheltered countless survivors—but it had also separated countless families. Once the QZs stabilized, Washington's central government had ordered a biannual mail convoy system. Residents could send letters that would be relayed from zone to zone, eventually reaching family members hundreds or thousands of miles away. It was the only way to know if your loved ones were still alive.
Even Bryan had relied on it. Unable to travel to Washington himself, he'd been sending letters to his "parents" in hopes of a reply. None had ever come, and he had no idea whether they were even alive—but the act itself had provided a kind of solace.
After all, coming to the Atlanta QZ had originally been about finding this body's parents and securing a safe home. But he'd been too young at the time, Washington had closed its doors to outsiders, and with no response to his letters, he'd eventually shelved those plans.
Even during the Fireflies' most active years, the mail convoys had been the safest vehicles on the road. The Fireflies were ordinary people too—they had family and friends in distant zones. When they encountered a mail convoy, both sides observed an unspoken truce.
Now that final bridge between Quarantine Zones was being cut. Bryan could already envision the chaos this would unleash, and exactly how the Fireflies would weaponize the information.
"Don't worry—they're not going to announce it publicly."
Reading his thoughts, Sarah explained quietly. "They said they'll still collect mail as usual. They just won't send it out. The letters will be quietly destroyed."
"Heh. You're thinking too simply."
Bryan shook his head. "You know what this place has become. No secret stays buried forever here. The Fireflies finding out is just a matter of time."
His eyes narrowed. "The kind of news that could destabilize the entire QZ... if it leaked early, the government could get ahead of it, manage the fallout. But by suppressing it, keeping it hidden—if I were the Fireflies, I'd hold onto that card. Save it for the right moment. Combine it with a major operation, use it to whip the civilian population into a frenzy. When that happens, FEDRA won't know what hit them."
The more connections he drew, the more his head throbbed. "I have a feeling things are going to get ugly around here. Soon."
"Okay, okay—don't think about it too much. We have an evacuation plan, remember? If things go bad, we leave early."
Seeing him grimace with pain, Sarah reached up and began massaging his temples with gentle, practiced fingers.
Bryan closed his eyes, savoring the sensation. A quiet hum of contentment escaped him. "I don't want to worry about this stuff. But knowing what's coming gives us time to prepare. If we're caught flat-footed, the best plan in the world won't save us."
"Mm. Whatever you decide."
Sarah held his head tenderly, silently frustrated with her own limitations. Of everyone, she understood best just how much he'd sacrificed over the years—analyzing intelligence, tracking the Fireflies' every move, juggling relationships between the military and the smugglers. Even their daily supplies came at the cost of him risking his life outside the walls.
"Anna came by a few days ago. Said she hasn't seen you in a while—wants you to drop by the clinic when you're back."
"...Mm. Got it. I'll be free in a day or two—we'll go together."
They lingered a while longer, enjoying each other's warmth, until Sarah's break was nearly over. Reluctantly, they left the park and went their separate ways.
For some people in the QZ, life was an endless grind of hardship. For others—at least between missions—it was surprisingly quiet. Bryan happened to fall into the latter category.
After parting with Sarah, he wandered the streets with no particular destination. That was the thing about the apocalypse—no electronics, no entertainment, nothing to kill time with.
Yesterday's haul had already been handed off to Norsen. Getting all those supplies smuggled inside would take two or three days at least. Chen Shi was sorted out and wouldn't need much attention going forward. When he thought about it, he genuinely had nothing pressing to do.
Might as well go check on the others.
It had been a while since he'd seen some of them. He'd been meaning to organize a group gathering, and this was as good a time as any to feel people out on scheduling.
He mentally sorted through the priority list. Allen was closest—at the school—but at this hour, the kid would be grinding it out on the training field. No point in interrupting. Allen's break started tomorrow anyway, and in six months he'd be graduating. They'd need to discuss his future plans then.
With Allen ruled out, Bryan's gaze drifted toward District E—toward the imposing structure that dominated the skyline.
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