The next day, Evan woke up feeling as if he had slept inside a vise.
His neck was still throbbing.
When he tried to turn his head, a sharp pain rose behind his ear and all the way into his jaw. He stayed still for a few seconds, eyes open toward the ceiling, listening to the silence of the apartment.
Not real silence.
The fridge hummed faintly in the kitchen. A car passed in the distance. Someone shut a window in the building across the street.
But inside him, everything felt numb.
He raised a hand to his neck.
The skin was still tender beneath his fingers.
It was not just stiffness.
It was proof.
The other man's body had disappeared inside the box.
The pain had not.
Evan slowly sat up in bed.
On the chair, yesterday's clothes were still lying in a heap. His phone was on the nightstand. His mother's was right beside it.
He reached for it almost without thinking.
Picked it up.
The black screen reflected his face back at him, blurred and tired.
He kept it in his palm for a few seconds before slipping it into his pocket.
Then he stood.
In the bathroom, the mirror showed him a face he was only beginning to recognize. The marks on his neck had darkened overnight. So had the shadows under his eyes.
He looked as though he had aged in a matter of days.
He stood there staring at himself for a moment.
Then the words from the day before came back to him.
We can't keep going like this.
Hugo was right.
The problem was that knowing it was not enough.
He still had to figure out what doing something even meant.
***
An hour later, Evan was walking down the stairs with a half-full bottle of water in one hand and an old sweatshirt on his back.
The lobby was quiet, but not empty.
Claire was speaking in a low voice with the neighbor from the third floor in front of the survivors' sheet. A new name had been added. Two others had been circled with question marks. Someone had brought a cardboard box filled with canned food and bottles of water and left it near the mailboxes.
The neighbor from the third floor briefly looked up at Evan.
Then his gaze slid to his neck.
Evan saw it.
The man looked away almost immediately.
There had been no accusation. No question.
But that was enough.
People looked differently now.
Evan walked out without stopping.
Outside, the air was cold and dry.
The street looked too wide.
In the previous days, the city had seemed wounded.
Today, it gave him the impression that it no longer had enough people left to exist properly.
There was less traffic.
Fewer pedestrians.
Less noise.
Even the birds seemed louder than before.
At the corner, a traffic light changed from red to green for almost no one. A convenience store was open, but empty. The pharmacy across from it had kept its shutters down. A crooked sign taped to the window read:
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
Evan kept walking to the square where he was supposed to meet Hugo.
When he arrived, Hugo was already there, sitting on a bench with two bottles of water at his feet.
He looked up when he heard him approach.
"You look like shit," he said.
"So do you."
Hugo let out a breath somewhere between a laugh and exhaustion.
"At least we're being consistent."
Evan sat down beside him.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
The square was almost empty.
A mother was watching her son play without ever letting him get more than a meter away. An old man was walking very slowly along the fence, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on the ground. Two teenagers crossed the park without a word, hoods up, nervous glances darting around.
At last, Hugo said,
"I thought about it last night."
Evan turned his head slightly toward him.
"So did I."
"And?"
Evan was silent for a second.
"And I ended up in the same place."
"What do you mean?"
"I know I can't stay like this."
Hugo nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
He leaned down, picked up a bottle of water, took a drink, then handed it to Evan.
"Me neither," he said. "But I don't know where to start."
That was exactly it.
Not a lack of will.
Not a lack of fear.
Just… a complete lack of instructions.
Evan took the bottle and drank in turn.
"We don't even know how to fight," he said.
"You do a little more than you did the day before yesterday," Hugo replied.
Evan looked up at him.
Hugo regretted the sentence immediately.
"Sorry," he said.
Evan looked away.
"No. It's true."
Silence fell again.
The square creaked softly under the wind.
Somewhere in the distance, someone shouted after a dog.
Hugo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"We can at least do one simple thing."
"What?"
"See where we stand."
Evan frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"Run. Do some exercises. Test ourselves a little. I don't know."
He shrugged.
"Just stop acting like we're going to survive because we're thinking about it really hard."
That drew something close to a smile from Evan.
Brief.
Tired.
But real.
"You got a personal trainer plan now?" he asked.
"No. I've got a terrified guy plan."
"Ah. More believable."
This time, Hugo gave a real, small laugh.
Then he stood up.
"Come on. We'll start with running."
Evan looked up at him without enthusiasm.
"Now?"
"Yes, now."
"Right now?"
"You want to schedule it over the next few weeks?"
Evan let out a breath and finally got up too.
***
They started by jogging around the square.
After two minutes, Evan already felt his breathing go uneven.
His neck hurt every time one of his steps hit a little too hard. His legs felt heavy. His breath caught quickly.
Hugo held up a little better, but not by much.
By the third lap, they slowed down without even discussing it.
By the fourth, they stopped.
Both of them bent forward, hands on their thighs.
"Fuck…" Hugo breathed between gulps of air.
Evan did not even answer.
He was staring at the ground, lungs burning, heart pounding too fast.
When he finally lifted his head again, he felt ridiculous.
Not ashamed.
Ridiculous.
He had not even needed a white box to understand how far behind he was.
Hugo straightened up before he did and put his hands on the back of his neck.
"Well," he said. "We suck."
"Thanks," Evan replied, still struggling to catch his breath.
"We have to be honest."
"I am being honest. I was just hoping for a kinder version."
Hugo shook his head.
"No, but seriously… if we're already dead after four laps, we're not going to last long."
His tone stayed light, but only on the surface.
Evan knew it.
Hugo knew it too.
He was not talking about endurance for running.
He was talking about the rest.
The next duels.
The blows.
The fear.
The fact that there was nowhere to run.
A little later, they tried something else.
Push-ups.
Sit-ups.
Squats.
A few clumsy attempts at stance and distance, like two guys who had watched too many videos and seen too few real fights.
Evan tried raising his fists the way he imagined he was supposed to.
Hugo watched him for two seconds before saying,
"You look like you're apologizing for trying to defend yourself."
"Fuck you."
"See? That had more energy."
Evan breathed out through his nose.
Then Hugo tried taking a stance himself.
It was barely any better.
Eventually, they ended up trying stupid, simple things:
pushing each other back
holding their balance
trying to avoid being shoved
awkwardly blocking each other's arms
trying to break out of a chokehold without really knowing how
After a while, Hugo grabbed Evan's sweatshirt on instinct and yanked him toward him.
The gesture was ordinary.
But Evan's body reacted before his mind did.
A rush of panic surged through him all at once.
He shoved Hugo away much more violently than he meant to.
Hugo took a step back, startled.
Silence fell immediately.
Evan felt shame rise into his throat.
"Sorry."
Hugo raised a hand at once.
"No. It's fine."
He caught his breath, then added more quietly,
"I probably would've done the same."
Evan lowered his eyes.
The square had gone back to its usual calm, but he could still feel his muscles tense.
His memory no longer needed the box to trigger.
A sudden movement was enough.
They sat back down on the bench without speaking for a while.
Hugo wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
"We're not going to make it on our own."
Evan looked up at him.
"You think?"
"You saw it as well as I did."
He vaguely gestured at their legs, their arms, their breath.
"We're starting from way too far behind."
Evan did not answer.
Because he already knew.
Hugo went on:
"Maybe we need to find people."
"What kind of people?"
"I don't know. Survivors. Groups. Guys who actually know how to fight. Places where people are organizing themselves better than we are."
He paused.
"My dad heard about a gym where people are gathering, apparently. I don't know if it's true. There are so many rumors…"
Evan stared at the ground for a few seconds.
A gym.
A group.
Survivors.
He liked the idea only halfway.
There was something reassuring in the thought of not staying alone.
And something deeply unsettling in the idea of going toward strangers who had also survived two boxes.
"We could at least ask around," Hugo said.
Evan slowly raised his eyes.
"Maybe."
Not a refusal.
Not a yes yet either.
But enough for Hugo to see it.
"We don't have to go today," he added. "But we can't just run around a square until we turn into machines."
Evan let out a short breath.
"Too bad. I liked that plan."
This time, Hugo smiled more openly.
Then the smile faded quickly.
The ship passed between two branches in their line of sight.
Still there.
Still above them.
Still out of reach.
Around them, the square looked even emptier than it had that morning.
The mother had left with her son.
The old man was gone.
Only one teenage girl remained, sitting alone at the end of a bench, phone turned off in her hands, head tilted toward the sky.
"Did you notice?" Hugo said.
"What?"
"There are fewer people everywhere."
Evan followed his gaze toward the street beyond the fence.
Yes.
This time, it was truly visible.
Not only in the news.
Not only in numbers.
In the windows.
In the shuttered shops.
In spaces that had become too wide for the few survivors still crossing them.
The world was no longer just losing people.
It was changing shape.
They stayed at the square a little longer, without really trying more exercises.
The simple fact of having tried at all was already enough to leave them drained.
When they finally got up again, their legs felt heavy and their breathing still had not fully returned.
Not glorious.
But real.
On the way back, they passed a gym that had been closed for several days.
The windows were covered in improvised posters, some torn, others still readable.
LOOKING FOR SURVIVORS
MEETING POINT AT THE MUNICIPAL GYM?
REAL OR FAKE?
DON'T STAY ALONE
Hugo slowed down.
"See?"
Evan looked at the papers for a few seconds.
Then at the empty windows behind them.
Then at the nearly silent street.
"Yeah," he said.
They parted at the corner where their streets split.
Hugo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"So what do we do?"
Evan stayed quiet for a second.
Then answered,
"We keep going tomorrow."
Hugo looked at him.
Not disappointed.
Not relieved either.
Just serious.
"Okay."
He started to walk away, then turned back one last time.
"And if the gym comes up in more rumors, we go check it out."
Evan barely hesitated.
"Yeah."
This time, Hugo left for good.
Evan walked home.
His mother's phone weighed in his pocket with every step.
When he entered the apartment, silence welcomed him as usual.
But something had changed.
Only slightly.
Not in the apartment.
In him.
He was not better.
He was not ready.
He had no clear idea how to survive the next boxes.
But at least he had started.
It was tiny.
Almost ridiculous.
Four laps around a square. A few awkward movements. One more conversation.
And yet it was no longer the stillness of the previous days.
Evan set his mother's phone down on the table.
Looked at it for a few seconds.
Then he went into the kitchen to drink a glass of water.
His arms were heavy.
His neck still throbbed.
His legs were already protesting.
He would probably ache everywhere the next day.
But for the first time in a long while, that pain meant something different.
It had not come from the box.
It had come from a choice.
Evening slowly fell beyond the windows.
The ship was still there.
The next duel would come.
He knew that.
But this time, as he looked at the black sky suspended above the empty city, Evan felt that his fear was no longer entirely alone.
Something else was beginning to exist beside it.
Not confidence.
Not yet.
Just a direction.
And for now, that was already huge.