Dr. Niall Renton:
The bunker was too quiet.

Niall sat hunched in the corner, fingers locked together so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. The old emergency radio crackled on the table beside him, looping the same dead broadcast it had played for hours.

He wasn't listening anymore.

He'd stopped listening after the third time it repeated "civilian compliance protocols" and "safety zones." Lies. All of it. He knew better now.

He stared at the communicator clutched in his lap—Elara's signal long dead.

He had tried to call her.

Twice.

The first time, her voice mail had answered. The second time... nothing.

A cold weight settled deeper in his chest.

What if she was already gone?

What if he'd done all this—for nothing?

He reached up and rubbed his face, palms dragging down slowly, like he could wipe away the hours—the choices—the blood.

But it wasn't exhaustion weighing down his bones.

It was the silence.

The kind that crawled under your skin and made a home there. The kind that wasn't just absence—it was a consequence. A reckoning.

He blinked hard, but the blur didn't fade.

His vision wasn't clouded from lack of sleep.

It was regret.

Heavy. Suffocating. A slow rot that started in the pit of his stomach and climbed upward until it settled behind his eyes.

He'd made the trade. Signed the file. Handed over the results with trembling fingers, and when Valeria gave that little smile—that knowing smile—he told himself it would be worth it.

They'll be safe.

That's what he kept repeating.

They'll be safe. Lena. The boys. They'll be okay.

His hand shook as he reached for the communicator again. He didn't know what he expected. Another silence? A voice? Maybe just the comfort of pretending someone was still listening.

"Elara..." he whispered.

His thumb hovered over the call button.

He wanted to say he was sorry. That he didn't know. That he'd tried to save everyone the only way he knew how.

But even if she picked up—

He knew she wouldn't forgive him.

Not after what was done.

He gave them Elara's research for the safety of his family.

The communicator beeped once, then fell silent again.

Niall let it drop into his lap, his hand trembling.

He didn't hear the footsteps at first.

Just the soft creak of the old steel door opening—then closing behind someone. Then the sound of heavy breathing. Boots scraping concrete. Someone muttered a curse under their breath.

He looked up.

A military captain stood in the doorway, helmet off, face pale and streaked with ash. The man looked like he'd walked through hell and kept walking. Blood—dried and cracked—lined the edge of his jaw. His left shoulder was bandaged, but the gauze was soaked through.

Behind him, three more figures filtered in.

Lena.

Noah.

Finn.

Niall's heart stopped.

Lena's eyes met his—and something cold settled between them. Not relief. Not joy.

Just silence.

She stepped forward, ushering the boys in ahead of her. Finn clutched her coat, half-hiding behind her hip. Noah glanced around the bunker with wide, anxious eyes, then spotted Niall—and offered a small, unsure smile.

"Dad?"

His voice was too small. Too bright for this place.

Niall couldn't speak. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Lena didn't speak either. She just stared.

The Captain dropped his gear by the wall, slumped down onto the bench, and pulled off his gloves with shaking hands. "Convoy got hit outside of Sector 3. Ten vehicles. Two made it through. We didn't see who was attacking—we barely saw anything."

He didn't say it like a report. He said it like a man recounting a dream he hadn't fully escaped from.

Lena finally broke the silence.

Her voice was calm, almost cold. "They said we were cleared for evac. That a priority list had been filed weeks ago." She looked directly at Niall now. "That someone on the inside made sure we'd be safe."

Niall's mouth felt dry. "I—"

"Was that you?" she asked. Not gentle. Not thankful. Just sharp.

The boys looked between them, confused.

He nodded.

"Yes."

Lena inhaled slowly, then shook her head. She looked away, like she couldn't stand to see him.

"People died out there," she said. "Mothers. Children. My sister."

Adrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes distant. "I saw men melt from the inside. Women turn to dust mid-sentence. These things—they play with us. They don't even need weapons. Just time."

He stared at Niall now.

"You knew this was coming."

Niall's stomach churned.

"I didn't"

"No," Adrian snapped. "But you knew enough. And you kept your mouth shut."

Lena stood again, her arms crossing over her chest.

"Whatever you did to get us here..." she said. "I hope it was worth it."

Niall couldn't answer.

Because it wasn't.

Not even close.

The silence that followed felt longer than it was. Lena turned away, guiding the boys toward the far end of the room where old military cots lined the wall. Noah sat stiffly on the edge of one. Finn climbed into his mother's lap, burying his face in her shoulder.

Adrian said nothing else. He just stared at the cracked concrete floor, as if it held answers he didn't want to find.

Niall sat there, the communicator still in his hand.

He glanced down at it again.

One more time.
Just once more.

He clicked the screen and scrolled to the only number that still mattered.
Dr. Elara Voss

The thought slipped in before he could stop it.

She was smart. Smarter than anyone. If anyone made it out—it would be her. She wouldn't have gone down without a fight.

They hadn't known. Neither of them had. Not until it was too late. Not until the lies started unraveling and everything started burning.

And maybe—if she found this place—maybe she'd understand.

He could tell her everything. The pressure. The threat to his family. The deal he never really believed in until it was done.

She'd listen.

She always listened.

Why wouldn't she?

Chapter word count: 919
Novella word count: 12 858