Chapter 30: A Cut Beneath the Quiet
It was another still morning.
No birds. No wind. The light was too bright, the air too stale. Silence pressed in around them like a second skin, suffocating in its stillness. But the quiet between them was louder, echoing with things unsaid and unacknowledged.
Aria stood by the door, adjusting the straps of her backpack. Her eyes flicked once—twice—toward Selene. Her gaze lingered for just a moment longer, as if searching for something she couldn't name.
Selene said nothing. Only nodded, cool and efficient, her movements as practiced and calm as ever. Just like yesterday. As if the taste of fevered lips and the burn of fire hadn't crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. As if last night hadn't happened.
A soft breath caught in Aria's chest. But she said nothing.
⸻
They moved through the fractured city like ghosts.
The streets were empty, littered with the remnants of the world that had been: stores with broken windows, cars abandoned in chaos, the heavy shadows of panic etched deep into the pavement. But still, the hordes hadn't come—not yet. The city held its breath, as if waiting for something, anything to break the fragile stillness.
Aria scanned the aisles of a half-smashed pharmacy, her focus quiet and practiced. She was a far cry from the girl who'd walked into this nightmare a week ago. She'd learned quickly, her eyes sharper, her movements more efficient. Survival had become instinct.
Selene stood guard near the door, sharp as a knife, her posture as cold as it was dangerous. Every inch of her was a weapon. She had always been that way—every movement calculated, every word measured. Yet something in her had shifted in the last few days, like a crack running down the edge of a glacier, barely noticeable but undeniable.
They worked together with an ease that spoke of experience, of countless days spent in this twisted world. They were a team, functioning without thinking. Almost like more. But that, Aria knew, was a dangerous thought to entertain.
⸻
"Selene," Aria murmured, holding up a pack of medicine. "This could help if one of us—"
A loud crash cut her off.
Three men, dirty and desperate, appeared in the doorway. They were armed with crude weapons, their eyes fevered, wild. The kind of people fear turned into monsters long before the dead began to walk.
"Hand over your bags," one of them demanded, his voice sharp, panicked.
Selene moved instantly, stepping in front of Aria, her body blocking the line of sight between them and the intruders. Calm, cool, and lethal. Her hand slid to the knife at her waist, fingers tightening around the handle.
"You don't want this," Selene said, her voice low and steady, warning clear in every syllable.
But one of the men lunged.
Aria barely saw the blur of movement—Selene was a flash of precision, a whirlwind of controlled violence. Her dagger sliced the air, and before the man could register what happened, he was down. His body crumpled to the ground with a dull thud.
But the second man wasn't as quick.
He slashed at Selene with a jagged piece of metal, catching her across the side.
Steel kissed flesh, and Selene didn't flinch.
The wound was shallow—deep enough to stain her shirt, but not enough to stop her. Without a word, she turned and dropped the second man with a strike that left him writhing, gasping for air. She moved with the efficiency of someone who had done this countless times before, as if the weight of the world was nothing compared to the precision of a well-executed kill.
The third man, a coward, bolted, fleeing into the street without a second thought.
⸻
"Selene!" Aria shouted, dropping to her knees beside her, hands trembling as they hovered over the wound. Blood—bright, wet, too warm. It soaked through her shirt, staining the pale fabric a vivid crimson.
Selene's gaze was unfazed, her expression cool, detached. "It's shallow," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if it were just another inconvenience.
"Don't lie to me," Aria said, her voice trembling with something colder than just fear—something raw, something desperate.
"I'm fine," Selene replied, though the words felt hollow. The blood on her side told a different story.
But Aria didn't argue. Not yet. She moved to bind the wound, her fingers shaking as they worked. The touch was tender, cautious, but it was all she could offer.
⸻
Later, they returned to the apartment in silence.
The bags were full—medicine, food, fuel, batteries. They had what they needed. They could move forward.
But Aria barely noticed.
Her mind was elsewhere, tangled in the silence between them, in the weight of Selene's injuries and the unresolved tension that had built up over the past few days. The air felt heavy, too thick with unsaid words, too cold with things left unspoken.
⸻
Selene sat shirtless on the couch, the wound exposed as Aria carefully cleaned it. Her back was straight, her body taut and unyielding, as if she could will herself into stillness, into control. She didn't look at Aria. Didn't meet her gaze.
She simply let her tend to the wound, let her hands work, slow and deliberate.
Aria's breath was steady now, but it wasn't the calm of certainty. It was the calm of something else—something soft and quiet that had begun to creep in. It was the silence of two people who had crossed an invisible line.
"Why do you always protect me?" Aria asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers paused, holding the gauze just above Selene's side.
Selene didn't answer immediately. The words hung in the air between them, thick and heavy.
Finally, too softly: "Because I already failed once."
The words were a quiet confession, the weight of them pressing down on both of them. The silence that followed was thick, not empty—but full of something raw and aching. Something neither of them had been willing to confront until now.
⸻
It was the fourth day since the world cracked open.
Four days since the dead began to walk, since survival had become the only game worth playing. Four days since Aria had realized that the power inside her was not just strange—it was dangerous. Dangerous to her, dangerous to Selene, dangerous to the world around them.
She hadn't used her pocket dimension since the outburst on the street. Not because she couldn't—but because Selene had told her not to.
"People are watching," Selene had said, her voice firm. "You open that space in front of the wrong eyes, and you'll become a target."
Aria understood now. That golden-white light, that tear in the world, wasn't a gift. It was a beacon. It was a temptation. It was a threat.
And Selene had been clear: Use it only if you have to. Keep it hidden, keep it safe, or it will be taken from you.
Aria had learned the truth in the way those men looked at her—desperate, hungry eyes that would take anything, even her power.
She felt it, too—the way the world shifted when she called it. The way it drained her, scarred her from the inside out. She didn't fully understand it, not yet, not safely.
But she kept it locked away.
Not for her own sake.
For Selene's.
But even as she held it in, a quiet part of her wondered how long she could keep it hidden.
Because the world was changing.
And she was changing with it.
And power never stayed hidden for long.