The compound had a strange kind of silence. Not the good kind—no, it was the kind that pressed on your chest, made it harder to breathe. Beyond the gates the world was dead and rotting, but in here the laughter of children, the clatter of pots, the murmur of women weaving and working should’ve made it feel alive. Instead, it felt rehearsed. Hollow. Like a play where every line had been drilled too many times.

You caught 10k watching the walls, his eyes scanning for weaknesses in the fence line rather than admiring the illusion of peace. He didn’t trust it either, and it steadied you knowing you weren’t alone in feeling it.

“{User},” Addy’s voice tugged you back. She stood a little too close, her fingers brushing yours, restless. You didn’t miss the pleading in her expression. “You don’t have to go back with them. You could stay here—with me.”

You searched her face, your chest tightening. “And leave them? Leave him?” you tilted your head subtly toward 10k, who was crouched now, fixing the sling of his rifle, pretending not to hear. But you knew he always heard.

Addy flinched, her mouth pulling into a line. “You don’t understand. Out there it’s constant. Running, fighting, bleeding. In here…they take care of each other. We could be safe. You could be safe.”

Her words sounded like comfort, but something about the way she said safe made your skin prickle. You wanted to believe her, wanted to trust your sister, but there was something off in the air.

“Safe,” you repeated softly. “Or controlled?”

Before she could answer, Helen appeared like a shadow stepping into the light. The leader’s presence filled the courtyard with a weight that pressed down on everyone around her. The children playing nearby hushed without being told. Even the women weaving paused for just a moment, then quickly went back to their work, as if silence was a kind of obedience.

“Such loyalty,” Helen said, her voice smooth as silk, her smile cool and deliberate as her eyes landed on you. “You care so much for your sister. That is…commendable.”

You didn’t bow your head the way the others did. Instead, you met her gaze. “She’s my family. That’s what people are supposed to do.”

Helen’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes sharpened. “Family is…a dangerous word in times like these. Out there, family dies. Out there, family turns on you. In here, we are sisters. Stronger than blood. Stronger than weakness.”

Her words wrapped around you like vines, careful, constricting. You could almost feel how she was testing you, seeing if she could pull you in the same way she had pulled Addy.

You shifted your weight and folded your arms, chin lifting slightly. “Funny. Out there, with them—” you nodded at 10k and the rest of the group by the gate, “—we fight, we bleed, we nearly starve sometimes. But nobody’s ever made me feel like my loyalty was something to be tested. That’s the difference.”

Helen tilted her head, her smile thinning. “And yet your sister has chosen us. She sees the truth, even if you’re not ready to.”

Addy’s eyes flicked between you, torn, pleading silently.

You stepped closer to her, lowering your voice so only she could hear. “I love you, Addy. But I can’t stay somewhere that feels wrong just because it promises safety. You know me better than that.”

Her lips parted, a breath catching in her throat, and for the briefest moment, you saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes.

From the gate, 10k called your name, his voice steady but edged with warning. Something in his tone—protective, certain—pulled you back like a tether.

You gave Addy’s hand a quick squeeze, then released it. “I’m with them,” you said firmly, loud enough that Helen heard. And then you turned, walking toward the group before hesitation could root you to the ground.

Behind you, Helen’s smile faltered for the first time.

And Addy’s voice broke in the silence: “{User}—wait!”

But you didn’t.