Echoes of survival

The city was still—too still. Only the distant wails of sirens and the occasional crack of something crumbling filled the silence.

Jaxon didn't let go. He felt Selene trembling against him, her breath ragged, her nails digging into his back like she was trying to ground herself in reality. He let her. He just held her, waiting.

Minutes passed, or maybe longer. Time blurred.

Finally, Selene pulled away slightly, her eyes red, her face stained with tears. But there was something else in them now. Something hardened.

"We need to move," Jaxon said. His voice came out rough, like he hadn't spoken in years.

Selene swallowed hard, wiped her face, and nodded. "Yeah."

He scanned their surroundings, his augmented arm twitching. The bodies of the two men lay sprawled, motionless. Blood pooled in the cracks of the pavement. Jaxon didn't regret it. Not for a second.

They left the scene behind, slipping back into the ruined streets, shadows against a dead city.

Selene walked close to him now. Closer than ever before.

The night wrapped around them like a heavy cloak, the dim glow of distant fires barely illuminating their path. Every step they took felt like walking deeper into a graveyard of the world that once was. Buildings stood in skeletal remains, shattered glass crunched beneath their boots, and the air carried the stench of decay.

Selene hadn't spoken since they left the alley. She stayed close, almost pressed against Jaxon's side, her breathing shallow but steady. He could feel her occasional glances at him—like she was checking to make sure he was still real.

Jaxon's mind was still running hot, the adrenaline barely simmering down. His right hand twitches involuntarily—the enhanced arm, the one that had saved them both. He flexed his fingers, staring at the metallic sheen. The blood had been washed off by the rain, but the memory of it remained.

Selene broke the silence first. "I—" Her voice cracked, and she stopped. She took a breath, trying again. "I didn't think we'd make it."

Jaxon glanced at her. She was hugging herself, though it did nothing against the cold. The way she said it wasn't just about the past few minutes—it was about everything. The fall of the city. The loss. The survival.

"Neither did they," he muttered.

Selene gave a weak laugh, but it wasn't humor. It was exhausting. "Yeah…" She hesitated, then looked up at him. "You were—different back there."

Jaxon kept walking. "Had to be."

She grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to stop. "No. I mean it. You—" Her fingers clenched in the fabric. "I've never seen you like that before."

He finally met her gaze, and what he saw made his stomach tighten. Fear. Not of the world, not of what had just happened—but of him.

He sighed, looking away. "I didn't have a choice."

Selene's grip on his sleeve loosened, but she didn't let go. "I know," she whispered.

Silence settled again, but this time, it was heavier.

They kept moving, slipping through the ruins of what was once a thriving city. Now it was a carcass. A hunting ground for the desperate and the cruel.

They needed shelter.

Jaxon spotted an old bookstore up ahead, its windows shattered, its entrance barely holding together. He gestured toward it. "That might work for the night."

Selene nodded, and they made their way inside, stepping over fallen shelves and scattered pages. It smelled of damp paper and dust.

Jaxon did a quick sweep, checking for threats. When he was satisfied, he nodded toward a cleared space near the back. "We'll stay here."

Selene didn't argue. She just sat down, pulling her knees to her chest.

Jaxon sat beside her, resting his head against the wall. The weight of the day finally settled on him. His arm ached—not the metal one, but the ghost of the real one.

Selene spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I was going to die."

Jaxon turned his head slightly, watching her. Her fingers curled into her sleeves, her shoulders hunched.

"You didn't," he said simply.

She let out a breath. "Because of you."

Jaxon didn't answer. He just stared at the ceiling, at the cracks running through it, at the way the world was falling apart.

Selene shifted closer, hesitating for only a moment before resting her head against his shoulder.

He didn't push her away.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the city was quiet.

***

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just the quiet aftermath of too much—too much loss, too much fear, too much survival.

Jaxon stayed still, letting Selene rest against his shoulder. She needed this. Maybe he did too.

But he wasn't stupid. He knew what was coming.

She had held it together for days—pushed forward, forced herself to keep moving, keep surviving. But nobody could keep running forever.

And then, it happened.

Selene's breath hitched. Once. Twice. Then a sharp inhale—the kind that tries to stop a breakdown but only makes it worse.

Her fingers tightened against her sleeves. Her whole body trembled.

Jaxon felt it before he heard it—the softest, most broken sound. A sob.

Then another.

And then, suddenly, she was shaking, hands pressed against her face, crying like she had been holding it in for too long. Because she had.

Jaxon didn't say anything. Didn't tell her to stop. Didn't say it was okay—because it wasn't.

Instead, he did the only thing that made sense.

He pulled her closer.

Selene didn't resist. She just curled into him, gripping his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

Jaxon sat there, arms around her, staring at the ruined ceiling.

He felt like shit.

He had saved her. But he couldn't stop what had happened. He couldn't erase it.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer. The city was dead, and so was the world they once knew.

Selene's breathing finally slowed, but she didn't pull away. She stayed close. Too close.

Jaxon turned his head slightly—and then she looked up.

Her face was still streaked with tears, her eyes red and raw.

And then, before either of them could think—

They kissed.

It wasn't desperate. It wasn't some passionate, sweeping moment.

It was soft, uncertain. A quiet understanding.

A moment of grounding—of knowing that, in this world of ruin, they still had something real.

Jaxon felt the warmth of her lips against his—hesitant, like she wasn't sure if she should be doing this.

Maybe she shouldn't.

Maybe neither of them should.

But neither of them pulled away.

When they finally broke apart, Selene's expression was unreadable.

She stared at him, like she was trying to figure out how she felt about it—but even she didn't seem to know.

Jaxon exhaled, tilting his head back against the wall. Neither of them spoke.

They didn't need to.

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the distant howls of the wind through skeletal buildings. Jaxon sat against the cold wall of the ruined bookstore, Selene curled up beside him. She had finally drifted into a restless sleep, exhaustion overpowering her lingering fear. Jaxon, however, couldn't close his eyes.

His mind replayed the events over and over. The blood. The fight. The look in Selene's eyes when she saw him kill.

Then came the low hum of an engine.

Jaxon's eyes snapped open. He tensed, listening. Vehicles weren't common anymore—gas was too precious, and most of the world had gone quiet. The sound grew closer, and with it, a feeling in his gut.

Someone was coming.

Selene stirred beside him, blinking awake. "Jaxon…?"

"Shh." He pressed a hand lightly on her shoulder, urging her to stay still. He reached for his knife—not much against a gun, but better than nothing.

The sound of tires crunching against debris made his stomach tighten. A vehicle rolled up outside the bookstore, headlights flickering through the broken windows. Then… silence.

Jaxon held his breath.

The door creaked open. Boots hit the ground. More than one pair.

Then, a voice—calm, casual, but with an edge of amusement.

"You look like hell."

Jaxon's grip on the knife tightened. His eyes adjusted to the figures stepping into the dim light. They were armed, armored in mismatched gear that looked scavenged and repurposed. Dangerous. But one of them, standing at the front, had a stance that was familiar.

The stranger pulled off his mask, revealing a smirking face beneath dark, dirt-smudged hair. His eyes held a knowing gleam.

"Happy to see you alive, man."

Jaxon's brows furrowed. His mind scrambled, searching for a memory that wasn't there.

"…Have we met before?"

The stranger scoffed. "Seriously? Chippernode. You really don't recognize me?"

Jaxon's stomach dropped.

Chippernode. From the chatroom. The one he'd locked in with countless times, debating conspiracies, breaking down propaganda, questioning everything.

Jaxon exhaled, the weight of recognition settling in.

This wasn't just a random rescue.

They had been looking for him.