Chapter 12: Fracture

The retaliation came fast.

We knew it would.

But we still weren't ready for how it came.

It hit just after midnight.

Not in our base.

Not at the perimeter.

Not where we expected.

They went for our allies.

Safehouse 3. Medical shelter. Thirty powered. Half non-combatants.

No warning.

Just smoke.

No gunfire. No screams.

The building didn't explode.

It collapsed.

Straight down.

Controlled demolition.

And when we got there…

There was no one to save.

Echo stood in the ash with both hands shaking.

Reese scanned for life signs, his voice flat.

Delryn just stared at the rubble and whispered, "They knew. They knew exactly where to hit."

That's when the thought hit all of us.

They had inside help.

Back at the safehouse, the mood turned dark.

Anger churned just below the surface.

Some wanted to run.

Some wanted revenge.

And some started asking questions out loud.

"How did they know the location?"

"Who gave them the code clearance?"

"What else do they know?"

And finally:

"Who among us let them in?"

We held a closed council.

Me. Echo. Delryn. Reese. Koro.

All trusted.

All proven.

We went through every name.

Checked communications. Movement logs. Field reports.

Nothing stood out.

Until it did.

Zane.

Newer recruit. Quiet. Loyal. Almost too loyal.

He'd joined two weeks ago, carrying wounds from a supposed Rogue escape. We patched him up. Gave him a cot. Trained him.

And never thought twice.

Until we checked his transmitter logs.

One line caught Reese's eye.

An old ID code.

"League issue," Delryn said grimly.

Reese nodded. "Buried deep. Masked as a signal bounce. Almost missed it."

He looked at me.

"You need to talk to him."

Zane sat in the old generator bay.

Hands folded.

Eyes empty.

I didn't go in loud.

Didn't yell.

Just sat across from him and asked, "Why?"

He stared back.

Didn't blink.

Didn't flinch.

Then said, "I didn't give them the codes."

My chest tightened.

"But you gave them something," I said.

He nodded.

"Status reports. Movement schedules. Tiny things. Things that seemed harmless."

"Who were you reporting to?"

"I don't know."

I frowned. "How—"

"They never gave a name. Just a voice. Said they wanted to help. Said they were watching the Divide grow. That they believed in it."

"But you didn't tell anyone."

"Because I wanted to believe it too."

He leaned forward now.

Eyes burning.

"I've lived under the League. I've seen what they do. I thought maybe I was feeding someone on the inside. Helping turn things."

"And now?"

"Now I know better."

I brought the council in.

Told them everything.

Zane didn't deny it.

Didn't beg.

Didn't lie.

He just stood and said, "I'll leave. Whatever punishment—fine. I'll disappear."

But that wasn't enough.

Not for Koro.

The confrontation happened fast.

Too fast.

Zane grabbed his bag.

Koro stepped into the hallway.

"No," he growled.

"You don't speak for the Divide," Zane said.

"I fight for the Divide," Koro snapped.

Their powers sparked.

Others gathered.

Tension thickened like smoke.

I stepped between them.

"This isn't the League," I said.

"We don't disappear people."

Koro's fists still burned.

But slowly, he backed down.

Zane dropped his bag.

"I'm leaving," he said again.

And then he did.

Alone.

We reinforced our protocols.

Changed access keys.

Relocated three cells.

Everyone got recertified through voice, power, and DNA.

It felt cold.

Necessary.

But it cracked something.

Trust.

The city felt it too.

The Hollow struck again—this time a comm tower.

League blamed us.

We denied it.

Didn't matter.

The public couldn't tell the difference anymore.

The Divide, the League, the Hollow—they were all just shadows fighting shadows.

And in that haze, more people went silent.

More disappeared.

More gave up.

Delryn pulled me aside one night.

"You need to be seen," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Visible. Present. Leading. You're not just a fighter now. You're a symbol."

"I didn't ask to be."

"No one does."

She looked me in the eye.

"If you don't speak up soon, someone else will. And maybe they won't speak for us."

So I went topside.

Stood in front of the fractured hospital where we'd first trained new recruits.

And recorded.

"My name isn't important.

You've heard it. You've seen it. But it's not what matters.

What matters is this:

The Divide was never meant to be a war.

It was meant to be a choice.

And now it's a line.

A fracture.

We're being torn from both sides.

The League wants control.

The Hollow wants fire.

We want freedom.

And I don't know what that looks like anymore.

But I know this:

I will not run.

I will not hide.

And I will not let the world turn to ash without fighting for something better."

The video played for less than three hours.

Before it was scrubbed from every public channel.

But by then, it was already too late.

It had gone viral.

Passed through thousands of hands.

Translated into ten languages.

Projected onto buildings in three cities.

And painted across a wall downtown in red and white:

"We don't want fire. We want freedom."

But with that came a new price.

That night, our lookout spotted movement near the eastern tunnel.

Two silhouettes.

No weapons.

No threat.

Just a message.

Written in red on a torn banner:

"Your fracture is our opening."

Signed with the Hollow mark.