Fred never wanted to see that handwriting again.
It was jagged.
Trembling.
Almost childlike.
But unmistakable.
He stared at the torn envelope Mira had found tucked inside her ruined backpack.
The return address was a smear of ink, unreadable.
But the name written on the back was clear:
"Fredrick A. Simmons."
His full name.
One he hadn't heard spoken since the night his world ended.
Mira watched him with wary eyes, her bandaged side rising and falling.
Subject 0 crouched nearby, fiddling silently with a broken lighter, sparks flaring and dying.
Fred broke the seal with shaking fingers.
And read.
---
> "You think you're safe because you ran, Fred."
"You think your secrets died with us."
"But secrets don't stay dead."
"Neither do we."
"Come home."
There was no signature.
No hint of kindness.
Only cold command.
Fred's mouth went dry.
The letter smelled faintly of smoke.
Old blood.
And something worse.
Something... alive.
He crushed the paper in his fist.
But the words had already carved themselves into his mind.
---
"You okay?" Mira asked softly, breaking the heavy silence.
Fred shook his head.
Lied anyway.
"Yeah."
Because what else could he say?
That the dead had started writing him letters?
That the home he fled was calling him back—and he might be too broken to resist?
He tucked the crumpled paper into his jacket.
Mira didn't press him.
But her eyes said she knew.
Maybe better than he did.
---
"We can't stay here," Subject 0 said suddenly, voice low and urgent.
Fred jolted.
He hadn't even noticed the boy creeping to the window, peeking between the cracked blinds.
Fred joined him.
Outside, black SUVs prowled the streets.
Men in dark coats stalked between pools of broken light.
Selene's hunters.
Already sniffing the air.
Already closing in.
"Move now or die here," Subject 0 said.
Fred's chest tightened.
He looked down at Mira.
Pale. Hurting. Barely standing.
But determined.
Always determined.
And he thought about the letter.
The ghosts.
The home that had stopped being home long ago.
Maybe it was time to go back.
Not to surrender.
To finish what he had run from.
---
That night, they disappeared deeper than ever before.
Into tunnels older than memory.
Past walls breathing with damp and mold.
Through vaults where the city buried its sins.
Fred led the way, flashlight beam cutting thin slices of visibility.
Behind him, Mira and Subject 0 followed without complaint.
The ground sloped downward.
The air thickened.
Smelled of rust and forgotten promises.
Fred didn't look back.
Couldn't.
Because behind him was a life already lost.
And ahead?
Only the unknown.
Only the letter burning like a brand against his heart.
---