It began quietly, the way most heartbreaks do.
The days were filled with rebuilding—cutting wood, boiling water, organizing supplies—but even in all that noise, the silence between Theron, Egwene, and Aaron began to thicken. There were glances. Words left unspoken. Choices made that echoed louder than shouted arguments.
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Scene One: Late Afternoon – The Training Field
Theron wiped sweat from his brow, the handle of his axe resting on his shoulder. He'd spent hours helping Reid sharpen wooden spikes and fortify the wall. He noticed Egwene on the far side of the camp, laughing—really laughing—as Aaron showed a group of children how to swing a stick like a sword.
Her smile made something sharp twist in his chest.
Aaron looked back, just once, and their eyes met. Not a challenge. Not a greeting. Just... recognition. Of what was happening between them. Of what was starting to change.
Theron turned back to his work, jaw tight.
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Scene Two: The Fire Circle – That Night
That night, the fire cracked and danced in the center of the camp. People gathered for warmth and rest, sharing food and bits of found music on a battery-powered speaker.
Theron sat beside Egwene, his knee brushing hers lightly. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in either. She seemed distracted.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Egwene turned her eyes toward the fire. "Just tired."
But when Aaron sat across from them, her expression subtly shifted—shoulders relaxed, lips curved into a small smile. Aaron told a story about almost being chased into a lake by a dog during a supply run. Everyone laughed.
Even Egwene.
Especially Egwene.
Theron watched her, his chest heavy with something he didn't want to name.
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Scene Three: The Shoreline – Two Days Later
Egwene wandered to the edge of the beach in the early morning, just as the fog clung low to the water. She didn't expect company, but Aaron was already there, skipping stones across the surface.
"You couldn't sleep either?" she asked.
Aaron shook his head. "Not with all this stuff in my brain. Plans. Patrol routes. And you."
She blinked, startled. "What?"
He gave her a small smile, genuine, but cautious. "I said, and you. I think about you a lot."
Silence again, but it was full. Not awkward. Intimate.
"You shouldn't," she said, but the protest lacked weight.
Aaron stepped closer. "I know about you and Theron."
"There is no me and Theron," Egwene replied. "Not really. We were... not together before all this. But now?"
"Now it's different," Aaron finished for her.
She looked at him then, really looked—this person who had protected children, who smiled even when his eyes were tired, who made her laugh when everything felt like it was collapsing.
He reached out and gently took her hand. She didn't pull away.
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Scene Four: The Watch Tower – That Evening
Theron stood alone in the watch tower, overlooking Haven. He had seen them—on the beach. Hand in hand. Their silhouettes framed by the morning fog.
He gripped the edge of the wooden rail until his knuckles turned white. Not out of anger, but hurt. He had thought what they shared had survived the chaos. That somehow, they could rebuild too.
But maybe he had been holding onto a version of Egwene that didn't exist anymore.
Maybe she had grown into someone new.
And maybe so should he.
He descended the tower slowly, leaving his heartbreak with the setting sun.
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Closing Moment: Egwene's Reflection
That night, Egwene sat by the fire alone. She traced circles in the dirt with a stick, her thoughts swirling.
Aaron was kind. Steady. Someone who saw her now, not just who she had been.
Theron was history. Strength. A love forged in the world before.
She hadn't made her choice yet.
But she knew she couldn't walk both paths forever.
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The sky burned orange as the sun dipped behind the jagged cliffs of the island, casting long shadows across the encampment. Smoke curled from the firepit, and somewhere out in the trees, a bird—or what sounded like a bird—let out a shriek that made everyone flinch. But it wasn't the monsters outside that kept them all on edge tonight.
It was the silence between them.
Egwene sat on a rock near the edge of the bluff, watching the tide crash against the shore. Her hands were clasped too tightly in her lap, knuckles pale, jaw tight. She hadn't spoken much since the last supply run. Not to Theron, not to Aaron.
Especially not to Theron.
She could still feel the echo of Theron's hand brushing hers as they reached for the same bag of medical supplies. It wasn't just a touch—it was something heavier, something she'd tried to ignore. The kind of glance that lingered a second too long, the kind that made her question everything she thought she'd felt for Theron.
The crunch of gravel behind her didn't make her turn. She already knew who it was.
"You're avoiding him," Aaron said, his voice low but steady.
Egwene's eyes stayed fixed on the water. "I'm not."
"You are," he said. "And you're avoiding me too."
That made her glance back at him. His expression was calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. He didn't need to say it—he knew something had shifted. Knew the ground they'd built something fragile on was beginning to crack.
She looked away again. "I don't know what I'm doing."
A beat of silence. The wind tugged at her hair.
"I thought I knew you," Aaron said softly.
"I thought I knew myself."
Aaron stepped closer, his voice sharper now. "Did something happen between you and Theron?"
Egwene's breath caught. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?"
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Because she didn't have the words—not yet. Not when her heart felt like it was pulling in two directions. She loved Aaron. She did. But sometimes she looked at Theron and saw something else—someone who saw her, not just who she used to be before the world shattered.
Before Aaron could press further, shouts came from the camp.
"Movement on the shore!"
They ran.
Down near the edge of the beach, Theron stood over the old military radio they'd scavenged weeks ago. Static buzzed through the speaker, then something else—a faint, rhythmic clicking.
"Is that... Morse?" Aaron asked, narrowing his eyes.
Theron didn't look away from the radio. "Someone's broadcasting."
Egwene stepped forward. "From where?"
He shook his head. "No idea. But it's steady. Not automated. It's someone alive."
The camp erupted into anxious whispers. If there were survivors broadcasting, it meant there was a place out there—maybe safe, maybe supplied, maybe the end of their nightmare. Or maybe worse.
By morning, a plan was set. A small team would make a run to the mainland. Supplies were low again—water tablets, antibiotics, fuel. The signal could wait, but the basics couldn't.
Theron as usual volunteered immediately. Egwene did too.
Aaron looked at her like he'd been punched in the gut. "You don't have to go."
"I need to go," she said, not meeting his eyes.
Aaron didn't argue. He just turned and walked away.
They took the skiff, a patched-up boat that Theron had reworked with parts from a wrecked jet ski. Egwene sat beside him, and across from them was Colin one of the survival's they found—a quiet, broad-shouldered man with burn scars down one arm and the sharp eyes of someone who'd survived too much.
The sea was smooth at first, a glass sheet of reflection and sky. But as they neared the coastline, the fog rolled in—heavy and cold.
The mainland was a ruin of silence and ash.
Buildings sagged under the weight of decay, and everything was coated in a thin dusting of white—ash, chemicals, something unbreathable. They wore masks, moved quickly, communicating in gestures.
In an old pharmacy half-collapsed by the quake, Egwene found a case of antibiotics. Theron held the door. Colin stood watch.
But as they crossed an alley to head back to the boat, they heard it.
A voice. Small. Weak.
"Help…"
Egwene froze.
"Did you hear that?" she whispered.
Theron nodded. "It came from behind that wall."
Colin started forward, but Theron grabbed his arm. "No. Could be one of them."
"They don't talk," Colin said.
Silence again.
Then, "Help me…"
The voice trembled. Human. Too human.
Colin raised his gun and moved forward. Theron swore under his breath and followed. Ava stayed back, gun raised.
They found it.
Or rather—it found them.
The thing that rose from the rubble wasn't a child. It had too many joints. Its skin sagged in patches like melted rubber, eyes too wide, too bright. It smiled when it saw them, and the voice came again.
"Help me…" it said, in the same tone, same inflection.
holy sh*t colin cursed , since when did they talk like human Egwene asked in fear and in surprise
Theron fired first. The thing jerked and lunged. Colin fired even hard. Egwene pulled the trigger again and again until the mimic stopped moving.
They didn't speak the rest of the way back to the boat.
Colin was quiet. Too quiet.
Only once they were out on the open water again did he finally speak.
"it said something to me," he muttered, staring at the waves.
Egwene looked up. "Who?"
"The creature. It whispered in my ear when it got close. Said my sister's name."
A chill ran through her. "Your sister?"
"She died before this even started."
Theron stared at him, silent.
Colin smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "How would it know her name?"
Egwene's grip on her gun tightened. well our problem just increases from a 100 to a thousand cuz if they can talk like humans, they could do other things , Egwene said.
you're right, they're evolving, Colin said . and there was the silence again
The boat cut through the water, nearing the island. Home was just ahead. But something was wrong. The air felt colder. Colin's smile hadn't faded. And that whisper kept echoing in his head.
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