The interior of the library was a cavern of mahogany and hushed panic. About fifty people were huddled in the main reading room, the smell of sweat and fear thick enough to choke on. They had pushed heavy oak tables against the doors, a pathetic defense against the territorial hunger of a Stray pack, but it gave them a sense of security.

  Henderson, the man from the balcony, caught up to me. He was breathing hard, his face flushed. "You. Stop right there."

  I stopped, turning slowly. Sarah and Miller were behind me, trying to blend into the shadows of the stacks.

  "You knew my name," Henderson said, stepping into my space. He was trying to project authority, but his hands were shaking. "You knew about the service elevator. You're not on the staff here. I’ve lived in this building for ten years. Who are you?"

  "I'm a survivor," I said.

  "Bullshit. You walk through a war zone like you're taking a stroll. You look like you've been rolling in grey filth. And you knew..." He trailed off, looking at the crowbar in my hand. "Are you with the ones who started this? Is this some kind of sick game?"

  The room went quiet. Fifty pairs of eyes turned toward me. This was the moment where everything usually fell apart. In a world that makes no sense, people look for a villain to blame.

  "If I were with the ones who started this, Henderson, I wouldn't be standing in a lobby talking to a man who’s holding his bow upside down," I said.

  I walked past him toward a large map of the city pinned to a corkboard. I felt the tension in the room spike. I ignored it. I pulled a red marker from the tray and drew a jagged circle around the park three blocks away.

  "This is a dead zone," I said, my voice carrying to every corner of the room. "The park is the primary spawning point for the Alpha of this district. By nightfall, the purple fog will settle there. It’ll become a hive. Anyone within three blocks of that park who isn't behind stone walls will be Converted."

  "You don't know that," a woman cried out from the crowd. "The news said it was a chemical attack!"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "The news is gone," I said, turning to face them. I looked at Sarah. She was watching me, her arms crossed, her face unreadable. "Listen to me. You have food for three days and water for two. You think you're safe because the doors are heavy. You're not. The Strays don't break doors; they find the weak points. They’ll come through the skylights in the West Wing. They’ll come through the vents in the basement."

  Henderson stepped forward again, his jaw set. "And why should we believe you? You show up out of nowhere, acting like some kind of prophet of doom."

  "I’m not a prophet," I said. "I’m an observer. And if you want to see if I’m right, look at the skylights in the West Wing. In exactly ten minutes, the first scout will arrive. It won't attack. It will just scream. It’s calling the pack."

  "He's crazy," Miller whispered from behind me, though he didn't move away.

  "Ten minutes," I repeated. "If nothing happens, you can throw me out. But if it does, you do exactly what I say. No questions. No debates."

  I walked away from the map and found a quiet corner near the biography section. I sat down on the floor, my back against the cold stone, and closed my eyes. Every muscle in my body was vibrating. The "Veteran's Calm" was a double-edged sword; it kept me alive, but it was burning through my mental stamina.

  I felt someone stop in front of me.

  I opened one eye. It was Sarah. She didn't sit down. She just stood there, looking down at me like I was a stranger she’d met on the bus.

  "You're doing it again," she said.

  "Doing what?"

  "Predicting the future. You're giving them a countdown, Jax. What happens in ten minutes?"

  "The truth happens, Sarah."

  "And how do you know the truth?" She leaned in, her voice a sharp whisper. "I’ve known you for four years. You hate blueprints. You can't remember where we parked the car at the mall. And now you know the ventilation system of a building you've never been in? You know exactly when monsters are going to scream?"

  I looked at her, and for a second, the "Veteran's Calm" slipped. I saw the Sarah from the cellar—the one who died because I wasn't fast enough.

  "I just want you to live," I said.

  "At what cost, Jax? Look at yourself. You’re not even scared. Everyone in this room is terrified, and you’re sitting here checking your watch. That’s not 'competence.' That’s... something else."

  She turned and walked away before I could answer.

  Nine minutes passed. The library was a tomb. People were whispering, looking at their phones, looking at me. Henderson was standing by the West Wing archway, his bow gripped so tight the wood was creaking.

  At exactly ten minutes, a sound tore through the silence of the library.

  It wasn't a human scream. It was a long, rattling, high-pitched screech that sounded like metal being ground against metal. It came from directly above the West Wing.

  CRACK.

  A shadow appeared against the frosted glass of the skylight. A long, grey hand with blackened bone-claws scraped against the pane. The creature didn't try to get in. It just perched there, its silhouette a nightmare against the purple sky, and screamed again.

  The panic in the reading room was instantaneous. People shrieked, knocking over chairs, scrambling away from the West Wing.

  Henderson looked at the skylight, then at me. His face was white. He didn't ask how I knew. He didn't ask who I was.

  "What do we do?" he shouted over the noise.

  I stood up, the crowbar feeling like an extension of my arm. The settlement leader had just been broken. Now, the Player was in charge.

  "Barricade the West Wing archway," I commanded. "Get the children into the basement storage. And someone give me a flashlight. We’re going to the vents."