When fate and worlds collide

19 | The Confrontation

Early morning light bled through the skeletal remains of the buildings surrounding the Tower, fog clinging stubbornly to the shadows the sun hadn’t yet chased away. The Tower itself was already awake—alive with motion. Voices, footsteps, metal scraping on stone. Daybreak meant work, and work meant survival.

I leaned against the wall just outside the Quarantine gate, arms folded, eyes sharp. Below the Tower sat a wide, sunken space that had once been a car park or garage—its original purpose irrelevant now. After enough arguments and one near-disaster, we’d repurposed it into intake and assessment. New survivors came here first. Always here, no exceptions, to assess who had been bitten, if they were turning. If they lied. At least it would be contained, and manageable if anything went sideways.

Inside, Jax’s group of survivors milled about under watchful eyes. I studied how they moved. Who stood protectively in front. Who lingered near exits. Who flinched at sudden noise. They worked well together, instinctively falling into roles without being told, moving as one instead of individual. That alone made them valuable. From the reports, they’d passed initial assessment. Auras identified, strengths cataloged, training offered. All of them lesser—newly bitten, whether they knew it or not. All except Clarice, Jax’s daughter.

Regardless, each person marked or bitten had been given the same offer as everyone else: join the pack, follow the rules, pull your weight.

Or leave.

There were no second chances with lesser Auras, much less the ones marked new or old. Every single one we’d encountered eventually reverted—mind slipping, control fraying, until there was nothing left but a Feral. A ticking time bomb inside the Tower wasn’t just dangerous. It was unforgivable. Those who hesitated, who carried uncertainty in their posture or eyes, were flagged for observation. Settling in didn’t mean trusted. It meant watched.

They’d lost five people on the run here.

I watched how they mourned, how they processed their loss—quietly and efficiently. After a makeshift service, and a few murmured prayers, most skipped straight to the practical business of survival. Grief didn’t stop the world anymore. It just learned to walk alongside it. One of the dead women had left behind an older child. His face was carved from stone, eyes too hard for someone his age. When he cried, it was brief—more reflex than release. I knew that look. Knew what it meant.

It wasn’t the first family member he’d buried.

I’d underestimated this group. Their choices on the way here had been stupid and reckless—borderline idiotic—but recklessness was often born from desperation. They’d survived because they were used to danger. Used to loss. The children, and one of their guardians, were escorted to a separate area once intake wrapped. Fresh air. Space. Something resembling normal. When their eyes landed on the playground for the first time, the looks on their faces burned into me.

Pure joy.

Disbelief.

The kind of wonder that shouldn’t exist anymore—and yet did.

The younger ones ran for it without hesitation. Laughter rang out, sharp and bright against the ruin of the city. The older children hung back, wary. They’d grown up knowing that noise drew death, that fun was a liability. Slowly, understanding dawned in their eyes. I saw it flicker across their faces as they watched the younger ones play without consequence. The way their shoulders eased. The way they stopped scanning for exits. Safe.

They were safe.

And for a moment—just a moment—it felt like everything we’d built, was worth it.

I was so focused on the group inside the Quarantine bay that I didn’t notice Glen until he stepped directly into my line of sight and stalked closer. My body reacted before my mind could catch up—muscles tightening, breath hitching for the briefest second. My eyes snapped to his, sharp and assessing, before I forced the reflex down where it belonged. I let my expression smooth into something bland, almost bored. Slowly, deliberately, I let my gaze trail over him—measuring, dismissive, unbothered—before turning my attention back to the survivors as if he were little more than background noise.

“Where is he?” Glen demanded. I didn’t look at him. Didn’t answer. His fist slammed into the gate, the clang echoing through the intake bay. A few heads turned, Jax’s among them, and I sighed, finally looked back at him, my patience thin and fraying. “Where. Is. He?” he repeated, teeth clenched. Once, that tone would have reduced me to a trembling, apologetic mess—a broken thing shrinking under the weight of his anger, desperate to placate, to survive. That version of me was long dead. Buried in the past with everything else I’d left behind.

And I’d made damn sure she stayed there.

“Do not mistake me for someone you once knew,” I responded coolly, pushing away from the wall at last. “I have no interest in your anger, or your history. Neither has a place here.” I gestured vaguely to the Tower behind me. “In this place, we let the past fade if it serves no purpose to growth. We build forward. Together.” My burning gaze locked onto his then—unflinching, razor-sharp. I watched, not without satisfaction, as his confidence faltered, surprise flickering across his face. He’d been expecting submission. Fear. Instead, he’d found something with teeth.

“We cut out weak links,” I continued calmly. “Damaged armor. Tumors that fester from the inside. If you can’t cooperate, if your unable to work with us—you’re free to leave.”

I turned to walk away. His fist hit the gate again. I paused, just long enough to make the silence uncomfortable.

“It isn’t my decision whether he wants to see you,” I spoke over my shoulder. “I told him where you are. That’s all you’re getting.” I glanced back, meeting Glen’s eyes one last time. “I won’t force him to face you.” My voice dropped, quiet but lethal. “You don’t deserve mercy for what you did.”

I walked away—and didn’t look back.

~*~

I found Xavier in the courtyard just as training drills kicked off, shouts and the thud of boots echoing between stone and steel. The air buzzed with movement—people stretching, sparring, laughing through exhaustion. Above us, the barrier shimmered faintly in the early morning light, a fragile miracle holding back a world that wanted us dead.

I took it all in, my thoughts spiraling.

Every time I left the Tower, I gambled with their lives. With my life. No one truly knew what would happen to the barrier if I died—whether it would hold, fail, or collapse like a house of cards. And yet… half the people down there breathing, training, surviving, were alive because I’d walked beyond the walls I built. Because I’d refused to stay safe. Xavier fell into step beside me, his gaze sweeping the courtyard with the same quiet awareness he brought to everything.

“What’s eating you?” he asked.

I snorted softly. Trust Xavier to hear the chaos in my head without me saying a word. I’d met him two years ago on the city’s outskirts, back when survival still felt like a daily gamble and trust was rarer than clean water. From the moment we met, something had clicked—steady, uncomplicated. He was the brother I never had. Even after he became Liam’s Beta, his loyalty remained mine. He followed Liam’s orders out of respect for my choice, not obligation.

“Do you think they see me as selfish?” I asked quietly. “For leaving. For scouting. For risking this place just so I can feel… useful. Or free.” Xavier looked down at me, sea-blue eyes thoughtful.

“Some might,” he replied honestly. “But not for the reasons you think.” Then, out of nowhere, he added, “Did you know Catherine is terrified of heights?”

I blinked, thrown. “Catherine? Our best sniper?”

“The very one.” He smiled faintly. “She used to pass out halfway up the wall stairs. If she even made it that far. After you pulled Ahmmed out of that collapse, he spent weeks helping her work through it. Turns out he was a psychologist before the fall—hard to tell, what with the prayers.” I huffed. Religion debates had been banned early on. Believe in gods, one god, no god—I didn’t care. Force it on someone else and you were out. End of discussion.

“Joe had a drinking problem,” Xavier continued. “Got caught more than once raiding supplies, hunting for alcohol. Himari—the Japanese nurse you rescued from that feral-infested hospital downtown—she figured out he had a knack for numbers and chemistry. He helped her and the botanist crack the ratios for those mutated herbs growing after the fall.” He glanced at me. “Without him, half our Auras would be dead.”

‘Including you,’ his look stated plainly.

I exhaled. “And your point is?”

“My point,” he replied, folding his arms as he watched the courtyard, “is that before the fall, most of these people wouldn’t have even looked at each other. Some would’ve called Ahmmed a terrorist. Others would’ve seen Himari a plague carrier. The rest just… wouldn’t have cared.” His jaw tightened. “We lived in a world where someone else’s life mattered less than our own. Rich or poor, we were divided.”

I followed his gaze—faces of every colour, accent, belief, and past, working together toward the same brutal goal.

Survive.

“Extinction does have a way of putting things in perspective,” I muttered. “Doesn’t mean I caused a miracle.”

Xavier shook his head. “You’re right. You’re not a miracle worker.” He looked at me then, expression steady and sure. “You’re something better. You gave them a home. Light, Warm blankets, Food, Water. You gave them courage, strength and most importantly—unity. You gave them a world worth fighting for just by existing.” A few people noticed us then, lifting hands in greeting. Smiles broke across tired faces, eyes brightening the moment they saw me. My chest tightened.

Selfish.

If anything, I’d bled myself dry building this place—risked my life every day until there were enough of us to defend it properly. Risked my son’s life, over and over, just to make a world where he could sleep without fear.

Selfish was the last thing they’d ever see me as.