Six months passed. The Collapse showed no signs of ending, and the three of us had settled into a fragile, unspoken arrangement inside the bunker.
Mom and Dad no longer spoke to me the way they used to. They followed the rules I had laid down: ration the water, keep to the exercise schedule, take turns monitoring the Cameras. But I could feel it, the old habits of favoritism hadn't truly gone anywhere. Mom would sometimes go still, staring at a photograph of Vivienne. Dad would look at me with something half-formed on his lips and then say nothing. There was guilt in their eyes when they watched me, but there was also resentment. They didn't like what this new order meant for them.
I didn't particularly care what they felt. As long as they followed the rules and stayed out of my way, I w
