The hallway flickered with dying lights, casting long, trembling shadows across the floor. Hana's skin still glowed faintly, the aftershock of her escape humming beneath her ribs. Haazi stood only a few steps away, calm as ever, as if the explosion behind her were nothing more than a passing breeze.
Hana squared her shoulders.
"Who are you?" she demanded, voice rough from smoke and adrenaline.
He blinked once, slowly. "Haazi."
She waited for more. A title. A role. A reason he kept appearing like a ghost in the corners of her disaster.
But he simply watched her, expression unreadable.
"And what do you want?" she pressed. "Why are you following me?"
Haazi tilted his head, the faintest crease forming between his brows. "Don't be afraid."
Hana's jaw clenched.
"I'm not afraid," she snapped.
But the words tasted like a lie.
Haazi took a single step closer. Not threatening—just deliberate. "You don't need to fear me."
Something inside Hana snapped.
The glow beneath her skin surged, flaring bright enough to cast a halo of light across the walls. Heat rippled off her in waves. The air crackled. Her fingers curled into fists, and the concrete beneath her boots trembled.
"Don't tell me what I need," she hissed.
For a heartbeat, she considered it. Letting the power loose, letting it swallow him whole, letting the explosion erase the confusion and the fear and the way he looked at her like he already knew her story.
One burst of energy. One flash of light.
She could end him.
But then—
She saw the infected in their tubes.
She saw the scientists who treated people like objects.
She saw the guards who shocked her into silence.
She saw the world she hated.
And she saw herself, standing on the edge of becoming just like them.
Her hands trembled. She forced the power down, swallowing the heat until it dimmed to a faint ember. "No," she whispered to herself. "I'm not doing that. I'm not becoming that."
Haazi watched her with a strange softness.
Hana turned away from him.
"I'm done talking," she muttered. "Stay out of my way."
She didn't wait for his reply. She walked—fast, determined, refusing to look back. The hallway stretched ahead, branching into corridors she didn't recognize.
She didn't care. Anywhere was better than standing there with him.
As she moved, she focused on her breathing. In. Out. Slow. Controlled. She'd been practicing—learning to keep her unstable energy from lashing out at anything that startled her.
It wasn't perfect, but she was getting better. She had to. The world was fragile enough without her accidentally vaporizing everything she touched.
She passed door after door, most sealed shut, some flickering with warning lights. She didn't stop until something caught her eye—a small window set into a metal door, fogged slightly from the inside.
Hana stepped closer.
She wiped the glass with her sleeve.
And gasped.
Inside the room were cats.
Dozens of them—huddled together on blankets, curled in corners, perched on makeshift shelves. Some slept. Some blinked lazily at the door. One stretched, arching its back before settling again.
Hana's breath caught. Her vision blurred. A single tear slipped down her cheek, then another.
Her black cat.
The one she'd loved more than anything.
The one who used to curl on her chest and purr like a tiny engine.
The one who trusted her completely.
The one she killed.
Not on purpose. No, never on purpose.
But her radioactivity had surged one night—uncontrolled, unpredictable—and by morning, her cat lay still beside her, fur warm but lifeless.
Hana pressed her forehead to the glass, tears dripping onto the metal frame.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice cracking. "I'm so, so sorry."
The cats inside didn't react. They didn't know her. They didn't know what she'd done. But their presence—soft, gentle and alive—felt like a wound reopening.
She slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees. The glow beneath her skin dimmed to almost nothing.
For the first time since the apocalypse began, Hana didn't feel powerful.
She felt human.
And heartbreakingly alone.