POV ( Riley )
I don't tell them this, but I notice patterns before other people notice fear.
Fear is loud. Patterns are quiet.
Right now, everything is loud except the thing that matters.
We're moving through the maintenance tunnel again, the walls too close, the air tasting like old water and metal regret.
Sam is whispering complaints under his breath like it's a coping mechanism.
Alex is counting steps without realizing he's doing it.
Maya is breathing carefully, like the space might punish her if she doesn't.
The pattern?
The thing behind us isn't following.
That's wrong.
If something wants you, it closes distance. It tests. It presses.
This thing didn't.
It let us go.
I don't like gifts from entities that don't understand the concept of generosity.
Sam bumps my shoulder.
"You okay ? You're doing the stare."
"I'm listening," I say.
"To what?"
"Exactly."
---
The tunnel bends where it shouldn't.
I slow down.
"Stop," I say.
Everyone stops. That alone tells me they trust me more than they admit.
Jordan turns. "What is it?"
"This tunnel is older than the facility," I say. "And newer than the town."
Sam squints. "Those are mutually exclusive."
"Not down here."
I press my palm to the wall.
The vibration is faint but intentional, like something tapping a rhythm it expects me to recognize.
Maya flinches. "It's talking again."
"No," I say. "It's checking."
Alex's voice is low. "Checking what?"
"If we remember the way out."
That gets their attention.
Jordan frowns. "That's not how tunnels work."
"Neither is anything else tonight," Sam says.
The vibration fades.
The tunnel relaxes.
Pattern confirmed.
---
We reach the ladder. The grate above it is back, too clean, too fast, but it opens when Alex pushes.
Cold night air hits my face like a reset.
Above ground, the town is pretending again.
Floodlights cast wide cones of artificial safety.
The orange fencing is back in perfect lines.
A truck idles nearby, the logo on its side just slightly wrong if you look too long.
I look anyway.
I always do.
Sam groans. "Ah yes. Fresh air and lies."
Jordan checks his phone. "No signal. Of course."
Maya hugs her arms. "It's quieter."
I tilt my head.
"No," I say. "It's focused."
She looks at me. "On what?"
"On learning," I reply.
---
We walk away from the site together, like we're not carrying a secret big enough to collapse a town.
Alex glances back once.
I don't.
Behind us, the ground doesn't move. The building doesn't hum. Nothing chases.
Which means the danger has changed shape.
Sam breaks the silence. "So. On a scale of one to apocalypse, where are we?"
Jordan answers immediately. "Three."
Sam snorts. "Liar."
Lena looks between us. "Riley?"
I think about the pattern. About how it hesitated. About how it adjusted when Alex stepped in front of Maya.
About how it didn't try to leave.
"Four," I say.
They all look at me.
"That's not comforting" Sam says.
"It shouldn't be," I reply. "Because fours can go either way."
Maya slows, walking beside me now. "You don't think it's evil."
"No," I say. "I think it's unfinished."
She nods slowly, like that means more to her than she expected.
---
That night, I don't dream.
I remember.
The tunnel.
The chamber.
The pause.
And one more thing the others didn't notice.
When we left, the pattern changed.
Not toward escape.
Toward imitation.
That's the part I don't say out loud.
Because if something buried under Marrow is learning how we move ...
Then the next time it reaches out,
It won't do it blindly.
It will do it like us.
And that's when containment actually fails.