Children of Ash

The dormitory was quiet, except for the faint hum of the ventilation system and the occasional shuffle of boots on concrete floors.

I told myself I was going to the restroom. Just a routine check. Nothing more. But the truth clawed at my chest. I needed to see Lila. I needed to know she was okay.

Sliding out of the thin gray blanket, I moved carefully along the row of cots. Most of the dorm was asleep. Even Jonah had closed his eyes, muttering something low under his breath. My heart thumped in my chest, loud enough I was sure someone would hear it.

I told myself, just a quick look, then back.

The hall smelled of disinfectant and metal, like it always did at night. I hugged the wall as I moved, counting each step, listening for any sound of soldiers. And then I heard them, low voices from the room near the med center, clipped and commanding.

Vale and General Hawthorne.

“Limits are clear. If the adaptation,” Hawthorne said, voice calm, clipped, but with an edge I didn’t like.

“We monitor. Group C is stable for now,” Vale replied. His tone was sharp, precise. “We can’t risk exposure yet. Not until we see markers change.”

I froze, pressed against the wall. Markers? Exposure? I didn’t understand all of it, and maybe that was the point. But the weight in my chest tightened. Whatever they were planning, it wasn’t about safety.

“They won’t need to return to the old camp,” Hawthorne said, almost conversationally. “The facility is sufficient for long-term observation.”

Vale didn’t answer immediately. A pause. A faint exhale. “Noted. I’ll maintain control.”

That last part made my stomach churn. Maintain control. Not protect. Not guide. Control.

I edged forward, eyes on the open doorway to one of the side tents, and froze again.

Elias.

He was being moved on a gurney, pale, almost unconscious. Tubes and wires attached to his arms, monitors beeping softly. Two soldiers flanked the medics, guiding him down the hall. He didn’t seem to see the world around him, just a husk of the vibrant young man from the first camp.

A surge of panic hit me. I wanted to run forward, to check on him, to tell someone, anyone, that this was wrong, but the soldiers’ presence made me hesitate.

And then I felt the hand.

Vale.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t touch roughly. His gloved hand landed on my arm with a firm, inescapable grip. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I swallowed hard. “Restroom,” I whispered, heart pounding. The lie sounded brittle even to me.

“Alone?” His voice was low, commanding. Too low. I flinched slightly.

“Yes,” I said, though the lie tasted bitter.

His eyes scanned me, sharp, unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might see through me. “Do you understand the risks?”

“I yes,” I said. Then, carefully, slowly, I added, “Are... are they safe?” My words were indirect, measured. I didn’t tell him I overheard, but I hinted.

Vale’s jaw tightened. He stepped closer, his presence towering, dominant, almost protective in a way I couldn’t place. “You don’t need to check on anyone,” he said, voice low. “That’s my responsibility.”

I met his eyes, searching for something. Maybe understanding. Maybe truth. “I just...” I let the words trail, small, soft, like a question without a question mark.

He didn’t answer immediately. The silence stretched. I could hear my own heartbeat. Finally, he said, “You’re reckless. I can’t.”

“You’re supposed to keep them safe,” I said, my voice firmer now, trying to hold back panic and anger.

Vale’s hand tightened briefly on my arm. The pressure wasn’t cruel, but it was a reminder. “Reckless doesn’t mean right. Do you understand that?”

I nodded, though every nerve in me screamed against it.

He studied me for another long moment. His eyes softened fractionally, almost imperceptibly, before the harsh edge returned. “You stay in your assigned area. Understand?”

“Yes.”

He let go, and I stumbled slightly but didn’t fall. Vale turned, walking back toward the med center with that same unyielding stride, leaving me pressed against the wall, lungs shaking.

I watched as Elias disappeared down the hall, pale and fragile, and swallowed the fear that bubbled up in my chest. Lila was still in another block, another group, separated by age and gender, and I had no idea if she was asleep, crying, or scared.

I returned to my cot silently, settling in next to the thin blanket. Sleep would not come easy tonight. Not with the memory of Vale’s grip, Elias’s weakness, or the unanswered, cryptic words I had overheard.

But I had seen enough to know one thing. Whatever they were planning, this was bigger than just containment.

And I couldn’t wait for them to make a mistake.