Chapter 1
The day the men died did not feel like the end.
It felt like something had been taken.
Sia used to think grief would be loud.
That it would scream, break things, leave something visible behind.
Instead, it settled.
Softly.
Like dust in a room no one enters anymore.
Three years later, she still had not moved most of their things.
She told herself it was because she was busy.
Because the world had changed.
Because survival came first now.
But the truth was simpler.
If she packed them away, it would feel final.
Like she was agreeing with what had happened.
The house felt bigger now.
Not because it was.
It had always been small and a little crowded.
But without voices filling it, every empty space stretched.
She woke up before the sun, like she always used to.
Not because she needed to.
Just because her body still remembered.
For years, her mornings had been the same.
Packing lunchboxes.
Checking uniforms.
Calling out names because someone was always running late.
Now she just woke up.
And listened.
Some mornings, she could have sworn she heard footsteps.
Small ones.
Running down the passage.
A door opening too fast.
But it was never real.
Just memory repeating itself.
Sia sat up slowly and pushed the blanket off her legs.
The air felt cold.
Or maybe she just noticed it more now.
She moved through the house in the dark without turning on the lights.
She did not need them.
She knew every corner.
Every mark on the wall where one of the boys had drawn something they were not supposed to.
Every place someone had fallen and cried, then laughed about it later.
The kitchen still smelled like tea leaves and wood.
She filled the kettle out of habit.
Watched it without really seeing it.
Four mugs still sat on the top shelf.
Smaller ones.
Each one different.
Each one chosen because one of them had liked it.
She did not touch them.
When the kettle clicked, she poured the water into one mug.
Just one.
Still not used to that.
Outside, the world had learned how to move again.
It just did not move the same.
Voices were softer.
People did not call out across streets anymore.
They stayed close. Kept things to themselves.
As if something might hear them.
Sia stepped outside and locked the door behind her.
The street looked the same as it always did now.
Clean enough.
Busy enough.
Wrong.
A group of women walked past her carrying heavy crates between them.
They worked together in silence.
That had become normal.
No boys sat on the curbs.
No men argued over nothing.
No loud laughter filled the air.
Even the dogs barked less.
She adjusted her bag over her shoulder and started walking.
She was not going anywhere important.
Just moving.
Keeping herself from stopping too long.
Stillness made everything worse.
After everything happened, the government divided the city into zones.
Some were considered safe.
Others were not.
No one really knew how those decisions were made.
Or who made them.
Sia had stopped trusting most of what she heard.
Not because she had proof it was wrong.
But because it always felt incomplete.
There were gaps.
In explanations.
In timelines.
In everything.
She reached the market and slowed down.
People still came here.
Still traded what they had.
Life continued.
It always did.
A woman called out prices for vegetables.
Another responded, her voice tired more than angry.
Sia stopped at a stall and picked up a small bundle of herbs.
She did not need them.
But choosing something made things feel normal, even for a moment.
“Three credits,” the seller said.
Sia handed them over.
“You heard about the northern fence?” the woman added quietly.
Sia paused.
“What about it?”
“They say it has been acting strange again.”
Sia frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
The woman hesitated, then lowered her voice.
“Power issues. The guards said they heard things.”
“Noises?”
The woman shook her head quickly.
“Probably nothing. People talk too much.”
Sia nodded, but something in her chest tightened.
The fence.
She left the market not long after that.
The herbs still in her hand, forgotten.
Without thinking, her feet took her down streets she did not usually use.
Quieter ones.
Toward the edge of the city.
She had told herself she would not come here again.
That it was dangerous.
Pointless.
But the dreams had not stopped.
Three nights in a row now.
The same feeling.
The same voice.
She tried not to think about it as she walked.
But it stayed with her anyway.
The road grew quieter the further she went.
Fewer people.
More empty buildings.
Doors shut tightly.
Windows closed.
When she finally reached the fence, there was almost no one around.
It stretched high and wide.
Metal reinforced with layers of wire.
A low hum ran through it.
Constant.
Sia stopped a few meters away.
Close enough to see clearly.
Not close enough to touch.
This was where they said it began.
Or where it spread.
An airborne virus.
That was the explanation.
But viruses did not work like that.
They did not choose one group.
They did not take every single man.
Even the little boys.
Her throat tightened.
She forced herself to breathe.
Three years later, it still made no sense.
She wrapped her arms around herself and stared through the fence.
On the other side, the land stretched out wide.
Empty.
Too empty.
No movement.
No birds.
No sound.
It felt wrong.
Not dangerous exactly.
Just… untouched.
“You are overthinking,” she said quietly.
“There is nothing there.”
But her body did not relax.
She stayed there longer than she meant to.
Just watching.
Listening.
Then something changed.
The hum of the fence shifted.
It was slight.
Easy to miss.
But she noticed.
Her head tilted.
Her breath caught.
The sound was no longer steady.
It pulsed unevenly, like something was interfering with it.
Her heart began to beat faster.
“Just a fault,” she whispered.
But she did not step back.
Then for a moment, just a moment
she heard something.
Not behind her.
Not from the city.
From the other side.
It was faint.
Too faint to make out clearly.
But it was not mechanical.
It sounded like… voices.
Sia went completely still.
“Hello?” she called out, before she could stop herself.
Silence.
Her voice sounded wrong out here.
Too loud.
Too fragile.
She waited.
Listening harder.
Trying to catch it again.
Nothing.
The fence returned to its steady hum.
Like nothing had happened.
Sia let out a slow breath.
“You are imagining things,” she said.
“You have to be.”
But just before the sound disappeared
She could have sworn
it was not one voice.
It was many.
👀 END OF CHAPTER 1
