Chapter 9iii- The Reckoning Road
---
POV: Scarlett
The ground quaked .
It wasn't an explosion this time.
It felt… alive. Like something massive was crawling just beneath the dirt.
Sergeant Harrold barely had time to yell before Grey moved. Not dashed—moved. Like the world paused for him.
One second Luke was beside us, catching his breath—blood dripping from his shoulder.
The next, he was gone.
Tossed through the air like he weighed nothing—safely crashing into our cluster of scrambling soldiers.
Grey was already in motion, pivoting without missing a step. His hand caught Blair's waist mid-turn, steady and sharp. His body twisted, absorbing the movement with the kind of grace you don't see in fighters. Only dancers. Or monsters.
His knives flew.
Two. Three. Four.
Each one finding a skull mid-leap.
Each one silent.
POV: Blair
I didn't fall.
That's the first thing I noticed. I didn't even stumble.
His arm was firm but not forceful, wrapped just right around my waist, just above the hip. Grounded. I didn't feel scared. Not in that moment.
I felt…
Still.
The air carried smoke and rot, yet somehow he cut through it—his scent human, but untamed. Like earth and heat. Like rain on stone.
He moved without panic. No jerks. No gasps. Just breath and purpose.
When his voice came—"Stay."—it wasn't an order.
It was a guarantee.
I did.
God, I did.
Even as something growled too close, even as the ground shuddered again—his presence anchored me. Like nothing could touch me if he was still standing.
And those eyes—green, but storm-grey at the edges—focused, unreadable, made it all feel far away.
For a second, I wasn't a girl on a battlefield.
I was just... Blair. And I felt seen.
POV: Scarlett
We didn't have time to breathe.
The sergeant's voice cut through the chaos—"Carrier four! Re-route now! It's coming up through sector trench—"
We pivoted, soldiers pressing into each other, boots scraping against broken metal. One screamed—someone from the flipped convoy, their leg caught.
But we couldn't stop.
I saw Jonah drag two others. Amy was yelling for someone to grab med kits. Jane's rifle flashed with each controlled burst, watching our backs.
The revenants were thinning—but only barely.
And just as I pulled my last arrow from my quiver—
BOOM.
Another tremor. But deeper. Closer.
And this time… it wasn't just the ground.
It was something under it.
Luke grabbed my wrist, breath ragged.
"We need to move," he said, eyes still glowing faintly beneath the dirt and blood.
Something had awakened in him.
And I didn't think it was done yet.
---
We break into a sprint. The carrier's in sight, tires screeching in reverse, soldiers waving us in.
Jonah's ahead—carrying someone on his back like it's nothing, muttering something that sounds like, "You're not dying today, bro, shut up."
Jane's behind me, rifle strapped across her shoulder as she supports a limping corporal.
Amy's hands are red, but she's still moving, still smiling like this isn't her first apocalypse.
And Luke… Luke is catching up.
He doesn't run like Grey.
Grey's all efficiency and momentum, like he's made of blades.
But Luke—
He moves like someone fighting for something.
Someone still alive.
Every breath he takes is heavy with heart.
He grins when we make eye contact—even with blood smeared across his cheek. "Thought I told you not to fall behind, Red."
"Thought I told you not to get blown up," I shoot back.
"Touché."
Behind him, I see the faint glow under his skin flicker and fade, almost as if it's syncing with his pulse.
He doesn't hide it.
Doesn't brood over it.
He wears the strange energy like an afterthought. Like a flashlight he hasn't figured out how to turn off.
POV: Jonah
Inside the carrier's shell, it's chaos.
Shouting. Bleeding. Metal clanking.
But it's also us.
Amy's helping the med team, already patching up two grunts who had shrapnel in their ribs. She doesn't flinch when one of them screams. She hums something soft under her breath.
Jane and I are swapping ammo belts, knees knocking into each other as the carrier jolts forward again. She doesn't say much. Never does.
But she gives me a look, and I nod. We made it this far.
Then Luke's laughter cuts through the madness like sunlight.
"I swear," he says, wiping sweat off his brow, "if one more thing explodes, I'm quitting this apocalypse and opening a taco stand. Who's in?"
Amy raises a blood-soaked hand.
"I'm allergic to cow," Jane mutters, reloading.
"Fish tacos it is."
Even Grey chuckles—just slightly—as he slides in last, carrying a half-crushed soldier over one shoulder and a bloodied pouch in the other hand.
He locks eyes with Luke. A silent exchange.
Respect. But also something else.
Balance.
Light and dark. Fire and steel.
POV: Blair
I'm still holding onto the railing when we lurch forward.
Grey's sitting across from me, hands already unwrapping syringes with practiced ease. I see color-coded liquids inside—some glowing, others calm. He doesn't explain.
I glance at Luke. His shoulder's bandaged now, but the spot still pulses faintly. He catches me staring.
"What?" he asks. "I get cooler when I'm wounded?"
I smile before I can stop myself. "Only slightly."
He raises a brow. "You should see me when I'm dying. Very charming."
Then his face softens, eyes sweeping the carrier—over Jane, Jonah, Amy, Grey.
Over all of us.
"Y'know… we're still standing," he says quietly.
It's not loud. Not meant to be brave.
But in the wake of blood and ash, the words hit harder than any rally cry.
And in that moment, with the storm still chasing behind us and uncertainty up ahead—
We believe him.
POV: Jane
Luke's energy is different now.
Not eerie like Grey.
It's warm. Familiar.
Like headlights on a foggy road.
I watch the glow pulse faintly through the bandages on his shoulder as he leans back, humming something under his breath. Not nervous. Not shaken.
Still him.
And somehow, that's more comforting than anything else right now.