Chapter 10

Sera Westbrook's POV

The Titan stopped at the street entrance and didn't drive in. We got out together, ready to scavenge what was left of the town. Odysseus's mechanical voice came through our wristbands, saying the spore concentration was dropping and the environment was gradually becoming safe.

Kyle waved a hand, signaling us to keep moving. The five of us stuck close to the shadows along the main street, guns pressed against the curb, ready to strike at any moment. I tugged at my cuff—the cut the kapok had opened had already scabbed over, and I still felt no pain.

But since it had scabbed over, it probably didn't hurt that much anymore, right?

I turned to look at Kyle, and there really was no sign of anything in his expression.

He'd said he would control my senses… I glanced down at Kyle's forearm and imagined that wound appearing on his wrist. If I could, I really wished I could share his pain too.

If only I were normal.

But I didn't even know why I'd become the way I am now.

A crossroads lay ahead. We went around an overturned bus and stepped out onto the street, just in time to see a small group coming toward us.

Six people, two vehicles, the truck beds covered with tarps tied tight at the corners. The moment they saw us, they went on alert, gathering around the vehicles and facing off with us. The man in front had a buzz cut and a scar running from his cheekbone to his chin on the right side of his face; beside him, a skinny man with shifty eyes looked at Vera first, then Cole, and finally settled on me. He'd probably gotten a clear look at my face, because his finger shot up immediately.

"That's her!" His voice trembled, but his volume didn't drop at all. "The people in the supermarket—she killed them all!"

The small group tensed instantly, raising their guns at us. The short, stocky woman on the far left had white vapor gathering in her palm, and the air around the back of her hand seemed to warp.

Scarface took half a step forward, his toe stopping at the edge of a crack in the road. "Hand over the one who killed my brother," he said. "I just want her life. Let me have my revenge, and I'll let you leave."

Vera sneered. "What are you talking about? Hand her over? Are you insane? What gives you the nerve to talk to us like that?"

Scarface grinned. "Our strength, of course."

Kyle didn't waste words on him. Cole went straight into combat readiness.

I was studying their formation. The stocky woman had white vapor around her hand—probably some fire-related ability; the skinny one stood at the very back, toes turned outward, ready to retreat at any moment—very cowardly; behind them was a modified pickup with deep tire treads, and the other truck bed sat low, apparently loaded with a lot of stuff.

I lowered my voice. "Truck bed, tarp—the seals on the water-purification capsules and the medical kit markings are showing. They've probably already cleared out every other shop in town."

That changed the nature of the problem entirely. If we let them go easily, we'd lose those supplies—and they might even fixate on us afterward. Not worth it.

Kyle raised his hand and pressed it to his gun, giving a concise order. "Take them all out. Not one left."

That sentence was like a fuse, fully igniting the tense air.

Skinny's figure gradually faded in the air, like mist blown apart by the wind, leaving only a few flattened blades of grass drifting on the ground. Scarface followed right after, charging at us with big strides and plenty of force, his soles cracking the asphalt outright.

Vera found her opening and rolled up a wave of heat, launching it at the stocky woman. Before long, the woman was driven behind the vehicle, while Jax blocked Scarface's path and kicked him aside.

Kyle glanced back at me.

I understood what he meant. I raised my right hand and gathered the water on the ground—the splashed droplets, the condensed beads, every puddle they'd stepped in—and lifted it high. The mist spread wherever Skinny passed, and soon his outline emerged: shoulders, ribs, and the short blade in his hand, all laid bare.

I switched to electric current and attacked along the soaked road surface. They had nowhere to hide and could only take the hit.

Maybe I'd moved too hard—the wound on my arm had opened a little, and a trace of blood seeped out.

Kyle put his hand on my shoulder. I didn't even turn my head. "You don't need to say it. I know. I'll control my strength."

Kyle's cold voice reached my ear. "What I mean is, save your strength. There might still be danger nearby."

I nodded. "Okay, got it."

I aimed to finish it fast, and before long, under my fierce assault, they were on the verge of death. Scarface lay on the cracked road and screamed hoarsely, "Don't kill me—spare my life! I can scout for you! I know this area like the back of my hand!"

Jax scoffed. "Who needs your directions? I wouldn't take them for free. Get lost."

After executing Scarface and Skinny, we walked to the vehicles and pulled back the tarps. In the truck beds were neatly arranged supplies: four crates of water-purification capsules, two medical kits, sealed cans, spare fuel, and a batch of unopened old-style tools—the oil paper on the wrenches hadn't even been torn off. It was no exaggeration to say the supplies were abundant.

Kyle said, "Move all of it."

Cole and Taylor carried away every box, and the truck beds were emptied.

On the way back, Vera hummed a tune happily, and Jax put his arm around Taylor's shoulder, chatting about his old work experience. When he finished, Jax asked me what I used to do, and I answered honestly.

Suddenly, Jax asked curiously, "Hey, Sera, did you used to know the Captain?"

Vera said, "You're only just figuring that out?"

Jax said, "Yeah! I've known the Captain for so long, and I've never heard him mention Sera."

Which was normal. I didn't know them either.

They must be friends Kyle made after we broke up.

At that thought, I suddenly felt a little wistful. Kyle and I had broken up seven years ago. I'd forgotten what happened in those seven years, but Kyle hadn't. Kyle had his own life, and I had forgotten everything.

Our experiences were worlds apart.

I couldn't be sure whether we had changed now—his feelings for me, my own personality, none of it was certain.