Night pressed in around what was left of the Iron Market. The fires had guttered out, leaving only a few sullen embers. In the months since the world split open, time meant nothing. Survival was a string of barricades and ration lines, sleepless nights, and counting who was still alive at dawn.

  The street was quiet except for the hammering of nails and the mutter of survivors patching holes. Where there had once been music and color, there was only the stink of smoke, sweat, and fear.

  Kai sat rigid on the hood of a burned-out car, sword across his knees, jaw set, eyes flat and distant. He watched the people move—worn faces, cautious steps, children kept close and quiet. He didn’t see neighbors or friends, just liabilities. Every pair of hands was another risk. Every eye, a question he didn’t want to answer.

  Zach slid down beside him, his movements stiff. His knuckles were raw, and the blue flicker in his eyes had gone cold. He scanned the square, lips curled in a sneer at the huddled clusters of townsfolk.

  “They stare at us like we’re monsters,” Zach muttered. “Maybe they’re right.”

  Kai didn’t reply. Silence pressed between them, heavier than steel, and for a beat Kai wondered if Zach was right—maybe they had become what the world needed most and hated most all at once.

  A pair of new gang recruits, barely more than kids, passed by with a battered kettle. They were the only ones who managed a smile—grins too bright, voices too loud for the hush of the night. The townsfolk shrank from them, suspicion and hope wrestling on every face. A girl in a patched red coat watched, eyes wide and unblinking.

  Down the block, an old woman pressed a biscuit into a child’s hand, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds as if waiting for the next disaster.

  A wiry man hammered at the barricade. Reyes, the cook, watched but didn’t bother correcting him anymore. “Crooked or not, it’s all we’ve got,” he said, voice flat.

  A woman approached Kai with a chipped mug. “Soup. For the wall,” she said, but her eyes darted to Zach. She set it down and hurried away, one hand clutching her shawl tight.

  Kai didn’t even look at the cup. “Don’t waste it,” he called after her, but she was gone. He wondered, briefly, if anyone would ever trust them enough to stay in arm’s reach.

  From deeper in the market, a woman barked for wire. A new recruit jogged to fetch it, waving at the barricade team. The townsfolk ignored him.

  Zach watched the exchange with open disdain. “They’d let us rot if they thought they could last a day without us,” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter what they’d do,” Kai answered, voice low and cold. “We’re here. That’s all.” He felt the truth of it sink in—whatever side of the line they stood on now, it was theirs alone.

  Suddenly, a kid broke free from a cluster of children, chasing a battered tin can that skittered too close to Zach’s boots. The boy was laughing, breathless with the rare joy of play.

  Zach moved without thinking, hand snapping out to grab the kid by the collar and yanking him off his feet. His other fist hovered, knuckles pale, a hair’s breadth from the boy’s cheek. Months of monsters and worse had taught him to strike first, ask later. In that instant, Zach saw not a child, but a risk—something that could shatter the fragile order they’d clawed together.

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  The laughter died. The boy’s eyes went wide with terror, feet dangling. All around, time seemed to freeze—the townsfolk, the new recruits, even the night itself.

  Kai was off the car in a blur, boots crunching glass, sword flashing in the grim light. He pressed cold steel to the inside of Zach’s wrist, just hard enough for Zach to feel the threat. “Enough. He’s not your enemy.” The words were gravel in his throat, and Kai felt his pulse hammering—how close had they come to real disaster? How close had he come to letting it happen?

  Zach’s chest heaved. For a moment, he didn’t let go. The kid’s breath hitched, eyes huge, lip trembling.

  From the crowd, the girl in the red coat whispered, “Monster,” voice trembling, not quite believing the word.

  With a snarl, Zach shoved the boy away. The child tumbled, scrambling into his mother’s arms. She glared at Kai and Zach both, hatred plain as day.

  The square went even quieter. The new gang recruits stared, grins gone. The townsfolk drew back, eyes full of fear and something colder—resentment, maybe, or the memory of every loss that had come before.

  Zach flexed his hands, voice shaking with anger and something rawer. “Next time, I won’t miss.” His hands wouldn’t stop trembling. Shame burned behind the anger, but he buried it deep.

  Kai didn’t sheath his sword. “There won’t be a next time. Not if you want to stay breathing.” He held Zach’s gaze, feeling the brittle line between control and collapse.

  They stared at each other for a long, ugly second. The city seemed to shrink around them, the air crackling with tension.

  Finally, Kai turned away, scanning the barricades. “Let’s move. The night’s not done with us yet.” He forced his legs to move, feeling the weight of every silent stare on his back.

  Zach spat on the ground and followed, his shadow long and sharp behind him. The youngest recruits dragged their feet, uncertain, and the people of the Iron Market watched from behind barricades of wood and fear, silent as stones.

  They walked a dozen paces into the gloom, the only sound their boots crunching glass and gravel. Then, out of nowhere, Kai started laughing—a raw, jagged sound that split the silence. At first it was just a low snort, but it built into full-throated, rasping laughter, echoing off the empty storefronts. He laughed until he doubled over, clutching his sides, gasping for breath. The sound felt like it belonged to someone else, a stranger wearing his skin.

  Zach froze, staring. The new recruits stopped in their tracks. Townsfolk scattered back into doorways, wide-eyed. Even the night seemed to recoil.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Zach demanded, voice rough with disbelief and something close to fear. He felt his own grip on sanity sliding, just a little.

  Kai wiped tears from his eyes, still grinning that wild, broken grin. “You—you nearly took that kid’s head off over a tin can. Did you see his face?” The laughter bubbled up again, sharp and joyless. “We’re supposed to be the shield, and look at us. I don’t even know if I’d have stopped you if he’d been older.” He tasted the truth of it—sour, unforgivable.

  The youngest recruit looked at him in horror, mouth working but no words coming. A woman clutching her daughter’s hand pulled her closer, whispering for her not to look.

  Zach’s face darkened, jaw working. “You’re losing it, Kai.”

  Kai just kept laughing, the sound turning thin and brittle. “Maybe I am. Maybe it’s the only sane thing left—finding it all funny, because what’s the other option? We’re all mad here. Us, them, every last soul that stayed.” For a heartbeat, he almost hoped someone would stop him—prove he still had something to lose.

  One of the townsfolk, a battered man with a splint on his arm, spat in the street. “If this is what’s left, God help us.”

  Kai’s laughter faded to a ragged cough. He straightened, eyes cold and too bright. “No gods here. Just us.”

  The silence that followed was different—not tense, but hollow, as if something essential had cracked. The new recruits clustered together, a little less sure, their earlier smiles gone. The townsfolk retreated further into the shadows, locking their doors a little tighter. The girl in the red coat watched them go, her small fist tight around her mother’s sleeve.

  Zach finally turned away, voice flat. “Next time, maybe I won’t stop.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the kid, or himself.

  Kai’s smile lingered, crooked and empty. “Do what you have to.” He wondered if he’d even try to stop him.

  They moved on, two broken figures vanishing into the darkness, leaving behind a city that no longer knew whether to fear the monsters outside the barricades—or the ones within.

  Behind them, the Iron Market seemed to shrink back, and not even the youngest dared risk a smile.