Craig, had slept less than an hour. Not because he couldn't close his eyes, but because every time he did, he saw Abdi falling. He saw the moment the ground should have taken him and didn't. Morning light crept into the apartment through dust and torn curtains, making the air pale and thick. The east side was gone. Not damaged, but gone. What remained ended in jagged concrete and twisted rebar, exposed to the city like a wound that hadn't started bleeding yet. Craig stood near the edge, a crowbar resting against his thigh, staring out. The web sagged where the fight had torn through it. A crack ran through the silk, wide enough now to see open sky beyond it. It hadn't healed overnight. That mattered. Behind him, the others sat in uneasy silence. Abdi was on the floor, his back against the wall, knees pulled up. Selma sat close enough that their shoulders touched. Hassan paced. Chris checked the door for the fifth time in ten minutes. Zak stood apart. Too still. Craig turned. "Say it." Zak blinked, as if he had been pulled out of somewhere else. "Say what?" "You've been staring holes through everyone for five minutes," Craig said. "If you've got something, now's the time." Hassan stopped pacing. "Yeah, man. What are you looking at?" Zak hesitated. Craig watched him closely. Zak didn't look scared. He looked like someone doing math with people's lives. "There's a supermarket," Zak said finally. The word hit the room differently than Craig expected. Not relief. Not excitement. Tension. "Two blocks west," Zak continued. "Corner building. Three floors. Big place." Chris snorted quietly. "You serious? We can't even cross the street safely." Zak nodded. "I know." Craig folded his arms. "Then why bring it up?" Zak turned toward the broken east side. "Because the web's cracked." Everyone followed his gaze. The tear was ugly now—silk strands frayed, uneven, some hanging loose and fluttering slightly in the breeze. Beyond it, the sky looked wrong. Too open. Too free. "It didn't fix itself," Zak said. "That fight did more damage than we thought." Craig felt it then. Not hope. Opportunity. "How far is it from the edge?" Craig asked. "About twenty meters down," Zak said. "Clear vertical drop. Then open air until street level." Abdi shifted. Craig noticed. "You thinking what I think you're thinking?" Craig asked him. Abdi swallowed. "I think so." "No," Selma said immediately. "Absolutely not." Zak raised a hand. "Hear him out." Craig waited. Abdi exhaled slowly. "I can carry one person. Someone close to my weight. Not for long. And not fast." Hassan's eyes widened. "You're serious." "I flew yesterday," Abdi said quietly. "I can't pretend I didn't." Craig watched everyone take that in. No denial now. No confusion. Just reality. "And supplies?" Craig asked. Abdi nodded. "I can bring stuff up too. Drop it carefully. But we need something soft down there first." "Mattresses," Zak said immediately. "Couches. Anything to break a fall." Chris scratched his beard. "There's furniture stores nearby." Craig shook his head. "Too far." "The supermarket has bedding," Zak said. "Seasonal aisle. Storage section. Foam mats. Pillows." Craig looked at him. "You've been there." Zak nodded. "Before." That explained the certainty. The room went quiet again. Selma stood. "You're not sending him alone." Craig met her eyes. "No." Zak stepped forward. "Abdi takes one person down. Someone light. They clear space. Drop padding first. Once the ground's safe, Abdi ferries supplies." Hassan laughed once, sharp and nervous. "You're talking like this is normal." "It isn't," Zak said. "But starving isn't normal either." Craig felt the weight settle onto his shoulders. Leader or not, this decision would be his. "What if the web reacts?" Chris asked. "What if that crack closes?" "Then we stop," Craig said. "Immediately." Abdi looked up. "I can feel the air when I'm up there. If it changes, I'll know." Craig studied him. The kid wasn't bragging. He was terrified—and still willing. Craig turned back to the edge. The city spread out below them, broken and suspended, but alive. Then Zak spoke again, softer this time. "There's something else." Craig glanced over his shoulder. "You wanna stack this on top too?" Zak nodded. "Yeah." He hesitated, then said it. "My parents left me something." Silence. Craig waited. "A ship," Zak said. "Military. Old, but fully stocked. One hundred and sixty meters. It's docked off the coast." Hassan blinked. "You're joking." "I'm not." Chris stared. "Why didn't you say anything?" "Because we couldn't reach it," Zak replied. "And because it doesn't matter yet." Craig's mind raced. A ship meant food, medical supplies, power, weapons, mobility. Future. "And now?" Craig asked. Zak looked at the crack in the web again. "Now," he said, "we just need to survive long enough to get there." Hope settled into the room—not loud, not explosive. But real. Craig exhaled slowly. "Alright," he said. "We do this clean. One run. No heroics." He looked at Abdi. "You go slow. If you feel anything off, you abort." Abdi nodded. Craig looked at Selma. "You're not going." She opened her mouth. "No," Craig said firmly. "You stay and watch the building." She clenched her jaw, then nodded. Craig turned to Hassan. "You're light. You go first." Hassan swallowed. "Of course I do." Craig clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be fine." Craig hoped he was telling the truth. Outside, the web shifted slightly in the wind. But the crack remained. For the first time since the world broke, Craig felt like they weren't just reacting anymore. They were choosing. He just didn't know if it was the right choice.