Left alone, Ryker's fingers worked mechanically, raking across the unbandaged burn blistering his palm. Ruined flesh radiated heat, but he left it bare. The pain anchored him, a grounding leash keeping him from throwing open the door and snapping Cassian's neck.
He touched his bruised throat, pressing into the tender skin where Cassian had slammed him against the wall.
"I should just take your hands..." Ryker whispered to the empty room, his voice disturbingly calm. "You can't hurt me without hands."
***
Cassian dragged his feet toward the stairs, every joint aching. He gripped the wooden railing for balance, looking down into the foyer.
Blood painted the tiles. His friend Miller lay sprawling and motionless, his chest caved in. Knox, the tactician who had mapped out their surviving days, sat slumped against a pillar, his throat torn open.
Beyond them lay the rest of his unit: a mass of limbs and ruined armor. The mutated zombie had been massive, fast, and efficient.
A tight knot choked Cassian's windpipe. The people who had bled beside him were all dead, slaughtered by a creature he hadn't been fast enough to kill.
Every step down was excruciating. A sharp snap echoed in the quiet space, followed by a violet spark jumping from his knuckles. He winced.
No. Not now.
His emotional state was pulling his new ability out of its sheath. Tiny arc-flashes rippled over his shoulders, dancing down his arms. The wool blanket draped over his back caught a stray ember, smoke curling upward.
Panicking, Cassian clamped his eyes shut and forced a breath into his lungs, trying desperately to force the surging power back down into his core. The heat beneath his skin roared. It was too much. The grief, the guilt, the fact that he was now completely alone...
Maybe Ryker was right.I can't control this. I'm going to burn us all to ash.
Defeated, Cassian turned on his heel to retreat back to the isolation of his room.
"There he is..."
The voice cut through the hum of static in Cassian's ears.
Cassian froze, his foot hovering over the step. He slowly turned back around.
Standing near the foot of the stairs was a gaunt civilian with a severe limp, flanked by a dozen others.
For a fleeting second, relief washed over Cassian. They were alive.
Then he met their eyes. Cold, suffocating hatred.
Cassian opened his mouth to ask if everyone was all right when something heavy whistled through the air.
Before he could react, the impact struck his forehead with a sickening crunch. Cassian's head snapped back, his vision blurring into a dizzying smear. Blood burst from the split flesh, rushing down his temple and blinding his left eye in crimson.
He stumbled against the railing, clutching his head, his fingers immediately slick with blood. A jagged rock clattered down the steps behind him.
The limping man stepped forward, his knuckles white, his voice trembling with spite as he pointed toward the foyer.
"How do you like that? Look at them! Everyone who protected us is dead! And you walk out looking perfectly fine!"
Behind him, a woman holding a torn child's shoe screamed through cracking hysteria.
"He didn't get a scratch! He was hiding all along! That's why we didn't hear from him for hours! He should have protected us and now my daughter is dead because of him!"
Blood dripped off Cassian's jaw, pattering against the stairs.
"Stop..." he choked out, his jaw clenched against a sudden violent current humming beneath his skin. "Please... just back away. Don't... don't force me to..."
Nobody moved back. Nobody listened. The plea hung in the air, swallowed by their rage.
They didn't see an authority figure anymore, nor did they see the live wire ticking down right in front of them.
His knees buckled.
Cassian sagged sideways onto the wooden step, shrinking in on himself unintentionally. He pulled the heavy wool blanket tight around his shoulders, clutching the fabric with pale fists and burying half his face into the thick wool.
Thread-like wisps of white-gold light flickered over his knuckles, snapping silently against his skin—the volatile leak of an ability slipping out of his grasp.
"I tried..." Cassian choked out, wanting to explain. "I was coming down... I swear I—"
"Shut up!" the limping man roared, shoving to the front step. "You forced us out of the shelter to come to this place .You brought us here!"
The cold, stubborn firmness that had dragged Cassian through hell flared behind his eyes.
"If I hadn't taken you," Cassian snapped back, his voice raw but sharp, "you would've died! You think the military was coming? I lost contact with central command as soon as the apocalypse started!"
"Liar!" an old man spat from the front, his face hollowed by grief for his dead son in the foyer. He threw a second stone.
Weak and dizzy, Cassian jerked his head back a fraction late. The rock clipped his cheekbone, splitting the skin before clattering away. Tunnel vision narrowed his sight, and his balance failed as he sagged heavily against the railing, gasping for air.
"Why listen to him?!" the limping man sneered, pointing a dirt-caked finger. "He lured us here with promises of safety! Told us he had it under control!"
"And look at us!" the grieving mother wept, her grief twisting into venom. "Our families are gone! And he's sitting up there, expecting us to take it!"
"Then leave!" Cassian screamed through tearing eyes. He dug his nails into the wool, his hands refusing to cooperate as they shook uncontrollably. "If you think I ruined your lives... then get out! Just leave!"
The crowd went dead silent.
Nobody moved toward the front door. They all knew what waited past the reinforced gates a killing ground filled with monsters that would tear them apart without Cassian's unit or his power. Leaving meant death.
But admitting that meant admitting they needed him. It was easier to stand in the warm foyer and throw stones.
"Typical of someone from the military,"the limping man spat, taking another aggressive step up the stair. "Throwing a tantrum now? You don't get to just tell us to leave!"
Cassian's head throbbed, a loud ringing filling his ears while each pulse sent a wave of vertigo through his skull. The room tilted. His grip on the blanket slackened.
The man froze on the bottom step, squinting into the shadow of the staircase.
The blood tracking down Cassian's cheek caught an unnatural shimmer. Underneath his brow, his irises were drowning in a bright radiance spilling over his lower lids like liquid light.
The man stumbled backward, his face draining of color as he pointed up with a shaking hand.
"Look at his eyes!" he yelled, panic tearing through his voice. "They're... they're glowing!"
The crowd recoiled, shoving past one another.
"What is that?!" the grieving mother shrieked, backing away.
"What if he's mutating?!" the old man shouted, his voice thick with hysteria. "Like the things outside?!"
"He's infected!" the limping man yelled. "He was out there with them! He's turning!"
Cassian tried to shake his head, but his focus failed completely. "No..." he rasped, his voice barely a breath. "It's... it's just..."
Cassian's vision went completely white.
The room tilted violently, his weak knees giving out as his body slumped forward toward the stairs. In a desperate bid to catch himself, his fingers clawed at the air and his failing focus snapped completely.
A jagged, blinding streak of white-gold lightning detonated off his palm, tearing through the air and striking the bottom step just inches from the limping man's feet. Wood splintered into a shower of sparks, scorching the tile below.
The man shrieked, throwing himself backward onto the floor. Screams erupted through the foyer as the crowd scrambled over each other, shielding their heads.
The sound snapped Cassian back to reality, instantly dousing the surging energy in his chest. He shoved himself up with numb limbs, gasping for air, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Get out. Get to the room. Now.
He turned, dragging his bleeding, exhausted body back up the steps as fast as his heavy legs would carry him.
"Monster!" a voice shrieked from below.
"He tried to kill us!" the limping man roared, scrambling to his feet, his face twisted in sheer, unhinged terror. "He's lost control! He's turning into one of those things!"
"We can't let him leave!" the old man screamed, grabbing a heavy iron fire poker from beside the wall. "We have to kill him before he turns! Kill him now!"
Cassian froze near the top of the landing.
The very people he had bled to save were arming themselves, ready to storm the stairs and tear him apart. A cold, suffocating terror gripped his chest, leaving him utterly paralyzed.
Suddenly, slow footsteps echoed from the shadows at the top of the staircase.
Cassian's head snapped up.
Standing right at the edge of the upper floor was Ryker. He had changed into stark, fitted black from head to toe, looking immaculate compared to the blood-soaked chaos below.
Cassian's breath hitched in his throat. Suspended casually from Ryker's finger by its pin ring was a single, heavy fragmentation grenade.
How long has he had that?
Ryker stepped up right beside Cassian, his posture relaxed, entirely empty of genuine warmth or empathy. Yet, his voice dripped with a carefully crafted, comforting gentleness as he looked down at the bleeding man.
"You keep trying to save people who'd happily watch you die," Ryker murmured, his tone soft, almost sweet.
The words sounded like comfort, but the dead, vacant look in Ryker's eyes told a completely different story. As he spoke, his dark gaze casually drifted down toward the mob below, his thumb resting lightly against the grenade's spoon eager, cold, and ready to paint the foyer red.
The hysterical mob paused, their eyes locking onto the heavy iron cylinder dangling from Ryker's finger.
"He's got a grenade!" someone shrieked from the back.
"What do you think you're going to do with that?!" the limping man yelled, his voice cracking as he backed up against the far pillar, clutching his improvised weapon. "Are you out of your mind?!"
Ryker didn't blink. He took half a step forward, shielding Cassian with his body, a smooth, terrifyingly calm smile resting on his lips.
"Touch him again," Ryker said, his tone conversational, almost light. "... and you can find out exactly what I plan to do with it."
The air went dead quiet. The threat hung heavy and suffocating over the crowd.
Beside him, Cassian's vision swam, he reached out with a trembling, slick hand, his fingers desperately hooking into the black fabric of Ryker's sleeve.
"Ryker... don't..." Cassian rasped, his voice barely a thread. He squeezed Ryker's arm with what little strength he had left, his eyes wide with horrified realization. "If that's what I think it is... the blast... it'll collapse the whole staircase. We'll all die..."
Ryker didn't pull away. Instead, he tilted his head down, looking at Cassian's bloody face with that same vacant, chilling gentleness.
He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a smooth, intimate whisper meant for Cassian alone.
"You're just going to have to trust me, Captain."