Chapter 169: Don’t be a fool
Jennifer didn’t take the main hallway back.
She never did when her shift ended like this.
The sector had gone quiet in that late-cycle way—lights dimmed a fraction, movement thinning out, voices dropping into something more controlled.
She walked it alone anyway.
At the far end of the corridor, a camera tracked her for a second too long before slowly adjusting away, like it had been told she didn’t need watching the same way others did.
That thought didn’t make her smile.
It didn’t do anything at all.
Her office door clicked open under her code.
Warm light spilled out, soft compared to the sterile glare outside.
Inside was exactly the same as always. Too ordered. Too intentional. Nothing out of place unless she allowed it.
Jennifer shut the door behind her and locked it.
The sound was final in a way most people in the sector never heard anything be.
She stood there a moment longer than necessary.
Not looking around.
Just still.
Then she moved.
The desk drawer opened without effort, like it had been opened so many times the resistance was gone.
She pulled out a small secured laptop.
Not standard issue.
Not logged.
She placed it on the desk and opened it.
The screen lit her face first.
Then the room.
Login prompt.
Already waiting.
She didn’t look at it for long.
Just typed.
Fast.
Familiar.
The system accepted her without protest.
That was the first thing that felt wrong about it, if someone else had been watching.
But there was no one else.
As the folders loaded, her breath hitched slightly, a hand sliding under her desk—
Rubbing against the region that her clothes had blocked.
The files weren’t labeled in ways that made sense to anyone outside the structure. Not public-facing. Not even meant to be seen by people who worked here daily.
Jennifer’s cursor hovered over one of them.
Not uncertain.
Just paused.
Like checking something she already knew was there.
Then she opened it.
A symbol appeared first.
Muted. Institutional. Modified enough that it didn’t belong to anything clean anymore.
It sat there for a second before the folder expanded underneath it.
Rows of files.
Reports.
Images.
Names that didn’t belong in any intake queue outside this system.
Her expression didn’t change.
But her hand was moving faster.
She clicked one file.
A younger Adrian filled the screen, clad in a juvenile jumpsuit with black numbers printed to the side of it.
At the bottom—
Juvenile Temporary Detention Center.
Clearly not the man outside.
Someone earlier.
Recorded instead of observed.
Her eyes didn’t widen.
They didn’t need to.
She just looked at him.
Held there a moment longer than the file required.
Then moved on.
Another click.
Another angle.
Jennifer leaned back slightly.
Another click.
More images.
School records. Surveillance stills. A grainy shot of him walking down a corridor with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Another with him sitting too still in a chair, wires attached to his temples.
Her eyes lingered on that one longer.
Then moved again.
Another file.
This one different.
Medical.
A lab environment. Bright lights. Too clean. Adrian on a table, restrained, something monitoring his vitals. Headphones on like they were trying to keep him calm or keep something out.
There were people in the background. Faces half-turned. Masks. Instruments.
And one figure standing closer than the rest.
A woman.
Cornrows pulled tight. Arms folded. Watching him like she was studying something that had already been broken and was being tested to see how it behaved after.
Jennifer’s tongue pressed lightly against the inside of her cheek.
She zoomed in.
Paused.
Her eyes closed as she leaned back into her chair, her breaths becoming more ragged as the chair creaked.
"F— fuck..."
Like that picture alone had been enough.
The room stayed quiet except for the soft hum of the computer.
And the noises she no longer tried to keep hidden.
—
10:54 AM.
I had never felt more out of place than I had been now.
Everything around me felt louder than it actually was. Boots on concrete. Metal clinking. Voices calling numbers. The line crawling forward in slow, ugly movements that didn’t care if you were anxious or not.
"Processing."
That word kept flashing in my head like it meant something permanent. Like once you got through it, there was no going back.
My fists stayed clenched at my sides.
I didn’t even notice I was doing it until my nails dug into my palms hard enough to sting.
I felt watched.
Not in a dramatic way. Not like someone was staring directly at me.
More like I was just... in a system that had already decided what I was.
The soldiers weren’t even being cruel. That was the worst part.
They were efficient.
Eyes moving over faces. Hands checking bags. Voices flat. Controlled. Like they’d done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.
People didn’t matter in that line.
Just bodies.
Just risk.
The argument with Lila still sat in my chest like something unfinished. Heavy. Irritating. Not resolved.
She hadn’t come with me.
Stayed back in the quarters.
Maybe that was better.
If she had come, I don’t know what kind of attention she would’ve pulled. Not just because of how she acts—but because of how she can’t hide what she is when she slips.
I swallowed.
I needed to apologize to her later. I knew that. Even if I didn’t know how yet.
A tap hit my shoulder.
I turned fast.
Too fast.
My body reacted before my mind did, like it was ready for impact.
"Hey!"
Jennifer.
My shoulders dropped instantly, but my heart didn’t.
Not near calm.
Not around her.
"Relax. Relax. It’s me."
I let out a breath through my nose and shut my eyes for half a second longer than I meant to.
"...Right."
"Wait a minute—" she leaned in slightly, studying me. "Did you get a new hairdo?"
I hesitated.
"Y—yeah..."
She reached up like she was going to touch it.
I caught her wrist.
Instant.
Her smile didn’t disappear, but her eyes shifted. Just slightly. The warmth in them went thin.
Silence sat between us for a beat.
Not loud.
Worse.
Careful.
I let go.
"Sorry."
Her smile came back like nothing happened.
"It suits you. Cleaner. Even if it’s just a few snips."
"...Thanks."
She tilted her head a little.
"Though I’m curious."
My stomach tightened before she even finished.
"Why change it now? Don’t want anyone recognizing you?"
I didn’t answer.
That was answer enough for her.
She gave a small laugh.
"I’m just messing with you, Adam."
I didn’t correct her this time.
"Gee, you’re tense. You weren’t like this when your sister was around."
That landed somewhere it shouldn’t have.
Not pain exactly.
Pressure.
I didn’t laugh. Didn’t react.
"I need to focus. My number’s about to be called."
"Oh, sweetheart." She pointed casually toward her badge. "High ranking officer. I can get you processed quick. Just come with me."
I hesitated.
Just a second too long.
But she was already turning.
Like she knew I would follow.
I looked once at the line.
Then at the soldiers.
Then back at her.
Cleaner. Safer. Faster.
And I didn’t like how easy that decision felt.
"...Yeah."
The office was too normal.
That was the first thing I noticed.
After everything outside, I expected something harsher. Sterile maybe. Cold. Clinical.
Instead it just looked like a room trying too hard to feel safe.
Minimal desk. Old camera setup in the corner. Papers stacked in neat piles. Sticky notes lined up like someone cared about order more than anything else.
There was a smell too.
Pine.
And something else under it.
Not bad.
Just... personal.
I stayed standing.
"So," she said, moving behind the desk, "this is simple. I’ll ask a few questions. Nothing—"
"I got a question."
She stopped.
Looked up slowly.
"Now?"
I stepped to the door and closed it.
Clicked the lock.
Her eyes tracked that movement.
That was the first time her expression tightened.
Not fear.
Just awareness.
"Yesterday," I said, "I said my name was Adam. Not Adrian. Why did you call me that?"
A pause.
Then she smiled.
Not small.
Not polite.
"You serious?"
Something in me shifted.
"Getting all worked up over one mistake, Adam?"
"What?"
She leaned back slightly in her chair.
"C’mon. A girl can’t make mistakes? First time I met you. I’ve had plenty of people call me Jessica instead of Jennifer."
I stared at her.
That answer hit like nothing.
Not satisfying.
Just... empty.
A distraction that still made me feel stupid for caring.
My jaw tightened.
"But that doesn’t explain why you lied about the screening."
Her smile faded a fraction.
"Lied about what?"
"The screening."
That word changed the air.
She didn’t move for a second.
Then she exhaled through her nose.
Slow.
Controlled.
"Listen," she said, softer now, "when I saw you that night, you looked done. Like you’d already been through enough for ten people. I gave you a break."
"...And that’s it?"
"That’s it."
I searched her face.
Trying to find something behind it.
Anything.
"And you’re sure there’s nothing else?"
"I’m not a pervert, Adrian." Her tone sharpened slightly. "I have no ill intentions."
I looked down for a second.
Rubbed my brow.
The room felt smaller now than it did a minute ago.
"Now," she said, tapping the desk once, "if you’re done, sit down."
I didn’t move right away.
My hand stayed on the door for a second longer than it needed to. Locked. Closed. No way out without making it obvious.
Stupid.
I exhaled slowly and pulled the chair out, the legs scraping against the floor louder than I liked. I sat down across from her, forcing my shoulders to relax.
They didn’t.
Jennifer watched me like she had all the time in the world.
Like this wasn’t a checkpoint.
Like this was...personal.
I swallowed once.
"...fine," I muttered. "Let’s just—get it over with."
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile.
"Good boy."
That made something in my chest tighten.
She flipped a page in the folder like she’d done this a thousand times.
"Name."
I hesitated.
"...Adam Carter."
The lie rolled out smoother this time.
Practice.
She wrote it down without looking up.
"Age?"
"Twenty."
"Traveling alone?"
A beat.
"...no. With my sister."
My eyes flicked away for just a second.
I caught it.
So did she.
Her pen paused.
But then it kept moving.
"Any known exposure to infected?" she asked.
"No."
"Bites?"
"No."
"Scratches, open wounds, blood contact?"
"No."
Each answer came quicker.
Sharper.
Like if I didn’t leave space, she wouldn’t dig.
Jennifer leaned back slightly, studying me now instead of the paper.
"Heartbeat’s fast," she said casually.
I forced a shrug. "Processing line isn’t exactly relaxing."
"Mm."
She didn’t sound convinced.
"Stand up," she said.
I blinked. "What?"
"For the check," she said, like it was obvious.
Right.
Of course.
I pushed the chair back and stood. My legs felt heavier than they should’ve.
She stepped closer.
Too close.
"Arms out."
I lifted them.
Her hands ran along my sleeves first. Firm. Methodical. Not rushed.
But not gentle either.
Professional.
That’s what it was supposed to feel like.
But there was something else under it.
Something I couldn’t place.
"Turn."
I did.
Her hands moved to my back, pressing along my shoulders, down my spine.
My jaw tightened without me realizing.
"Relax," she murmured.
I didn’t.
Her fingers paused for a second.
"...you always this tense?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
That slipped out before I could stop it.
She huffed lightly through her nose.
"Fair."
Her hands moved lower, checking my sides, my waist. Quick, efficient.
Then she stepped back.
"Face me."
I turned.
Her eyes went straight to mine.
Not scanning.
Looking.
Searching.
For something.
"Any dizziness?" she asked.
"No."
"Headaches?"
"...sometimes."
"Hallucinations?"
My throat went dry.
Images flickered. Blood. Teeth. Lila’s eyes—
"No."
Too fast.
She caught it.
I saw it in the way her head tilted slightly.
But she didn’t push.
Instead, she nodded once and stepped back toward her desk.
"Sit."
I sat.
Slower this time.
More careful.
She wrote something down again, pen scratching against paper in the quiet room.
Every sound felt louder in here.
My breathing.
The pen.
The faint hum outside the walls.
I rubbed my hands together, trying to get rid of the feeling crawling under my skin.
"...so that’s it?" I asked after a second.
She didn’t look up right away.
"Almost."
That word sat wrong with me.
Almost.
She closed the folder softly and rested her elbows on the desk.
"Tell me something," she said.
I didn’t like the tone.
"What?"
Her eyes held mine.
"Why change your hair now?"
I hesitated.
"...cleaned up," I said.
Her expression didn’t move.
"That’s not an answer."
I swallowed.
She leaned back just a little.
"People don’t change things like that for no reason," she said. "Not out here."
My fingers twitched in my lap.
"...there’s no reason," I said.
A beat.
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Mm."
She didn’t call me out on it.
Just studied me longer than I liked.
Then she tapped the folder once and stood straighter again.
"Alright," she said. "You’re cleared for processing."
I didn’t move for a second.
Just processed that word.
Cleared.
"...that’s it?" I asked quietly.
"That’s it."
I stood.
Slower than before.
"Thank you," I said.
She nodded once.
I turned toward the door.
Then—
"Adam."
I stopped.
Didn’t turn fully.
"...yeah?"
A pause.
When I looked back, she was still sitting there.
Watching me.
Same calm face.
Same unreadable eyes.
"...you should relax," she said.
I gave a small nod.
Then turned and left.