Chapter 50: The One We Followed, I
It had been three weeks since we left the clinic.
The days bled together—fog-heavy mornings, iron-gray skies, the sound of train tracks splitting silence. We moved from district to district, following rumors and coordinates Helene supplied. Each location offered just enough to keep us believing we were close.
We weren't.
There were no awakenings. No new threads. Just empty buildings, half-formed stories, and records that contradicted themselves.
But none of us questioned.
Not yet.
Helene led without leading. Never commanded—only suggested. She stood just far enough behind to never be the center, and yet the whole rhythm of our movement bent around her.
Konrad said little. He kept his rifle close now, though he never said why. His eyes scanned shadows like they'd started whispering back.
Erich drifted between silence and sharpness, like he couldn't quite settle into who he'd become. Some days, he walked ahead of us, cutting through frost without a sword. Other times, he fell behind and said he needed air. He had not spoken of the fight—not to us, not to Helene. As though saying it aloud would make it real.
Clara was harder to read. She didn't smile, not really. But she was always present. Always aware. When she walked beside me, I could feel the thread hum between us like a breath we hadn't taken yet.
And me—