Chapter 206: Day One (3)

Misha had almost reached the next intersection when she saw the house. Her steps slowed before she consciously decided to stop, and the frying pan she had been carrying settled against her thigh as her attention shifted toward the familiar structure beyond the low concrete wall.

She had passed several houses that reminded her of home since arriving in the event field, but this one was different.

The front wall leaned outward at an angle that would have concerned any building inspector. A jagged Crack ran beneath the window, widening near the corner where a large section of plaster had fallen away, and one side of the roof had visibly sunk beneath its own weight. Even the gate hung crookedly from its hinges, its lower edge caught against the ground in precisely the same way she remembered.

Misha stood beside a parked car and stared at the house, unable to convince herself to take another step. It looked exactly as she had left it.

’Keep walking. You have somewhere else to go.’

She knew that. The apartment building near the main road would provide a better vantage point, and every minute she spent standing in the open was another minute someone could discover her. She had already encountered one hostile contender.

Unfortunately, knowing what she should do did very little to stop her from looking at the front door.

Misha sighed and crossed the road anyway, keeping an eye in the neighboring windows as she approached the gate.

The rusted metal scraped against the concrete when she pushed it open. She stopped immediately, listening for movement inside the house or the surrounding properties, but the only response came from a loose section of roofing that tapped softly against its bracket in the breeze. The front door sat crookedly within its frame, its swollen wood pressing against the damaged flooring.

Misha tested the handle before pushing it. The door resisted so she tried again, applying more pressure near the damaged hinge until the wood scraped across the tiles and opened just enough for her to slip inside. At least this was different than what she remembered.

Then, the familiar smell reached her first. Dust, closed rooms, old fabric, and the faint stale odor of something that had spilled in the kitchen and never been cleaned. It was hardly pleasant, yet recognizing it made her chest tighten in a way she had not expected.

Sunlight entered through the damaged windows, illuminating particles of dust suspended in the air. One dining chair lay overturned beneath the table, while another stood crookedly with parts of its backrest broken away.

Misha remained near the entrance until she was satisfied that nothing had moved in response to her arrival. Only then did she venture farther into the living room, avoiding the larger pieces of broken glass scattered across the floor.

The couch had shifted away from the wall. Several books lay beneath the coffee table, their pages bent where heavier objects had fallen on them, and a familiar cushion rested face down beside the television stand.

She could spend hours examining everything. If she entered Mateo’s room, she would probably find his books and papers. Caleb’s room would contain all manner of things he had acquired for reasons she had never fully understood, and her own bedroom would be waiting with the familiar disorder she had left behind.

The event would continue outside while she attempted to recover an entire life through its belongings.

Misha tightened her grip on the frying pan as she forced herself to turn away.

The broken window offered a clear view beyond the neighboring rooftops. Misha approached it carefully before looking toward the distant skyline. Then she frowned as she realized that something was missing.

The Tower should have been visible from here. She remembered its enormous silhouette rising above the clouds, a structure so vast that even the surrounding buildings seemed insignificant beneath it.

During the days following the earthquake, she had grown accustomed to checking its position, partly because it helped her navigate and partly because something about its presence made it impossible to ignore.

Now there was nothing. Only rooftops, power lines, and the pale afternoon sky.

"What the hell?" She stepped closer to the broken window.

The earthquake had happened here. Its damage surrounded her, right down to the crack beside the kitchen doorway. Yet the Tower itself had vanished.

If this was a reconstruction, it had preserved details she could not imagine anyone needing. And if it was not...

Misha’s grip tightened. "Am I actually outside?"

Unfortunately, she had no way of knowing it.

She was about to leave when something beneath the coffee table caught her attention. It was a photograph, or rather, the corner of a picture frame protruding from beneath several scattered papers.

She recognized the frame before she even saw the photograph. It had been standing on the cabinet beside the television for years, occasionally moved whenever someone cleaned the room but always returned to the same place.

She crouched and carefully pulled it free. The backing had split where the frame struck the floor, and several cracks ran across the glass. Misha removed the damaged covering before turning the photograph toward the sunlight.

All five of them were there, her family.

Her mother stood near the center with a sweet smile. Their father had one arm around her shoulders, while Mateo stood beside them with the patient expression he usually wore whenever his younger siblings were doing something particularly troublesome. Caleb was leaning against Misha with a smug grin on his face. Misha, meanwhile, was looking at this boy instead of the camera, visibly annoyed.

She sat back on her heels. Misha had passed this picture thousands of times without giving it much thought anymore. It had been such an ordinary part of the house that she had stopped noticing as she grew old, and now she found herself examining every face as though doing so might restore something she had lost.

Misha swallowed as her eyes began to sting. She rubbed the heel of her hand beneath one eye after letting out a breathless laugh. "Oh, don’t start, Mish."

A thin booklet lay among the papers scattered beneath the table. Misha retrieved it and carefully slipped the photograph between its pages, using the stiff cover to protect it from bending.

She was about to stand when another picture caught her attention. It was a Polaroid.

Misha eased it free, and this one contained only the three siblings.

Mateo sat in the middle, looking faintly exhausted but amused, while Caleb leaned close enough to squeeze both his older siblings against him. Misha’s mouth was open when the picture was taken, probably because she was scolding him.

A quiet laugh escaped her. She ran her thumb along the white border before slipping the Polaroid beside the family photograph.

The jacket issued from Ashmoor for the Trial had an inner pocket large enough to hold the booklet so she secured it carefully.

Before leaving, Musha removed both Crown Tokens from the pouch at her waist.

"Let’s keep you both somewhere safer."

===

The apartment building rose beyond a short stretch of shops. Misha followed the service lane toward it, remembering which gate opened into the rear stairwell and which alley ended behind a locked delivery entrance.

She had once chased Caleb here after discovering he had borrowed something from her room without permission. That was her most memorable one.

The memory almost made her smile, then something struck the wall ahead.

Concrete exploded across the ground.

Misha instinctively jerked backward, raising the frying pan instinctively as fragments scattered around her boots.

A broad axe head had buried itself in the wall less than a meter from her face, its metal edge surrounded by cracks where the force of the impact had shattered the plaster.

For a moment, she stared at it. Then the weapon was pulled free.

"Well, well. Look who we have here."

Misha raised her gaze to the person’s face.

Brody Build-ir stood several paces ahead, his enormous axe resting comfortably across one shoulder. His expression shifted from surprise to delighted recognition, and the grin spreading across his face suggested he had just been handed a present.

His gaze landed toward the frying pan, then he laughed.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me." Brody tilted his head, looking her up and down with obvious satisfaction. "That’s what you found? A frying pan?"

Misha looked at his axe, then at her pan. ’Fucking shit.’

The man who had spent his time bragging about his muscles had apparently acquired an enormous battleaxe, while she had been rewarded with cookware. Even with weapons, the universe has discriminations.

"You’re blocking the lane," she informed him, taking a small step away from the wall. "Mind moving?"

"Why? Got somewhere important to be?"

"Actually, yes. And I’d rather not spend my afternoon listening to you introduce yourself again."

His smile tightened. "Stil got that mouth on you, huh?"

"And you still have yours."

Brody shifted the axe off his shoulder.

Misha adjusted her stance. "Bring it on, shitard."