Bloodlines & Bonds [iv]
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Chapter 8(iv) — Bloodlines & Bonds
POV: Luke
The infirmary lights buzz faintly, the antiseptic scent oddly comforting. My side still aches, but I can move. Grey had sat silently near the edge of the bed a while, eyes distant, almost… softer.
"Remember when you used to sketch Eva in class?" I say quietly, watching him lean back.
He lets out the barest sound—a breath that might've been a chuckle. "She made me."
"She threatened you," I grin.
"She made me," he repeats, eyes unfocused, somewhere far from here.
>> Flashback — few years ago <<
I remember that place.
The lab.
We'd go there sometimes, Grey and I. We thought it was normal. The people in white coats said we were special. Said the world was changing, and we'd help shape it. We didn't question it then.
Dad... Dad was always scarce. Barely home. When he was, he'd sit me down and ask me to read his journals aloud to him. His handwriting got shakier each year. "I'm forgetting things, son," he'd say. "But I need to remember... for your sake."
What did they do to him?
To us?
I don't even remember how he died. We just... came home one day. And he was gone. No funeral. No breakdown.
We didn't cry.
Mom lost herself after Eva's accident. She started whispering things to the walls. Eva used to be bright—glow-in-the-dark laughter, sunflower dresses. Then she started hiding in corners. Speaking nonsense. Loving the dark.
We never talked about it.
Mr. Stone—Greyson's dad—died earlier. He wasn't warm, but he gave us weird, amazing gadgets. Toys with wires and little lights. One time he built a handheld projector that played looped constellations. He made science fun.
Those times felt simple.
They weren't.
POV: Grey
We've been stationed at this outpost longer than expected.
Briefing said we'd head to Sector 1 in three days.
But that was six days ago.
Something's wrong—they're stalling. Even the commanding officers are tenser. No updates. No comms.
My gear's half-packed already. Tonight, I plan to slip out. I need to check the place I mapped—the strange structure I marked when we first arrived. It's a long shot, but something's there. Something familiar.
Maybe connected to Eva. Or my father.
I don't know what I'll find.
POV: Jane
I let out a breath and squeeze the trigger.
An arrow thuds into the dummy's eye socket, dead center. Better.
My arms are sore from repetition, but I don't stop. None of us do. We've been training more aggressively. There's a tension in the air—everyone feels it.
Scarlett passes by behind me, twirling her knife idly, sweat sticking her shirt to her back. She nods once. I nod back. That's enough practice for now.
Further off, Blair's doing pull-ups beside Jonah. Their banter has quieted lately. The weight of the last two months is settling into everyone's bones.
Tomorrow might be different.
Tomorrow might be war.
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POV: Scarlett
The moon's out by the time I finish cleaning my bow. The string feels tight again. Worn, but tight. Like me.
I sit by the fence near the storage unit, looking past the field into the dark horizon. There's a bottle of something sharp beside me—half gone.
The quiet's been comforting lately. But tonight, it feels thick.
Jane walks over eventually. She doesn't say much. Just leans beside the fence. Hands in her pockets. We all just took a shower after training
"I always thought I'd be the first to die," I mutter. "Back when all this started."
She stays silent, letting me speak.
"I was reckless. Hotheaded. My dad used to call me a sparkplug." I smile faintly, bitterly. "Always burning."
I pause. "He left when I was twelve. Came home once after. Drunk. Called mom a witch. She didn't flinch. She just told me to lock the door behind her."
Jane finally speaks. "My dad's still around, I think. Somewhere. But I haven't seen him since the outbreak. My mom and I didn't really talk after I turned seventeen. She thought I was too wild."
I laugh. "Were you?"
She smirks. "A little."
We're quiet again.
"You think anyone ever gets used to this?" I ask.
"No," she says. "But we learn to live with it."
POV: Jane
Later, I sit by myself near the armory steps. My fingers twitch for a cigarette, but I quit two months ago. Cold turkey. Thought it'd help me feel like I still had some control.
My mom was a cop. Always looked so neat in her uniform, boots shining. I wanted to be like her.
I still remember the last time we spoke.
"You can't fight the world, Jane," she said.
I told her I didn't want to. I just didn't want it to fight me first.
She didn't get it. Never did.
I think I wanted her approval more than anything.
Even now.
Sometimes when I'm aiming down a scope, I imagine she's watching. And for a moment, I stand a little straighter.
Not out of pride.
Just hope.
Hope that maybe I made her proud—even if I never got the chance to say goodbye.
POV: Jonah
I finish restringing my guitar by lantern light, sitting just outside our tent. The strings feel smoother than I expected—almost forgiving.
Blair's inside,i think she's sleeping already. She trained too hard today.
She always does.
I remember when she first picked up parkour. Jumping from roof to roof like it was some cartoon show. Mom would lose her mind every time she got home with a scraped knee. "You're not a damn ninja!" she'd scream.
Blair would just laugh.
Our mom was Japanese. Traditional. Disciplined. Our dad wasn't around long. Divorced early. Drifted even earlier.
But Blair always took pride in her roots. Practiced kata in the yard after school. Kept her hair tied just like Mom's.
I didn't understand it back then.
Now I think I do.
We all hold onto something—an old shirt, a name, a ritual.
Me?
It's this guitar.
It's all I have left that doesn't reek of blood.
POV: Blair
I couldn't sleep, after tossing and turning. i get up.
I walked to the training lot, but turned back halfway. I didn't want to interrupt the peace.
That's when I saw Jonah. Hunched over his guitar again. That sound—it takes me back.
I remember sneaking into his room when I was ten. Watching him strum to some soft song, humming quietly. He never noticed.
I think I always knew he'd protect me.
Even before all this.
But now?
It feels like I should protect him.
I'm older now. Wiser. Stronger. I'm not the girl with scraped knees and reckless flips anymore.
We're all more than what we were.
And tomorrow... we'll prove it.
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