Chapter 182 Shattering loss

Chapter 182: Chapter 182 Shattering loss

The hallway stretched before them like a world of its own that doesn’t want them in. Miles felt every step in his leg, a sharp pain that started at his knee and climbed up his spine like fire. He had his arm wrapped around Astrid’s waist, pulling him along, feeling the weight of him grow heavier with each passing second. Astrid’s feet dragged against the marble floor, his body sagging against Miles, his breath coming in short, wet gasps that sounded wrong in ways Miles did not want to think about.

"Just a little more," Miles said, his voice was low and strained. "The door is right there. You see it? Right there."

Astrid did not answer. His head hung forward, his dark purple hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His hand clutched at Miles’s shirt, fingers curled tight like he was holding on to something that might slip away. The panic room door waited at the end of the hall, a heavy slab of steel that was supposed to guarantee safety. It was maybe fifteen feet away, Fifteen feet that felt like forever.

They had spent four days together in this house. Four days of hiding and running and waiting for Luna. Days of Astrid reading old books out loud in the quiet hours, his voice soft and steady, making the fear feel smaller. Four days of shared meals in the dark kitchen, conversations about everything they could think, of Miles learning the way Astrid’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was thinking, the way he made Miles feel like maybe they could survive this after all.

Four days was not long. But it was enough to grow fond of someone. More than fond, enough to feel something warm and fragile take root in his chest. Enough to know that losing Astrid would break something inside him that could not be fixed. Miles doesn’t have someone to care for but Astrid now is that person.

They were ten feet away when the force hit them.

It was not a physical blow. There was no sound, no warning. Just a sudden, crushing pressure inside Miles’s skull, like something had reached into his brain and squeezed. His vision went white. His legs gave out. He heard Astrid cry out beside him, a sharp, pained sound, and then they were both falling, hitting the floor hard, tangled together in a heap.

Miles’s bad leg twisted beneath him. The pain was blinding. He bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming, tasting copper and salt. For a moment he could not move, could not think, could only lie there and wait for the world to stop spinning.

Beside him, Astrid was curled in on himself, both hands pressed to his head, his face twisted in agony.

"My power," Astrid gasped. His voice was thin, broken. "It’s gone. The parasite I feel is eating it away, I can’t feel it anymore. I can’t feel anything."

He tried to lift his hand. Miles watched him reach out, fingers spread, reaching for the energy that had always come so easily before. The shimmering shield of dark blood that had protected them so many times. The power that made Astrid more than human, that made him special, that made him their only real weapon against the things outside.

Nothing happened. No light. No shield. Just a faint flicker, and then nothing at all. Astrid’s hand fell back to his side, limp and useless. The look on his face was not just pain. It was a loss. Like a part of him had been cut away and thrown into the dark.

"Don’t care," Miles said. He forced himself up, ignoring the scream of his leg, the way his knee buckled and threatened to give out. He grabbed Astrid by the collar of his shirt and pulled. "Get up. We have to move."

Astrid tried. Miles could see him trying. His legs moved, his hands pushed against the floor, but his body would not cooperate. He was too weak. Too drained. The parasite had taken too much.

Miles pulled harder. His leg was on fire. Every step was a battle. He dragged Astrid the last few feet to the door, his breath coming in ragged gasps, sweat pouring down his face. He slammed his palm against the biometric scanner and waited.

The light blinked red.

He tried again, the color Red.

Again that same Red.

The system was dead. The whole network, the cameras, the locks, the security measures he had spent hours learning and memorizing and understanding, all of it was gone. Broken and worthless. The house had turned against them, its defenses crumbling so hard.

"No, no, no," Miles muttered. He hit the scanner with his fist, hard enough to hurt. "Come on. Come on."

From somewhere in the house, he heard wood splinter. A crash. Then a sound that made his blood run cold. A heavy, dragging step. Slow and Deliberate, Coming very close.

It was getting nearer.

"Miles." Astrid’s voice was sharp, cutting through the fog of panic. "Miles, look at me."

He turned. Astrid was on the floor, propped against the wall, one hand pressed to his side. His face was pale, his eyes wide, but there was something steady in his gaze. Something that said he was still here. Still fighting.

"You can do this," Astrid said. "You know this house. You know the systems. Find a way."

"I can’t." The words came out broken. "It’s all dead. Everything is dead."

"Then find something else. There’s always something else. You told me that."

Miles stared at him. In the dim light of the hallway, with the sounds of destruction growing louder, Astrid looked small. Fragile. But his eyes were bright, fierce, refusing to give up. And Miles remembered why he had grown so fond of him. Why he had started to care so much. Why the thought of losing him felt like dying.

He looked down at the door. Below the biometric scanner, hidden in shadow, was a small keypad. Old, and a Manual. A backup system, installed by someone paranoid enough to not trust the main network_probably Luna herself. Miles had seen it in the security logs, had memorized the emergency code without thinking, the way he memorized everything about this house.

He punched in the numbers. His fingers were shaking. He got one wrong, cursed, and tried again.

A series of beeps. Then a heavy, metallic click.

The door unlocked.

Miles almost laughed. Almost cried. He turned to grab Astrid, to pull him into the room, to get them both safe.

That was when he saw the thing at the end of the hall.

It was tall. Too tall. Its body was thin, stretched, like something that had been pulled and pulled until it barely resembled a human shape anymore. Its skin was gray and tight, stretched over bones that jutted out at wrong angles. Its arms were too long, its fingers too many. And its face, if it could be called a face, was a mask of hunger and hate.

It was not looking at Miles.

It was looking at Astrid.

Time slowed. Miles saw everything in pieces, like a series of images flashing before his eyes. The creature’s arm lifting. The bone spike sliding out from its forearm, long and sharp and wet. Astrid is trying to move, trying to twist away, his body too weak, too slow. The spike shot forward, fast as a snake, aimed straight at Astrid’s chest.

Miles moved. He did not think. He just moved. He threw himself between them, reaching for Astrid, trying to pull him out of the way.

He was not fast enough.

The spike caught Astrid in the side. It went in deep, punching through skin and muscle, and the sound it made was wet and horrible. Astrid’s body arched. His mouth opened. A thin, bloody gurgle escaped from his lips. He did not scream. He could not scream. He just fell, his weight pulling Miles down with him, both of them collapsing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

The creature screeched. It pulled back, its bone spike retracting, dripping red. It stared at them for a moment, its eyeless face tilted, and then it turned and disappeared into the shadows of the house.

Miles did not care. He did not care about the creature or the door or the danger. All he cared about was the boy in his arms, the boy who was bleeding, the boy whose eyes were glazed with pain.

"Astrid. Astrid, look at me."

He dragged him into the panic room, his leg screaming, his whole body shaking. He hit the button to close the door and it slid shut with a hiss, sealing them inside. The sudden quiet was deafening. The only sounds were Astrid’s ragged breathing and Miles’s own heartbeat, loud in his ears.

He laid Astrid down on the floor, careful with so much gentleness as supposed, and he pressed his hands to the wound. The blood was hot. It trickled out between his fingers, dark and thick. He could feel the heat of it, the life of it, slipping away.

"It’s okay," Miles said. His voice was shaking. "You’re okay. We’re safe now. The door is closed. Nothing can get in."

Astrid’s eyes fluttered open. They found Miles’s face, and for a moment, something like peace crossed his features. Something similar to acceptance.

"Miles," he whispered. His voice was a thin thread, barely there. "I can’t feel my power. It’s just... empty. There’s nothing left."

"I don’t care about your power." Miles pressed harder on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, knowing it was useless, knowing he was just pretending. "I don’t care about any of that. I just need you to stay with me. Okay? Just stay."

Astrid tried to smile. It was a weak thing, fragile, but it was still him. Still Astrid. "Your security system," he said, his voice fading. "It’s a mess. You know that, right?"

"I know." Tears were falling now, hot and fast, running down Miles’s cheeks and dripping onto Astrid’s face. "I’m terrible at my job. Worst security guard ever."

"But you got the door open." Astrid’s hand found Miles’s, cold fingers wrapping around his. "You got me inside. You did good."

"I didn’t do enough." The words came out broken, cracked. "I should have been faster. I should have—"

"Stop." Astrid’s grip tightened, just slightly. "Stop. You did everything. You always did everything. That’s why I..."

He stopped. His breath hitched. His eyes, still fixed on Miles’s face, began to lose focus.

"That’s why I liked you," he finished. "From the start. You never gave up. Even when things were bad. Even when there was no hope. You kept fighting."

Miles could not speak. His throat was closed, his chest tight, his heart breaking into pieces he knew he would never be able to put back together. He pulled Astrid closer, cradling him against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body start to fade.

"Don’t go," he begged. The words were ugly, raw, and desperate. "Please. Don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t want to do this alone."

Astrid’s hand squeezed his one last time. His lips moved, forming words that were barely a whisper.

"It’s okay," he said. "It’s not so scary. Not with you here."

His eyes stayed on Miles. They stayed open, stayed focused, and stayed him for one more moment. Then the light in them dimmed. Faded, Went out.

His hand went limp.

"Astrid? Astrid!"

Miles shook him. Gently at first, then harder, then desperately. "No. No, no, no. Wake up. Please wake up. Please."

There was no answer. Just silence and that stillness. Just the quietness of a room built to keep them safe, now holding only one of them.

Miles pressed his forehead to Astrid’s. The skin was already cold. He could smell the blood, the sweat, the faint scent of whatever soap Astrid had used that morning. He could feel the weight of him, the shape of him, the absence of him all at once.

And then Miles broke.

The sob came from somewhere deep, somewhere he did not know existed. It was not a clean cry. It was ugly, animalistic, ripped from his chest like something collapsed. He pulled Astrid’s body against him, holding him as tight as he could, as if he could pour his own life into the shell, as if he could trade his breath for Astrid’s, his heart for his.

He cried for the four days they had shared. The quiet mornings, Astrid looked at him, like he was worth something, like he mattered. He cried for the future they would never have, the things they would never say, the moments they would never share. He cried for the loss of a light that had only just begun to shine, now snuffed out before it could truly bloom and his one true friend.

Miles cried until his voice was gone. Until his body was empty. Until there was nothing left but the weight in his arms and the silence in the room and the cold, creeping knowledge that he might forever be alone.

And still he held on, Still he did not let go. Because letting go meant accepting it was over. Letting go meant saying that scary goodbye.

And Miles was not ready to say goodbye.

Not yet, Not ever!!