Page 31 of The Atom Between Us

Kang returns to me. “You’re bleeding,” he says, and I realize there’s a line of blood running from my ear to my chin, sticky and warm.

“Occupational hazard,” I say, trying to brush it away.

He watches my hand shake, then pulls a packet from his own kit and hands it to me. I hesitate. He holds it out, insistent. I take it, press it to my skin. It stings, which means it’s working. “You were gathering supplies?” he prompts, voice bored, but the micro-muscles in his jaw twitch at the lie.

I nod. “That’s right.”

He stares for a full three seconds, then lets it pass. “Next time, use the northern route. This sector’s not stable.” I want to snap at him, tell him he’s not my keeper, but my tongue feels swollen. Instead, I just say, “Noted.”

The silence is heavy, loaded with all the things neither of us wants to say. Maven clears their throat, breaking the tension. “Are we free to go, Captain?”

He nods once. “Escort’s at the perimeter. Don’t stray.” He turns, but as he does, my foot slips on the damp grass. I catch myself, but not before his hand shoots out, steadying me by the upper arm.

For a split second, our bodies are close. Too close. I feel the heat of his palm through the sleeve, the way his fingers press—not soft, not hard, just perfectly calibrated for control. I jerk away, but the jolt lingers, a current running up my spine. His face changes—not much, just a softening around the eyes, a question that’s immediately erased.

He lets go. “You’re fine,” he says, but it sounds more like an order than an observation.

Reyes returns, breathless. “Perimeter’s clear, sir. Orders?”

“Document and burn,” Kang says, then jerks his chin at us. “Home. Now.”

We move, Maven and I, through the field of soldiers and ashes. At the perimeter, I catch Kang watching us. Not just a glance—full-on, eyes narrowed, brain running a thousand parallel simulations.

He brings a finger up, taps it once against the RadShield at his own collar, then lets his hand fall to his side. I don’t know if it’s a warning or an invitation.

Maven mutters, “Weird bastard.”

I can’t disagree.

We walk the last hundred meters in silence. At the gate, the guards let us through without question, and the world contracts to the thin line of light spilling from Maven’s hut.

Inside, I peel off the jacket, examine the wound. It’s nothing—just a scratch, but it bleeds like it’s got something to prove. Maven hands me a rag, eyes dark.

“You fought like a goddamn spec ops tonight,” they say. “When were you going to tell me you were a lethal weapon?”

I laugh, but it comes out choked. “I didn’t know.”

Maven shakes their head. “That’s not normal, Diana. None of this is.”

I want to argue, but instead I just stare at my hands, stained and shaking, and wonder what else is buried in the part of me the world tried to erase.

On the table, the RadShield pulses—steady, unwavering. Outside, the guards close the gates for the night.

And somewhere, not far enough away, Kang waits.

I should be afraid.

But what I feel is worse.

I want to know what happens next.

The basin at dawn is a memory of the old world—a flat pool bordered by granite and scrub, the water so still it makes you question every motion of your own body. The light is soft, blue with the promise of ultraviolet, and the only sound is the distant thrum of a generator somewhere near the settlement’s north gate.

I stand at the edge, boots just touching the frost line, the RadShield pendant burning a cold spot against my clavicle. Maven is ten paces behind, arms crossed, scanning the perimeter like she expects the morning itself to come in for the kill.

Kang is right on time. Not early, not late—just perfectly engineered to arrive at the moment my nerves start to fray. His approach is pure Authority: head up, hands behind his back, stride so precise it shames the gravel under his boots.

He stops two meters away in, offers a nod so shallow it barely disturbs the air. The sun catches the green of his eyes and for a second I see something alive in him, a flicker that’s gone before I can name it. I cut straight to it. “Why were you there yesterday?” I keep my voice low, but not for privacy. For control.