"Is the accuser always holy now? Were they born this morning as clean as God's fingers? I'll tell you what's walking Salem –vengeance is walking Salem. We are what we always were in Salem, but now the little crazy children are jangling the keys of the kingdom, and common vengeance writes the law!" ― Arthur Miller

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The soft whisper of wind skimmed across cracked stone and littered gutters as Kailey wandered the streets of Damerel, her arms crossed and jacket pulled tighter around her frame, as if to ward off the choking weight of the air rather than the faint chill.

The morning sunlight filtered through a grey-tinted haze above, bathing the town in a diluted gold that did nothing to lift the oppressiveness bearing down on it.

Damerel. It used to be a quiet town. Not rich, not poor. Just steady. A border town close to Zalfari, with a population that once prided itself on resilience and a kind of quiet hospitality, nestled among modest rooftops, green hills, and stone-paved roads.

It was the sort of place that had once made Kailey feel hidden. Not isolated, but protected. Tucked away.

Not anymore.

Today, the silence felt like an accusation.

She walked past the local florist first—once a cheerful corner full of bright petals and ribbon streamers cascading from baskets in the windows. Now its glass panes were smeared with cracked dust and paint, with angry red letters scrawled across it in crude handwriting:

Rot with the other Freaks.

Burned for our safety.

Gifted = Devils.

Kailey flinched at each one, her hand instinctively pressing against her waist where her sidearm lay holstered under her jacket.

There was something about the way people looked at strangers now. Something that pierced past fabric and bone.

Shops that once welcomed her now had boards nailed across the windows. Others had simply given up—their doors torn off the hinges, merchandise spilled and spoiled across the tiled floors, the skeletal remains of once-living livelihoods. Some still bore scorch marks. Others had traces of blood too stubborn to scrub clean.

The tension in the town was a noose. And the knot was tightening.

Kailey walked on.

Her footsteps echoed over the deserted stone road as she passed an old bakery, the scent of cinnamon and flour long replaced by mildew and rot. She kept her eyes forward, but her mind was swimming, drifting from thought to thought like pieces of driftwood on a storm-tossed sea.

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Karl.

He hadn't been someone she'd known. Not truly.

She'd heard his name, once or twice—through Raul's old stories, or the strange silence Sera sometimes fell into when his name passed her lips. To Aegis, he had been a whisper. A myth. The kind of man you didn't believe still existed after what the world had become.

Someone who had tried to do good… And was destroyed for it.

And yet… He had looked at her. Really looked. Even in his final hour, eyes dimmed and lungs giving way. He had seen her not as a stranger, or as a medic, or even just another Gifted—but as a person.

That had haunted her.

Aegis hadn't spoken much on the boat ride back. The water had glittered like glass beneath the setting sun as the waves carried Karl's ashes into the sea. Sera had knelt beside the pyre first. Raul had stood just behind her, his hands clenched so tightly they'd trembled. Letha's eyes had been unreadable, but Kailey had caught her silently mouthing something—a prayer, perhaps, or an apology. Zest had said nothing at all. He had stood apart from the rest, staring into the flames, his jaw set and expression carved in stone, as if daring the fire to judge him.

Even Leroy and Alisa had come. And when they left, they did so with hard promises—that Blaze would keep eyes open, and ears sharper. That the world wasn't done hurting yet.

And they were right.

Kailey turned down a quieter street now. One she'd walked down often. Delbrück Music Café sat at the far end—its white sign still swinging slightly from the eaves, despite a large crack down its left edge. The place where Jonan had once played the guitar once a month on every Thursday evening, along with his bandmates.

Where people had once clapped along to their music, cheered for encores, and where Kailey had once laughed over lukewarm coffee and pretended, for a few hours at least, that the world wasn't falling apart outside.

Her chest ached.

There hadn't been music here in weeks.

She walked slower now, her boots scuffing against loose stones. Her hand hovered near her belt. Out of habit. Or maybe paranoia. Even in Damerel, the rumours spread like wildfire.

About children being dragged into the woods. About secret symbols etched into homes. About underground labs and seductions and curses and the way the sky had flickered red the night Veridale was destroyed.

They didn't know why it had burned. Only that it had.

And to them, that was enough.

Kailey broke out of her thoughts just then as something caught her attention.

A rustle. Not from behind, but somewhere to her left.

Kailey froze. Her fingers wrapped around the grip of her gun.

Another sound reaches her ears, clearer this time. A weak, choked grunt, like a breath caught between pain and desperation. It came from an alleyway wedged between two buildings—one an abandoned apartment block, the other a fire-gutted bookstore.

She stepped slowly toward it.

Another shuffle. Something slumping against metal.

Her heart thudded. She moved carefully, slowly approaching the edge of the alley. Her other hand reached towards her side for her gun. In this town, in this climate, caution was survival.

And then…

Her breath caught in her throat.

Behind the dumpster, curled against the grime-caked wall, was a figure Kailey recognised immediately despite the state he was in.

Singed blonde hair stuck to his forehead in matted clumps. His black coat was torn and streaked with ash, mud, and dried blood. A deep, wet stain spread across his side. His skin had taken on a waxy pallor, and one of his eyes was swollen nearly shut, a bruise blooming across his cheek.

"Jonan!" Kailey gasped, darting forward and dropping to her knees beside him, heedless of the dirt or blood.

Jonan's eyes fluttered open at her voice. Just barely. "Kailey…" he rasped. His voice was brittle and cracked, like broken glass swept across stone. His lips were dry and chapped.

"What happened? Why are you…?" Kailey was already reaching for her phone, swiping up. "We need to get you help—"

"No," Jonan's hand, shaking, reached up and clamped onto her wrist. His fingers trembled. His grip was weak but insistent. "No hospital…"

Kailey hesitated. Her pulse was racing now. She looked around the alley—shadows and silence. A discarded tire. A shattered crate. The distant bark of a dog somewhere deeper in the city. Her eyes darted back to him.

He was still bleeding. Badly.

"I can't just leave you like this," she said, lowering her voice.

His hand dropped from hers, the effort too much. His head lolled.

Kailey bit her lip.

Delbrück. It wasn't far. And the owner, Eric, had always been kind to Jonan. Unless something had changed.

She didn't have time to wonder. He needed warmth. A place to lie down. Something for that wound. He was still alive, just barely. But in a town like this? Where the Gifted were hunted, where even those who helped them were branded traitors?

Even someone like Jonan, a performer, a musician, a damn ESA agent, wasn't safe anymore.

"Alright," Kailey said, softly, pulling his arm across her shoulders. He didn't protest. "But you're staying awake. Okay? Don't pass out on me now."

She braced herself, using her knees and lower body to support his weight as she slowly lifted him, staggering slightly as his body slumped against hers.

"I got you," she whispered.

His breath was faint against her neck.

And as Kailey half-dragged and half-carried him out of the alleyway and into the darkening world beyond, her mind was spinning.

Something was coming. A reckoning.

She didn't know how many more they could save before it swallowed them all.

But right now, she had Jonan.

And she would not lose another.

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