Twenty minutes later, Elias was pushing his rusted truck through the dense coastal fog. The headlights barely punched through the grey soup, reflecting off the skeletal pine trees that lined the cliffside road. His mind raced back to the academy, to the four of them—Elias, Marcus, Silas, and Clara. They had promised to look out for each other, no matter where life scattered them. Marcus was the one who came up with the emergency protocol.
He stepped out of the truck, the air thick with the smell of salt, rotting wood, and wet earth. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket but did not turn it on. He moved by muscle memory toward the old pier. Aden Aden Aden
"They're here," Marcus whispered, a strange, calm resolve washing over his face. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small flare gun. "I’ll buy you five minutes. Take the old fisherman's trail down the south face of the cliff. My boat is tied to the low buoy. Don't look back, Elias. Just go." Twenty minutes later, Elias was pushing his rusted
"Who is clearing the board, Marcus? Sit down, you're bleeding." They had promised to look out for each
Elias sat up, the chill of the room biting at his bare shoulders. His heart hammered against his ribs. He looked over at Elena, still breathing softly, oblivious. He carefully rolled out of bed, grabbing his jeans from the floor and his jacket from the back of the chair.
"Aden" was not a person. It was an old fishing outpost on the jagged northern coast, abandoned fifteen years ago after the Great Surge. It was also the codename for a contingency they all swore they would never have to use.