Page 31 of Ghosts of the Dead

“Even in the apocalypse?” Jace asks.

“Especially in the apocalypse,” Mars says around a mouthful of food. “Besides,” he gestures toward me and Autumn with his plastic camping spoon, “look how well the ‘getting comfortable’ part is working out. This is the best state I’ve ever seen Cas.”

I hold Autumn a little closer. A little tighter.

Not because something complicated is building between the four of us, though it is, but because I need to. Because she came to find me when no one else would. Because she offered safety in the dark.

In return, I’ll give her every part of me in the light. No matter who’s watching.

Maybe it’s because I’m realizing I’m not the only one drawn to her. Not the only one who wants to hear more of her laughter. To see more of that fire.

The way Mars watches her. The way Jace looks when he thinks no one sees.

We’re all falling for the same impossible woman.

I lower my head to the curve of her neck and breathe her in. She leans back into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like we’ve been doing this for years instead of days.

Maybe it is natural.

And maybe that’s what scares me the most.

Because she’s already become the thing that makes the dark bearable.

And I’m already too far gone to let her go.

12

AUTUMN

The morning heat is already thick and pressing down like a force on the back of my neck. Sweat sticks my shirt to my spine, and the air inside our crumbling shelter tastes like sun-warmed dust and rusting metal. Shadows from broken beams stretch across the floor where we crouch in a loose circle, staring at a grimy scrap of canvas that could either hold all the answers or be a dead end.

Mars holds it up to the light filtering through the gaps. The material is stiff with dirt, but the stitching is still intact. “Stitching’s tactical. Maybe military? Could be old-world militia or hired mercs. Reinforced seams, double-stitched at the edges. Definitely not some scavenger’s coat. Could’ve come off a field jacket or reinforced cargo pants. Honestly, this could be anything.”

I lean closer. The fabric’s edge is clean, not weathered. “It’s recent. Couple weeks, max. The ends haven’t even frayed.”

Jace crouches beside me. “Here, look at this.” He flips the fabric over in Mars’s hands to inspect it. “Tear mark is diagonal. Probably ripped while running. It snagged on something, that’s for sure. But how and why?”

“Not just snagged,” Caspian adds from beside me. He’s crouched low, but his posture is tense. “There’s a symbol here. It’s faint, but it’s there.”

I blink and lean in closer.

Sure enough, what I thought were only mud smudges now resolve into something else. A partial shape of some kind. It’s faded black and curved like an arc with jagged points fanning out along the edge.

“What is that? A sun? A compass? A weird moon?” I ask, tilting my head a little.

Jace straightens, and his expression sharpens. “Wait. I’ve seen something like that.”

My gaze snaps to him. “Where?”

He grabs his binoculars and rises. “This morning when I was scanning the area. There’s an old train station, about three miles northeast. I glimpsed a weathered sign with a symbol that looked similar. Distance made it hard to tell.”

My fingers trace the symbol and I wondering what craziness we’re about to embark on. Something about this feels dark and dangerous.

Jace frowns, adjusting the binoculars to look in the opposite direction. “And…southwest. Near an abandoned checkpoint. There’s another sign. It has a general shape, but I can’t confirm if it matches. We’ll need to get closer.”

“Dregs don’t wear uniforms,” Mars says, still frowning down at the fabric. “And they sure as hell don’t do coordination.”

“Yeah. They’re too much of a mess,” Jace scoffs.

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