Tony woke up with a jolt.

  No darkness. No graphite. Only a white ceiling, cracked by thin lines like a spiderweb, and the smell of old wood and dust.

  He sat up, his head pounding as if someone had driven a rusted nail into it. Memory returned in violent, fragmented waves: Tower Gamma, the screaming quartz, the cold that emptied him.

  He looked at his hands. They were pale, trembling. They seemed to belong to someone else.

  "Alex? Cristy?"

  His voice came out as a wet rasp. No answer.

  ?He dragged himself out of bed. His legs were jelly, heavy as lead, but they held him. He opened the room's door and found himself on a small wooden landing overlooking a living room on the floor below.

  The air was stale, thick with cigarette smoke that stagnated under the low ceiling like a dirty cloud. The windows were sealed shut by heavy curtains that only let in blades of gray light, turning the room into a closed box.

  Outside, the wind scratched against the shutters like fingernails on wood.

  A tense, subdued murmur of voices drifted up from below.

  ?Tony leaned over the railing, gripping the wood so he wouldn't slip. The floor seemed to sway.

  There were five or six people down there, sitting on worn-out couches. They were arguing urgently, pointing at maps spread out on a coffee table.

  In the center, a massive figure in a plaid flannel shirt dominated the scene. He was massaging his forehead with a huge hand, looking exhausted.

  Tony widened his eyes, struggling to focus.

  He knew that silhouette. It was the smell of syrupy pancakes and burnt coffee on a Saturday morning.

  ?"Buddy?"

  The word barely came out, but in the sudden silence of the living room, it sounded like a gunshot.

  Every head snapped up. Tom, the scrawny man sitting in the armchair, licked his dry lips, shooting a nervous glance at the barred front door.

  The man in flannel stood up, nearly knocking over the coffee table.

  "Tony!"

  ?Tony took a step, but his knees gave way. The world tilted.

  Buddy Collins didn't wait. He took the stairs two at a time with an agility unthinkable for his size and intercepted him before he could fall, supporting him with hands that felt like steel grips wrapped in cotton.

  "I got you, kid. I got you."

  ?He guided him down the last few steps and sat him on the nearest couch, waving the others away with a sharp gesture.

  Tony gasped, the air entering his lungs with difficulty, too thick. He tried to focus on the familiar face that was now looking at him with an unknown gravity.

  "Buddy..." Tony panted, clutching his shirt like a castaway. "How... how did you find us? We were under the Tower... the guards..."

  ?Buddy placed a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder.

  "I know, Tony. Easy," he said, using the deep voice he usually reserved for recommending the daily special. "We pulled you out of that mine a second before Silas's rescue team arrived."

  ?Tony looked around. The strangers were watching him with respect mixed with awe. He felt trapped, crushed between those dark walls and those heavy stares.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Who... who are you people?" he asked, his throat as dry as sandpaper. "And where are the others?"

  ?Buddy straightened up.

  "We are the Circle of Dissonants," he replied, voice firm. "Rebel Resonants. Those who chose not to serve the Towers."

  He paused, letting the words land in the smoke.

  "Your mother, Sarah... she was one of us. She was one of us."

  ?Tony heard a ringing in his ears. Sarah.

  "You... you're a Resonant?"

  Buddy nodded his head gravely.

  "Since long before you were born."

  ?Tony shook his head. The room was spinning.

  "But how... how do you live out here? Without the Towers?" He stopped, a wave of nausea rising in his throat at the memory of the cavern. "Without feeding?"

  ?Buddy's expression changed. A shade of guilt crossed his face. He exchanged a quick glance with the others: a gray-haired woman, a scrawny man with a scar. They all lowered their gaze.

  "Human beings aren't the only source of bio-electric energy, Tony," Buddy said quietly.

  ?In the distance, almost covered by the wind, came the rumble of an engine passing on the main road. Everyone in the room held their breath for three seconds, until the sound faded.

  "We learned to adapt," Buddy continued, almost reluctantly. "We feed on animals."

  Tony widened his eyes.

  "We don't prey on wild animals," Buddy clarified, raising a hand. "We only use those destined for slaughter. Chickens, mostly. We absorb their life energy a moment before they are killed. It's... enough to survive. Barely enough."

  ?A shiver of disgust ran down Tony's spine. He imagined Buddy draining the life from a terrified animal.

  His expression couldn't hide his repulsion.

  ?"Don't look at us like that, kid," Tom interjected, his voice hoarse. "Unless you want to go back to Headquarters and act as a battery for Valeryk, you better learn to like the taste of the coop."

  ?"Tom is right," Buddy admitted, sighing. "It's a life of scraps, Tony. But it's a free life."

  ?At that moment, shuffling footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  Alex and Cristy were coming down, leaning on each other. They were pale ghosts.

  Tony tried to stand up, but fell back onto the couch, exhausted. Buddy and Tom helped the two teenagers sit down.

  "Tony..." Cristy murmured. "We're alive."

  "Barely," Alex added, staring at Buddy with suspicion.

  Buddy briefly explained the situation to them. The Dissonants, the chickens, survival. Alex and Cristy listened in silence, too tired for shock.

  ?"So you're trapped," Buddy concluded. "You are public enemy number one. The sheriff, TerraCore, the loyal Resonants. Everyone wants you."

  He ran a hand over his face.

  "You must not leave this house. Not until we have a plan."

  ?The gray-haired woman approached Tony. She had watery eyes.

  "You remind me so much of Sarah," she said, with a sweetness that clashed with that closed room. "You clench your jaw exactly like she did."

  "You knew my mother?"

  "She was an important friend. The only one who listened to me when everyone else thought I was crazy. I'm Katherine Grant."

  ?Grant. The murdered watchman.

  Katherine smiled sadly.

  "I am Thomas's daughter. The man they killed in the north area."

  ?Buddy clapped his hands, breaking the moment. He approached Tony, digging into his pocket.

  "Here," he said. "You were clutching this in your hand when we found you. You wouldn't let it go."

  ?Tony opened his palm.

  It was the quartz.

  But upon contact with his skin, it didn't return the sensation of a stone. It wasn't cold. It wasn't inert.

  It was warm. It pulsed with a temperature that felt biological, as if it had retained the heat of something alive. Or as if it were sleeping.

  "Thank you," Tony said, his voice cracking. "It's my mother's pendant. She always wore it around her neck."

  ?Buddy froze.

  He stared at the stone in Tony's palm. His jaw tightened imperceptibly, his nostrils flared for a fraction of a second, as if he had recognized a threat, not a piece of jewelry. Then he looked up.

  "Tony..." he said slowly. "I knew Sarah since we were six years old. I spent every day with her until the end."

  He paused, his eyes locked on the boy's.

  "I never saw that pendant on your mother. Never."

  ?Tony felt a cold shiver behind his eyes.

  "That's impossible," he countered. "I have a clear memory. I was a kid. She was sitting on the edge of my bed. She was wearing it."

  He tried to summon the image. His mother's face was sharp, her smile sweet. But when he tried to look at the pendant in the memory, the image flickered. Like a corrupted file. Like film burning in a projector.

  The memory was there, but it felt... implanted. Wrong.

  For a second, Tony wasn't sure he was the child sitting on that bed. He felt like a stranger in his own head.

  ?Buddy stared at him again, troubled, then shook his head. It wasn't the time.

  "Alright," he said, his voice turning operational again. "By now Silas will have unleashed every hound he has. Stonemouth is no longer safe."

  He turned to the three teenagers.

  "We will escort you out tonight. We'll take you where no one will look for you."

  ?Cristy raised her head, her voice barely a whisper.

  "Where?! To another slaughterhouse?"

  ?Buddy shook his head.

  "To old Edith's," he replied.

  ?The name dropped into the room like a stone in a pond.

  The subdued chatter died instantly. Tom looked away, staring at his shoes. Katherine hugged herself, as if she had felt an icy draft. No one dared add a word.

  "To the Returning Bay," Buddy concluded.

  ?The three teenagers exchanged a confused look.

  "To whose?" they asked in unison.

  In Tony's palm, the quartz didn't vibrate. It squeezed back.

  And for an instant, Tony felt that the hand no longer belonged to him.

  Author’s Note ??