Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three knocks, slow and even, against the storeroom door.
Grey’s eyes opened before the third one landed. He was already on his feet, dagger in hand, though he could not remember drawing it.
The rain had not let up. It still beat against the roof of the gym like something begging to be let in, and the dark in the room was so thick he could barely see his own fingers. Behind him, something rustled.
Bolt was up. Grey didn’t need to look to know it. He could hear the low growl building in the hound’s chest.
"Easy," he whispered.
A soft shuffle followed from the corner. Silver sat up, hair falling over her face, and when she lifted her head her eyes caught the faintest trace of light. She said nothing. She only looked at the door, then at him.
’Good. At least one of us wakes up quietly.’
Knock. Knock.
"Mr. Grey?" A woman’s voice. Calm, careful, every word placed exactly where she wanted it. "I apologise for the hour. It is Veronica. I have Richard with me."
Grey did not answer immediately. Two voices, one steady, one shifting its weight from foot to foot. He listened for a third and found none.
He slid the dagger behind his back, and looked down at Bolt. "Stay with her."
Then he opened the door just wide enough to slip through, and pulled it shut behind him.
The corridor was colder than the storeroom. A small lantern hung from Richard’s hand, its flame turned low, painting both of them in orange and shadow. Mrs. Veronica stood in front, hands folded, face gentle, almost apologetic. Richard stood behind her with his bat hooked over his shoulder, looking like a man dragged out of bed against his will who hadn’t yet forgiven anyone for it.
Her eyes flicked to the closed door, then back to him. "We would have preferred to speak inside."
"I would have preferred to sleep," Grey said. "Talk."
If the answer offended her, it didn’t show. "Since evening, eleven people have taken ill."
Grey said nothing.
"It began as shivering. Some of them thought it was the cold, the wet clothes. By midnight the fevers had started. Three of them have stopped recognising faces." She paused. "One is a child."
"I went around with water earlier," Richard said quietly. His thumb rubbed the grip of his bat. "There’s a girl. Ten, maybe. She keeps asking me if her mother is coming back. Her mother’s outside."
Nobody needed him to explain what outside meant.
’Fever. Barely a day into this and people are already dropping.’ Grey stared at the lantern flame. He did not like where his thoughts went next. Mana in the air, mana in the rain, mana in every mutated thing that had tried to kill him since yesterday. If it changed animals, why would it leave people alone?
But that was a question for later.
"So what do you want from me?" he asked. "I’m not a doctor."
"No. But medicine exists." Veronica’s voice stayed soft. "The university health centre sits behind the science faculty. There is a pharmacy in it, and a supply room. Beyond that are the shops along the main road. If we are lucky, we find antibiotics, fever reducers, fluids. If we are luckier, we find food."
"Food."
"Our stock is thin, Mr. Grey. You have seen how many mouths there are." She said it plainly. "It will not last the week."
"And the horde?"
"That is the problem." Richard rubbed his jaw. "They’re packed around the front. I stopped counting at a hundred. The back exit has fewer, but not few. Thirty, maybe more. They gather wherever they hear us."
"There are two ways out of this building," Grey said. "The front and the back."
"Yes."
"Both blocked."
"Yes."
"So you’re asking me to walk into thirty zombies, at night, in the rain."
"I am asking you," Veronica said, "to walk through them. Fredrick has agreed to open the barricade at the back door on your signal, and seal it again the moment you are through. Two people can never be quiet enough. But two people can be fast." She looked at Richard, then at him. "Richard has the strength to break a path. You have proven you can handle yourself. Taylor, Fredrick and John will remain here to defend the doors. Your dog, I hope, will remain as well. We need something between the sick and the horde."
"Bolt comes with me."
She blinked. "I only thought..."
"Bolt comes with me," Grey repeated. "It wasn’t a question."
Richard shifted. "Uhhh. Is that... safe?"
"Safer than going without him."
Something passed over Veronica’s face, brief as a flicker of the lantern, and was gone. "As you wish."
Richard leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Look, I know what this sounds like. I know you owe us nothing. You said it yourself, you have your own problems. But those people in there..." He stopped, breathed out. "I can’t sit and listen to them cough all night. I’ll go alone if I have to. I just... I’d rather not."
He wasn’t lying. Grey could hear it in the way his voice cracked on the last word. It was the kind of honesty that got people killed in a world like this.
Yet Grey remained quiet.
He was not thinking about the child, or her mother outside. He was thinking about how the two of them had come here, at this hour, with a lantern and good manners and a perfectly reasonable plan. He was thinking about how Veronica’s hands had not moved once while she talked.
’She doesn’t want to ask me. She wants me to say yes on my own.’
And underneath, another thought, one that refused to leave.
He needed food too. Real food, not a jar of peanut butter finished in one sitting. He needed a weapon better than a dagger. He needed a lot of things, and this group was not going to hand any of them over for free.
"Mr. Grey?" Veronica prompted.
"Fifty percent."
Richard blinked. "What?"
"Whatever we bring back. Half of it is mine." Grey said it flat, like reading off a menu. "Food, medicine, weapons, anything. Half comes to my room before you divide the rest."
"Half?" Richard’s voice rose, and he caught it, glancing at the hall. He dropped it to a hiss. "There are eleven sick people in there, and you want half of the medicine? Those are people who could die tonight!"
"Then they should be grateful someone is going out to get it."
"That’s not..." Richard shoved a hand through his hair. "That’s not how it works. We share what we find, that’s how everyone survives. You can’t just..."
"I can. I’m the one risking my neck."
"So am I!"
"Then take half of your half and sleep well."
Richard’s mouth opened, snapped shut, opened again. His knuckles went white around the bat. He turned to Veronica, ready to argue, ready to demand she put a stop to this, and...
"Agreed."
The word dropped into the corridor like a stone.
Richard froze. "M-Mrs. Veronica?"
"He is right, Richard. He has no obligation to us." She didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed on Grey, warm and unbothered. "Half of what you two bring back. We accept."
"But that’s..." Richard stared. "You didn’t even..."
"I have said it is agreed."
’That was too easy.’
Grey searched her face for the crack in it, the tiny hesitation any leader would show before signing away half her people’s supplies. He found nothing. Not irritation, not calculation. Only that soft, patient smile.
Either she was a saint, or she was very sure she would never have to pay it.
’Neither one is comforting.’
"Fine," he said. "Ten minutes. Be at the back door."
Veronica nodded, thanked him once more with the same careful courtesy, and turned away. Richard lingered long enough to give Grey a look, half anger and half confusion, then followed her. The lantern went with them, and the dark rolled back in.
Grey stood there a moment, listening to the rain.
Then he went back inside, and told Silver everything. Short, plain, nothing added. She listened without interrupting. He didn’t wait to hear what she thought of it. He had ten minutes, and he meant to use them.
He knelt by his old clothes and gathered what he needed. A bottle of water. The empty nylon bag. He checked the edge of his dagger against his thumb, once, twice.
Bolt padded over and pressed his head into Grey’s leg, tail swaying slowly.
"You’re coming," Grey murmured, scratching behind his ear. "Try not to eat anyone I need."
Then he summoned the system.
[Bloodline system: Form a bond with Richard to copy his ability]
[Progress: 41%. Richard feels guilt and unease]
Grey’s gaze lingered on the last line. Forty-one percent. It had been one percent this afternoon, when Richard was only curious about his dog.
’Guilt. Of course. He thinks I’m a greedy bastard and feels bad for not stopping me.’ A corner of Grey’s mouth twitched. ’Good. Keep feeling that.’
He had told Veronica he wanted half of the loot, and he did. But half of a few pills and cans was not the real prize.
Richard’s strength was. That explosive, door-breaking, skull-crushing strength, sitting inside a man who could not say no to a crying child. A man who would walk into a horde beside a stranger only because he couldn’t bear to stay behind.
Ten times that strength, in Grey’s own hands.
And a weakness ten times worse to go with it.
Grey exhaled slowly and let the notification fade. ’I’ll deal with the price when it comes.’
He slung the bag over his shoulder, and with Bolt at his heels, stepped out into the cold.