Glass memory

Maika doesn't speak for the rest of the day.

She doesn't have to.

Her silence wraps around the group like a slow-burning fuse — one that hums louder the longer it's ignored. Every step she takes behind us feels like a protest. Every movement, a refusal. The air shifts when she's near, and no one wants to be the one to name it.

We travel in tight quarters now, a narrow series of concrete arteries that wind through the deeper underlayer. According to Aerith, we're approaching one of the main relay nodes — the kind that might still hold a full cluster of logs.

Maika walks three paces behind me. Her boots scuff the dirt in rhythmic defiance. She doesn't glance up. Doesn't offer anything. And somehow, that's worse than her anger.

I try not to look at her.

But I feel her. Like heat behind glass.

Sira tries to smooth the tension. She passes ration bars around, starts a quiet song under her breath. Venu hums along, half-hearted. Even Ajay nods in time. But Maika just walks.

Aerith leads. He's all numbers and positioning now, pointing out cracks in the walls and mapping radiation dampeners as we pass. Clinical. Detached. As if the emotional weight dragging behind us isn't his to carry.

We reach a circular node room hours later. It's partially collapsed, filled with jagged beams and shrapnel. The core's intact, blinking with low-frequency pulses.

"Give me five minutes," Aerith says, crouching over the interface.

We scatter. Sira checks for dry spots to rest. Venu taps pipes for stability. I move toward the edge of the chamber—and that's when I notice Maika, standing alone beside a rusted doorway.

She's staring at the wall. Or maybe through it.

I walk toward her. Half a step. Then stop.

I want to talk to her. Apologize. Demand she say something. Anything.

But I don't. I just breathe.

"I didn't mean to ignore you," I say quietly.

Maika doesn't turn. "You didn't ignore me. You erased me."

My throat tightens.

Before I can answer, Aerith calls out.

"I've got something."

We gather fast. The display flares to life — flickering images and scrambled audio clips stitched from memory fragments.

Then we see it.

A flash of a swimming pool. Empty. Covered in vines. Something glinting in the center — a curved glass object half-submerged in green water. The shot is from a security camera. The frame skips. Repeats.

Venu squints. "Is that...?"

"It's the bottle," Aerith says. "Or a decoy. Either way, this is our first real clue."

The group leans in closer. Everyone except Maika.

She stands at the edge, arms crossed, gaze flat.

"I said we should check buildings," she mutters.

Silence.

Kaia doesn't answer.

No one does.

Later, when we set camp, Maika chooses the farthest spot. Ajay brings her food. She doesn't eat. Just holds it. Like a symbol.

I try not to look at her.

But I feel her still.

She's the complication none of us can outrun.

And every second she stays silent, I feel like I'm the one breaking piece by piece.