The fog seemed heavier, the world sharper. Every doubt Ethan had buried suddenly surfaced.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Marcus.”
“Marcus… where are they?”
“At the dump.”
“Did you see them?”
Marcus nodded. “I look for food there. One night, I heard crying. Two little girls. Together. They had hospital bracelets… with names. Lily. Chloe.”
Ethan staggered slightly, gripping a headstone for support. “No… no…”
“I’m telling the truth,” Marcus insisted. “I’ve been taking care of them. Food, water… whatever I find.”
Horror surged through Ethan. “They’ve been living there?”
Marcus looked down, ashamed for something that wasn’t his fault. “I didn’t tell anyone… I thought you were like the people who left them.”
“Did you see who did it?”
“I saw a white van… and heard adults laughing.”
Pieces clicked together—Vanessa’s behavior, inconsistencies, everything.
“Take me there,” Ethan said, voice breaking.
Marcus hesitated, then nodded. “We’ll go a different way.”
They left the cemetery. The city shifted around them—from polished streets to broken alleys, from glass towers to crumbling walls. Ethan followed a boy who knew survival better than comfort.
After twenty minutes, Marcus pointed ahead.