—28—

It seemed misguided to Jacen to think of the old visitor lounge as his bunker. Connected to A Building, it was an overlooked commodity. The front of the room was lined with horizontal rectangular windows in a 4x5 grid that had a panoramic view of the camp. While reinforced, the glass wouldn't stop high caliber rounds, let alone explosive ordnance. And yet, he couldn't imagine spending his time anywhere else in the camp. His haven was almost finished. He'd spent the past few weeks of his recovery moving out the stacks of empty crates, boxes, and chairs. There was even an ancient sofa tucked in the far corner, horribly faded and the cushions removed. It was prime real estate. Why someone hadn't claimed it for themselves wasn't a mystery he cared to solve.

He stepped out of the doorway, grabbing the metal frame of his bunk and dragging it into the lounge. Against the far left wall was the best position. It created an ideal nook, eased back from the windows to provide a casual view of the camp without the dull sunlight shining directly on him. But with the day cycle in full swing, it was going to throw off everyone's internal clock. He took a few blankets he'd commandeered from the laundry, hooking the fringes of the fabric along the edges of the top frame of the bunk. He tested it's strength with a gentle tug at the corners. Sturdy. Good. He flipped the blankets over the top of the frame and went to retrieve his mattress. The thing wasn't remotely comfortable, but it served its purpose for the time being. He set the mattress down within the frame and straightened it, draping the sheets over it and finally tossing his pillow on top.

Jacen stepped back from the bunk and exhaled, feeling the moisture accumulating on his forehead. He didn't realize he'd worked up a sweat. Coupled with the nagging pain in his injuries, he decided to take a small break. He went over to where to sofa was, snatching up a bottle water and a sandwich he'd made earlier before dragging the one and only cushioned chair in front of the windows. It almost seemed bearable today. Aaron, in all his unexplained wisdom, was right; if the atmosphere was composed of different elements, the sky certainly would've been incredibly different. His eyes drifted to the decommissioned structure that was C Building. The entire building seemed dead, which was awfully fitting. Without power coursing through its circuits, it was a dark void of frozen metal and unwanted memories. Even from a distance, he could make out the scorch marks against the west side of the buildings, the blown out windows. It should've never happened.

A gait of footsteps echoed in the outside hall. They were quick, deliberate steps. He sighed and quickly finished his sandwich. He imagined he wouldn't have an appetite in the next few minutes. The steps grew louder, more purposeful as they approached the doorway before becoming silent. He stood up and turned around to confirm what he already knew. Naomi was there, walking inside and sliding the door shut. He marked the swelling to her face, the cuts and bruises. There were some obvious questions he had, but from the look on Naomi's face and her body language, he figured he'd have to wait his turn.

She walked past him with her hands in her back pockets, expelling air from her inflated cheeks and looking around the renewed lounge. "You've been busy."

Jacen marked her angst. She didn't seem focused, more disjointed. Her mind was somewhere else, he surmised. He wanted to come right out and ask, but knowing her, she would probably just deflect and change the subject until she selected an appointed time. He let it lie.

"I'm almost done. Maybe another few days. If you're interested, there's enough space on the opposite end for your bunk."

"We're a little old to be sharing space, don't you think?"

Jacen shrugged. "Just an idea."

Naomi snorted as she paced, pinching the base of her right pinky finger. She felt Jacen's eyes following her in the peripheral. "We found our squirrel," she finally said.

She turned to see his reaction. As expected, it was mild. He only raised his brows in soft interest, an it's news to me expression that she'd seen hundreds of times before. She could never gauge if he was genuinely surprised or not. He probably wasn't too concerned in the first place, but she figured that would change.

"Where'd you find him?" He asked.

Naomi crossed her arms, watching him walk over and heft his empty footlocker across the lounge. "Her, actually."

"Interesting," Jacen commented. He set his footlocker at the end of his bunk and opened it. Multiple plastic bags were stacked against the wall. He opened one of them and pulled out wrinkled articles of clothing. "By the looks of your face, she must've put up a fight."

"Yeah, Aaron will be icing his balls for days. We found her in the service tunnels under the camp, holed up in some storage room. It looks like she'd been there for weeks. She had food, the medical supplies we were looking for, and a helluva lot more. Definitely a curveball we weren't prepared for. Not to mention the trap she had. A flashbang."

That seemed to gain Jacen's interest. He stopped from folding his limited clothes for a moment. "Hmm. That's smart."

Naomi tightened her grip around her bicep. She kept her tone flat, casual. "Did you know about these tunnels? Before now, I didn't even know they existed."

"Yeah, I know about them. I found them about a week after we arrived here."

"And you didn't tell me about them?"

Jacen looked at her. He wouldn't ask yet. It was coming, he knew. "If I recall, you were more focused on stealing a Pelican and leaving versus learning about this place. Master our environment, remember?"

"She's alive, Jacen." The words were out of her mouth before she knew it.

Jacen stowed the rest of his belongings and shut the top to his footlocker. He tilted his head to the right, his eyes squinted with a questioning gaze. "Who is?"

Naomi began to blink faster than normal, taking a few steps back. She almost felt embarrassed in the moment. It wasn't as smooth as she intended. It didn't matter now. She didn't have to be delicate with him; he could take it. "Jasmine."

Jacen exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath, his poker face replaced by a gentle wince. He took a few steps back, taking a seat on the edge of his bunk. "If this is some type of joke…"

"I'm not laughing."

"Then it's a bad joke, because she's dead."

"I have to disagree." Naomi pulled the chair across the room, turning it backwards as she sat and rested her forearms on the backrest. "Damon and Aaron are with her now. She's unconscious but very much alive."

Jacen closed his eyes, raking his thumb across his right eyebrow. He shook his head. "It's been eleven months. We watched them, including her, being marched outside these gates with a few hours worth of supplies. Barring divine intervention, her being alive is…"

"Impossible?" Naomi inserted. "Yeah, we thought the same thing. In fact, Aaron had an interesting theory. He suspected that she's been here the entire time. I can't speak for the whereabouts of the others, but she's the one we found. And y'know, it makes sense. If she could ease way her back inside the camp, she could simply stay in hiding and no one would be the wiser."

Jacen's once perplexed stare shifted into a glare. "And your point?"

"It just makes me curious. You and I aren't strangers to laying low. We've done it before—days, weeks, months. It's not easy, especially in our circumstances. But we've gotten by. We helped each other. That's how we survived. And I think that's how she has survived all this time… someone helped her."

Jacen snapped to attention, standing slowly before he was aware of it. "That's low, even to think it."

Naomi stood as well, pushing the chair aside with her leg. She walked up to him, staring up into his unblinking eyes. "Is it, though? Let's not be naïve here, Jacen. What are the odds the only person to survive is her? To me, it's one helluva coincidence, and you know how much I hate coincidences. She's resourceful, but I find it hard to believe that she was able to compile food, meds, and that hideout without some assistance. Give me a straight answer—did you know?"

"My answer won't mean anything to you." Jacen began walking away from her. "You've already made up your mind."

Naomi turned and grabbed the crook of his arm to stop him. "Don't dodge me! Did—You—Know?

Jacen snatched his arm back and met her adamant eyes. He answered as calmly as he could, repressing the whirlwind of anger, confusion, and pure shock that was shelved in his chest. "I didn't know. And if you're looking for me to plead my innocence on bended knee, then look somewhere else."

Naomi nodded, exhaling slowly through her nose. "Ok. I had to ask. You weren't there. It was unreal seeing her again."

"And you immediately thought that I had something to do with it?" Jacen boiled over. "No, I wasn't there, but I sure as hell was there when she turned her back on us. I was there when the fighting started, when it ended, and when we had to deal with the aftermath. So what makes you think I'd harbor a traitor?"

Naomi was blunt. The fuse had been lit now and she'd deal with the detonation later. "You have history together."

"So do we."

"You know what I mean."

Jacen shut his eyes, doing his best to vent the frustration from his system. He unraveled his fists, easing back from the precipice of rage that he'd nearly leapt from. It was a fair line of questioning, he had to admit. However, that didn't lessen the sting of the accusation. He walked back over to his bunk and sat down with interlaced fingers, eyes downcast to the floor. "That history ended the moment she changed. There's nothing left."

Naomi walked over and sat beside him. "When she wakes up, Damon wants to talk to her to see what she knows. I think it's a waste of time. Easier just to put a bullet in her head and call it day."

"Maybe," Jacen supposed. "Then again, if Aaron's theory is wrong, then that opens another door of possibilities."

Naomi didn't want to think about the potential for other possibilities. Usually, the simplest explanation was the correct one. Complexity was rare and often a rabbit hole in itself that she didn't care to explore. It involved more than she had the patience for—confirming the facts, analyzing the details more than once, what's embellished and what's more realistic, and the most important of all those things, was it true? Right now, she didn't care what came out of Jasmine's mouth. Whether truth or lies, it didn't matter. An enemy was among them, and that painted an everlasting target on her.

"I'll burn that bridge when we get to it." Naomi sighed. "Look, Jacen…"

"You don't have to say it," he replied in haste. "If the circumstances were reversed, maybe my reaction would be the same. I'll be pissed at you later. For right now, just try not to kill her before she talks."

Naomi grunted. "No promises."

"Sleep on it, then." He stood up and gestured to his bed. "Get some rest. I've got more things to move. And don't ball up my pillow. It screws up the stuffing inside."

Naomi fixer her mouth to say something, but the weight of exhaustion cancelled her words and brought her body down across the bed. She kicked her boots off on the floor and curled up. "I just need a few hours," she mumbled through an exhale.

"Rest as long as you need." Jacen draped the sheets over her shoulder before pulling down the fabric to block the sunlight.

He walked out of the room in silence and closed the door behind him. He stepped to the right, leaning his back against the wall and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. His eyes pulled from the ceiling, peering down the sight lines of the corridors that suddenly felt smaller than before. There was a gentle pounding in his chest, the sensation pulsating through him with growing intensity. He took in some deep breaths, but his heart continued to abandon its marathon pace and adopt a full sprint. It suddenly felt warm behind his ears.

Jacen drifted off down the hall, turning to his right into a small restroom. He shut and locked the door before turning on the faucet above the sink. He cupped his hands underneath the cold water and splashed it across his face. The chill of the water cooled his face. He looked up into the dirty mirror as he held onto the sides of the sink, seeing his distorted reflection with a tight grip. Before his mind caught up his actions, he yelled and punched the mirror. The glass shattered, pieces falling into the bowl of the sink with droplets of blood smeared on the ceramic. His knuckles bled, the pain somehow nonexistent beyond his understanding. He pulled back from the sink and sat down on the floor with his knees up to his chest, burying his face in his crossed arms.