Ji-woo closed the door to the barracks quietly, making sure the lock clicked shut behind her. Only then did she let her shoulders slump as she let out a sigh.

Mai had finally passed out after almost ten minutes of crying, which wasn’t particularly surprising. No, the part that worried Ji-woo was how quiet the girl had been through the whole thing. Other than sniffling, Mai hadn’t let out a single sound as she started shaking, tears spilling from her eyes uncontrollably. It was almost as if Mai had been more scared of letting people see her cry than what had caused the tears in the first place.

If that wasn’t concerning enough, then how she reacted to Ji-woo trying to comfort her certainly was. It was a miracle that Ji-woo had managed to get Mai’s permission to bandage the girl’s calf afterwards.

Ji-woo shook her head. It wasn’t incredibly surprising the poor girl had broken down, and in fact it was probably a good sign that she was processing her ordeal. Still, the way she had fallen apart had set off the alarm bells that had been steadily building in Ji-woo’s head as she spent more time with the girl. Ji-woo desperately hoped she was wrong, that she was jumping at shadows and what she was seeing was just Mai processing the traumatic experiences she must have faced to survive.

But for some reason, Ji-woo couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that, even if she had nothing but her gut and a few odd observations about her behavior and mannerisms. Even then, it wasn’t like Ji-woo had any idea what the problem could be. She could make any number of guesses, but in the end, she just didn’t have enough information.

With another sigh, Ji-woo turned and went to the command center. It wasn’t a long walk, but it did give her a few moments to get her thoughts straightened out. As she slid her access card across the room’s security console, she wondered if maybe the person inside would have any insights.

Sergeant Markus O’Malley was already in the room, waiting for her. The command center was a vaguely rectangular room with the far wall occupied by a desk facing dozens of computer screens while a long conference table and chairs lined the length leading up it. Markus sat in front of the consoles at the far end, typing on a keyboard while frowning at one of the screens, and he looked over his shoulder to give Ji-woo a small nod as she entered. For her part, she didn’t waste any time pulling one of the conference table chairs out and throwing herself into it.

Markus plucked at some keys for a bit longer, tapped one of the screens, then let out a disgusted sigh before he slowly spun the chair around to look at Ji-woo. Seeing her slouching against the chair with her eyes closed, he gave a wince of sympathy.

“That bad?” his granite and gravel voice rasped.

“Not… exactly,” Ji-woo sighed, rubbing at her face. “Though I did manage to make her cry, so… go me, I guess.”

“There’s a reason part of the instructions for survivor intake is to get an emotional reaction,” Markus shrugged with a lopsided smile. “Most people just aren’t built for life or death situations, and nobody is ever really ready for one. Even though it feels like crap, getting them to cry and at least open up that much is a good thing. Doesn’t feel great, but don’t go beating yourself up about it.”

“I know,” Ji-woo groaned, frustration creeping into her voice. “But it’s not that part that worries me.”

Markus frowned and leaned back in his chair. Ji-woo took the moment to gather her thoughts, then turned to face her sergeant.

“Mai held herself together the entire time, except for the very end. It was only after I told her how amazing it was that she managed to make it here, let alone do it with a little kid, she broke down. What gets me worried is that the second she started crying, she also started apologizing to me over and over again. Then when I reached out to hug her, she flinched. Then she just kept saying ‘sorry’ over and over again.”

Markus looked thoughtful for a moment, scratching at his chin.

“You think she’s just shying away from physical contact after… well, if the boy she brought back is to be believed, going toe-to-toe with an Anathema with just an axe?”

“I…” Ji-woo started but bit back her words as she forced herself to consider the possibility.

It was possible, she supposed, and even seemed like the most likely explanation. But that didn’t explain all the other little things nagging at Ji-woo. Like how stapling and later bandaging Mai’s leg had made her realize just how thin and small the girl was. Or the mannerisms Mai displayed when interacting with people, always bowing her head to look at the floor and apologizing at the slightest mistake. Then there was the outright fear that had flashed through her when Ji-woo asked if she could see her bruises. Even when Ji-woo had first seen her, the girl had looked ready to run or fight at the slightest provocation, like she was some sort of cornered animal.

But most of that could be explained by the fact Mai had just been through a traumatic experience and was probably in shock. She had every reason to be on a hair trigger, and it was no surprise how defensive and quiet she was, especially if she really did come face to face with an Anathema.

And yet… Ji-woo couldn’t shake that there was something more, that every little interaction had just been the slightest bit… off.

“I don’t know, Markus,” she finally shook her head. “I just don’t know… but, I did give her my card.”

Markus looked up sharply at that, his eyes narrowing. Markus was one of the few people Ji-woo could count on to get the significance of that. Officers usually carried courtesy cards with their name and their precinct’s number on them, but Ji-woo also carried cards with her own personal phone number. It was something she learned from Markus, and like him, she only ever gave that card out to people she would drop everything to help. For anything else, she gave out the precinct’s general card.

In a way, it was part of her code, that if she was going to personally offer her help, she really was going to commit to it. Maybe it was idealistic and naive, or even unrealistic, but of the other six times Ji-woo had given her card out, she had never come to regret the fact that she had tried to offer help.

And Ji-woo had a feeling that one way or another, Mai needed all the help she could get.

The silence in the conference room stretched on for a moment before Markus finally gave Ji-woo a steady nod.

“Well, then you’ve done all you can, and she’s in the best of hands if she ever does need somebody.”

Ji-woo flashed him a grateful smile even as her cheeks colored slightly. Her former training officer always seemed to know the right thing to say, and Ji-woo felt her worries losing their edge.

For a while, neither of them spoke, and Ji-woo found herself glancing at the various computer screens as tension worried its way between her bones. She knew what she wanted to ask, but if Markus hadn’t said anything yet, she was afraid to get a confirmation to the answers she thought she already knew.

“How about on your end?” Ji-woo finally asked, her voice subdued. “Have we gotten anything back?”

“No,” Markus growled. “And Jace is screaming at me to go interrogate the girl about what’s going on outside.”

Ji-woo bristled, and her normally warm, chocolate eyes hardened in an instant. It was just their luck that one of the owners of the mall had happened to be on the first floor when the alarms went off. Ever since the Usurpation started, Jace had been nothing but an absolute nightmare, acting as if he had some sort of authority in the shelter to make decisions, and he’d tried to insert himself into every situation he possibly could.

“Naturally, I politely explained to him that the girl wouldn’t have come from the basement level where Price’s team went considering it only has offices and maintenance rooms. Which is something he should know considering he owns the place.”

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Ji-woo’s eyes softened as she chuckled at Markus’s exasperated expression.

“Other than that bit of fun,” Markus crossed his arms. “I’ve only really had a chance to hear from Milly about what that boy’s said so far.”

His expression darkened like a thundercloud, and Ji-woo felt herself almost snap to attention. It was rare for something to truly make Markus angry, meaning whatever he had learned was something serious.

“Apparently,” he all but growled. “The boy wandered off from his family and was alone when the alarms went off. That was when the girl came to find him, having encountered his sister. Naturally, that was when the power went out and everything went to hell.”

Markus gave Ji-woo a look, almost like he was considering his next words carefully.

“His very expressive storytelling muddles the next part, but it sounds like the girl fought off some kind of giant dog with the axe she was carrying before the two of them snuck the rest of the way to the shelter.”

Ji-woo nodded. That much made sense. Still, even if they were taking their time to sneak as quietly as possible, it was weird that it had taken them almost a full hour to make it to their shelter. Though, that didn’t take into account how scared Brian must have been and how carefully Mai must have had to handle him. The very expensive toy he’d been holding hadn’t escaped Ji-woo’s notice, or probably the other officers’ for that matter, but she was confident none of them were ever going to bring it up. It probably wouldn’t even get mentioned in any of the official reports for that matter, because if taking the thing is what it took to help keep the boy from panicking, nobody could fault Mai for-

“So they did,” Markus interrupted, his voice devoid of emotion. “They snuck the rest of the way to the shelter. On the third floor.”

The bottom of Ji-woo’s stomach dropped out, and she sucked in an involuntary breath. Wide eyed, she stared at Markus, whose own eyes looked haunted.

“So we at least know the computers aren’t malfunctioning,” he said bitterly, and Ji-woo fought down the surge of fury that flashed through her.

As not only a mega shelter but also the “first-floor” shelter attached to the building, the shelter they were in was built with a command center that had all kinds of equipment to monitor the status of the other shelters in the building. The idea was that as the biggest shelter with the most stockpiled resources, they would be in a strategic position to coordinate aid if such a thing was necessary. Naturally, the computer system kept tabs on all kinds of information from the other shelters.

And that was how Markus and the other officers had found out that shelter three had activated their emergency shield.

Ji-woo’s fists tightened as she imagined the scenario almost every human had to have nightmares about at one point or another. She could all too well imagine Mai and Brian running through the darkened halls of the mall, their hope slowly growing with each turn they took only to have it all dashed away when they finally got to the shelter and saw the shield glowing over the door.

If Ji-woo ever got her hands on the idiot responsible…

“At any rate,” Markus shook himself from his own dark musings. “After that, they apparently took their time sneaking around and managed to make it the rest of the way down here without anything else happening… I find that particular bit… doubtful.”

Ji-woo looked up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, think about the entrance down to this shelter. It’s right in the middle of the first floor, and with how big and open the room is, I find it hard to believe it wasn’t crawling with Anathema.”

“So… what?” Ji-woo asked with a frown. “You think Brian’s hiding something?”

“I know he is,” Markus shrugged. “The way he just glazes over the later part of his story but is all too detailed about the beginning tells me that much. The only question is if he’s doing it on purpose or not. Apparently, he told Milly that the girl left him in a security room once to go scout a path on her own, and that it was ‘really scary being alone but he managed to be brave just like Carmine Crusader.’”

Markus let out a little chuckle, and Ji-woo felt her own mouth quirk up into the hint of a smile.

“By my best guess,” Markus continued. “The girl probably did something to draw away the Anathema from the entrance, then doubled back, got the kid, and beelined it for the shelter. By the way her leg was still bleeding, she probably got hurt doing whatever she did to distract the Anathema.”

Ji-woo thought about it, then nodded in agreement. Even though her ankle wound was nothing to sneeze at, it hadn’t been particularly dangerous other than the constant, slow amount of blood loss it was causing. It hadn’t quite finished clotting when Mai had arrived, meaning the injury couldn’t have happened too long before she arrived, either.

“All of that is to say, we don’t really have any more information than when we started,” Markus shrugged. “Which, if we consider it has been almost forty minutes since those two arrived, I’m afraid that means Price’s team failed.”

Ji-woo felt the bottom of her stomach drop out, and she felt herself pale.

“Just like that?” she asked, her voice weak. “We’re just going to give up on them?”

“There’s nothing else we can do,” he responded softly. “Except follow through on her contingency. We still have her access card, and if nothing changes in the next four hours…”

He trailed off, and Ji-woo felt every muscle in her body tense as she realized what he meant.

“What about Guardian Command? We can’t contact them again and ask if they have any help available?”

“They were pretty clear about the situation when we first contacted them, and Price’s security card doesn’t give enough clearance on its own,” he grunted. “No. We can’t rely on any help coming in time from that direction. I’m afraid we’re on our own.”

Silence reigned in the command center as both of them sat in their chairs. For a while, neither of the two officers spoke or even dared to look at each other. It had been a desperate plan, the one Price had developed, and she had only been willing to take volunteers with her. Nevertheless, every member of the shelter’s security detail had stepped up, and so Price had taken eight other people with her, two having been former magical soldiers like herself. It left the shelter understaffed and at the absolute minimum of security forces, but there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter.

At the time, Price had been confident they had a decent chance of success. Still, she had left the remaining five officers with a backup plan, just in case. If Price and her team somehow failed to fight their way through the Anathema and restart the mana generator, the only thing left to try would be sending one person a few hours later when the Anathema had hopefully dispersed outwards. In reality, one person sneaking through probably had about as good a chance as the first team did, but it would all depend on just how many Anathema had decided to stick around.

It wasn’t a good plan, but it was better than doing nothing at all.

“I never thought something like this could happen in Arcadia,” Ji-woo whispered quietly. “I thought it was impossible, that this was supposed to be a sanctuary. Sure, the occasional Usurpation might break through the island’s countless barriers, but it’s always contained and dealt with. Hell, it’s more surprising when somebody does get hurt in an Usurpation. This, though… It’s a little hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is a shift from how the Anathema usually operate,” Markus agreed. “Though if that Magical Guardian we got in contact with is to be believed, the situation is well in hand. It’s just going to take them some time to regain control.”

“Which is the one thing we don’t have,” Ji-woo said bitterly.

“No… No it isn’t…” Markus looked up at Ji-woo then, his eyes hard. “Ji-woo, in four hours, if nothing changes, I’m going to follow through with Price’s backup plan. But… if I want to have any hope of success, I’m going to need all the information I can get. That means waking up the girl and getting as much as I can from her as possible about what she’s seen.”

Ji-woo stiffened, her mouth opening to protest. Markus interrupted her with a raised hand, urging her to wait.

“I know, believe me, I do, but if there’s even a chance she has any information that could help me survive out there, I need it. However, I do realize what she’s been through, so I want you to be there too. You seem to have a decent connection with her, and you can make sure I don’t push too hard.”

Ji-woo slowly shut her mouth, then gave a reluctant nod. Inside, her heart was racing as she thought about how straightforward Markus seemed to think things were. She wondered if it really even occurred to him how dangerous what he was planning to do actually was or if he had just chalked it up as his duty and moved on.

Though, I suppose I’m not much better in that regard, Ji-woo thought to herself with a frustrated sigh. She knew she wouldn’t hesitate to go out there, either. Not with how many lives were at stake. Hell, if Markus didn’t manage to restart the generator, she might just do exactly the same thing.

After a moment, she gave Markus a glance.

“How much time do they have left?” Ji-woo asked, and Markus swiveled his chair around to check the control station.

“The system estimates about eight hours,” Markus shook his head. “Then things will get critical for them.”

Ji-woo winced. Eight hours was nowhere near enough time if the Magical Guardian was right in his estimates. Not unless they managed to pull out even more miracles out of their magical bag of tricks, that is.

“If we don’t get that generator online, they really don’t have a chance, do they?” Ji-woo asked, already knowing the answer.

Markus shook his head grimly, then looked up at the ceiling, as if directly at the people responsible.

“Those dumb bastards who locked Mai and Brian out won’t even realize they killed everyone in their shelter the second they activated their shield.”