Chapter 5: The Rules of Survival

Kai didn’t leave.

He told himself he would. That he should. But the code Alek offered sat heavy in his mind, unspoken but very real. The weight of choice was foreign—like picking up a weapon he’d never trained to wield.

Freedom was terrifying.

So he stayed. Another day. Then another.

Each morning, a note. Each night, Alek returned. Silent, consistent, never demanding. The rhythm formed without agreement. Meals appeared. Suppressants were refilled. Sheets were always clean. The television remote never changed positions.

It was... safe.

And slowly, it began to itch.

Kai stood in the kitchen on the fifth morning and stared at the comm panel. The little screen blinked softly, waiting for input. He could call anyone. He could send a message. He could vanish.

He didn’t touch it.

Instead, he opened a cabinet and began to inventory. Rice. Tea. Protein bars. Hydration tablets. It all felt sterile. Not cold, but uninhabited. Like Alek lived in routines, not preferences. Everything had purpose, but no story.

He found the pantry last. Rows of vacuum-sealed meals, all aligned like soldiers.

"You cook," Kai muttered aloud, as if Alek might hear him. "But only what you have to."

He closed the door.

He wasn’t angry. Just... watching. Learning.

That afternoon, Alek came home earlier than expected.

Kai heard the door open and straightened from where he sat reading on the couch. The book—some old political thriller—slid onto the cushion.

Alek looked more tired than usual. Jaw tight. Collar loosened.

"You’re home early."

"Meeting ended in blood."

Kai raised a brow. "Figuratively?"

"Barely."

Alek dropped his satchel on the kitchen counter and opened the fridge with too much force. The door creaked. He paused, breathing hard.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

It was a lie.

Kai stood. Walked into the kitchen. Watched Alek grab a glass and fill it with water like it required precision.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Want me to leave?"

Alek shook his head. "No."

They stood in silence. The air thick with unsaid things.

Kai broke it. "I want to go for a walk."

Alek blinked. "Now?"

"Yeah."

Alek stared at him for a moment, like he was weighing something invisible.

Then he nodded. "Alright. I’ll come with you."

"I want to go alone."

That landed like a small blow.

Alek set the glass down. Slowly.

"I meant what I said about the code."

"I remember."

"I’ll give it to you. Now."

Kai waited.

Alek crossed to the wall panel, tapped in the code sequence, then turned the screen toward him.

Kai memorized it. Didn’t write it down.

"Don’t go far," Alek said softly. "And if you feel... unsafe—"

"I’ll come back."

Alek nodded.

Kai left.

The city hadn’t changed.

Still gray. Still crowded. Still loud enough to make his teeth hurt.

But something had changed in him. The air no longer burned his skin. The light didn’t feel like a spotlight. People passed without noticing. No one reached. No one stared.

He walked six blocks before stopping.

He stared into the window of a bookstore. Then a café. Then a thrift shop with mismatched mannequins in the window.

He stepped inside.

The clerk didn’t even look up.

He touched a jacket. A worn hoodie. A necklace that reminded him of something his mother once wore before everything fell apart.

He didn’t buy anything. But he stood there for twenty minutes and didn’t flinch.

Progress.

When he returned, it was past dusk.

Alek was sitting on the couch, unread file open in his lap.

He looked up.

"You’re back."

Kai nodded. Kicked off his shoes. Hung his jacket.