What I didn’t plan for is the sound.
It’s louder now.
The song.
That awful keening hum that slides into the back of my skull and scrapes there like a dull knife. It doesn’t stop.Doesn’t change. It’s constant. Steady. Like breath—but notalive. Mechanical. Organic. Something in between.
It’s coming from the heart of the fungal bloom.
The dome closest to the main lab pulses with light—subtle, red-orange, like the glow of embers buried in ash. I see the edges of it bleeding through the cracks. And I see them.
The humans.
Standing.
Facing it.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Justlistening.
The fungus sings and they respond with silence.
Almost all of them.
But not her.
She stands to the side. Half a pace off. Arms folded, one foot turned slightly away. Her shoulders are tense. Jaw locked. I can’t see her eyes from here, but I know. I know that look. That set of her spine. That rhythm in her breathing.
She’s trying to blend.
But she’s not one of them.
Sheknows.
I crouch on the overlook just outside the west storage unit and study the pattern of her steps. She’s pretending to follow. Nodding when they nod. Drinking only when they watch. Her timing is perfect—almost.
But I know her tells.
She swallows hard when she lies. Her breath catches, just once, just enough. Her fingers twitch toward her waistband like she’s reaching for something that’s no longer there.
She’s scared.
But she’sacting.
Gods, she’s brilliant.
I don’t dare approach. Too many eyes. Too many risks. But I have to get a message to her. A warning.
Away out.
I slink back, deeper into the shadows behind the west dome, toward the cluster of wreckage where the humans store obsolete comms tech. Rusted parts. Dismantled gear. Things they don’t check often.
That’s where I find it.
A broken satellite dish, flipped on its side, half-covered in moss and rain debris. She passes this spot every time she makes her rounds to the filtration tanks.
