"Silence keeps us alive. But sometimes... you need to hear someone breathe to remember you're still human."
- Kaela while talking about Noah
The camp was finally starting to wake up with the shattered rays of the early morning sun filtering through torn sheets and broken blinds, casting fractured patterns across the floor of the refuge-turned library. Steam from boiled roots and filtered rainwater rose in quiet spirals from tin mugs as survivors moved through their morning rituals, half-asleep, half-afraid.
I sat at the makeshift table near the central aisle, Kaela beside me, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the cracked wood as they waited.
Boss entered a moment later.
He wasn't the tallest in Camp 17, nor the loudest—but when he walked in, the room straightened. His presence didn't shout; it commanded. A grizzled ex-soldier, he wore the years like his old combat jacket—weathered, patched, and still holding together out of sheer will. His hair was clipped close, mostly gray now, and a faded scar cut through one brow like a story no one dared to ask about. His jaw was square, set like concrete, and when he spoke, it was in the gravel-toned bark of someone used to giving orders under gunfire.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing—always scanning, always measuring risk. He moved with that soldier's economy of motion: no wasted steps, no unnecessary words. And though the insignias were long stripped from his sleeves, the authority hadn't gone anywhere.
"Heard you were up late again, Noah," Boss said, settling into the chair opposite us. "Kaela too."
I gave a slow nod. "We saw something. Something new."
Boss tilted his head. "Go on."
Kaela jumped in. "It wasn't just the usual twitching. One of the Hollowed looked straight at us. Then another mimicked it. Not random — like... intentional."
"Coordinated," I added. "Almost like they were sharing thought."
A few more camp members filtered in — Mira the medic, Tran the salvager, Leni from the perimeter watch — all drawn by Boss's unspoken summons.
I continued, describing the unnatural synchrony in Hollowed's movements, the way they paused, observed, adapted. I left out no detail, even the part where one seemed to register my presence. When I finished, the room was silent but bristling.
"You're saying the Hollowed are... evolving?" Mira asked cautiously.
"I'm saying they're behaving in a way we haven't seen in years," I said. "And that we should start assuming the night isn't the only time they think."
Boss leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose. "No one here doubts your eyes, Noah. You've brought back more intel than anyone since the scouts' program started. But this? It's different."
Tran spoke up from the corner. "Why now? It's been quiet for years. They don't move during the day anymore."
"Exactly," I said. "They've been dormant — predictable. Maybe too predictable."
Boss stood, and his voice, though soft, cut through the room like tempered steel. "Until we know more, I want everyone to revise their daylight protocols. We stay underground or inside unless necessary. Sound discipline is now in effect twenty-four-seven. No loud drills. No shouting. Minimal light exposure, even during the day."
Murmurs rippled across the room. Leni looked up from her ration bag. "You're saying we treat daylight like night?"
"I'm saying we stop assuming it's safe."
Then, a voice from the back.
"Boss," said a young mechanic named Jace, arms crossed, face pinched with disbelief. "We've lived through twenty-two years of this. And in the last fifteen, Hollowed haven't even twitched under sunlight. If they were gonna start changing, wouldn't they have done it years ago?"
Another voice chimed in. "They used to walk in daylight back at the beginning. My father told me. First three, four years maybe. Then nothing. Like something switched off. Everyone said it was the AI dying. EVA."
"Or going silent," I muttered.
Boss caught that. "You believe EVA's still alive?"
I hesitated. My fingers touched the satchel across the chest. "I think... the Hollowed were never completely free. Even if EVA's gone, something of it may still be echoing in them. Code. Triggers. Maybe even... memory."
Kaela was quiet beside me; arms wrapped around herself.
"So, they've been dormant, not dead," Mira whispered.
Boss nodded slowly. "Then we've been too loud, too confident, for too long. We shift now — before the shift comes to us."
Jace scowled. "And if it's nothing? Just glitchy behavior from broken meat machines? We waste resources, build fear, and tighten the noose on our own lives."
Boss turned to him, voice still calm. "And if it's not? We die in our sleep."
The room fell still again.
Outside, morning had fully claimed the sky — clear and blue, birds faintly chirping somewhere beyond the walls. To most, it would seem peaceful.
To me, it was a mask. And I knew masks never last long.
The library hummed with the soft rustle of movement as camp members began implementing Boss's new protocols. Windows were covered with thicker cloth. Crates were quietly shifted to reinforce doors. Conversations dropped to hushed tones.
Mira carefully passed out strips of rubber padding to place under boots. Tran unrolled bundles of soundproofing foam scavenged from an old theater, instructing others on how to pin them against the walls.
Despite the efforts, the air buzzed with unease.
"I'm telling you," muttered Dana, one of the food prep workers, to a small group near the stairwell. "They were probably just tired. No one sees clearly in the dark. You ever try to watch shadows move when you're half-asleep?"
"Noah's a scout, Dana," another replied. "He's seen more than most of us combined."
"Still doesn't mean he didn't imagine it. If the Hollowed really are changing, why now?"
"Because maybe they never stopped," offered Leni quietly as she passed, carrying a sealed water canister. "Maybe they were just waiting."
Whispers traveled like smoke — thin, curling into each corner of the library.
"They were active in the day, back in the first few years."
"Yeah, but not after the AI went silent."
"Went silent or went rogue?"
"You really think EVA is still alive? No one's heard from any satellite since the grid collapsed."
"I don't care if it's dead or alive," someone muttered. "If the Hollowed are moving in daylight again, we're all in deep shit."
And yet, despite the skepticism, they followed orders. Because no one survived twenty-two years into the apocalypse by ignoring warning signs.
I stood silently near the eastern window, watching the faint shimmer of heat rise from the asphalt outside. Kaela approached, her brow furrowed.
"They're scared," she said.
"Good," I replied. "They should be."
I didn't say it aloud, but part of me agreed with Dana. Maybe it was paranoia. Maybe it was exhaustion. But in my bones, I knew what I saw wasn't a trick of the night.
It was the beginning of something.
And this time, the daylight wouldn't save them.