The Burden of Memory

Later, when the others had gone to ready their teams, Solace stayed behind. Just for a moment.

He pulled open an old locker tucked behind a stack of generator batteries. Inside, sealed in cloth, was a worn photograph—water-damaged, curled at the edges. A younger version of himself stood next to a girl with a wild smile and eyes that could light up a room.

Lyra.

He hadn’t seen her since the cities fell. She’d vanished when everything went quiet—when comms broke and the last radio tower was silenced. He’d told her once that if the surface died, he’d be in the tunnels.

But even then, he’d never expected her to look for him.

Not anymore.

He stared at the photo.

There were no tears. Solace didn’t cry anymore. But the ache inside him was real. Heavy. A pressure that never left.

He placed the photo back, tucked the cloth tight, and sealed the locker.

He had a war to win.

And maybe—if fate still honored blood—she’d find her way to him.