“If she recovers, there may be hope for the others too.” Jeremy slipped away, but Saoirse is still holding on, and so is Xavier. And Leah, of course. The first to fall ill, and somehow, she’s still here. Maybe she can’t leave Logan any more than Logan can leave her.

At least we have a term for it now. Plague meningitis. It explains why both Xavier and Leah kept having seizures.

Casey nods. “I’ll take care of them as best I can.”

I smile. “You will. It’s what you’ve been doing. It’s what you’ve always done for me.”

A shadow flits across his face. It’s there, then it’s gone. It may be exhaustion, like the circles under his eyes—and mine too.

“Let me know if anything changes, okay?”

He’s already turning back to the infirmary. “Always.”

Isaiah has nothing new for me. The internet is completely down, and the phone lines only offer white noise. This time, he’s quite sure they’re not outages. We’ve been disconnected. He’s in the warden’s office regardless. It’s his HQ now—and his safe space too. He’s collected folders from the guard station and the therapist’s office. Those official-looking manila folders and large stacks of paper. He keeps moving them back and forth. He’s restless.

Presumably, he’s given himself access to our personal files too. That possibility only fully occurs to me now, but I can’t seem to care. The people we were don’t matter that much anymore.

I lean against the doorframe. “What are you doing?”

“Making a file of all of us here. Of everything that happened. Of everyone we lost.” He has placed different stacks of paper across the desk. “I talked to Emerson about remembering. Nia may let me use some of her drawings. I have all the notes from all the days we’ve been here.”

He doesn’t look up to me, but his voice holds a determination I’ve rarely heard before. “It’s important. I don’t want someone to just remember the dead. I want them to remember us too.”

We all want to be remembered. I want to keep remembering.

“Can I help in some way?”

“No.” Isaiah isn’t rude, he’s clear. I appreciate that.

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” I leave him to his work, but I make a small note to myself to ask him about his progress later. And Emerson about their graves. And Nia about her drawings. While I knew all those things were happening, I never really cared about it until now.

Truth is, something has changed in Hope since Josie and Saoirse came here. Since Logan found her way to Sam’s Throne and we stole into the town the first time to get food. Between what she found and what Sofia and I have been scavenging, it’s given us the space to breathe. It’s a reminder that the world outside still exists.

And that may be terrifying—but it’s exhilarating too.

* * *

But at night, I can’t sleep. The smell of death clings to me. The lists of names bounce around in my head. I know that every time we go into town, we put ourselves at risk, and it’s worth it to be able to eat, but I worry. We still have water and power, but I worry we’ll lose those next now that internet is gone. I worry constantly.