This Broken Earth

Chapter 11: In the Quiet Between

Chapter 11: In the Quiet Between

They’d spent most of the day in and out of the meeting room—mapping possible routes, reviewing Gray’s signal data, arguing about fallback points, and pretending they weren’t already exhausted.

Now, with the planning finally paused and their departure set for the following morning, the room had settled into a quieter kind of energy. Someone had pulled together a hot meal—if “hot” meant bunker-warmed rice, mystery protein, and two packets of scavenged spice blend that Jace claimed counted as seasoning.

Lex sat cross-legged on the edge of the table, a dented bowl in her lap. Her shoulders ached, and her brain was still buzzing with topography overlays and backup comm codes, but for now, it felt… calm. The air had settled.

Elias leaned back in his chair, one boot propped on the lower bar, eating with the quiet steadiness he carried into everything. Jace sat across from him, poking at his food like it had personally offended him. Gray was half-sitting on the console station, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, watching the group over the rim of his cup. Nate had pulled a chair around beside Lex, not quite eating yet, just watching the room like he couldn’t help it.

“Okay,” Jace said, spearing a piece of something that might’ve once been meat. “If I die on this mission, I want it officially logged that it wasn’t the drones that got me—it was this sauce. This”—he sniffed it—“this chemical war crime.”

Lex snorted. “You volunteered for seconds.”

“I made a brave choice,” Jace said solemnly. “And I regret it deeply.”

Gray grinned, nudging him with his boot. “You regret everything. Five minutes ago you said you regretted getting out of bed.”

“That was before I realized I’d be fed tactical glue.”

Elias didn’t look up from his food. “It’s protein.”

“More like revenge,” Jace muttered.

Lex smiled behind her bowl. She caught Nate watching her and arched a brow. “What?”

He shrugged, one corner of his mouth tipping up. “Nothing. Just thinking how you’ve been in the bunker long enough to find this funny.”

“She was already broken when we met her,” Gray said, grabbing another roll. “I just added chaos.”

“You are chaos,” Nate said.

Gray raised his hands like he’d been complimented.

Elias finally looked up. “Better chaos than deadweight.”

Everyone blinked at him.

Jace whistled. “Okay, Elias. Starting strong tonight.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Elias said dryly, but there was the faintest glint of humor in his eyes.

Lex looked around the room—the weird collection of people she was about to step into danger with. It didn’t feel like a strategy team. It felt like… something else. Something real.

She leaned back on her hands, letting the warmth of the food and the voices settle into her bones.

“Weird, huh?” she said after a minute.

“What is?” Nate asked.

Lex looked at him. “That we’re sitting here like everything’s normal. When in less than two days, we’ll be out there risking everything.”

Gray’s smile dimmed a little. Jace looked down.

But Elias said, without hesitation, “Which is exactly why we are.”


The meeting room had mostly cleared out. Jace mumbled something about needing caffeine or death—he wasn’t picky—and wandered off toward the kitchen. Elias gave a short nod and slipped out with quiet efficiency, as always. Gray lingered just long enough to swipe a second roll, then disappeared down the corridor.

That left Lex and Nate.

Neither of them said anything at first.

Lex slid off the table, bowl in hand. Nate reached for it without a word and stacked it on top of his own. His fingers brushed hers, warm and solid, then were gone again.

They stepped out into the hallway together, boots soft against the concrete floor.

The lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting their shadows long behind them. The bunker was quieter now, the kind of quiet that wrapped around your thoughts and made you feel too aware of them.

Lex yawned, dragging a hand through her hair. “I feel like my brain’s been scraped with a dull spoon.”

Nate gave a small smile. “That’s optimistic.”

She bumped her shoulder against his, not hard. Just enough. “You don’t have to walk me back.”

“I know,” he said.

But he stayed beside her, matching her pace down the corridor.

They walked in silence, the corridor hushed except for the faint hum of the overhead lights. The air had that late-shift stillness—the kind that made everything feel heavier once the laughter faded.

When they reached her door, Lex slowed and turned toward him, fingers brushing the latch.

“So,” she said quietly, “how confident are you about this mission?”

Nate raised an eyebrow.

“Like,” she added, “on a scale from one to ten.”

He hesitated. Then gave a slow shrug. “Seven.”

Lex arched a brow. “That high, huh?”

“I didn’t say which direction.”

She smirked, tired but amused. “Fair.”

Nate looked at her for a moment, expression softening. “We’ve got a solid plan. Good people. I don’t trust the odds—but I trust the team.”

Lex nodded once. “Me too.”

There was a pause. Not heavy—just quiet. Steady.

She looked up at him, then reached out and gave his chest a gentle pat. “Try to get some sleep for once.”

Before she could pull her hand back, he caught it—and in one smooth motion, spun her gently so her back pressed against his chest.

Lex gasped, caught off guard—but not pulling away. His arm rested lightly across her waist, the warmth of him surrounding her, close enough to steal her breath.

“I will, only if you will,” he murmured near her ear, low and teasing.

She turned slowly to face him, her cheeks already flushing. She didn’t say anything—but the look on her face said plenty.

Nate tilted his head, smiling. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” she said a little too quickly. “You startled me.”

He grinned. “I can’t let Gray be the only one keeping you on your toes.”

Lex rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at her mouth as she stepped backward and slipped into her room.

“Night,” she said, voice softer now.

“Night,” he replied.

This time, he let her go.

Lex leaned against the door as it clicked shut behind her, her heart still racing just a little too fast. Her face was warm. Her fingers were tingling.

She let out a quiet breath and shook her head to herself.

She was in trouble—and she knew it.

But she didn’t hate the feeling.

Not at all.

*

The next morning, the gear room buzzed with low voices and shifting movement.

Dane hadn’t shown again.

He’d been pulled in three directions since the attack—patching the physical damage, calming the fallout, and now trying to put together a supply team.

Latch offered. Shiv did too, even though he was still limping. Lex didn’t know if that made him reckless or loyal. Probably both.

Gray was already at the table, elbows on a crate, sorting through field gear…

Lex tugged on the zipper of her vest and adjusted the shoulder straps. It wasn’t heavy—lightweight, made more for mobility than defense—but it still felt strange. It settled over her shoulders with the weight of expectation—functional, but foreign.

Jace was already mid-complaint.

“Why do I get the busted rifle?” he said, holding it up like it had personally wronged him. “Pretty sure this thing jammed last time we even looked at it.”

Gray didn’t look up from where he was fine-tuning a modified signal scrambler. “You get it because you talk the most. And if we’re lucky, it’ll jam your mouth too.”

“Wow,” Jace said. “So much hostility for someone whose hoodie smells like battery acid and sadness.”

“Don’t knock the hoodie,” Lex muttered, trying not to smile. “It’s the only thing holding Gray together.”

Gray held up a screwdriver without turning around. “I will sabotage your comms so fast.”

“Kids,” Elias said calmly, passing behind them with a blade and whetstone. “Try not to break each other before the drones get a chance.”

Nate stood at the far end of the table, checking over a rifle and a sidearm with practiced ease. Every motion was smooth, almost automatic. He glanced up as Lex stepped over beside him.

“Need help?” he asked.

Lex shook her head. “Just trying to look like I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said, his tone softening just a little. “But this strap’s twisted.”

He reached out and fixed it without needing permission, hands quick and careful.

Their eyes met—just briefly—but it was enough to settle something low in her chest.

“You should carry the short blade on your left,” Elias said from behind them. “Better reach on your swing. You tend to lead with your right.”

Lex blinked at him. “You’ve been watching?”

“I watch everything.”

She gave a faint smile. “Creepy, but noted.”

Jace walked past holding a roll of duct tape and a half-smashed comm unit. “Alright, if no one needs me, I’m going to pretend I’m valuable by fixing something with no moving parts.”

Gray handed him a spare battery pack. “At least plug that in while you’re pretending.”

Lex looked at the pile of gear on the table—knives, packs, ration kits, tagged maps, backup signal flares. It was chaos, but it was organized chaos. And somehow, it felt like theirs.

“Feels real now,” she said quietly.

Nate glanced at her. “It is.”

Lex was still adjusting the sheath on her hip when Elias’s voice cut through the soft shuffle of movement.

“You know,” he said, not looking up from the blade he was sharpening, “this part used to be my least favorite.”

The room quieted a little. Not fully—but enough.

Jace, halfway through arguing with Gray about a power cell, paused mid-retort. Even Nate stilled slightly, his hand frozen over a loaded magazine.

Elias kept working the whetstone, calm and steady. “Back when I was in the Corps, we’d gear up the night before a drop. Everyone would joke. Make noise. Pick at each other like kids in a cafeteria. Just like this.”

Lex glanced at him. She hadn’t known he was in the military. She’d figured—maybe—but he never talked about it.

Elias set the blade down and finally looked up. “Thing is, it wasn’t because anyone thought it was funny. It’s because it mattered. Because if you let the weight of what you’re walking into sit on your chest too long, it gets heavy. Too heavy. So you lift it the only way you can.”

He paused. Let that sit.

“I don’t mind the noise,” he added. “But I need you all to understand something. This isn’t just a recon run. It’s a hit. If we get in there, if we find what we think is there, it’s not going to be clean. It’s not going to be easy. And there’s a good chance we won’t all walk out.”

The silence that followed was different this time. Not awkward. Not stunned.

Just real.

Lex felt it settle in her gut. Gray looked down, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. Even Jace stayed still.

Then—after a long enough pause that it felt almost sacred—Jace cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, “I’ll sleep easy knowing that if I die, it’ll be while wearing tactical gear that smells like expired soup and regret.”

Gray sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Lex shook her head, biting back a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m inspirational,” Jace corrected, grabbing his vest. “That speech needed a closer.”

Elias gave a slow, quiet chuckle. “Just don’t be the reason we don’t walk out.”

Jace saluted with the grace of a sleep-deprived raccoon. “Sir, yes, sir.”

And just like that, the air loosened again—but the weight of Elias’s words didn’t leave. Not completely.

It just settled where it needed to.

No one said it out loud, but Lex could feel it—the quiet agreement that they’d need everything they could get.



The gear room had cleared out an hour ago. Jace left last, muttering something about needing “pre-mission snacks” and promising to invent a new protein bar flavor before morning.

Lex wasn’t tired. Not really.

She found Gray exactly where she figured he’d be—back in the corner of the main tech station, crouched over a cracked monitor, surrounded by tangled wires and two half-charged batteries. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up again, and his hair was a little messier than usual, like he’d been running his hands through it out of habit.

He passed a small drone chip from hand to hand—an old, scorched thing with a jagged edge. A tic she’d started to notice whenever things got quiet.

“You know there’s such a thing as sleep, right?” she said as she stepped into the room.

Gray didn’t look up. “Overrated. And statistically unwise with a mission coming up.”

Lex leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “That projection unit better not explode mid-run.”

“It won’t,” he said. Then added, “Probably.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “What are you even tweaking?”

“Fine-tuning the signal curve,” he replied. “Trying to make the mimic a little more believable. Drones are… twitchy. The better the fake Lex looks, the longer we have.”

She moved closer, watching the screen flicker. “You’re doing a lot for this.”

Gray finally looked over at her. His usual sarcasm wasn’t there—not entirely. “You matter, you know.”

Lex blinked.

He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Not just because of the drones. Or the signal. You just… matter.”

Her throat tightened a little. “You’re getting soft on me.”

“I’ve always been soft,” he said. “Just with better branding.”

Lex grinned and sat beside him, pulling one knee up to her chest. “We’re gonna be okay, right?”

Gray didn’t answer right away.

Then he nudged her shoulder lightly. “We’ve got a 7 out of 10 chance, according to Nate.”

She huffed a small laugh. “He’s an optimist.”

“Yeah,” Gray said. “But so are you. Secretly.”

Lex gave a soft sigh and leaned her head briefly against his shoulder—just for a second.

“Thanks for not letting this suck entirely,” she murmured.

Gray gave her a sideways look. “That’s what the hoodie’s for. Emotional insulation.”

Lex didn’t say anything else. She just sat there a little longer while he kept typing.

And for a while, neither of them needed to fill the quiet.

*

Later, Lex found herself standing alone on the second-floor walkway, hands resting lightly on the railing. The dim glow of the lower level stretched below her—quiet and half-lit, humming faintly with the soft whir of air circulation and distant chatter that never quite reached her.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there. Time felt fuzzy. Still. Heavy in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Footsteps approached behind her—familiar, measured.

Nate.

He stopped beside her, not too close, just enough that she felt it.

“Everything alright?” he asked softly.

Lex nodded, eyes still on the dark below. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

He didn’t push.

After a moment, she said, “That speech Elias gave earlier… it hit harder than I expected.”

Nate glanced at her. “He’s been through a lot. You can hear it, even when he barely says anything.”

Lex nodded again. “It’s not that I didn’t know the risk. I do. I’ve seen it. Lived it. But hearing him say it out loud… it made it feel more real. Like tomorrow’s not just some plan on a wall. It’s us. Out there.”

She gave a short breath, not quite a laugh. “I try not to let the fear show. Doesn’t help anyone.”

Nate didn’t answer at first.

Then his voice was steady. “You don’t have to hide it. It’s normal to be scared, Lex.”

“I know,” she said. “I just… sometimes I think if I admit it, it’ll take over.”

He turned toward her fully. “Come here.”

Lex blinked.

Then, without really thinking, she stepped into his arms.

Nate wrapped her in a hug—real, warm, grounding. Not the quick kind people give to be polite. This one was solid. Intentional. Like something built to hold her together when she wasn’t sure she could do it on her own.

Lex pressed her face into his chest, her breath catching just a little.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” she murmured.

Nate’s voice rumbled low against her ear. “Actually… I think I did.”

He held her tighter.

“But I think I might’ve needed it more.”

Then—softly, without a word—he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

It was the second time he’d done that.

But this time… it held more weight.

They didn’t speak after that.

Didn’t move.

They just stayed like that, wrapped in quiet and warmth, until the world felt a little less sharp around the edges.

Tomorrow, she’d step into the unknown. But tonight, she’d been reminded why she’d keep going.

For the first time all day, she felt steady.