This Broken Earth

Chapter 10: What Stays With Us

Chapter 10: What Stays With Us

Lex spent the rest of the day in the hydroponic garden. It was warm, damp, and quiet. Therapeutic in a way nothing else had been lately. The hum of grow lights. The faint drip of water. The scent of green things still trying.

It gave her something to focus on. Something to feel that wasn’t confusion.

Nate didn’t show this time.

She’d hoped he would.

Maybe he needed space. Or maybe he needed a break from her. The thought settled in her chest like weight—and she wasn’t sure she could handle the answer.

She tried to stay in the garden. Tried to let it go.

But the questions wouldn’t stop circling.

What he was thinking. What he was feeling.

Eventually, she gave up pretending she didn’t care.

She had to know.

So she went looking.

Later, she ended up in the lower storage room. Nate was already there—alone—hitting a punching bag like it had insulted his mother.

Sweat slicked down his back. His shirt was tossed aside. Every muscle in his frame was pulled taut with something that had nothing to do with training.

Lex hovered in the doorway.

He saw her. Stopped.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Nate grabbed a towel, wiped his face, and exhaled hard.

“You good?” she asked, leaning against the frame.

He nodded, not quite looking at her. “Yeah.”

She stepped in, quieter now. “We should talk.”

That got his attention. He looked at her—really looked. There was something behind his eyes. Tired. Guarded. Unreadable.

“You worried me yesterday,” she said. “Not when we were up there. But after. You kinda shut down.”

“I’m not good at this part,” he muttered.

“What part?”

He tossed the towel onto the bench. “The part where someone younger than me, who’s already been through more than she should’ve… looks at me like I’m supposed to be something solid.”

Lex blinked. “That’s not what I—”

“You’re seventeen, Lex.”

She didn’t flinch. “I know how old I am.”

“You don’t get it. You’re…” He shook his head. “You’re strong. Smarter than most people in this place. But that doesn’t make this okay.”

She stepped closer. “I didn’t come here to make you feel responsible.”

“No,” he said. “But I already do.”

He sat down heavily on the bench, elbows on his knees, towel still in hand. For a second, he just sat there, staring at the floor like maybe it held the right words.

Lex hesitated—then moved to sit beside him.

She kept a bit of space between them. Not much. Just enough to give him room to say whatever he needed.

But when he didn’t, Lex finally spoke—quiet, careful.
“Is it really my age that’s bothering you… or is it something else?”

Nate didn’t answer.

She waited, watching him wrestle with whatever it was behind his eyes.

“You said something before we left last night,” she added, gentler now. “About losing someone.”

That cracked something.

His eyes flicked to her, then away again. His voice dropped—tight, like it had to fight its way out.

“It was my brother.”

Lex didn’t move.

“We were only a year apart. Grew up doing everything together. Same friends, same inside jokes, same scraped-up hands from climbing places we weren’t supposed to.” He let out a breath. “He was the loud one. The stubborn one. Everyone liked him first.”

Nate looked down, touching the scar on his shoulder without thinking. “That night… it was supposed to be nothing. Just a walk home from the high school. Couple guys jumped us near the underpass. One had a knife.”

Lex felt her stomach pull.

“I stepped in. Tried to protect him. Got this.” He motioned toward the scar. “But I wasn’t fast enough.”

He blinked hard once, then spoke again.

“I held him while he bled out. Kept telling him he’d be fine. Even after I knew he wouldn’t.”

He rubbed a hand down his face like he was trying to clear the memory.

“I don’t talk about it. Not because I’ve moved on. Just… because it’s still there. All the time.”

Then, slowly, she reached for his arm—fingers brushing lightly against his skin before sliding down to his hand. She wrapped hers around it, steady.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I know what that’s like for you,” she said softly. “I can’t even imagine. But I want you to know… I don’t need you to be anything but you. And whatever you need, I’m here. Imperfect. Slightly younger. And clearly not as fast as I thought.”

That pulled a laugh from him—quiet, but real.

Nate turned slightly and pulled her into a side hug, his arm warm and solid around her shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Thanks,” he murmured. “You’re not so bad for a chaos magnet.”

Lex smiled into his shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

A sound at the doorway made them both look up.

Gray stood there, blinking.
He raised an eyebrow—just one—and crossed his arms like he’d walked in on something private… which he had.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to, uh—” He gestured vaguely at the air around them. “Interrupt the bonding.”

Lex started to pull back, but Nate didn’t seem in a hurry to move.

Gray smirked. “Anyway. There’s a meeting in ten. Dane said everyone in important. Which I’m pretty sure includes you two.”

Then he pivoted and walked off, calling over his shoulder, “You’re welcome for the heads-up.”

Lex glanced at Nate, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Nate gave a resigned sigh. “We should go.”

“Yep,” she said, standing and offering her hand.

He took it. And his shirt.

*

Lex let down her hair as they walked down the corridor toward the meeting room, the buzz of overhead lights echoing faintly.

Halfway there, she slowed her steps.

Nate glanced at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just—” She tugged at the hem of her shirt, suddenly hyperaware of how casual it looked. It was faded, soft, a little wrinkled—not exactly mission briefing attire.

“I should’ve changed,” she muttered.

Nate raised a brow. “Pretty sure no one’s dressing to impress in there.”

“Still,” Lex said, glancing down. “Can you—turn around for a sec?”

He blinked. Then gave a lopsided smile and dutifully turned his back. “Your wish is my command.”

Lex rolled her eyes but quickly peeled off the shirt, flipping it inside out and pulling it back on. The seams showed now, but at least the worn-out print wasn’t visible anymore. It felt a little less her, and somehow a little more ready.

“All right,” she said, tugging the sleeves straight. “Crisis averted.”

Nate turned back, eyeing her without comment—though a small smirk tugged at his mouth.

“Look,” she added, deadpan. “No Edward. No Bella. No sparkly vampires.”

“That’s a shame,” he said. “Really tied the look together.”

She elbowed him as they reached the door.


The meeting room smelled faintly of metal and mildew—like secrets and time.

Dane stood at the head of the long table, arms crossed, while a projection flickered against the back wall. A crude topographical map of the region lit up with red marks—most of them labeled with dates and short notes: Drone sighting. Signal spike. Patrol loss.

Lex hovered near the door, tension threading through her shoulders. Nate stood beside her, arms crossed, his gaze locked on the screen.

Around the table sat only a few others: Marah, calm and composed with her ever-present notebook; Reed, quiet with that distant paramedic steadiness; and Jace, the slightly stocky tech systems guy whose dark under-eyes made it obvious he hadn’t been sleeping.

Gray stood beside the projector, one hand on the remote. He clicked to the next slide: a grainy, black-and-white image captured from drone footage.

A facility—hidden in the woods, surrounded by antenna towers and solar panels.

“This came in twelve hours after Lex and Nate deployed the decoy,” Gray said. “Three drones moved out of the southern perimeter. Two of them returned to this location.”

Lex leaned forward slightly. “That’s where they’re running things?”

“It’s a strong possibility,” Gray replied. “Signal routing, AI command decisions—maybe even storage or manufacturing. We’ve never gotten this close before. Or so I’m learning.”

Dane finally spoke. “If we can infiltrate that hub, we might be able to do some real damage. Disrupt their signals. Throw them off your scent.”

He looked directly at Lex.

She stiffened. “So… I’m bait. Again.”

Beside her, Nate’s jaw tensed. His crossed arms shifted just slightly, but enough to make his opinion clear. He didn’t like where this was going.

“You’re the only one they’re tracking directly,” Dane said. “But if we do it right, they won’t know the difference between you and a shadow of your signal.”

Gray tapped a few keys. “We’re working on a projection—a mimic of Lex’s bio-signature. It’s more advanced than the pulse I rigged before—this one could actually trick the drones into thinking she’s nearby. Not perfect, but close.”

Jace chimed in, rubbing a hand down his face. “If we deploy it right, we can pull part of the drone patrol away from the hub. Create a soft perimeter. Just long enough to sneak a team inside.”

Lex frowned. “So it’s not just a distraction. We’re actually going in.”

“Correct,” Dane said. “Once we’re inside, we grab whatever data we can—locations, protocols, anything tied to the recall code. And if the opportunity presents itself—”

“We plant charges,” Gray finished. “Take out systems. Drones. Maybe whatever’s running the show in there.”

Lex glanced at the grainy image still flickering on the wall. Her stomach knotted.

“So it’s a breach and burn.”

Dane’s voice was steady. “It’s a chance to hit back. And figure out why they want you so badly in the process.”

Gray clicked to the next frame.

Text scrolled across the bottom in jagged, glitched script:

Blackwell. 019. System error. Initiate recall.

Marah’s brow furrowed. “Initiate recall?”

Jace stared at the projection. “They’re not trying to kill her. Not yet. They want her back.”

Lex’s pulse kicked. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

Nate finally spoke, voice low and clipped. “Why her?”

Gray hesitated. “We still don’t know.”

Dane looked at Lex again. “You need to be sure about this. If we commit to a run on the hub, we won’t be able to turn back.”

Lex stared at the screen. Then at the people in the room.

Marah, steady and quiet. Reed, calm but watching everything. Jace, exhausted. Gray, trying to hide how worried he looked.
Nate—beside her, silent but solid.

They were all waiting on her.

She drew a breath. “No one’s safe if we sit still.”

Dane gave a single nod. “Then we move.”

“But not tonight,” Gray added. “We need time. At least two days to prep, run simulations, and check our equipment. No use storming a facility just to walk into a trap.”

Dane didn’t argue. “You’ve got forty-eight hours. Make them count.”

The meeting dissolved after that—papers gathered, chairs pushed back, boots echoing down the corridor.

But Lex didn’t leave right away.

Nate lingered too, watching the projection fade from the wall, replaced by the dull texture of concrete and old stains.

Lex looked over at him. “Just call me bait.”

“You’re not just bait,” Nate said, turning toward her. “But if they’re tracking you anyway, we might as well use it to our advantage.”

She raised a brow. “That’s your pep talk?”

He gave a small, crooked grin. “No. My pep talk comes later. Right after we go practice shooting.”

*

That night, the bunker had mostly gone quiet.

The lower level had been cleared for practice—dim, echoey, and lined with makeshift targets. Overhead work lights buzzed faintly as Lex adjusted the grip on the handgun Nate handed her and squared her stance.

“Relax your shoulders,” he said, stepping behind her. His voice was close to her ear. “Don’t fight the recoil before it happens. Just absorb it.”

She shot him a dry look over her shoulder. “You want to do it for me?”

He smirked. “I could. But then you’d owe me.”

Lex faced forward again, refocusing on the target. When she fired, the shot rang out clean and sharp—not perfect, but it hit close enough to center.

Nate nodded, clearly impressed. “Not bad.”

“I had a good teacher,” she said lightly.

“I know.”

They moved through more drills—shooting, reloading, hand signals—until her arms were starting to ache and her aim started to drift.

“Alright,” Nate said, stepping in. “Let’s run some close-quarters stuff.”

She turned, suspicious. “Like what?”

“Like what happens when someone gets too close before you can draw. What do you do?”

Lex narrowed her eyes. “I guess I—”

Nate lunged.

She yelped, instinct kicking in as she stumbled back and tried to counter, but he had her wrist pinned before she could fully react. They twisted, feet sliding on the smooth floor.

She grunted, managing to hook his leg.

They went down in a tangle of limbs and laughter, Lex landing half on top of him, breathless.

He was grinning up at her.

“You cheated,” she accused, pushing his shoulder.

“I improvised,” he said. “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

She didn’t move right away. Neither did he.

Their breathing slowed. She became very aware of how close they were. His hands. Her knee brushing his side. The way he looked at her—calm, unreadable, but burning just beneath the surface.

Lex leaned in just slightly, not enough to close the distance, but enough to feel the spark between them snap tighter.

“I’m starting to think this is your version of flirting,” she said.

Nate didn’t deny it.

Instead, he let out a soft breath. “C’mon. Let’s go to dinner before I do something really dumb.”

*

A few minutes later, Lex adjusted her shirt as they walked side by side, still a little flushed from training. Her hair was loose and slightly damp at the ends. Nate’s shirt was wrinkled and clinging faintly to his chest.

Neither said much.

But the air between them buzzed like it couldn’t decide whether to settle or spark again.

As they stepped into the mess hall, the low din of voices and clinking dishes filled the space.

Gray looked up from his seat and raised a brow. “You two always show up like you just survived something.”

Lex gave him a look.

Nate just smirked and grabbed two bowls. “We needed it.”

Lex sat beside Nate, the warmth of training still in her limbs.

Gray cracked another joke. Someone laughed.

Lex barely heard it.

She felt Nate’s knee brush hers under the table, casual but intentional.

Her heart kicked once.

Two days. Just two days.

She wasn’t sure what scared her more—what waited out there… or what was happening in here.