With two heavy thuds, blood began streaming down the big guy's forehead. After that, he stopped smashing his head and simply clung to the rock, curling up tight. From time to time, he punched himself in the skull. But because Sage had warned everyone earlier, even in such unbearable pain, he didn't make a sound. "I'm not telling the truth," Sage's voice came from behind. Theresa turned to see him snuffing out his cigarette, the usual gentleness in his eyes now shadowed by a rare heaviness. "Ever since we discovered that the liquid in gleamstones could boost our abilities, everyone started eating them. "But after that, while our abilities did improve a little, our bodies began to fall apart." Theresa could feel it. Sage had over eight hundred people with him. More than a hundred and fifty were ability users. Most of them were only at Level 2. Swallowing zombie gleamstones raw didn't come close to proper extraction. Most of the energy couldn't be absorbed. But nearly all the toxins were. It was like tossing fireworks into an already roaring bonfire—ready to blow at any second. "At first, it’s just the headaches—like ants crawling across your scalp. Annoying, but bearable. You grit your teeth and push through it. But then it shifts. Turns into this sharp, electric pain—like someone’s yanking on your nerves and veins, strumming them like guitar strings. Faster and faster. That’s when things start slipping.""You get so on edge, every noise feels like an attack. You want to smash anything that makes a sound, destroy anything that moves. Just make it stop—make it shut up. You want everything to be still. Quiet. You want to tear the world apart just to find silence again." "Why don’t you just stop?" Theresa asked. "Stop eating them." Sage's smile softened even more. "Once the arrow's left the bow, can it really turn back?" Theresa didn't answer. Everyone's situation was different. Sage's group had been cut off from the outside world since the beginning. They had no access to Evoloid, so they could only rely on zombie gleamstones—raw, brutal, and primitive—to force their evolution. And once they started down that road, there was no turning back. They never had another option—only forward, and no choice but to keep going. Until everything breaks down. "But we've found that pain helps ease the symptoms." Sage rolled up his other sleeve. The skin on that arm was a mess of scars—knife wounds, bite marks, jagged lines where the flesh had torn and healed badly. There wasn't a single patch of unbroken skin. "By the way," Sage asked suddenly, "when you cook them… you really don't get any side effects?" Theresa met his eyes and thought for a second. "It's definitely better than eating them raw."Sage's bright eyes softened with gratitude. "I can't thank you enough. If we hadn't run into you, we'd still be trapped in Crestmont. And if we couldn't get out... we'd all be dead by now." "Don't say that. You guys are incredible." Sage shook his head. "Ms. Hall, you probably don't know what it was like in our camp. We were trapped in the city, and none of us got a full night's sleep. We were desperate to get out, to find other camps, rebuild some kind of order—something we could rely on together." He looked up at her then, and for the first time, the gentle, harmless light in his eyes flickered with raw vulnerability. "Can you help us a little more? Get us out of here." That look hit Theresa right in the chest. It felt painfully familiar. She took a deep breath, pulled on her most sincere expression, and gave a firm nod. "Don't worry. As long as I'm here, I'll help you." She didn't hesitate. Her voice rang with confidence. Sage's soft smile deepened, warm enough to drown in. "I knew you were a good person, Ms. Hall." "I told you—we're allies. If I don't help you, who else would? Let's get some rest. Tomorrow, I'll figure out how to get more of your people out." Sage nodded. "You go ahead. I'll finish these last few cigarettes." Theresa didn't linger. She turned and walked back toward the camp. Behind her, she heard the quiet flick of a lighter. Sage sat there, cigarette between his lips, watching her go. His smile slowly widened. Theresa had just lain down on her bedding when a shadow loomed over her. "You're still up?" Quentin dropped down beside her, voice low and smoky. "How am I supposed to sleep without you?""Get lost," she muttered, slapping him away. But the moment her hand touched him, he grabbed it and held tight. "Beautiful," he said softly, "don't tell me you're being dumb again." She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" "You actually believe that guy?" His usual playful tone was gone. Now, his gaze was deadly serious. Theresa narrowed her eyes. "Do you have some brilliant insight you're dying to share?" Quentin glanced at the flickering light behind the trees, then leaned in and whispered in her ear, low enough that only she could hear, "He's a liar. "Remember this, any guy who shows you his wounds and asks for help is playing you. He's got an angle. Don't trust him."