Deception

Chapter 12: Recurrence

I woke up to the sound of someone snoring right in my ear. For a second, I thought it was Hiko—guy sounds like a chainsaw chewing through gravel when he sleeps—but no. It was some kid just above me on the rusted bunker bed, a scrawny little thing with horns poking out of his messy hair, half of his body was sprawling off the edge, it would be a miracle if he didn't fall anytime soon.

I carefully peeled myself off the bed to not make a noise, only to realize that I was the last to wake up, beside the kid above me, to the bunker's morning routine. I rubbed my face. The bunker was already buzzing outside the dorms, soft chatter, the clatter of pots, the shink of blades being sharpened.

Funny... I hadn't woken up to this kind of noise since... well. Since before. Man do I got to fix my sleep schedule... What happened to Kan, leader of the pack, who wakes up at four in the morning just to water the plants.

I stretched, rolling my shoulders until something popped. The air down here was damp, smelled like old metal and whatever the hell they were cooking (hopefully not more horses). My boots scraped against the floor as I stood, and a few kids glanced up from their tasks—some curious, some wary, others studying. One tiny girl with rabbit ears ducked behind a crate when I waved, and disappearing behind it to somewhere else. Having so many demons and humans together in one place was and still is a fever dream. I feel the intensity every step I take.

Charming.

Aloray was already up, of course, drilling a group of older kids in the far corners. His voice was sharp, no-nonsense, furrowed brows, his arms fly for every command, as that old tattered green jacket of his almost falls off of him from the movements. "Again. If you miss the artery, you're dead. Do it right."

I smirked. Kid had a stick up his arse, but I couldn't blame him. This place? It ran on discipline of not dying. Somewhat... I see myself there.

Speaking of not dying... Where is Nakumi...?

I ran around for a while, until I spotted her near the kitchen area. The kitchen was an orchestra, a cramped alcove of salvaged metal counters and jury-rigged stoves that looked like they'd been welded together from scrap tank parts. The walls were lined with mismatched shelves. wood, rusted sheet metal, and everything else in between stacked with chipped bowls, dented pots, and jars of preserved goods, their labels long faded. A single flickering bulb swung overhead.

The air was thick with the smell of seared meat, wild herbs, mud, and the ever-present dampness of the bunker. A massive cast-iron pot simmered over a propane burner just below a huge ventilator that sucked even the oxygen out, tended by a lanky demon boy with ashen skin and too many pointy elbows. He stirred with a ladle that looked like it had once been a shovel, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Nearby, a pair of human twins, couldn't have been older than ten, were peeling roots at a cracked plastic table, their fingers moving in-sync, even their breathing was synced, as if there was a mirror in-between. One had a jagged scar across her knuckles.

Lira stood at the central butcher block, her sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, her arms were bloodied as were the sleeves. She worked with the precision of someone who'd been wielding knives since they could walk, cleaving through vegetables with short, efficient strokes. The blade she used was more tool than weapon—nicked, unevenly sharpened, but did the job regardless.

A few younger kids scurried between my legs, fetching water from the hand-pump, probably connected to a well under the bunker. Some hauled sacks of grain from the storage nook. One lass stood balanced on a stool, trying to reach a jar of dried mushrooms, And then there was Nakumi, perched like a restless crow on the edge of the counter, watching it all with wide, curious eyes. She poked at a pile of chopped greens, sniffed a mystery spice, and nearly upended a bowl of broth before Lira smacked her hand away with a wooden spoon