Marie's words echoed in his mind: You'll get nothing from us.
The group was smaller now. Panic and the roaring flood had scattered some of the members in different directions. Only about ten of them remained, trudging through the damp, uneven ground, their shadows flickering in the weak glow of a scavenged flashlight. The surge of icy water had destroyed nearly everything they had—blankets, crates, pots, whatever semblance of home they'd managed to carve out of the dark.
And then there was Vic.
Nuru's chest ached as he thought about him. The man's hard, wiry frame and sharp tongue had always been intimidating, but Vic had never been cruel. He'd been the one to show Nuru how to patch the holes in his tarp. He'd taught him which parts of the tunnels stayed dry during heavy snowmelt and which were best avoided. He wasn't a friend, not exactly, but he'd been there. A constant.
And now he was gone, lying in the tunnel with blood pooling around him, his body left behind like a stone marker of everything that had gone wrong.
The group finally stopped in a drier section of the sewer, near an old maintenance hatch covered in rust. Marie motioned for them to gather around, her face set in grim lines. Her clothes were soaked, and she shivered slightly as she leaned against the wall.
"We need to figure out our next steps," she said, her voice low but firm. "We can't stay here long. They'll come looking for us again. Everyone needs to—"
"Why bother?" someone interrupted, their voice sharp and bitter. "We're finished. Everything's gone."
The speaker, an older woman named Grace, crossed her arms tightly, her expression a mix of anger and fear. "We've been living on borrowed time down here, and now Vic's dead. And for what? Because someone couldn't leave well enough alone!"
The accusation hung in the air, and several heads turned to Marie.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Marie shot back, her voice defensive.
"You know damn well what it means," Grace said, stepping forward. "That crew wasn't here by accident. They were looking for something—or someone. What did you do?"
The room fell silent. Even Nuru, standing at the edge of the group, could feel the weight of the question pressing down. Marie straightened, her jaw tight.
"I didn't do anything," she said, her tone clipped.
"Liar." The accusation came from a younger man, tall and wiry, who had been one of Vic's closest friends. "They knew where to find us, Marie. They knew us. That doesn't just happen. What did you take?"
Marie hesitated, and that hesitation was all the confirmation the group needed.
"I didn't steal," Marie said finally, her voice softer now. "I was trying to get supplies. Food, medicine. Things we needed."
"And?" Grace pressed.
Marie exhaled shakily, leaning her head against the wall. "I found a stash near the docks a few weeks ago. It was abandoned—at least, I thought it was. We've been running low on everything. I figured no one would miss a couple of boxes."
"A couple of boxes?" the young man repeated, his voice rising. "You brought a death squad down on us for a couple of boxes?"
"I didn't know who it belonged to!" Marie snapped. "How was I supposed to know it was theirs?"
"Because it's Gotham!" Grace shouted. "Everything down here belongs to someone. And you knew that."
Nuru's hands clenched into fists at his sides as the argument spiraled. He hadn't seen Marie like this before—frustrated, cornered, desperate. She'd always been the strong one, the leader, the one who made everyone feel like they had a chance. But now? Now she looked like she was falling apart.
And it was his fault.
He hadn't told anyone about the notebook. He couldn't. But the water, the impossible surge that had saved them from the men with guns, had been his doing. He'd meant to help, to protect them, but instead, it had destroyed everything they had left. The camp was gone, the group was fracturing, and Vic—Vic was dead.
He hadn't meant for any of it to happen. But it had.
"I can't stay here," Grace said suddenly, her voice trembling. "I can't keep waiting for someone else to get us all killed. I'm leaving."
"Where will you even go?" Marie asked, her tone sharp. "It's freezing up there, Grace. You'll die on the surface."
"Maybe," Grace replied, pulling her coat tighter around her. "But at least I'll be away from this."
Her words struck like a blow, and as she walked off into the darkness, a few others followed, murmuring quietly to one another. Marie didn't stop them.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Marie sank to the ground, her head in her hands. Nuru hesitated, then approached her, his small frame dwarfed by her hunched figure.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she said softly, almost to herself. "I was just trying to help."
Nuru sat down beside her, pulling his knees to his chest. He didn't say anything at first. The words felt heavy in his throat, and he wasn't sure if they would help or hurt.
"Vic wouldn't blame you," he said finally, his voice quiet.
Marie looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. "You think so?"
Nuru nodded, though he wasn't sure if he believed it. Vic was gone, and blaming someone wouldn't bring him back. But Marie needed to hear it, and he didn't have anything better to offer.
Hours passed. The group had dwindled to a handful of people now, huddled together in the cold silence of the tunnel. Nuru stared at the notebook in his lap, running his fingers over its worn cover.
He couldn't stay.
He could feel it in his chest, the pull of something beyond the tunnels, beyond the darkness and despair. The notebook had done too much damage already. If he stayed, who knew what else might happen?
Marie had saved his life when he'd first stumbled into the tunnels, and he owed her for that. But now, it was clear she couldn't protect him anymore.
He had to leave.
----------
The tunnels were silent now, save for the occasional drip of water echoing off the walls. Most of the group had finally drifted off to sleep, huddled in the damp and cold. Nuru lay awake near the edge of the camp, curled under a blanket that did little to keep the chill away.
His mind raced.
He couldn't stay. That much was clear. Not after what had happened. Not with Vic gone, the group fractured, and the crew hunting them. But as he stared at the dim ceiling, listening to the quiet snores and restless movements of the others, he couldn't bring himself to just leave. Not like this.
They'd lost too much already. He had to give something back.
Quietly, he slipped out from under the blanket and pulled the notebook from his jacket. His fingers trembled as he flipped to a fresh page. The pen felt heavier than usual, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him.
He thought of Marie, of the way she'd held the group together even as it was falling apart. He thought of Vic, of how he'd taught Nuru the little things that had made surviving here just a bit easier.
They deserved better.
Nearby, a small pile of warm clothes, food, and supplies is accidentally left behind by a charitable company. Enough for those who need them.
He wrote the words carefully, his hand steady despite the cold. As the ink dried, he felt the familiar pull deep in his chest, a faint hum that made the air around him feel heavier for just a moment.
Nuru tucked the notebook back into his jacket and crept toward the ladder that led to the surface.
The biting cold hit him as he emerged from the grate, but he didn't stop moving. The city above was quiet in the early morning, the streets slick with a thin layer of ice. Nuru kept to the shadows, his eyes scanning the alleyways until he saw it, a few bundles tucked just inside the doorway of an abandoned storefront.
He approached cautiously, his breath visible in the frigid air. It was all wrapped in plastic, marked with the faded logo of a local charity. He didn't know how it had ended up here—if his writing had brought it to life, or if it had been waiting all along for someone to find it—but it didn't matter.
He hoisted all of it, his small frame straining under the weight, and hurried back to the grate.
The others were still asleep when he returned. He worked quickly, setting the gifts by the fire where they'd be found easily. He paused for a moment, looking at the exhausted faces of the group. Marie's hand twitched in her sleep, her face lined with worry even in rest.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Then he turned and slipped away, climbing back up the ladder and into the biting cold of Gotham City's streets, all without taking a single thing from the pile left by his decision. He couldn't help but shiver every couple of seconds, his clothes still uncomfortably damp from the frigid surge of water from the day before.