CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN — THE SECRET AT THE RADIO TOWER
Curator paced in their small sleeping area, replaying everything Amethyst and Masquerades had said.
“Enjoy the night while you can.”
That haunted them.
They waited until Haven South fell quiet—
until laughter died down, lights dimmed, and guards rotated onto the graveyard shift.
Curator grabbed their lantern.
And went alone to the radio tower.
THE RADIO TOWER
The tower loomed like the skeleton of a giant creature, metal ribs reaching into the clouded sky.
Curator climbed the ladder slowly, their breath sharp in the cold.
Masquerades waited at the top, mask glowing faintly in the moonlight. They sat cross-legged, unusually still… almost solemn.
“You came,” they murmured.
“You asked,” Curator replied. “Now tell me the truth.”
Masquerades tapped the metal beside them.
“Sit.”
Curator did—lantern between them.
Masquerades spoke softly.
“Your group isn’t like others, Curator. And Haven South knew that before you ever arrived.”
Curator’s chest tightened.
“…How?”
Masquerades drummed their fingers on their mask.
“Because we were warned. Someone came here months ago—a traveler. Said a group of teenagers would survive impossible things… but would also carry a disturbance with them.”
Curator’s breath hitched.
“Devesto?”
“No. Something older.”
Masquerades leaned closer.
“There’s… a connection between all of you. Something emotional, something powerful. You think the wasteland is dead, but it’s not. It listens. It reacts.”
Curator swallowed hard.
“Reacts how?”
Masquerades hesitated.
“By warping reality. Bending places. Drawing… entities.”
“Like the fading figure.”
“Yes.”
Curator’s skin crawled.
Masquerades continued.
“That thing isn’t following you because it wants you. It’s following you because it’s drawn to your bond. Every memory. Every shared fear. Every laugh. Every trauma.”
Curator whispered, horrified:
“…We caused the Resonance?”
Masquerades nodded slowly.
“You attract it. All of you together. The closer your group gets, the stronger the pull becomes.”
Curator’s chest tightened.
“So the more we care for each other… the worse it gets?”
Masquerades didn’t deny it.
And that silence was worse than any answer.
