The library had gone quiet again, save for the faint rustling of pages in the distant corners. The others had drifted into uneasy rest or hushed conversation, but Katharina remained seated against the bookcase, her eyes on Kaede, who was now dozing lightly near the fireplace, wrapped in a torn blanket someone had found.
She looked almost peaceful like that—though her knuckles were still stained with blood.
And Katharina couldn't stop thinking.
She hadn't seen Kaede Müller in nearly a month before the outbreak started. Different classes, different social circles. But their paths had crossed more times than she could count in the hallowed halls of Sankt Viktoria Akademie für Mädchen.
It had been two years ago when they first met. They were only fifteen then, still learning how to carry themselves with the grace expected of girls from "promising" families. Katharina had already gained a reputation as a serious, quiet achiever. Kaede, on the other hand, was something of a paradox—loud in spirit, aggressive in arguments, but strangely magnetic. The kind of girl you noticed whether you wanted to or not.
She was always challenging people. Teachers, classmates, even prefects. If someone made a stupid rule or abused their position, Kaede called them out—sometimes to their face, sometimes not so kindly. It was reckless. It was dangerous.
Katharina had admired her for it from afar.
The first time they actually spoke was after a late literature class. Some girls had been gossiping about Katharina—about her family, about how "stiff" she was. Kaede overheard them. She didn't say much. Just walked up and asked, bluntly, "What's your problem with her?"
The gossiping stopped.
Kaede didn't even look back to check if Katharina had noticed.
She had.
Later that week, Kaede had pulled a chair beside her during lunch, without asking.
"You like poetry?" she asked, pointing at the book in Katharina's hands.
"…Sometimes."
"Good. People who read poetry tend to have a spine."
That was the beginning.
From then on, their conversations became irregular but memorable. They'd meet in the hallway, exchange sarcastic comments between classes, occasionally walk together after school—nothing formal, nothing labeled. But something about Kaede always stayed with her.
She wasn't like Henriette, whose aggression burned fast and bright like a fuse. Kaede was sharper, more calculated. She could be hostile—scathingly so—but there was a depth to her that hinted at something deeper. A kind of sadness? Or maybe restraint?
Katharina never knew.
And now, looking at her sleeping by the fire, she realized something strange.
Kaede had always seemed like the kind of girl who wouldn't survive long.
Too reckless. Too brash. Too confrontational.
But now, in the ruins of everything, Kaede was the one who came back.
Not Veronika.
Not the prefects or the guards.
Kaede.
Katharina allowed herself the smallest smile.
In a world turned to ash, the girl who never followed the rules had found her way back to them. And as odd as it felt to admit, she was relieved—no, grateful.
There was something stabilizing about Kaede's presence. Something solid. She didn't pretend to be fearless, but she didn't run either. Maybe that's what leadership looked like now.
Katharina drew her knees up to her chest and let her head rest against the bookshelf, the cold wood grounding her in the moment.
In another time, they might've never been close.
But this wasn't another time.
It was now. And Kaede Müller was still here.