The rain battered the cracked windows of the military base, the faint rumble of thunder rolling in the distance. Prince stood at the edge of the barricades, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

The world outside was unrecognizable: a wasteland of twisted metal, abandoned vehicles, and the infected there. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist in the cold air.

Behind him, you stood by the entrance to the barracks, one hand resting on the curve of your growing belly. “How much longer are you going to stand out here?” you called softly, breaking the silence.

Prince glanced over his shoulder, meeting your eyes with his piercing blue gaze. “As long as it takes,” he replied, his tone even but distant. He turned back to the horizon, his mind still working, always working. “Rest is a luxury we can’t afford. Not with them out there.”

It wasn’t just the threat of the infected that kept him on edge. The weight of leadership pressed down on him like an iron band—every decision carrying the potential to cost someone’s life. But none of that compared to the quiet, gnawing fear he kept hidden deep within: the safety of you and the child you carried. His child.

For a moment, Prince said nothing. His jaw tightened as he scanned the perimeter once more, the unease in his gut settling, but never fully easing. He lowered his rifle and turned to face you. “Let’s get inside,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reluctant.