DEADLINE: Zero Hour

Chapter Two – First Night

The fire burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the gutted café. Todd was curled under a threadbare blanket, snoring softly. Nasha leaned against the wall, eyes half-closed but alert. Ben sat near the fire, quietly adjusting the barricades, while Grey settled in a corner, scanning the room with calm precision.

Jaxton moved to the window, crouching just inside the makeshift barricade. The street outside was a blur of black and broken shapes. Wind rattled the remaining signs, carrying faint, distant moans. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his knife, muscles coiled, eyes scanning every shadow.

Minutes passed. Then hours. The quiet pressed against him, heavy and almost suffocating. Every creak of the building, every gust of wind sounded like movement.

He glanced at the others. Todd slept, face pale in the firelight. Nasha shifted but didn’t close her eyes fully. Ben adjusted a loose plank, careful not to wake anyone. Grey’s gaze swept the perimeter one last time before leaning back, finally allowing a moment’s rest.

A sudden scrape outside made Jaxton freeze. His breath caught. Every muscle tensed. Shadows stretched, twisted, and moved—or was it his imagination? A toppled sign rocked against a curb. Nothing else. He exhaled slowly, letting the knife rest lightly against his palm.

Minutes passed again, slower this time, stretching into silence so thick it pressed against his ears. Jaxton’s mind raced with all the things that could be out there. He couldn’t let it get to him. He couldn’t.

Then, almost imperceptibly, a whisper of movement by the fire’s edge. Jaxton turned sharply, eyes narrowing. A rat scuttled across the floor, dragging some debris behind it. He blinked and let himself relax slightly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Hero points intact, he thought.

The night stretched on. Outside, the city breathed, moaning and groaning with life—or unlife—he couldn’t see. Inside, the fire flickered, the only witness to their fragile safety.

Jaxton shifted, pressing his back against the wall. He had the first watch. Alone with the dark, alone with the quiet, he let himself focus. Any sound, any shadow, any sign of movement, he’d be ready. He had to be ready.

The others slept, but he didn’t. The fire burned low. The wind carried distant moans. And Jaxton Crowe, smirking despite it all, waited for the night to test them.