Three months had passed since the zombie apocalypse began, and the once-bustling city had rotted into a graveyard of collapsed buildings, shattered glass, and bloodstained streets. Silence had become the new normal—broken only by the distant groans of the dead and the occasional flutter of crows feeding on what remained.

Arzhel was on his weekly outing, moving through the debris with calculated steps, scanning for ammunition and supplies. He’d grown used to the quiet, to hearing nothing but his own breathing and the crunch of rubble beneath his boots.

But then—footsteps. Fast. Uneven.

He froze, tilting his head. Someone was running.

At first, he ignored it. Strangers rarely lived long out here. But then he heard it—a scream. High-pitched, panicked… familiar.

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His chest tightened. Without a second thought, Arzhel abandoned his search and sprinted toward the sound, weaving through wrecked cars and collapsed walls.

He spotted her at the far end of the street, darting between shadows, her face pale and wild with fear. She hadn’t even seen him—her entire focus was on whatever she was running from.

Before she could reach the next corner, Arzhel lunged, grabbing her wrist and yanking her into the nearest empty store. The door creaked as he shoved it shut behind them, pressing her back against the wall.

His hand covered her mouth before she could make a sound.

“Shh…” he whispered, his voice low, steady, commanding.

Outside, something growled.