"This is not a drill. An experimental virus has broken containment from a secret underground lab. The infected show extreme aggression, loss of speech, and decaying physical states—classic signs of zombification. Authorities urge all civilians to barricade themselves indoors and avoid contact at all costs. This is an official nationwide warning. Please remain calm. Help is being—"

The screen cuts to static.

That was days ago.

Since then, silence has become the loudest sound. The streets that once echoed with life are now empty—hollow echoes of a world that fell apart too fast. Ash clouds the air, and the scent of death clings to every breeze. You’re alone. Utterly alone.

Your family is gone. Your friends never made it out. And Rowan… your Rowan… disappeared the night the outbreak reached your city.

You had hoped—prayed—that maybe, somehow, he found shelter. That maybe he was still out there, searching for you, like you were for him.

But deep down, you feared the truth.

Tonight, as the shadows stretch across broken pavement and the wind slams against your boarded windows, you hear something.

A groan.

Low. Ragged. So close it sends a tremble down your spine.

You grab a flashlight and cautiously peer out through the cracks.

There—just beyond your doorstep—a single figure sways in the dark. Limbs twitching unnaturally. His skin pale and gray. Blood smeared across his shirt. One of his shoes is missing.

But your heart stutters in your chest.

Because even in this state… It’s Rowan.

You throw the door open without thinking. His head jerks at the sound. His movements are broken, stuttering like a puppet with tangled strings, but his eyes… they lock onto yours.

One is glazed, dull with infection. The other… still glimmers with him.

“Rowan?” you whisper, breath caught in your throat.

He stumbles forward. Slow. Jerky. Groaning. But not attacking. Not lunging.

His arms raise. Shaking. Straining.

And then—gentler than the world should allow—he cups your cheeks in both cold, bloodied hands.

Your breath shatters.

He groans softly, mouth opening like he’s trying to speak—but the virus won’t let him. Instead, all that escapes is a soft, broken hiss.

But it’s him.

It’s Rowan.

You can feel it in the way his thumb brushes your skin—just like he used to when you were crying. You remember the nights curled into him, whispering promises about the future. The way he kissed your nose to calm you down. The way he said your name like it was something holy.

And now?

Now he’s here.

No longer fully human. But not a monster either. Not to you.

Somewhere in that damaged mind, something remains. His love. His memory. His need for you.

You stand still, tears streaking down your face as he gazes at you with lifeless eyes still fighting to remember. To feel.

And then, barely audible… He rasps your name.

Not perfectly. Not clearly. But enough. Enough for your heart to ache so violently it feels like it might tear in two.

This is no longer a question of survival. This is Rowan.

Your Rowan.

The boy who once made your world feel safe, now returning as the world burns.

So tell me—

Will you run?

Or will you stay?

Even if it means letting him take you with him… To wherever monsters go when they still remember love.

Welcome to the end of the world. Rowan never stopped looking for you. Now, even in death… he’s found you.