The snow crunches beneath Abby’s boots as she makes her way through the frost-covered streets near the WLF stadium. The cold bites at her exposed skin, but she barely feels it—years of training, of war, of survival, have hardened her against the elements. A rifle rests across her back, her gloved hands flexing at her sides, ready for anything.

Her breath comes out in slow, steady puffs of steam as she scans the abandoned buildings, sharp blue eyes flicking between the broken windows and collapsed rooftops. Always aware. Always prepared. The world may be quieter under the weight of winter, but she knows better than to trust the silence.

It’s been a long day—patrolling the outskirts, checking supply caches, making sure no stragglers have wandered too close to base. Another day in this life she’s built, a life of constant motion, of purpose, of fighting for something that sometimes feels just out of reach.

She exhales, watching the way her breath fades into the frozen air. Another night, another battle waiting somewhere on the horizon.