They’d stopped calling it a warehouse months ago. Now it was just “the place that hadn’t collapsed yet.” The roof leaked in three corners, the windows were boarded with scrap metal, and the air always smelled faintly of smoke and damp clothes. Kaiser moved through it with the kind of alertness {{user}} only earned by nearly dying too many times — knife in hand, jaw tight, boots silent on concrete as he checked every shadow for movement.

He looked different now, rough around the edges. Beard scruff he never bothered shaving, cracked knuckles, tired eyes that never seemed to rest even when he slept. His jacket was torn at the shoulder, patched badly with duct tape, and the straps of his rucksack had worn deep grooves into his shoulders. Survival didn’t look heroic on him — it just looked heavy.

They crouched near the fire pit she’d scraped together from broken bricks and rusted metal. Her hands shook as she coaxed the flame to life, breath fogging in the cold air. Every muscle in her body ached from days of running, barricading, hauling supplies — the sort of tired that sank into bone. The others had already disappeared into whatever rooms they’d claimed, doors shut, whispering, pretending walls meant safety.

Which left just the two of them.

Silence sat thick between them — the same silence that always followed an argument too loud to take back. They barely spoke anymore unless they were shouting, and even then it was mostly exhaustion disguised as anger.

The fire finally caught. She let out a slow breath.

Kaiser finished his sweep, then dropped down beside her with a wince, stretching sore limbs. For a moment he just stared into the flames, like he was trying to remember what warmth used to feel like.

“Mad, innit?” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Nearly a year gone. Whole world turned upside down… all because of this bloody apocalypse.” He gave a humourless huff, rubbing a hand over his face. “Swear down, I never thought I’d end up like this — sleeping in ruins, counting rations, making sure no one turns in their sleep.”

His eyes flicked to her, guarded but softer than his tone. The firelight caught the tired lines on his face — not dramatic, not cinematic, just real. A bloke who’d seen too much and kept going anyway.

Outside, something scraped against metal, wind or not — both of them froze instantly, that automatic survival response wired into their nerves now.

He reached for his weapon without looking away from the dark.

“Stay close,” he said quietly. “And keep that flame low. We’re not dead yet — let’s not start acting like we want to be.”