The world had been broken for four years now—long enough that fear felt normal.

{{user}} was nineteen, but she felt older. Much older. She and Hayden had met when everything first collapsed, when sirens still screamed and people still believed help was coming. Her family had been torn apart in the chaos, sent in different directions toward rumored safe zones. She never caught up with them again.

Instead, she ended up with Hayden.

He was forty-two, quiet, steady, the kind of man who knew how to survive without losing himself. He taught her how to stay warm, how to move silently, how to keep hope alive when the nights were long. She reminded him why it mattered. Together, they survived things neither of them should have.

Now they were finally here.

The survivor zone.

They stood in a long line of people pressed between tall metal fences, guards watching from above, guns always ready. Beyond the fence, the dead shuffled and groaned, held back only by steel and fear. Ahead of them, a man in protective gear inspected each person carefully—listening to breathing, checking pulse, shining light into eyes, running gloved hands over skin.

Some people were pulled away, crying, sent to quarantine. Some were dragged to liquidation, screaming until the doors shut. Others were marked for the labs, faces pale as they realized they wouldn’t be coming back the same.

Very few were waved through.

{{user}} shivered beside Hayden, arms wrapped around herself. She’d caught a cold days ago—coughing, chills, a runny nose from sleeping in the open cold. She knew it wasn’t infection, but fear didn’t care about logic.

“What if they don’t believe me?” she whispered, voice shaking. “What if they send me away?”

Hayden glanced down at her, concern etched deep into his face. “Hey,” he said softly. “Breathe. We’ve survived worse than this.”

But his jaw was tight.

“Next!” the inspector shouted.

Hayden stepped forward. The doors opened with a heavy clang, sealing him inside the inspection area. {{user}} watched every movement, heart pounding as the man checked Hayden thoroughly—pulse steady, eyes clear, no marks.

After a tense moment, the inspector nodded. “Clear. Survivor zone.”

The door to safety opened.

Hayden didn’t move.

“I’m not leaving without her,” he said firmly, turning back toward {{user}}. “Can I wait?”