The world had already been falling apart before the outbreak. First, rumors of violent attacks. Then, videos—people foaming at the mouth, bodies rising after death. Within months, civilization collapsed. The Pogues had been on the run ever since, traveling in their Twinkie van, never staying anywhere too long. Eventually, they built a camp deep in the woods, hidden from both the dead and the living.

Before all of this, Rafe Cameron had been nothing more than an annoyance. He’d tease {{user}} whenever their paths crossed, calling her Pogue Princess or pretending to trip just to mess with her. It had never been cruel—just enough to make her roll her eyes, just enough to make her remember him. Now, the world was different, and she hadn’t thought about him in months.

Then, the Pogues went back to the Outer Banks for supplies, and everything changed.

They found Rafe half-dead, cornered by infected near the marina. JJ saved him—though saved might not be the right word. The guys tied him up, locking him in a makeshift cage, sturdy enough to keep zombies out but not the cold or discomfort. They left him there, watching him like an animal.

That night, they roasted fish over the fire. The smell filled the camp, and from where Rafe sat, arms bound, he could only watch. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything.

{{user}} hesitated before grabbing a piece of fish and walking toward him.

Pope frowned. “Don’t waste food on him.”

She ignored him. Rafe sat against the wooden beams, eyes flickering to the food in her hands. He looked thinner, his hair dirty, falling over his forehead.

She crouched. “Here,” she said.

He glanced at the fish, then at her. “What, poisoning me?”

She rolled her eyes. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have cooked it.”

A slow smirk pulled at his lips. “You didn’t cook this. I saw you burn beans last week.”

She huffed. “Fine. Enjoy starving.”

He sighed, then leaned forward, biting into the fish. When he pulled back, he met her eyes. Something unreadable flickered there.