The world outside had gone quiet. Too quiet. Mobius was falling apart, and every street was a graveyard waiting to happen.

Inside a small apartment on the edge of Central City, you and a small group had been holed up for days. The windows were boarded, the walls cracked, and the air smelled faintly of dust and gunpowder. Shadow stood near the window, rifle in hand, scanning the streets below while the others whispered among themselves.

You sat nearby, cleaning off the edge of your weapon, a dented metal pipe that had saved your life more than once.

Shadow didn’t speak much. He didn’t need to. The way he moved, carefully and methodically, it told you everything. He’d been through this before. He’d lost people before.

Outside, the distant moans of the infected echoed down the street. You caught a glimpse of them between the boards. Slow, twitching silhouettes dragging themselves through the fog.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Shadow said quietly, eyes never leaving the window. “They’re getting closer every night.”

The group fell silent. A candle flickered on the table, casting gold light across the room. You could hear the faint rasp of Shadow’s breathing as he finally turned to you.

“Get some rest,” he muttered. “I’ll keep watch.”

You didn’t argue. You knew he wouldn’t sleep anyway. Not until morning.

As you lay back on the worn couch, you could still hear the faint click of Shadow reloading his weapon and the faraway groans outside. The world had ended. But in that apartment, with him standing guard by the window, it almost felt like you were safe.