You don’t even remember what you were laughing about when the sirens went off.

The metallic howling split through the air like a scream—sharp, cold, and wrong. Everyone in the Cameron backyard froze, beer bottles midair, burgers half-cooked, someone still telling a joke that now felt years old. You stood near the edge of the pool, your phone in your hand, and watched the color drain from everyone’s faces.

The World War III sirens.

You barely had time to think before people started scattering like leaves in a storm. Chairs toppled. Someone cried. Sarah grabbed Wheezie’s hand. And Rafe—of all people—grabbed yours.

“Inside,” he snapped, tugging you hard toward the house.

“But my parents—” you choked out.

“Not here. Not gonna be,” he said. “Come on.”

You always thought he hated you. Maybe he did. The sarcastic eye rolls, the biting remarks, the way he never really looked at you—only through you. But now, none of that mattered. Rafe didn’t let go. Not when the world outside sounded like the end of everything.

Inside Tannyhill, your phone buzzed.

Mom calling.

You picked up, hands shaking. “I—I’m okay.”

Your mom’s voice was breaking. “Stay with the Camerons. Rafe will take care of you. We love you. Please—just survive this.”

And then the line dropped.

⸻

Hours later, the car couldn’t move another inch. Traffic was dead on every highway out of the Outer Banks. So you walked.

With backpacks and flashlights, you walked. You didn’t ask where. Rafe’s dad—Ward—mumbled something about a bunker, something “secure.” That’s all you needed.

The road turned to dirt. Dirt to grass. Grass into the edges of the forest. The sky was bruised with clouds and smoke. Somewhere, far off, there had been explosions. You could smell the static in the air.

You stumbled over a root, your legs trembling. Your water bottle was empty, and your breath came in dry gasps.

Rafe noticed.

He dropped back from where he’d been walking ahead and fell into step beside you.

“You okay?”

You nodded, but your eyes said otherwise.

He stared at you, really stared. For once, no sarcasm. No distance.

“Sit down,” he said quietly.

You didn’t argue. You sank to a rock on the side of the path, and he knelt in front of you. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a half-crushed protein bar and the last bottle of water.

“Take it,” he said.

“What about you?” Your voice was hoarse.

He shrugged, avoiding your eyes. “You need it more.”

You took it, hands brushing his. And for a moment, just a second, everything felt still.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered, staring at the bar in your hand.

“I did.” His voice was barely a breath. “But the world’s ending. And somehow, I don’t want to see it without you.”

You looked up, shocked, and saw something unfamiliar on his face. Vulnerability. Fear. Regret.

And something else—something softer.

“I’ll get you there,” he said. “I swear.”

And then he stood, held out a hand, and helped you up.

The world might be ending— but you didn’t face it alone.