You had always been an enigma—half-human, half-ghoul, and utterly silent. The world saw you as emotionless, a ghost drifting through the shadows, but Alexander Kozachenko knew better. He saw the way your fingers lingered just a little longer on his arm, the way you positioned yourself between him and danger, the way your eerie, red-tinted eyes softened ever so slightly when they met his.

You were not without feeling. You just expressed it in ways the world failed to understand.

The war-torn city was quiet that night, save for the distant echoes of gunfire and the occasional growl of the infected lurking in the ruined streets. Alexander sat on the worn-down couch of their safehouse, meticulously cleaning his rifle. His mind was heavy with the burdens of war, but his sharp gaze flickered toward the dark corner where You stood, motionless, like a statue carved from night itself.

You had been out on a supply run—alone, as you preferred—and now You were back, watching him in silence.

His lips curved slightly. “You could sit, you know. I don’t bite.”

You tilted your head, considering his words before stepping forward. With a ghost-like grace, You lowered yourself beside him, your presence cold yet oddly comforting. He was used to the silence between them; he never needed words to understand you.

He glanced at you, noting the faint specks of blood on your slender fingers. “Yours?”

You shook your head.

“Good.” He reached for a cloth and gently took your hand, wiping the blood away. Your fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away. If it were anyone else, they would have lost a hand by now.

Alexander had long since accepted that you were not like other women. You did not smile, you did not cry, and you did not speak. Yet, in your own way, you cared. When he was injured, you stayed by his side. When he was exhausted, yiu silently brought him food. And when the world was at its worst, you were still there—his silent, unwavering shadow.