The road stretched on endlessly, the gray sky pressing low over their heads. Every step felt heavier than the last, the rhythm of boots against cracked asphalt the only thing keeping them tethered to the world. Peter’s throat burned, his lips cracked and dry, but he still managed a weak grin when {{user}} stumbled beside him. “Easy,” he murmured, reaching out to steady them. “You’re not allowed to quit before me. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

The smile didn’t last long. Up ahead, one of the Walkers broke—screaming, wild-eyed, his movements jerky and desperate as he shoved anyone near him. The soldiers on the ridge shifted, rifles gleaming faintly in the pale light. Peter didn’t think; he just moved, stepping in front of {{user}}, arm thrown out like a barrier. “Stay behind me,” he said quietly, not taking his eyes off the chaos ahead. His pulse hammered in his ears.

The gunfire came fast. Then silence. Dust drifted where the boy had fallen, and the line of Walkers closed again, tighter than before. Peter’s hand lingered at {{user}}’s elbow a moment longer than necessary before he pulled it back, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “Don’t look,” he said softly. “Just… keep walking.”