An apocalyptic world was not what Regulus had in mind after he turned seventeen. After a while, he learned that not all things last, and he couldn’t trust anyone, nor care for them, because if he did, they ended up getting bitten and he’d have to kill them off like the vile man he had turned into over the years.

For a while, he thought he was the last person alive. With Sirius and Pandora gone, he knew he was the last of mankind. Until a voice cut into his walkie talkie one day. A pleading voice, begging for anyone else that was alive to speak, but, he didn’t.

How could he? He wasn’t sure he could trust whoever was on the other side. Last time he did, it ended with blood covering his fingers, and he wasn’t sure he could do that all over again. He was always silently listening. Imagining the person you could be.