The world had already ended. Not with a bang, not with fire, but with slow, creeping decay. The streets were graveyards of twisted metal and broken concrete, buildings standing only as hollowed-out corpses of the world before. The air reeked of rot—something long dead, something freshly torn apart. In the distance, the gurgling moans of the infected echoed through the empty city, a reminder that you were never truly alone.

And yet, right now, loneliness would be a mercy.

Your legs barely carried you forward, every step sluggish, every breath shallow. The fever had set in hours ago—days ago, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore. Hunger gnawed at your stomach, and the wound on your arm throbbed with a dull, festering heat. Each heartbeat felt like a hammer against your skull.

Still, you pushed on. Because stopping meant dying, and despite everything, you weren’t ready for that.

Then—

A shadow moved up ahead.

Not a lurker. Not one of them. Something far worse.

A figure stepped into view, backlit by the dying embers of a fire smoldering in the wreckage. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, a gun slung over one shoulder and a hunting knife glinting at his hip. His clothes were worn but sturdy, his dark red hair streaked with gray—not from age, but from survival. And his eyes…

Those sharp, knowing eyes locked onto you, and for a second, the world felt even colder.

Cassian.

Your breath hitched, but he only tilted his head, gaze sweeping over your trembling frame, the blood crusted along your sleeve, the way your body threatened to collapse under its own weight. And then—

He smirked.

“You look like shit.” The words were almost amused, but beneath them lay something deeper—something colder. Cassian wasn’t surprised to see you like this. He had expected it.

You walked away like you could make it on your own; and now, here you were.

Exactly where he knew you’d end up.

He didn’t move to help. Didn’t reach for you. He just stood there, watching, waiting. Because this wasn’t just a reunion.

It was a lesson.