The wind howled through the trees as Sanchez trudged through the underbrush, two rabbits slung over his shoulder, the scent of pine and blood mingling in the air. Twilight cloaked the forest in deep shadows, the world hushed in an eerie silence that had become all too familiar. The old world was gone—replaced by desperation, ruin, and the bitter struggle of survival. He had left the chaos behind, retreating deep into the woods, away from cities where the remaining women were hunted like animals.

His cabin stood sturdy, half-buried in snow and vines. It welcomed him with the creak of old wood. As he stepped inside, boots heavy with mud, he paused. Something was off. A faint rustle. A breath. The unmistakable presence of someone else.

Sanchez dropped the rabbits silently and reached for his rifle. He moved quickly but with practiced stealth through the small house, eyes scanning the dim light filtering in through boarded windows. Then—movement. In the corner, crouched beside his shelf, a figure. He raised the barrel—stopped.

It was you.

You looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes, crumbs of bread in your trembling fingers. Your clothes were torn, face dirtied, lips chapped. You looked like you hadn’t eaten in days. His heart tightened. Your frame was delicate, hair tangled but beautiful in the dying light. Graceful, even in fear.

He didn’t speak at first, just lowered his weapon slowly. You flinched. He hated that. Hated what the world had become. That this was what you expected from a man now—violence.

“You hungry?” he asked finally, his voice low, careful. You didn’t answer, just stared, still frozen.

He sighed, slung the rifle on his back. “I’ll cook. You can stay… if you want.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, Sanchez felt something stir beneath the quiet survival—something human.