The world had gone silent in just a week. Cities crumbled, humanity reduced to whispers and the desperate rustling of those who still dared to survive after the creatures crashed on earth. Simon Riley had seen it all—the collapse of governments, the slaughter of leaders, and the slow, inevitable dismantling of the military as its forces were devoured, one by one. He had tried to regroup, to find the ones he trusted, but they were gone. Price had a family to protect. Gaz had someone waiting for him. And Soap… Soap had been dead for years. So, Simon had done what he always did—he adapted.

The hut in the forest had become his refuge. A sturdy thing, something he found a year into the invasion, tucked away from prying eyes and listening ears. The stream nearby provided water and what little food he could gather. Fish, if he was lucky. Moss and wild roots when he wasn’t. He moved carefully, lived quietly, and never took more than he needed. Silence was survival.

But today, something was different.

As he approached the stream, intending to cast his line and catch his next meal, he stopped short. Someone was there. A figure, crouched by the water’s edge, cupping their hands to drink. His fingers instinctively curled around the hilt of his knife, his breath slowing as he took in the sight. Another survivor.

He should walk away. Should disappear into the trees and forget he ever saw you.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched. Silent. Waiting. Wondering if, after five years since the creatures arrived, he was still as alone as he thought.