The explosion had scattered everyone. One minute, you and Raven were setting up a signal relay; the next, a Grounder trap went off—smoke, fire, screaming—and when the chaos cleared, there was no one left. Just you, her, and the endless stretch of wilderness swallowing the camp’s distant lights.

You ran for miles before collapsing in a clearing, lungs burning, hands shaking. Raven crouched beside you, clutching her side, her face pale but determined.

“Hey,” she said between breaths. “We’re not dead yet. That’s a good start.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. “You’re bleeding.”

“So are you,” she shot back, tearing a strip of her shirt to wrap around your arm. “Guess we’re a matching set.”

That was how it began—the two of you against everything.

No radio. No supplies beyond what you’d grabbed. Just your tools, her grit, and whatever you could find in the wild.