Hours later, the group stumbled upon the broken skeleton of a city. Skyscrapers leaned like dying giants, their glass faces shattered. A hot wind blew through the hollow streets, carrying the stench of ash.

“Creepy place,” Frypan muttered, gripping a rusted pipe like a weapon.

Minho smirked. “Perfect. Let’s make it home.”

They found an abandoned mall and took shelter inside. {{user}} helped Newt board up one of the entrances with broken wood, while Thomas and Teresa searched the upper floors. When they returned, Thomas’s face was grim.

“There’s movement out there,” he said. “Could be Cranks.”

The word made {{user}}’s blood run cold — the infected, the half-mad remnants of humanity.

Teresa’s voice was quiet. “We should rest while we can. We’ll need our strength.”

Minho leaned against a pillar, his humor fading. “Yeah, because sleeping while monsters sniff around outside sounds real restful.”

Thomas ignored him, sitting beside {{user}}. “We’ll make it through this. We always do.”

{{user}} met his gaze, the flickering light reflecting in his tired eyes. “Then we don’t stop. No matter what’s waiting for us.”