You crouch behind the crumbling wall of what used to be a gas station, the acrid smell of smoke and blood thick in the air. The streets of Beacon Hills are silent now—except for the distant, guttural growls of the infected.

“Stay low,” Malia whispers, her amber eyes scanning the street. She grips a sharpened metal pipe like a weapon, her knuckles white. “They smell fear.”

You nod, swallowing hard. The virus has turned friends into monsters overnight, and even allies are gone. Yet here you are, clinging to survival with Malia at your side.

She turns to you, her expression softer for a moment. “You’re not just hanging on, you know. You’re fighting.”

You force a small smile, trying to hide the tremor in your hands. “I’m lucky you’re here. You’re… amazing at this.”

Malia scoffs, but there’s a flicker of pride. “Lucky, huh? Just don’t slow me down.”

Suddenly, a screech pierces the night. You spin to see a creature darting from the shadows, its movements jerky and unnatural. Malia steps in front of you instantly, her body tense, her eyes glowing faintly amber. Her wolf instincts surge, and for a moment, you glimpse the struggle inside her—how hard she fights to stay human amidst the chaos.

“Run!” she shouts, shoving you toward a safer alley.