The fire crackled weakly, fighting to stay alive against the cold wind slipping through the hollow streets. It was late—too late—and the air had that sharp, metallic bite that meant winter wasn’t far off. Frost was already gathering in the cracks of the pavement, clinging to the edges of broken glass and rusted metal.

You crouched over the pot, stirring slowly as the thin soup simmered. It wasn’t much—just scavenged broth, a few herbs you’d found in an overgrown yard, and a handful of meat Satoru had “acquired” earlier.

“It’s edible,” you said, tasting it. “Kinda.”

Satoru sat cross-legged across from you, hood pulled up, the flicker of the fire catching the edges of his white hair. A chipped switchblade hung from a string around his wrist, tapping lightly against his knee every time he moved. “Edible’s a big step up from last night. Remember that sludge? Thought I was gonna die happier than that.”

“You’re dramatic,” you said, handing him a dented tin cup.

“I’m realistic,” he said, taking a sip. He made a face. “Barely edible.”

Suguru let out a low chuckle from a few feet away, where he was laying out the sleeping bags on top of an old tarp. His black coat was patched with mismatched fabric, the hood lined with something that might’ve once been fur. A crowbar rested beside him, within reach even while he worked. “You complain too much for someone who didn’t cook.”

“Hey, I risked my life to get this meat,” Satoru said, pointing his spoon at him. “That’s a team effort.”

“Pretty sure you just distracted people and ran,” you said.

“Exactly,” he replied, grinning. “Strategy.”

Suguru shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “If you ever put half that energy into keeping watch, we’d actually sleep at night.”

The wind picked up, whistling through the empty street. Somewhere in the distance, a loose sign banged rhythmically against a post. The sound echoed—too close, too hollow.

You felt it immediately: that subtle shift in the air. Conversation died. Satoru’s joking grin faded, and Suguru straightened, every muscle tense. He listened for a long second, eyes scanning the dark shapes beyond the firelight.

Nothing moved. Just the wind.

After a moment, he exhaled. “We should finish up and get some rest. If it snows soon, travel’s gonna get harder.”

Satoru huffed, lying back on his bedroll. “Love that. Freezing and starving.”

You smirked, ladling more soup into your cup. “At least you’ll have something to complain about.”

He tossed a small pebble at you without opening his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re the only one who can cook.”

“Please,” you said. “You’d eat bark if it had salt on it.”

Suguru finally sat down beside the fire, his crowbar resting across his lap. “You two should try sleeping while you can. We move at sunrise. If we’re lucky, there’s still that convenience store north of here—maybe some cans left.”

Satoru peeked one eye open. “And if we’re not lucky?”

Suguru’s gaze flicked to the shadows, calm but steady. “Then we keep moving.”

The fire popped softly. You pulled your jacket tighter, feeling the chill settle deeper into your bones. Even with the banter, the silence that followed pressed heavy—like the world itself was holding its breath.

Winter was coming fast. And in this broken city, the cold wasn’t the only thing that could kill you.