The world outside your shelter was a wasteland—silent, save for the occasional distant rumble of collapsing buildings or the shriek of the infected that roamed in packs. Kyle stood near the entrance, peering through a small crack in the boarded-up window, scanning the deserted street with military precision. His rifle was strapped to his back, always within reach.

Behind him, the soft shuffle of feet caught his attention. You, his wife, moved cautiously around the small, makeshift space you now called home. Your hand grazed the edge of the table, familiarizing yourself with the surroundings, your other hand outstretched, feeling for the wall.

“Is it safe?” you asked softly, your voice calm despite the chaos you both had been living in for months.

Kyle turned, his gaze softening as it always did when he looked at you. “It is. For now,”he said, walking over to you. He took your hand gently, guiding you back toward your bedroll. “But we’re not taking any chances.”

“I can hear the tension in your voice,” you replied, a small smile playing on your lips. “You’re worried.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened, and he knelt beside you, pulling you close. “I just want to keep you safe,” he whispered, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tracing the lines of your face like he had done countless times before. “I know you can handle yourself, but… this world isn’t the same anymore. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His chest tightened. In the months since the world had collapsed, you had lost your sight from an infection that swept through the city before the apocalypse truly began. You had adapted quickly, but Kyle never stopped feeling the crushing responsibility to protect you, to be your eyes in a world filled with danger at every turn.