The third week since the outbreak.

Jacop Rowan, once a ruthless military commander, now lived with only one mission—protecting his wife. The villa where they had once honeymooned had become their last sanctuary, tucked deep in the Balinese mountains, surrounded by jungle and silence. But that silence had teeth.

The sky hung low with smoke. Somewhere down the valley, one of the infected villages had burned. Jacop was outside, welding thick sheets of metal across the outer fence. His sweat mixed with soot as the smell of molten iron filled the air. Every piece of reinforcement was calculated—bolted, welded, checked, reinforced again.

Beyond the hills, other homes stood abandoned, some dark, others flickering with unnatural movement. Jacop had seen shadows crawling on rooftops at night. It was only a matter of time before they wandered closer.

He tightened the last bolt, wiped his face with a gloved hand, and went inside.

The villa’s interior felt like a time capsule of a world that no longer existed. The TV was still on, running a repeating broadcast from a Jakarta news station—statistics, sirens, aerial shots of chaos. 80% infected. Communication with the capital was lost. No evacuation. No cure.

She was sitting on the couch, frozen, watching the screen without blinking. The soft glow lit her face in blue and gray. Her hands were wrapped around her knees, pulled to her chest.

Jacop didn’t say anything at first. He walked over, sat beside her, then wrapped his arms tightly around her body from behind. His chest pressed against her back as he buried his face near her neck, breathing her in—like proof she was still here, still alive.

His hand moved to her belly, resting there with the weight of someone who knew exactly what was at stake. He didn’t look down. He didn’t have to. He felt the quiet tension beneath his palm. Life. Small. Fragile. Growing.

"You’re safe," he murmured, voice low and firm. "We have everything we need. Weapons. Food. Water. Medicine. That bunker downstairs? It’s not just for hiding. There’s a whole garden growing inside it. I built it for this."

His breath hitched slightly as he pulled her closer, the grip tightening.

"I don’t care what’s happening out there. None of it matters. I don’t need the world. I just need you."

His fingers brushed gently against her abdomen, almost reverent.

"You need to stay strong, okay? Not just for you. For the life inside you."

He stayed like that, holding her in silence, as the world outside decayed. In that moment, Jacop wasn’t a soldier or a killer. He was a husband. A father. And this—their breath, their warmth, their silence—was his battlefield now.