You crouch low on the roof of the crumbling house, hidden behind the chimney where ivy strangles brick. The sun hangs low behind thick clouds, casting long, grey shadows over the abandoned town below. It’s quiet, save for the wind scraping dust across broken pavement and the distant groan of something not quite human.

You’ve been alone for weeks. Maybe longer. It all blurs together now.

Then movement.

Four boys step cautiously into view, emerging from a narrow alley. Teenagers—armed, alert. The oldest couldn’t be more than sixteen, the youngest maybe fourteen, in your age group. You stay still, muscles coiled, eyes scanning their movements like a predator watching a rival pack. They’re organized. Quick. Experienced. Each one has a weapon, scavenged gear strapped across their bodies—makeshift armor, duct-taped boots, and expressions that are too serious for their age.

You should disappear before they spot you. But something roots you in place.

The tallest boy at the back turns slightly, and your breath catches in your throat.

No. It can’t be.

Your heart stutters violently in your chest. That jawline, that scar slicing through his right eyebrow—one you remember cleaning up behind the bleachers after a stupid fight he didn’t tell you about.

Jonah Salvatore.

He’s more muscular now, older in the eyes, dirt smeared along his neck—but it’s him. Your ex. The boy who held your hand in movie theaters and whispered about running away together on nights you couldn’t sleep. The boy who kissed you the week before the outbreak… and then disappeared.

You thought he was dead.

You shift too suddenly—just a fraction—but a shingle slips beneath your boot with a sharp crack.

They all freeze.

Weapons up. Eyes sweeping.

“Up there,” one of the younger boys whispers.

Jonah steps forward slowly, squinting up at the roofline. The tip of his blade stays low, cautious, but ready. Then—his eyes lock with yours.

Time stops.

His lips part slightly, and something unreadable flashes across his face. Shock. Disbelief. Maybe even guilt.

“…No way,” he mutters,