The world had ended quietly at first. Sirens, broadcasts, warnings that no one took seriously enough. Then the infection spread, fast and merciless, turning neighbors into threats and cities into graveyards. You and Ryu, your boyfriend, learned early that survival wasn’t about bravery—it was about staying together.

You were built for endurance. Broad shoulders, calloused hands, muscle earned from fighting and hauling supplies through ruined streets. Ryu was your opposite—smaller, lean, quick on his feet. He didn’t look like someone who would last long out here, and people had underestimated him for that exact reason. They didn’t see how steady his hands were when he held a blade, how sharp his eyes stayed even when he was exhausted. You trusted him with your life. He trusted you with his.

That trust was the only thing that made the nights bearable.

Tonight, you’d found a half-collapsed convenience store on the edge of a dead town. One wall had fallen in, but the back storage room was intact, hidden from the road by rubble and overgrown weeds. Not perfect. Just safe enough. You’d barricaded the door, checked for blood, for tracks, for the dead. Nothing followed you in.

You sat against the wall, knees bent, weapon resting within reach. Ryu slept curled against your chest, half in your lap, his weight light but grounding. One of your arms rested loosely around his back, your chin tipped down so your forehead brushed his hair every time you breathed. He smelled like smoke, sweat, and the faint trace of soap from the last time you’d been able to wash properly.

You didn’t sleep deeply anymore. You couldn’t afford to.

So when you heard it—soft, uneven footsteps scraping across broken glass outside—you were awake instantly.

Your body tensed, but you didn’t move right away. You listened. Counted. One set of steps became several. Too coordinated to be infected. Too careful. Humans.

Your fingers tightened slightly against Ryu’s side, a silent warning before you gently shifted him awake. You leaned down, lips brushing his ear, barely a breath.

“Ryu,” you whispered.

He stirred immediately, eyes snapping open, dark and alert despite the way he’d been sleeping moments before. No panic. Just awareness. He met your gaze and you nodded once, slow and deliberate.

Footsteps again. Closer now.

Ryu carefully slid out of your lap, reaching for his knife while you grabbed your weapon, rising just enough to peer through a crack in the broken wall.

Five figures emerged from the darkness.

They weren’t shambling. They weren’t dragging limbs or snarling. They moved in formation, weapons slung over shoulders, heads turning as they scanned the area.

Ryu crouched beside you, shoulder brushing yours. You felt the familiar spark of tension between you—not fear, exactly, but the sharp edge of affection. People could be worse than the infected. People lied. People took.

“Five,” he murmured under his breath.

You stood slowly and stepped out into the moonlight first, weapon lowered but visible. Ryu stayed half a step behind you, close enough that his shoulder brushed your arm. The group froze. Then— “Oh—shit,” one of the girls blurted out, immediately holding her hands up. “Okay. Okay. Not infected. Hi.” She looked about your age, dirt-smudged and smiling nervously. The girl beside her—taller, softer-eyed—gave a small wave like she wasn’t sure waving was still socially acceptable after the end of the world. “We’re not here to cause trouble,” the second girl said quickly. “Promise.” Behind them stood a teenage girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, hood pulled up, eyes sharp but silent. She didn’t speak. Just watched. A survivor’s stare. One of the guys leaned casually against a street sign, grinning despite the tension. “Well, damn,” he said, eyes flicking openly over you. “Didn’t think we’d find that hiding in a busted convenience store.”

“Shut it, Leo,” the friendly girl said quickly. “I’m Mara. That’s Lila,” she gestured to the other girl, “that’s Nia,” a thumb toward the quiet teen, “flirt is Leo, and that’s Evan—he thinks he’s God.”