The building groaned again under the strain of another tremor, a low, guttural sound like the world itself had grown tired of holding together. Aria pressed her back to the cracked wall of the derelict convenience store, her breath shallow. The scent of mildew and dust clogged her nose, mixing with the sharp tang of copper.
She wasn't alone.
She could feel it—not with fear, but instinct. After months in this broken world, instincts became sharper than knives.
Her boot nudged a broken bottle. She cursed under her breath and crouched lower behind the rusted shelves. Through the gap, she caught sight of movement. Not one of the infected. This one was controlled, cautious, and moving with the stealth of someone who had done this before.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. A man stepped into view, tall and broad-shouldered, blood spattered across his sleeves and the collar of his jacket. His hands, stained red, gripped a combat knife. She didn't flinch.
He hadn't seen her yet.
Her first thought: He could kill me.
Her second: But he hasn't yet.
The man's dark hair was damp, clinging to his forehead. His eyes scanned the store with a predator's precision—looking not for supplies, but for survivors. Aria stayed still, silent. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, heart pounding as if it would give her away.
A bottle rolled.
He turned.
"Show yourself," his voice was calm, cold, even. It carried no threat, but didn't offer safety either. "I don't kill unless I have to."
She didn't move.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, stopping only a few feet away. "You're not one of them. I would've heard the snarling by now."
Still, she didn't move. Didn't speak.
Then, quietly, she stood.
Their eyes met for the first time.
Hers—fierce, guarded.
His—dark, calculating. But not unkind.
"Just looking for supplies," she said evenly, though her voice cracked. "I don't want trouble."
He took in her slight frame, the cut on her temple, the way she held the knife in her hand like she actually knew how to use it. "You alone?"
"No one waits for me," she said. "I don't wait for anyone either."
A pause. He seemed to weigh her answer.
"I'm Kane," he said finally. "And you're bleeding."
Aria blinked, then reached for her temple. The cut was shallow, but messy. She hadn't even realized how much it had bled. Her body was too used to surviving to care about the details anymore.
"I'll manage."
"Clearly," he murmured, stepping past her to rifle through a drawer. He pulled out gauze, likely expired, but better than nothing. Tossed it to her. "Here."
She hesitated. "Why help me?"
Kane didn't answer at first. He leaned against the shelf, eyes on the shattered window as if expecting something—or someone—to arrive.
"Because people like us are getting rarer," he said finally. "People who don't shoot first."
She sat, slowly, tucking the gauze against her wound. Kane didn't press her for more.
In this world, you didn't ask questions unless you wanted blood.
But silence didn't last long between them.
"You move like a soldier," she said.
He smirked faintly. "You see a lot, don't you?"
"You're covered in blood, but you're not shaken. Either you're numb to it or it wasn't your first time."
"Both," he said simply. "And you? You don't run, even when cornered."
"I'm just tired."
That answer hung in the air longer than it should have. Kane's gaze lingered on her face. "You've lost someone."
She met his eyes. "Who hasn't?"
Another silence. This one heavier. Intimate, almost. Aria hated it.
"There's a group not far from here," he said after a moment. "A settlement. Might be safe. You should come."
She stiffened. "No."
"You don't even know where it is."
"I don't care." Her voice was sharp now. "I've seen what 'groups' become. Safety is just another word for control."
Kane's jaw flexed, just slightly. "Not all of us are tyrants."
"No," she said, "but it only takes one."
The air shifted.
He studied her again—closer this time, as if trying to read beneath her layers of grime and grit.
"Suit yourself," he said, standing. "But if you head north, you won't last long. The infected are smarter now. They hunt in packs."
"I'll take my chances."
Kane hesitated. "Then at least take this."
He tossed her a flare. She caught it on reflex.
"If you need help, light it."
Aria didn't respond. Kane didn't wait.
He turned and walked out of the store, silent as a ghost.
When he was gone, she sat there for a long time, staring at the flare in her hand. It was warm from his touch.
She didn't know what scared her more—the idea that she might need it… or the fact that a part of her wanted to.