Chapter 8: Drawn to Her Warmth
Raj's body lay sprawled in a pool of blood, a mockery of the arrogance that once inhabited it. His final breath had carried no redemption—only bitterness. Ron stood over him, blood dripping from his fists, heart still pounding with the fury he hadn't been able to suppress.
His eyes shifted to the object glinting near Raj's head.
The orb.
Faintly pulsing green.
Ron's brows furrowed. He stepped closer, and for a moment, it didn't move. Unlike before—when his first evolution orb had surged into his chest with an irresistible pull—this one stayed still. Silent. As if it didn't see him.
Confused, Ron crouched and examined it. The light felt... passive. Waiting.
He reached out cautiously—but nothing happened.
"Then it hit him.
Raj had been an evolver.
And now that he was dead… the orb had appeared.
The realization landed like a punch to the gut.
So, while the source of the orbs remained a mystery, Ron now knew one undeniable truth: kill an evolver, and their orb became available."
A laugh escaped Ron, sharp and breathless. Relief and excitement flooded his chest.
Priya.
She could evolve now.
She wouldn't have to stay behind anymore. Wouldn't have to fear every fight.
He looked down at the orb again. His fingers brushed it… but still, no reaction. Nothing pulled toward him.
Then he remembered.
His own orb.
The one he'd absorbed.
He was already chosen.
This one… was for someone else.
A different host.
Ron slowly wrapped the orb in cloth and placed it in his satchel, more carefully this time, like he was carrying something sacred.
A faint sound broke the silence—a soft thump behind a closed door.
Ron's muscles tensed. He crossed the hallway and gently pushed it open.
Two girls, bundled in worn-out blankets, sat curled up against the far wall. Their faces were smeared with grime, but fear was clearer than any bruise.
Ron stepped inside slowly.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
The older one flinched.
He crouched low, holding out his hand—not too close.
"I need to ask something important. Is one of you… Shreya?"
The older girl looked startled.
"I'm Jiya," she said cautiously. "She's Shreya."
The younger girl stared at him, big dark eyes swimming with confusion.
"Your mother… Puja," Ron said softly, "she sent me to find you."
Shreya blinked. Then, slowly, uncertainly, she nodded.
Ron let out a long, shaky breath. Something inside him loosened. Finally, something in this world had gone right.
He glanced at the orb again—and froze.
It was glowing stronger now.
He took a step toward the girls.
The orb pulsed.
Ron narrowed his eyes.
He moved slightly away. The glow dimmed.
Back toward them—it brightened again.
Realization hit him like lightning.
The orb wasn't reacting to him.
It was choosing someone else.
It was choosing one of them.
So that's how it worked.
The orb didn't just appear. It waited. For a normal human. Someone unchosen.
Ron glanced back at the two girls one more time.
"Jiya," he said quietly, "do you have a family? Anyone waiting for you?"
She hesitated, eyes flicking to the floor. "My parents were in a village near the canal… but I don't know if they're alive. It's been weeks. I used to live in an apartment not far from here. Raj's men dragged me out of there."
Her voice cracked slightly at the end. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
Ron nodded, jaw tightening.
Before he could speak, Shreya stepped closer, still clutching her pink jacket around her. "You can come with us. Stay with me and my mom. You don't have to be alone anymore."
Jiya blinked, taken aback. "I… I don't want to be a burden."
"You won't be," Ron said, his voice calm but firm. "It's freezing out there. And it's only getting worse. Trust me—this is a good idea."
She finally nodded.
Ron exhaled, then pointed toward the corridor where several corpses of Raj's followers still lay.
"Go take whatever warm clothes you can find. Jiya—your jacket's too thin, and you've only got a blanket over your shoulders. Check the bodies. Find something that fits."
They obeyed without argument.
While the girls rummaged through the grim remains, Ron moved through the sixth floor, checking what Raj had left behind. One room was packed—boxes of food, medicine, blankets, tools, even weapons. Clearly, this was the stolen loot from across the block. Raj had been stockpiling.
Near a stack of water cans, Ron found a new axe.
Heavy. Well-balanced. Better than anything he had used so far.
He took it.
The second room was empty but reinforced—metal sheets bolted across windows, gaps sealed with foam, a functioning private bathroom, and even a small attached kitchen. A narrow balcony offered a view of the snow-covered ruins below.
Raj had been preparing this for himself. Comfort and safety while others froze and starved.
Ron looked around.
He'd never lived in a place like this. Before the world fell apart, he couldn't afford even a month's rent in this building. His own apartment, though six floors high, was a crumbling concrete box compared to this fortress.
But now…
This could be home.
A soft voice broke the silence. "We're ready to go," Shreya said from behind him.
Ron turned.
Shreya was still wearing her light pink jacket—no changes. But Jiya had found a thick blue coat, oversized jeans cinched at the waist, and sturdy mountain boots. Probably from the corpses. The blanket was gone.
Ron gave a small nod. "Good. Let's head back."
The sun had dropped lower in the sky. It was almost five.
He'd promised Priya he'd return before dark.
He smiled faintly at the thought of her.
Then the three of them descended the building and stepped into the dying light.
Two moons hung in the sky—one round and distant, the other glowing like a massive crimson egg. The snow was deeper now, nearly a foot, swallowing their boots with every step.
The road that connected Raj's building to Ron's was no longer empty.
It was crawling.
Dozens of zombies, more than Ron had ever seen here before, shuffled through the snow like forgotten puppets. Their movement was slow—but relentless. And the sheer number of them...
Ron's eyes narrowed.
Something had changed.
But there was no time to investigate it now.
He turned to the girls. "Stay behind me. Stay close. I'll clear the way."
They both nodded, faces pale.
With the new axe gripped in both hands, Ron surged forward.
Each swing was precise. Brutal.
The cold bit at his skin, the blood on the axe steamed against the freezing wind, and for nearly thirty minutes, Ron carved a path through the sea of death—until finally, breath ragged, body aching, they made it to the fourth floor of his building.
He staggered on the landing, hand pressed to his side.
His old wound—reopened.
Warm blood soaked through the side of his shirt.
He clenched his teeth, refusing to fall, and looked at the girls. "Go upstairs," he said hoarsely.
They obeyed, rushing ahead.
The door to his apartment opened.
Priya stood there, bandaged leg trembling slightly, her eyes wide.
Puja stood behind her.
"Shreya!" the older woman cried.
The girl ran forward and wrapped herself around her mother.
Tears spilled down both their cheeks.
Then Priya looked past them.
"Where's my Ron?" she asked, voice uneven.
Jiya turned back—and saw him.
Ron was on the stairs below, dragging one foot after the other, eyes glassy, his hand clamped over his side, dark blood trailing behind him.
"Ron!" Priya cried.
She limped toward him, ignoring the pain.
Ron smiled, just barely—then collapsed against her.
She caught him, arms tightening around him like she would never let go.
Jiya followed, helping her steady him.
"What happened to him?" Priya demanded, voice sharp, frightened.
Jiya looked away, guilt in her eyes. "He fought all the way here. Twenty armed men. Then Raj. He killed them all. I think… I think the wound reopened during the walk back. I saw him clutching his side."
10 PM.
Ron opened his eyes in the darkened room.
His belly was bandaged.
The pain had dulled, replaced with a warm stiffness.
His head turned slightly.
Priya was there.
Curled beside him on the narrow bed, her head resting near his chest, both her hands wrapped tightly around his. Her fingers were cold. Her breathing—uneven, like she hadn't let herself rest even while asleep.
On the table nearby, a bloody kitchen knife lay beside a deformed bullet. Dried red streaks marked the cloth beside it. She had done this. Removed it. With her own hands.
He felt the weight of it all. Her fear. Her care. Her pain.
Slowly, carefully, he reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Priya flinched in her sleep—but then melted against him.
When her eyes opened and met his, her breath caught. Then, suddenly, she was clinging to him, arms locked around his waist like he might disappear if she let go.
"You stupid, reckless idiot," she whispered, voice shaking. "Who told you to get hurt like this?" Who told you to… bleed like that…?"
Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and hot.
Ron didn't speak.
He just brought a hand to her face, brushing a thumb across her cheek.
Her skin was soft despite the dirt, her lips trembling.
Their eyes locked.
His fingers slid to her jaw, tilted her chin up—and this time, there was no hesitation.
He leaned in and kissed her.
Slow. Deep. Full of the things neither of them knew how to say.
It wasn't hurried, or desperate.
It was real.
He tasted blood—his, maybe hers—but beneath it was the fire they had been building since that first night, she'd chosen to stay beside him.
Her hands tangled in his shirt, gripping him tighter.
And when they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breath mixing in the cold night air.
No words passed between them.
They didn't need them.
Not anymore.
Just the silence. The warmth. The promise, buried in that one kiss, that no matter what tomorrow brought—they wouldn't face it alone.