The man stumbled through the ash roads like a wounded dog. His breath hitched in sharp, wet gasps, one hand clamped against his ribs as though holding himself together.
He should've been dead, the kind of dead that came quick and stupid out on the ruins. But Jacob wasn't. He was alive, and dragging with him the stink of fear, blood, and stolen fortune.
The laundromat was their hole, their nest, half its roof collapsed, washers and dryers gutted, windows boarded with scavenged tin. Smoke from the burn barrel inside trickled out the vents, a crooked flag announcing: we still live here.
When Jacob staggered through the doorway, the dozen inside froze. Eyes sharp, clothes ragged, every face gaunt with the long hunger.
"Where the hell's your partner?" a woman spat from her perch on a dead dryer.
Jacob coughed, wiped his mouth, and hurled a torn satchel onto the cracked linoleum. Cans rattled. A dented bottle of water rolled in a slow circle.
"He's dead," Jacob said. His voice trembled, but the words carried weight. "One of 'em; big bastard—snapped Mikey's neck like it was nothing. Just… bent his head wrong. No struggle. No scream."
The room stilled.
Even in this graveyard of a world, a clean kill like that meant something.
The leader rose from his corner. Tall, stringy, gray threaded through his beard, eyes like chipped stone. He wore a parka patched so many times it looked quilted, and carried himself with the confidence of someone who had killed to keep it.
He didn't curse or snarl. He crouched by the spilled supplies like a priest before an altar. He picked up a can, turned it in his palm, felt the weight. Then he looked at Jacob.
"Say it again."
Jacob swallowed hard. His hands shook as he mimed the motion, twisting both wrists as though wringing out a cloth. "Like snapping a twig. That's all it took. And he—he didn't even blink."
A low murmur ran through the others. Some swore. Some laughed, sharp and nervous.
The leader's lips curled.
"If they had food to lose, they have more," he said. "If one of them kills clean, he's worth watching." He gestured to the men flanking him. "Four of you. Track them. Bring back what they carry. If you can't, bring back news of where they're bleeding. We'll take the rest in time."
Jacob made a sound, half protest, half plea. "You don't understand. He's not… he's not normal. He—"
The leader cut him off with a look. Just a look, and Jacob's throat closed.
"Everything dies," the man said softly. "Some of it just needs more convincing."
Laughter rippled, thin and cruel. One of the younger scavengers leaned close to Jacob as he passed. "Don't worry. If he snaps our necks, we'll boil yours for broth."
Jacob flinched, curling inward. He thought he'd bought his life back with that stolen satchel. Instead, he'd just bought them reason to hunt.
The ash road stretched like a scar through the ruins. Buildings leaned inward, brick ribs cracked, windows gaping like sockets. Burned-out cars sat half-swallowed by weeds and silence, their hoods warped by long-ago fire.
Mara's pace was steady, measured, each step driven more by stubborn will than energy. Behind her, Hana faltered. She tried to mask it, biting her lip each time her foot dragged, but the limp had grown worse since the last stumble. Her knees were bruised raw, the skin under her tights split in red seams.
Every few steps, Mara glanced back. A flicker of frustration crossed her face, not at Hana, never at her, but at the world that kept finding new ways to break them.
"Keep close," Mara muttered, not slowing, not quickening. "Road's too open."
Darius followed last, tall and unhurried. His head turned often, nostrils flaring as though scent meant more to him than sight. His fingers flexed against the hilt of his knife. He didn't hide the way he checked their rear, nor the way his gaze lingered on Hana's limp like a hawk sizing the slowest bird in the flock.
Hana's breath hitched. "I—I'm fine."
Mara slowed just enough to let her catch up, setting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Save your strength. You don't need to prove anything."
Hana nodded quickly, eyes down. But guilt stained her cheeks.
They moved on in silence broken only by the scrape of boots, the rattle of glass when wind nudged broken panes.
Above, Elias followed.
He crept along a rooftop's jagged edge, his body a crouched silhouette against the gray. He could smell them as clearly as he could see them: Mara's leather strap, sweated into the grain of her crowbar; Hana's blood, copper-bright, tangling with the faint floral ghost of her scarf; Darius's iron scent, sharp, metallic, almost predatory.
Every whiff was unbearable. Not because it was foul, but because it was edible.
His claws carved faint crescents into the brick as he shifted, trying not to breathe too deep. Hunger rewrote the world into flavors. Friends had become meat.
Below, Mara slowed again to adjust Hana's pace. Elias's jaw tightened. For a heartbeat, he imagined dropping from the roof, landing among them, claws already at work.
The thought made him shudder.
On the road below, Darius stopped walking. He lifted his chin, sniffed once, then scanned the ruins with calm precision. His voice was low, quiet enough that Hana almost missed it:
"They're closer than we think."
Mara stiffened, crowbar shifting in her grip. She searched the empty road, the abandoned cars, the shadow between two leaning buildings.
Hana stumbled again, biting back a gasp as her ankle twisted. She caught herself on the wall, scarf slipping loose around her neck.
Mara turned immediately. "That's it. We stop. You need a minute."
Hana shook her head fast, ashamed. "No, I—I'll manage. Please. I don't want to slow us."
Darius's voice came from behind, calm but edged. "She already has."
Mara's head snapped toward him. "Watch your mouth."
He stepped closer, knife glinting faint in the ashen light. "You think I'm wrong? Every mile we waste gives them another mile to close the gap. You know they're following."
Mara's grip tightened on her crowbar. "She's hurt. She needs rest."
"She needs to be carried," Darius countered flatly, "or she needs to be left. Those are the only choices."
The silence that followed was weighty. Hana froze between them, her lips trembling. She tried to speak, but couldn't find the right words.
Finally, she whispered, "Don't fight because of me. I'll keep up. I swear."
Mara dropped to one knee, steadying Hana's trembling hands in her own. "We're not leaving you. Ever. You hear me?"
Hana's eyes blurred. She nodded.
Behind them, Darius exhaled, slow and deliberate. His gaze lingered on Mara, unreadable, then slid past her to Hana again. He didn't argue further, but the pause itself was an accusation.
Mara's shoulders rose, crowbar trembling faintly in her grip. She looked like she wanted to swing it—not at scavengers, but at Darius standing three steps behind her.
Darius tilted his head. Just waiting.
"They'd be here… hours from now," he murmured.
Mara's jaw clenched. "How many?"
"Enough to kill us if we sit here arguing."
Mara scanned the ruins, mind racing. They could run. They could fight. Both options stank of death. She turned to Hana, already pale, her limp worsening with each step.
Mara's eyes flicked to him, burning. "I'm not abandoning her."
For the first time, something like respect flickered across Darius's face; brief, unreadable. Then it was gone.
Mara's forced her voice low, steady, the way a leader had to sound even when the weight screamed otherwise. "She won't last another mile. We wait."
"Wait" Darius mumbled, but said no more.
"She's hurt. I'm not dragging her through broken glass until she falls for good."
His hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. "Then you condemn us all. Do you know what pursuers do when they catch you huddled? They'd take their time."
"We hide until night. Then we move."
For a moment, it seemed like Darius might argue, might bare his teeth, might test her resolve with the edge of his blade. But he only gave a slow, mocking bow. "So be it."
Mara steered Hana toward a collapsed diner just off the road, steel ribs jutting from brick, a hollow shell that could serve as a hiding place. Darius trailed them, silent as a shadow, but the tension in his stride made every step ring like a threat.
They would wait. Not because it was safe, but because it was the only choice left.
Mara guided Hana to the far corner, easing her down against a wall where a strip of moonlight cut through the broken roof. Hana winced but didn't complain. She curled into herself, scarf pulled tight around her throat as if the fabric might hold her together.
Mara crouched beside her, setting a hand briefly on her arm. "Rest. Just a little."
Hana's eyes flickered with guilt, but exhaustion dragged her lids closed. Her breath evened, though every so often it hitched, like even her dreams limped.
Across the room, Darius stood in the half-dark, a looming shadow against fractured tile. He didn't sit. He didn't blink much either, just stared out the shattered window toward the street, blade propped against his leg.
Mara sank down opposite him, crowbar balanced across her knees. Their gazes locked once, silent sparks across the broken floor. Then both turned away, watching the ruins instead of each other.
The ash outside drifted thick, lazy, like snow falling in a world that no longer deserved beauty. It coated the pavement in a pale veil, muffling sound.
Above them, Elias crouched on the diner's roof, motionless except for the twitch of his claws against the stone.
His eyes tracked the faint glow of the fire Mara had dared to light for a few seconds before stamping it out.
His body shook with hunger, every instinct urging him to leap down, to feel warmth spill beneath his hands.
Instead, he pressed his forehead against the cold stone, whispering so low it was almost prayer. "Night will bring them."