The search of the village was brief and ineffective.

  The small supermarket was nearly empty, looted long ago. Only the hardware store seemed to have escaped the pillaging.

  Inside, it was dark but relatively intact. They found tools, ropes, some work clothes, and a few rusted cans in a dusty corner.

  "Not much, but better than nothing," Yann remarked, loading the cart with ropes and tools.

  Once their meager loot was secured, they began the journey back.

  The camp greeted them with a deceptive calm.

  Yet, the good-evenings were friendlier than Alan had expected. He could feel the eyes on him, as if his status within the group had shifted.

  A quiet unease crept into him.

  What would Rose tell Jennel?

  He set up his tent quickly, focusing on the task to quiet his thoughts. Once it was ready, he sat inside, eating a simple meal.

  As he finished, a figure approached, Jennel.

  Alan looked up as she neared. She wore the same small denim skirt and black t-shirt as the night before, but this time, she held two cans of syrupy fruit in her hands.

  "I thought you might need dessert," she said with a light smile.

  Alan smiled in return, but his attention quickly shifted to the cans.

  "Do you have a can opener?" he asked.

  Jennel shook her head, amused.

  "No. But I’m counting on you to find a way."

  Alan inspected the cans, searching for an easy way to open them, but they were tightly sealed. He rummaged through his pocket and pulled out a battered multi-tool. He attempted to pierce the lid, but the blade slipped, narrowly missing his hand.

  "Careful," Jennel murmured, leaning in to watch.

  They tried several methods, using rocks, an old rusted screwdriver Alan had in his pocket, even the handle of his knife.

  After several minutes of frustration, Alan sighed.

  "Looks like the cans are winning this round."

  Jennel shrugged.

  "It’s fine. We’ll get them open eventually."

  After a few more attempts, Alan finally managed to puncture the metal, a thin trickle of syrup running down the side.

  "Not the prettiest solution, but it’ll do."

  Jennel reached out to take the can.

  "Thanks."

  They ate in silence for a while, savoring the sweet taste of the fruit. The quiet was soothing, but Alan felt Jennel watching him with unusual intensity.

  "My injury’s healed," she said, stretching out her foot to show him. "The nanites did their job."

  Alan nodded, but his thoughts remained troubled.

  "Something wrong?" Jennel asked.

  Alan hesitated.

  "I suppose you know what happened in the village."

  Jennel nodded slowly.

  "Rose told me everything."

  Alan lowered his eyes, running his fingers over the handle of his knife.

  "I killed that man. And the worst part? I feel nothing. No guilt. Just… cold."

  Jennel placed her hand gently over his.

  "You didn’t do it for pleasure. You did it because you had to. He would have killed you otherwise."

  Alan lifted his gaze to hers, searching for an answer.

  "But that doesn’t explain why I’m so… calm. I expected to be shaken."

  Jennel studied him with a newfound seriousness.

  "Because we’ve changed, Alan. The nanites didn’t just make us younger or physically stronger. They altered something inside us. Maybe our ability to handle extreme situations. Or maybe just our survival instinct."

  Alan straightened slightly.

  "You really think that’s it?"

  Jennel nodded.

  "Yes. I felt it too. When I had to stab that man in the supermarket, I thought his face would haunt me. But it didn’t. It’s not that we’re numb, Alan. It’s just… the way we keep living, despite everything."

  Alan felt a weight lift slightly from his shoulders.

  "That’s good to hear. I was starting to think I was…"

  Jennel smiled softly.

  "That you were turning into a monster? No. You’re human. More than ever. And do you know why?"

  Alan nodded, waiting for her answer.

  Jennel held his gaze firmly.

  "Because you ask yourself that question. The ones who truly become monsters never wonder if their actions are justified."

  Silence fell again, but this time, it was comforting.

  Jennel leaned against the tree trunk beside the tent, watching the sleeping camp.

  "Maybe we’re the last humans, Alan. But that doesn’t mean we have to lose our humanity."

  Alan nodded, her words resonating deep within him.

  "Thank you," he murmured.

  Jennel smiled.

  "Don’t mention it. And next time, try to find a can opener."

  After a moment, Jennel stood up.

  "Goodnight," she said softly, her expression warm and sincere.

  Alan watched her walk away toward her own tent, her steps light on the grass.

  He remained seated, unmoving, listening to the rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

  That simple goodnight had sparked an unexpected warmth within him.

  And in that instant, he realized just how much Jennel’s presence had become essential to him.

  Not just her calm words or her reassuring presence.

  But the way she understood him without judgment.

  Yet sleep didn’t come.

  He lay awake, eyes wide open, lost in thought.

  The night stretched on, silent.

  While the memory of Jennel’s smile lingered, illuminating the darkness.

  JENNEL, 93.

  As I had decided, I apologized to Alan. I had gone too far with my confessions.

  But his reaction was strange. Sometimes ironic, sometimes kind, occasionally even a bit flirtatious. Or am I imagining things? Maybe I’m starting to see signs that aren’t really there.

  I like him, though.

  He can be brave and ruthless. Rose was impressed by him, and impressing Rose is no easy feat. But I don’t want to get carried away. It’s so easy to make up stories in a world where there’s barely anything left to brighten our days.

  And that question about love…

  It was intrusive, really. But I answered, almost without thinking.

  "It’s not a question of right. It’s a question of life."

  What did he mean by that?

  I try to believe in it, but something inside me resists. A refusal, almost instinctive. I can’t fully accept it.

  Yet, somewhere deep down, I can feel a flicker. Fragile, wavering, but still present.

  And that worries me.

  The group resumed its steady march, but Alan could feel the mental exhaustion accumulating.

  Jennel went on patrol with the others, though it seemed pointless. Alan, thanks to his gift, could sense people’s intentions over a wide area.

  "We need to keep good habits," Michel had insisted, seeing the patrols as a way to maintain discipline and vigilance within the group.

  Alan hadn’t argued, even though he considered it a waste of energy.

  He watched Jennel discreetly when she was at the camp. She seemed focused, but her eyes found him at every opportunity.

  That evening, Michel called a meeting to discuss their next steps. Alan was invited to join.

  Around the fire, he found Jennel, Bob, Johnny, Rose, Yann, and two other women he quickly identified as members of the scouting patrol : Sophie, a woman in her thirties with light brown hair, and Carmen, a younger woman with a severe demeanor.

  Michel unfolded a roughly annotated map and pointed to several locations along their route.

  "We need to make some choices for the coming days. There are still areas to explore here, here, and here." He indicated several villages and hamlets.

  "But we also need to keep moving southeast."

  Rose spoke up.

  "We need to think about supplies. If we find resources in isolated areas near the coast, it could give us an advantage in the long run."

  Alan examined the map carefully.

  "Which route would take us to the Mediterranean?" he asked.

  Michel traced a path with his finger.

  "Through Montpellier."

  Alan grimaced slightly.

  He would have preferred to avoid big cities and head straight for the coast, where rural areas would offer fewer encounters.

  He said nothing, but Jennel never took her eyes off him.

  Her dark gaze seemed to probe his thoughts as if she could sense his reservations.

  Alan straightened slightly, catching her gaze for a brief second.

  Jennel raised an eyebrow, the faintest smile playing on her lips.

  She understood, without him needing to say a word.

  After dinner, the camp settled into an uneasy quiet.

  But the atmosphere was heavy. Food supplies were dwindling, and conversations around the fire grew shorter, more tense.

  Rose, visibly worried, spoke at length with Jennel in hushed tones.

  Alan observed them from a distance, intrigued.

  When Rose finally walked away to join Michel, he approached Jennel.

  She looked up at him, a slight smirk on her lips.

  "I wonder what Rose is telling Michel," he said.

  Jennel shrugged.

  "Nothing you didn’t already avoid saying at the meeting. She’s worried about our supplies. She wants to take detours into less-traveled areas where we might find enough to last."

  Alan pulled a small chocolate bar from his pocket and handed it to her.

  "Here. This should lift your spirits."

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Jennel’s eyes lit up.

  "Chocolate? Seriously? You were keeping this for yourself?"

  Alan shrugged, amused.

  "Had to save it for a special occasion."

  They ate the chocolate together, a quiet understanding settling between them.

  Then Alan turned to her, his gaze more serious.

  "Jennel… I can’t stop thinking about you. Since I met you, you’ve come to mean more and more to me."

  Jennel froze for a moment, surprised by his words. She lowered her eyes, searching for what to say.

  "Alan… you are a dear friend. Truly. But… I can’t move beyond that."

  She hesitated, her voice softer.

  "Maybe… someday."

  Alan nodded slowly, respecting her hesitation.

  But something instinctive made him reach out.

  Gently, he brushed aside a loose strand of her hair.

  Jennel stiffened at the touch, her eyes widening.

  "No… this isn’t possible," she murmured, as if speaking to herself. "I don’t understand."

  And before Alan could respond, Jennel stood abruptly.

  And disappeared into the night.

  Alan remained there, disoriented, heart pounding.

  His fingers still tingling with the softness of that single strand of hair.

  The next day felt strangely long and heavy.

  Alan walked alongside the group, but his mind was elsewhere.

  The weight of the decision he knew was inevitable haunted him.

  Stay or leave?

  He could no longer push the question aside. Which of the two options was the least unbearable?

  If he stayed with the group, he would have to accept a life where Jennel did not feel the same way he did. A life where every exchanged glance, every shared moment, would be a painful reminder of what he desired but could never have. He would be condemned to an unrequited love, a permanent wound he would have to learn to hide.

  But leaving meant giving up on her.

  Abandoning this fragile, precious connection that had formed between them.

  Leaving meant exposing himself to the unknown, to devastating solitude.

  He would be alone in a lost world, without the comfort of her presence, without the conversations that gave him a reason to keep going.

  Staying would be daily torture.

  Leaving would be a final heartbreak.

  Alan replayed the moments spent with Jennel.

  Her light smile, her fleeting glances, her quiet laughter.

  Every detail seemed engraved in his mind.

  He wondered how long he could endure staying by her side without falling into despair.

  How many nights he could spend dreaming of something that would never be?

  And yet, the thought of leaving her behind terrified him.

  He knew he needed her, even if this love was one-sided.

  Her presence soothed his turmoil, and he couldn't imagine a future without her.

  The dilemma ate away at him.

  Every step on the road grew heavier, every interaction with the others felt more distant.

  Deep down, he knew neither choice would bring him happiness.

  But he had to decide which one would be the least miserable.

  And that decision weighed on him like an unbearable burden.

  When the camp was set up, Alan went to find Michel.

  He found him organizing the night watch shifts.

  "Michel, I need to talk to you," Alan said, his tone calm but firm.

  Michel looked up, intrigued.

  "Of course. What is it?"

  Alan took a deep breath.

  "I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m going to follow my own path."

  Michel frowned.

  "You want to leave? Why? We need you here."

  "It’s a decision I’ve made," Alan replied with determination. "I have my reasons."

  Michel tried to convince him to stay.

  He spoke about the dangers of traveling alone, about the support the group could offer him.

  But nothing seemed to shake Alan’s resolve.

  "Thank you for everything, Michel."

  Michel sighed, resigned.

  "Good luck, then. I hope you find what you’re looking for."

  Later that evening, as the camp slowly fell into silence, Jennel appeared before Alan.

  She seemed troubled, her quick steps betraying her agitation.

  When she reached him, she locked eyes with his, in a mix of sadness, anger… and maybe even despair.

  "You’re leaving?" she blurted out, breathless.

  Alan nodded, avoiding her gaze.

  "Why?"

  Jennel took a step closer, her voice wavering between disbelief and fury.

  "Why leave when the group is here? When I’m here?"

  Alan remained silent.

  She continued, her voice trembling.

  "This is selfish, Alan. You know how dangerous it is out there. Michel is right, you won’t survive alone. Do you want to die?"

  "No," Alan answered softly. "I want to live."

  Jennel narrowed her eyes, trying to understand.

  "You know why I’m leaving," Alan finally said, looking up at her.

  Jennel flinched slightly, as if she had just taken a blow.

  "No…" she murmured, shaking her head. "No, that’s not a reason. You don’t have the right to abandon everything because of this."

  Alan took a step closer, his eyes locked onto hers.

  "I’ve tried, Jennel. To stay. To have you by my side without expecting anything more. But I can’t. I love you. And staying here… would mean condemning myself to suffer a little more every day."

  Jennel looked away, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

  "I can’t give you what you want," she whispered.

  "Then let me go."

  A long silence settled between them.

  Finally, Jennel lifted her head, her eyes shining with emotions she refused to name.

  "Good luck, Alan," she said, her voice breaking. Before turning on her heels and disappearing into the night.

  JENNEL, 95.

  What an idiot!

  Who does he think he is?

  I’m not supposed to fall for the first Survivor I come across.

  But I know damn well that this one is a problem for me.

  I can’t make him stay—that would be too demanding.

  But letting him go… that’s a real shame.

  I mean, I feel good with him.

  Too good, maybe. Or not enough.

  I reread my own words, and they sound just as confused as my thoughts.

  How could he do this to me?

  Just give up on me while I’m doing my best to be kind?

  All because he wants more?

  And what then?

  Okay, it wouldn’t be terrible—but NO.

  But knowing what I know… maybe I’m the fool here.

  It’s complicated.

  The next morning, Alan woke up late, making sure to avoid the departure of Jennel, Bob, and Johnny, who had left for the vanguard patrol. After folding his tent and gathering his few belongings, he approached the center of the camp. Michel, Rose, and other members of the group came to say goodbye, their expressions a mix of concern and respect. Everyone had heard about his decision to leave.

  "Take care of yourself," Rose said, a hint of sadness in her voice.

  Alan simply nodded, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

  He left alone, following the path the group was supposed to take later, but staying behind the vanguard patrol. Each step seemed to pull him closer to something unknown, yet inevitable.

  After an hour of walking, two Specters suddenly appeared at the edge of his perception. One was a man, his Specter saturated with violence. The other was a woman, whose tormented Specter revealed deep distress.

  Alan froze, a growing unease gripping him.

  The man was dangerous. Driven by deadly impulses.

  The patrol was heading straight toward him.

  Alan felt his heartbeat accelerate. The man’s Specter radiated an intensity that chilled him : a raw, animalistic hostility, ready to explode. The woman beside him wavered between fear and profound confusion, but she was not the immediate threat.

  The man was.

  There was no time to lose.

  Alan glanced at his bag. Without thinking, he dropped everything except his weapon, shedding weight to gain speed. He drew his automatic pistol from his belt, quickly checked the safety, and started running.

  The paths were narrow, lined with thorny bushes that clung to his clothes. The ground was uneven, littered with roots and treacherous stones. He stumbled once, barely catching himself against a tree trunk, but he didn’t slow down.

  Every second counted.

  The village came into view, its red rooftops emerging beyond the abandoned fields. The eerie silence was anything but reassuring. He cut through an overgrown garden, the tall grass whipping against his legs, his breathing growing heavier.

  In the narrow streets, the stone houses seemed to watch him pass, motionless, silent witnesses to an impending tragedy. The pavement beneath his feet was slick in places, but he refused to slow down.

  His mind was fixated on one thing: getting there in time.

  He knew where the patrol was headed : the village center. The main square, where Survivors usually gathered when exploring new areas.

  He turned sharply left, taking a shorter route, his feet pounding the ground with desperate urgency. He felt the man’s Specter growing closer, pulsing with murderous intent. Each vibration echoed in his mind like a warning.

  "They have no chance," he muttered between breaths.

  The village center was only meters away when he spotted Bob’s silhouette, cautiously advancing with Johnny and Jennel, their weapons at the ready but their expressions relaxed.

  They didn’t know.

  Alan slipped into a side street, his heart hammering against his ribs. He called out to his three companions, his voice low but urgent.

  "Get off the street. Now. Fall back!"

  The next ten seconds felt like an eternity. Bob and Johnny exchanged a glance before complying, but Jennel reacted differently. Without hesitation, she rushed into Alan’s arms, embracing him briefly as if to confirm he was real.

  Alan, however, couldn’t afford to savor the moment. His gaze darkened as he observed the spectral figure of the woman, unseen by the others.

  He made an insane decision.

  "What are you doing?" Jennel whispered, her voice tight with fear as he pulled away from her.

  "I’m going to try to reason with the man."

  Jennel grabbed his arm. "No. Alan, no. That’s suicide!"

  But he gently freed himself, resolute.

  "I have to try. If there’s a chance to save the woman, I have to take it."

  Jennel stared at him, frozen, before whispering in a broken voice:

  "There’s a woman too… Then I’ll find another way to help you."

  She turned abruptly, searching for a way behind a building that bordered the street. Alan watched her go for a moment before stepping forward into the open.

  A sign on the facade of a nearby building read "Town Hall."

  "Hey!" he called out, his voice echoing through the silent village.

  The man emerged, gripping a shotgun. His gaze burned with barely restrained rage. Beside him, the woman trembled, her eyes darting in desperate avoidance.

  Alan raised his hands in a gesture of peace, hoping he could do better than last time.

  "We don’t want any trouble. No one has to die today."

  At least, he hoped so.

  The man narrowed his eyes, distrustful. His grip tightened around the shotgun’s stock.

  Meanwhile, Jennel dashed behind the building, her heart pounding wildly. Alan was in danger, and she had only seconds to act. The stone facade was intact, the windows shut, the doors solid. No obvious entry points. She rushed along the wall, tried a porch handle : no luck. Another : locked.

  Grinding her teeth, she stepped back and scanned the building’s facade. There had to be a way in.

  Her gaze locked onto a glass door further down, probably a lobby entrance. She ran toward it, placed a hand on it, and prayed : open!

  Inside, the air was stagnant, heavy with something unplaceable. She sprinted toward the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

  First floor. Locked doors.

  Second floor. Still nothing.

  Third floor. A door, slightly ajar.

  She hesitated for half a second before pushing it open. A stale odor hit her. There, in the dim hallway, a collapsed body.

  A man in a worn sweater, his face blank, frozen in death for months.

  Jennel swallowed hard, took a step back, then shook her head. No time for hesitation.

  She stepped over the corpse, pushed the door wider, and advanced, holding her breath.

  The living room overlooked the square. A dusty couch, an overturned table… and beyond, another curled-up silhouette against a wall. A posture that could have been sleep if the stench didn’t betray the truth.

  She tore her gaze away and rushed to the window.

  Curtains drawn. She yanked them aside, knelt on the balcony, and shouldered her rifle.

  "Hold on, Alan…" she whispered.

  Down below, the negotiations were falling apart.

  "You don’t understand!" the man shouted. "They have to pay!"

  Alan took a step forward, keeping his voice calm.

  "No one wants to hurt you. Tell me what happened. We can help."

  The man shook his head, wild with rage. "You’re all liars. You’re just like them!"

  With a sudden motion, he raised his gun.

  Alan had seen this before.

  The man’s Specter betrayed him before he even acted.

  A gunshot rang out, and the man collapsed.

  But the danger wasn’t over.

  The woman beside him grabbed the fallen shotgun.

  Her hands trembled, but her eyes had hardened.

  She pointed the weapon at Alan, who was no longer watching her.

  This time, it was too late to dodge.

  Another shot rang out.

  The woman crumpled to the ground, taken down from the balcony.

  Jennel slowly lowered her rifle, eyes locked on Alan.

  Her face was pale, her features tight with emotions she struggled to contain.

  Alan remained still, his heart pounding. He glanced at the woman on the ground, then looked up at Jennel.

  They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. No words could express what they felt.

  Later, as Michel and the others arrived, Jennel descended from the building, her rifle still in hand, her gaze fixed on the woman’s lifeless body.

  Alan stood beside her, his expression dark.

  Michel knelt beside the wounded woman, checking for life.

  "She’s still breathing," he murmured.

  But her breath was shallow, each inhale a painful rattle.

  Jennel knelt beside her, trembling. "Hold on," she whispered, placing a shaking hand on the woman’s forehead.

  But the woman’s gaze dimmed. One last breath—then nothing.

  Jennel recoiled, horrified. Her hands shook, gripping her rifle like a shield.

  "No… I wanted to save her…"

  Alan gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

  "You did what you had to do. If you hadn’t acted, I’d be dead."

  Jennel shook her head, tears welling up.

  "But she… she wasn’t supposed to die."

  Alan turned her toward him. "It wasn’t your fault. She made her choice."

  Jennel collapsed against him, seeking comfort.

  Alan held her in his arms, feeling the tension radiating from her.

  After a long silence, she straightened slightly.

  "Alan…"

  He waited, patient.

  "What are you going to do now?" she asked, her gaze hesitant.

  Alan took a deep breath. "I said I was leaving. But… now I don’t know anymore. Maybe I should stay."

  Jennel stared at him intently, her dark eyes searching for something in his.

  "You can see that everyone needs you."

  Alan shrugged, the weight of his emotions pressing heavily on him. "And you, Jennel?"

  She lowered her eyes, nervously playing with the hem of her t-shirt.

  "Me too. I… I can’t be without you."

  Alan was speechless. He felt his heart race, a gentle warmth spreading through him. But he didn’t know what to say. Words felt useless.

  Jennel lifted her head, her cheeks slightly flushed.

  "There’s something inside me, Alan. Something irresistible. I can’t explain it, but… I want you to stay."

  Alan, unable to speak, did the only thing that felt natural. He leaned in slowly and pressed a fleeting kiss to her lips.

  The contact was brief, but the world seemed to stop.

  When he pulled back, he immediately regretted his action.

  "Jennel, I… I’m sorry."

  But she didn’t protest. She remained still, her lips slightly parted, her gaze lost in his.

  "Don’t be sorry," she murmured at last.

  They stood there, facing each other, while the rest of the group busied themselves around them, oblivious to the suspended moment between them.

  For the first time in a long while, since the Wave, Alan felt that something had changed.

  Irrevocably.