The flickering candlelight cast long, wavering shadows across the boarded-up bakery. It was one of the few places in the ruined city that still had some semblance of shelter—intact walls, a sturdy door, and the faint scent of stale bread lingering in the air. But beneath that, something metallic tainted the atmosphere, the unshakable stench of dried blood and rusted steel.

  Girl sat against the counter, carefully cleaning the gash along her forehead and then to her stomach. The wound was raw, deep, and angry-looking, yet she handled it with unnerving precision, her expression calm. Gator watched her closely, leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he studied her—not just her movements, but everything about her. The girl was… different. Unnaturally composed. Skilled. And something about her tugged at the edges of his memory, a familiarity he couldn’t place.

  Across the room, Hale leaned forward, skepticism written all over his face. "We appreciate the help, but we still don’t know who you are." His voice, though low, carried an edge of distrust.

  Girl glanced up from her wound, her forest-green eyes meeting his with quiet confidence. "I'm just someone trying to survive," she answered simply. "I saw you guys… I knew you needed help."

  Whiz, still shaken from the earlier encounter, rubbed his hands together anxiously. "You were incredible back there," he admitted. "You saved me. Saved us. I don’t even know what to say."

  Girl offered him a small, reassuring smile. "You don’t have to thank me. We all do what we can in situations like that."

  Silence settled over them, thick with unspoken questions. The candle’s flame flickered, its dim light making the room feel smaller, more intimate yet fragile, as if any loud noise would shatter the illusion of temporary safety.

  Jace, who had been observing quietly, finally spoke. "One of our teams… before they disappeared, they mentioned a girl with platinum blonde hair. Was that you?"

  Girl’s fingers briefly stilled against her bandage. A shadow passed over her face, a flicker of something she quickly masked, but not before Gator caught it.

  "I tried to help them," she admitted. "I did what I could. But…" She exhaled softly, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable weight. "It wasn’t enough."

  Gator studied her carefully, something in his gut twisting. It wasn’t just the familiarity of her appearance. It was the way she spoke—soft but firm, her words laced with an exhaustion he knew all too well. He could see it now, the quiet grief she carried.

  Maverick broke the silence. "How did you know what to do? You moved like you’ve been through this before."

  Girl looked at him, and this time, there was no hesitation. "I’ve been on my own for months," she admitted. "You learn to adapt. To survive. I’ve watched the infected, studied their behaviors. They’re unpredictable, but there are patterns. If you pay attention, you start to understand them."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Razor’s eyes softened slightly. "So you’ve been out here… alone?"

  She nodded. "Yes. Alone. But it’s safer that way. Most of the time."

  Colt, despite his injury, leaned against the counter with mild curiosity. "How long?"

  "A few months now," she said, absently tightening the bandage around her arm. "I know this city. I’ve found places that are safer than others. But nothing lasts forever."

  Hale wasn’t convinced. His jaw tensed as he watched her. "And how do we know we can trust you?"

  Girl met his gaze, unfazed. "I don’t want anything from you," she said evenly. "I’m not looking for trouble. I’m just trying to survive, like you."

  The room fell into silence again. Then, from the shadows, Razor spoke. His deep, quiet voice cut through the air like a blade.

  "Enough, Hale," he murmured. "She saved us. If she wanted us dead, she had plenty of chances."

  His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried a quiet authority that silenced the rest of the team. Girl glanced at him, her gaze lingering a second longer than necessary, sensing something beneath his words.

  After a moment, Whiz cleared his throat, hesitating before speaking. "That wound…" He nodded toward her now bandaged stomach. "I’m a medic. Let me take a look at it."

  Girl hesitated. She had patched herself up more times than she could count. But as she met Whiz’s earnest expression, she exhaled through her nose, nodding. "Alright."

  He moved closer, crouching beside her, careful and methodical as he unwound the cloth to take a look at her wound. His brows furrowed as he examined the gash. "You did a decent job," he admitted. "But you’re lucky—it could’ve been worse."

  "That’s what I tell myself every day," she muttered, lips quirking slightly.

  Whiz huffed a quiet chuckle before carefully cleaning and redressing the wound,trying not to look at her beautiful face. "There. Try not to tear it open again."

  Girl flexed her fingers slightly before offering him a small nod. "Thanks."

  Maverick leaned forward then, his gaze intense. "You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?"

  Girl looked at him, weighing her words. "Yes."

  "What do you know about the infected?"

  She exhaled softly, her expression growing serious. "Some of them… they still look human. They retain their forms, their movements. Those ones can see and hear just like they used to." Her eyes darkened slightly. "But the others—some have evolved. Some lost their sight but gained heightened hearing. Others lost their ability to hear but can see clearer than before. Each type is different."

  Jace looked uneasy. "That’s… not what we were told."

  Girl gave him a knowing look. "Because the infection is changing. The more time passes, the more they evolve. If you don’t adapt, you won’t survive."

  A heavy pause settled over them. Gator could feel the weight of her words pressing into him. The world wasn’t just ending—it was shifting into something else entirely.

  Jace, clearly still processing, tilted his head slightly. "You never told us your name."

  Girl glanced between them before finally answering, her voice quiet but firm. "Vivian."

  Something about hearing her name out loud sent a ripple through Gator. He wasn’t sure why, but it struck something deep within him.

  Before anyone could respond, a low, guttural growl echoed through the room. The air turned sharp with tension as everyone went still.

  Then—scratching. Slow. Persistent. Clawing against wood.

  Whiz tensed. "What the hell was that?"

  Vivian’s head snapped toward the boarded-up door, her expression sharpening. "Infected." She listened for a second longer before exhaling. "Not too close. Not yet."

  She moved swiftly, pulling back a worn rug to reveal a hidden trapdoor in the floor. "This leads to the basement. From there, we can reach the sewer system. It’s the safest way out."

  Gator frowned. "And if we stay?"

  Vivian’s voice remained calm, but firm. "Then we fight. But remember—some of them will see you. Some will hear you. If you don’t know which kind you’re dealing with, you’re already at a disadvantage."

  Another growl—closer this time. The scratching turned into frantic pounding.

  "We need to go," she said, urgency creeping into her tone. "Now."

  Razor gave a sharp nod. "Move out."

  As the team scrambled toward the trapdoor, Gator hesitated for just a second, his gaze lingering on Vivian. There was something about her—something that unsettled him in a way he couldn’t explain.

  And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure if it was fear or recognition.