Two months.

  That’s how long I managed to stay out of the city. Out of Eden. Out of their mess.

  I set up in an old pharmacy on the outskirts. Boarded windows, rusted shelves, dust-covered counters. It was quiet. Too quiet. Just me, the cold wind, and whatever the hell was still crawling around in the woods.

  The rifle broke again.

  It started jamming a few weeks ago, but I figured I could fix it. Strip it, clean it, reassemble. Same routine. But no—something deeper this time. Maybe the firing pin. Maybe God just hates me. Either way, I couldn’t hunt. Couldn’t defend myself. Not well, at least.

  So now I’m back in the city. Back in that rotting carcass of metal and brick, where demons crawl like maggots and survivors play pretend.

  I take the alleys. Eyes up. Footsteps quiet. I don’t plan on staying long—grab a part, fix the rifle, and disappear again. Simple. Clean. No contact.

  But fate's a bitch.

  I hear the screaming first. Distant, echoing between buildings like a memory I didn’t want back. I should’ve kept walking. Should’ve turned around. But I follow the noise anyway—because of course I do.

  I find them at the corner of 7th and Madison. Luna, and two people I don’t recognize. One of them’s already down. Throat torn open, eyes wide in that stupid shocked way the dead always have. The other’s trying to fight, but he’s surrounded.

  Luna’s on the ground, clutching her side. Blood soaking through her jacket. Deep wound—too deep for someone like her to walk away from. And the demons are closing in. Five of them. Hungry. Fast.

  I duck behind a rusted car and grip the hilt of my blade. My heart isn’t racing. It never does anymore. Not after everything I’ve seen. Not after everything I’ve done.

  “She’s not your problem,” I whisper to myself. “She is dead.”

  I clench my jaw. Try to turn away.

  You already know how Eden ends. You already watched it fall. You already buried her. Again and again and again.

  “She will die anyway.”

  They all do.

  I keep telling myself that. Over and over.

  But then she looks up.

  Blood on her lips. Hand shaking. But she’s alive. Barely. And for a moment—just a breath—her eyes lock with mine.

  And I break.

  “Fuck it.”

  I move.

  The blade comes out smooth, clean. The first demon doesn’t even notice me until its head hits the ground. The second goes down before it can screech. I’m faster than them. I always have been.

  I don’t stop. Not until all five are dead. Not until I’m standing over Luna, breathing heavy, her blood soaking into my boots.

  Her companion just stares. Probably trying to process what the hell just happened.

  I crouch beside her.

  She tries to speak. I cut her off.

  “Don’t. Save your strength.”

  She blinks, dazed. Maybe she recognizes me. Maybe not.

  Doesn’t matter.

  I tear off a strip of cloth from the dead guy’s jacket and press it to her wound.

  This wasn’t the plan. None of this was the plan.

  But plans don’t mean shit when you see her dying again.

  I grit my teeth and lift her onto my back.

  “I swear to god, Luna… this better be the last time I do this shit.”

  ______

  I’ve seen a lot of things since the world ended—monsters, traitors, desperate people doing desperate things.

  But I’ve never seen someone move like that.

  One second we were about to die. The next, the demons were just… gone. Heads rolling. Limbs twitching. And that guy—black coat, cold eyes—stood there like it was nothing.

  And now he’s crouched beside Luna, hands steady as he ties off a field dressing like a goddamn combat medic.

  I kneel down beside him, still trying to catch my breath. My shirt’s soaked through with sweat. Luna’s still bleeding, but it’s slower now. Controlled.

  He moves fast—efficient. Pressure dressing, elevation, wrap around the torso to hold it in place. No hesitation.

  “You done this before?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

  He doesn’t look up. “Too many times to count.”

  There’s something in the way he says it—flat, distant. Like he’s answering from a place far behind his eyes.

  He finishes tying the cloth and leans back, exhaling. “That’ll hold. For now.”

  “For now?” I echo.

  “We need a real doctor,” he mutters.

  I nod quickly. “We’ve got one. In Eden. She’s good.”

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  He doesn’t say anything. Just clicks his tongue and stands up, adjusting Luna’s weight on his back like he’s done it a hundred times.

  Then he turns.

  Not toward the nearest shelter. Not toward any of the open roads. He heads east, straight through the rubble—right toward Eden.

  I stare at his back, confused.

  “…Has Luna taken you there before?”

  “No,” he answers.

  But then, almost too soft to hear, I catch the edge of something else. A whisper, under his breath.

  “I’ve just been there too many damn times already.”

  I furrow my brow, but don’t push it.

  We walk for a while in silence. The city creaks around us—bent metal, distant growls, the sound of a world still dying. I try to make small talk, just to kill time. We’ve got half a day before we hit Eden’s perimeter.

  “You from this side of the city?”

  “Yes.”

  “Got a name?”

  “Rex.”

  “…Cool.”

  Nothing. He doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps walking with Luna on his back, eyes always scanning.

  After a while, I sigh.

  “We were only over here ‘cause of a radio signal. SOS broadcast. Sounded real. Said they needed help, supplies, protection. Thought maybe we’d find someone worth bringing back.”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “…The guy you saw die—that was the source. We think. He was the one calling out. Got to him too late.”

  “Mm,” Rex grunts.

  That’s all I get.

  We keep moving.

  Around midday, we hit a collapsed overpass and start climbing the debris. That’s when we hear them—four demons, prowling on the ridge ahead.

  Rex sets Luna down gently, his hand already going for his blade.

  “No need,” I say, stepping forward.

  I pull my axe from my back. Notched, ugly, but it does the job.

  They come fast, snarling—but I’m faster.

  The first loses its leg, the second its throat. The third lunges; I duck and bury the axe into its skull. The fourth hesitates, but I don’t.

  When it’s over, I turn back. Blood on my face. Breathing heavy.

  Rex just nods once. No praise. No surprise. Like he expected it.

  We walk on.

  I don’t know what Luna sees in him. I don’t know who he is, or how the hell he knows the way to Eden like the back of his hand. But one thing’s for sure:

  This guy’s seen the end of the world more times than anyone should.

  And somehow… he’s still walking.

  ________

  We’re close now.

  The skyline’s shifting—less ruin, more shape. Crude barricades, reinforced fences. Human fingerprints clawing against entropy. I change course, cutting across an alley choked with weeds and shadows. There’s a passage ahead, hidden behind a busted dumpster and a half-collapsed wall. Most people miss it.

  Mark doesn’t.

  He squints as I move aside the rubble and start down a narrow stairwell, overgrown with moss and half-swallowed by the city. Water drips. Metal groans. I’ve taken this route so many damn times, I could do it blind.

  Mark speaks up behind me. “Wait—how do you know about this way in? We just opened it a couple weeks ago.”

  I don’t answer.

  Not because I can’t. Just because I’m tired of lying.

  Instead, I press forward. The tunnels beneath the city twist like veins, and I know every turn. Every crack. Every body I’ve left down here in a different loop.

  Mark doesn’t ask again.

  ?

  He’s good, I’ll give him that.

  I glance back as we move—Luna still out cold on my back, Mark scanning corners like a soldier. He’s calm. Controlled. No wasted movement.

  I didn’t expect him to survive this long.

  Not in this version of the loop.

  Mark’s always been capable—good instincts, sharp aim, quick with a blade. But this time, there’s something else. A confidence. Precision. Maybe he’s grown, or maybe the world’s just beaten the hesitation out of him earlier.

  He’s the kind of guy you’d want at your back in a fight. Loyal, dependable, focused. A good man.

  That’s the problem.

  Mark is too good.

  The type to run into fire if he hears a scream. The type to go all the way across town because some voice on the radio cried for help. That kind of idealism gets people killed in a world like this.

  It’s gotten him killed more times than I can count.

  And no matter how many times I watch him fall, he never loses that light. Not really.

  I don’t know if I envy him… or pity him.

  ?

  We surface near Eden’s outer ring. Fifteen blocks of fortified hope—scrap metal walls, watchtowers patched together with solar panels and desperation. On the outside, it looks like a miracle. On the inside…

  Well. Depends who you ask.

  Every few years, they get bold. Start another expansion project. Claim they’re going to reclaim the whole city. Save everyone. Rebuild the world.

  And every time, it ends in blood.

  They always collapse.

  Same mistake. Same dream. Different bodies.

  And I know exactly why.

  It’s because of that guy.

  The so-called leader of Eden. A man with too much charisma and not enough caution. His vision is always just a little too big, just a little too loud. Always talking about destiny. Revolution. A new world.

  He talks like a savior. Plans like a conqueror.

  And one day—soon—his ambitions will stop including the people he’s supposed to protect.

  I’ve seen it. Again and again.

  ?

  The gates are in sight now—steel and wood, mounted with scavenged spotlights and barbed wire. As I step forward, the guards on the wall snap to attention. Spears lowered. Crossbows notched.

  They see me first.

  Some stranger in a black coat with a sword on his hip, carrying an unconscious woman.

  Luna.

  “Halt!” one of them shouts. “Drop your weapon and put her down, now!”

  I don’t stop walking. My fingers don’t even twitch toward the hilt. I can see the panic in their eyes—new recruits, probably. They weren’t around the last time I came through here.

  They don’t recognize me.

  Good.

  “Final warning!” another yells, stepping forward. “We will open fire—”

  “Hold it!” Mark shouts, jogging up beside me. He throws his hands in the air, panting. “She’s hurt! She’s one of ours!”

  The guards blink. They look past me—finally really look—and recognize the face half-covered in blood against my back.

  “Is that—Luna?”

  “She needs a doctor,” Mark says, urgent now. “Now.”

  There’s a pause. One guard hesitates, hand still on the trigger.

  Then he shouts to the wall. “Get Marisol! Tell her it’s Luna! Open the gate!”

  Chains rattle. Locks clank. The heavy metal doors screech open just enough for us to pass.

  As we step inside, I catch wide eyes and whispers.

  They still don’t know who I am.

  But they’ll remember me soon enough.