The world ended not with a bang, but with a slow, suffocating decay. And in the middle of it, I was kneeling on the bed, my hands buried in the thick, coarse fur of my boyfriend’s neck, trying to soothe him. My fingers glowed with a faint, pulsing blue—my "gift," if you could call it that. I was a sponge for pain, a sensory empath who could pull the agony out of someone else and tuck it into my own marrow. Suddenly, my mind wasn't my own. A jagged stream of text, like a hijacked social media feed, flickered across my consciousness. It was a "Stream" of comments from an audience I couldn't see, and they were vicious. [God, she’s such a blind waste of space. How can she not tell it’s the wrong man?] [Look at her, using her "healing" as an excuse to feel him up. She’s pathetic.] [She thinks he’s a Golden Retriever shifter, but he’s a Wolf. He’s playing her for a fool.] My heart hammered against my ribs. The Stream grew louder, more frantic. [Just wait until the Real Heroine shows up. Maeve’s little pain-transfer trick is a joke. She’s just a placeholder until Raina arrives.] [She’s going to die in the Verdant Tide. Eaten by a man-eater plant. That’s what she gets for trying to steal the Main Lead.] The words hit me like a physical blow. Every strange, nagging feeling I’d suppressed over the last week suddenly crystallized. The way his scent had changed from cedar to something sharper, like ozone and rain. The way his skin felt—harder, leaner. I let go of the soft, pointed ears I had been stroking. My hands shook as I scrambled back, nearly falling off the bed. "Put your clothes on," I whispered, my voice cracking. I faked a cough, trying to hide the tremor. "I... I think I can do this from a distance now. I don't need to touch you. You’re going to catch a chill." 1 The man shifted. I could hear the rustle of the sheets, the heavy, deliberate thud of his feet hitting the floor. The air in the room grew cold, thick with a sudden, sharp tension. "Maeve, what kind of nonsense are you talking now?" The sound of metal rattled—the light iron shackles I’d insisted he wear "for his own safety" while I treated his supposed internal injuries. His voice was tight, vibrating with an impatience that made my skin crawl. "You’ve been 'checking' me for five days," he growled. "Five days of you crawling all over me, claiming you can't find the source of the pain. And now you can do it from across the room? Dammit, are you playing games with me?" My breath hitched. He knew. The truth was, I’d been lying. Becket wasn't actually hurt. But I knew Becket didn't love me—not the way I loved him. For him, I was a responsibility, a burden he took on because of a promise. I’d faked the diagnosis just to have a reason to touch him, to feel close to someone before he inevitably realized I was a dead weight and left me behind. But the Stream... the Stream said this wasn't Becket. It said I was being hunted by a "Main Lead" and that my obsession would be my death. In this post-apocalyptic hellscape, a blind girl with a non-combat gift is a liability. When the Shift happened, Becket had changed into a canine-shifter—strong, fast, and fiercely protective. But ten days ago, he’d become agitated, insisting on scouting for other survivors. When "he" came back that night, he was crankier, sure, but he let me touch him. He let me hold him. I thought I’d finally broken through his icy exterior. But if this wasn't Becket... then who had I been sleeping next to for a week? "Becket?" I started, choosing my words like I was walking through a minefield. "I was just thinking... do you remember our first date? I’m having a bit of a brain fog. My memory is slipping." The man went still. I could feel his gaze, sharp as a scalpel, tracing the line of my throat. A long silence followed. Then, a low, dark chuckle. "First your eyes go, now your brain? You’re a mess, Maeve." He sighed, the sound heavy with something I couldn't identify. "It was the Freshman Gala. My brother was giving the keynote speech. You were so mesmerized you almost tripped over a folding chair. I caught your hand before you hit the floor." He paused. "That was the first time I held you." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. It was him. The memory was perfect. Relief washed over me, warm and dizzying. I lunged forward, throwing my arms around him. My God, he must have been training in secret. His chest felt like a marble wall, and the heat radiating from his skin was intense. The little devil on my shoulder whispered that now was the time. "Becket," I whispered, blushing. "Remember that outfit I bought? The one you said was too... much? Would you wear it for me? Just once?" His body turned to stone beneath my touch. The hand on my waist tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. I waited, my heart singing. Then, the chains rattled violently. He stood up abruptly, shoving me away. His voice was muffled, thick with suppressed emotion. "Enough, Maeve. Don't push your luck just because you know I care about you. Do you even realize... forget it. Button your shirt. Come here and unlock these damn chains." I blinked, the rejection stinging like a slap. "Oh. Okay." I crawled toward him, my fingers fumbling with the locks. His breath was coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "I heard a noise in the bathroom," he said, his voice rasping. "I need to check it out. Stay here. No matter what you hear, do not come in." The moment the shackles fell away, he was gone. 2 The Stream exploded with mockery: [Hahaha, honestly, being blind is a blessing for her. She doesn't have to see how much he hates her touch.] [Look at him! His hands were literally shaking from the effort of not punching her. He’s suffering through this for the sake of his brother.] [If he weren't doing this as a favor to keep her safe while the brother is away, he’d have tossed her to the zombies days ago.] [Wait... why didn't he just tell her he’s the wrong brother?] [Please, she’s a clingy idiot. If she knew the truth, she’d freak out and wouldn't let him in. It’s the apocalypse—he needs a place to stay too.] I sat frozen on the bed. The realization hit me like ice water. This wasn't Becket. It couldn't be. Because the real Becket would never admit he "cared" about me. Everything felt different now. The Becket I knew complained about my cooking, calling it "slop" and eating canned rations instead. This man complained, but he finished every bowl of noodles I made and then washed the dishes. The real Becket jumped if I so much as grazed his arm. This man... he lingered. Who was he? And how did he know about the Gala? The water in the bathroom stopped running. Before I could process it, a pair of cold, powerful hands grabbed my ankles. "Stop daydreaming," he said. "It's time to wash your feet." The real Becket would never wash my feet. He’d told me a thousand times he wasn't my servant. But this man had given in after I’d asked just once. Panic, cold and sharp, flared in my chest. If he was only doing this to keep a roof over his head, then I was a hostage to his "kindness." "No!" I shrieked, kicking out. I knocked the basin over, water splashing everywhere. I tried to bolt, but I didn't get two steps before a thick, powerful tail—stronger than any dog's—wrapped around my waist. He hoisted me into the air effortlessly. I dangled there, trembling. Cold water dripped from his hair onto my neck. His voice was a low vibration against my spine. "Where are you running, Maeve? You’re the one who begged me to do this." "Come back here. Don't make me say it twice." The Stream flickered: [God, she’s so dramatic. He’s literally doing her a favor and she spills the water? Water is a luxury now!] [She’s a brat. She forced the younger brother into a relationship using a 'life-saving debt,' and now she’s bothering the older one? Low class.] 3 I realized then that if I kept acting out, I’d force him to drop the mask. And whatever was under that mask was terrifying. I forced myself to go limp. I lowered my head, projecting an image of submissive guilt. "I’m sorry," I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I just... I realized you were right. You aren't my servant. I should do it myself. I’ll be better, I promise." The air went dead silent. Even without sight, I felt his eyes boring into me, a predator watching its prey. "I’m not washing them!" I blurted out, backing away until I hit the headboard. "Water is precious. I won't waste it. I’ll never ask again!" He watched me for a long time. Finally, without a word, he cleaned up the mess and walked out. I curled into a ball, shaking. I thought I’d escaped. But five minutes later, the door creaked open again. "Stop being difficult, Maeve." "I put rose petals in the water this time. It’s warm. And stop with the 'precious water' excuse. As long as I’m here, you’ll have what you need. If you don't soak your feet, they’ll stay cold all night, and you’ll just end up freezing me out of the bed." Every argument died in my throat. His fingers, long and calloused, wrapped around my ankle. The temperature was perfect. The scent of roses filled the room. I forgot to fight. I let him dry my skin with a soft towel, my heart hammering a confused rhythm against my ribs. The moment he let go, I dove under the covers. I heard a faint, ghost of a chuckle before the door closed. The Stream scrolled by: [I can't believe he actually went out and found roses. In this world? Those aren't normal flowers—they’re all mutated predators.] [He literally got stabbed by thorns to get those for her. His arms are covered in scratches, but she’s too busy acting like a princess to notice.] [Oh no... he’s been marked by a SSS-rank Man-Eater. It tracked him back from the rose bush. He’s a dead man walking.] [Ugh, when is this girl going to die? She’s literally a death sentence for everyone around her.] 4 The scent of roses felt like a floral shroud. I gripped the sheets, my knuckles white. He had risked his life for a flower? I had been the one to ask Becket out. I was the one who bought him gifts, who asked for a single rose as a symbol of something real. Becket always told me it was pointless. You can't even see it, Maeve. You’ll just prick your finger. It’s a waste of credits. And now, a man wearing Becket’s face had bled for them. The door opened again. A soft, warm glow permeated the room. [Wait, is that a nightlight?] [It’s a little wolf! That’s so cute, I want one.] [I was wondering why he stopped at that raided pharmacy. He stole a battery-operated nightlight?] Electricity was a memory. We lived by candlelight and scavenged batteries. But I had always been terrified of the dark. The scent of fresh blood hit my nose—the scratches the Stream mentioned. My heart softened, despite my terror. I reached out, my fingers searching for him. He flinched back instantly, as if my touch was fire. [LMAO, she thinks he wants to hold her hand. He’s disgusted.] [The nightlight isn't for her, idiots. It’s for Raina. The Heroine is arriving tomorrow, and she’s the one who’s actually afraid of the dark. He’s just testing it out on the 'spare' tonight.] I pulled my hand back, my face burning. "I... I just wanted to help. I can take the pain of your scratches. I can transfer it..." "No." His voice was like a sheet of ice. "Listen to me, Maeve. Whether I am hurt or not, you are never to use your gift on me. Do you understand? Never." [Look at him protecting himself. He won't even let her touch his pain. That’s a real man—saving himself for the one he actually loves.] A dull ache throbbed in my chest. I nodded silently. He set the nightlight on the bedside table and lay down beside me. "Fine," he sighed. "Come here." I froze. "What?" "Don't play coy," he said, unbuttoning his shirt with a weary sigh. "You won't sleep until you get your 'goodnight kiss.' Let’s just get it over with. I’m exhausted." My stomach did a somersault. I used to force Becket to hold me, to kiss me, because I was so desperate for a sign that I wasn't alone in the world. But I didn't know then that this wasn't Becket. I scrambled backward, clutching my collar. "No! I... I’ve been thinking. I was wrong. We should have boundaries. You’re right. I shouldn't force you." 5 The silence was deafening. "Boundaries?" he repeated. His voice was dangerously low.
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