1 The truck rattled violently over the cracked, dusty highway of the wasteland. I curled deeper into the passenger seat, my fingers instinctively tightening around the oversized tactical jacket swallowing me whole. It belonged to Ryder, draping past my thighs like a heavy canvas sack. "Keep shrinking and you’ll end up in the glove compartment," the man in the driver's seat grunted without turning his head. My body stiffened. I quietly pulled my legs back half an inch. I had to stay on his good side. I couldn't risk being disobedient. After all, three years after the outbreak, I was a zombie—an abomination that any normal human would put down on sight. 2 Three months ago, my fiancé, Tristan, had pushed me out of the armored vehicle, straight into the swarming horde. An apex infected had torn open my wrist, letting the virus flood my veins. I expected to become a mindless, decaying ghoul roaming the ruins. But instead, I woke up. My body temperature plummeted, and my heart beat at a sluggish, heavy crawl, but my mind remained entirely mine. Oddly, the lower-tier infected stopped attacking me. They even parted like a quiet tide whenever I drew near. I became a ghost drifting through the quarantine zone. I wasn't a zombie—I couldn't stomach raw flesh. But I wasn't human either—normal food made me sick. I was starving, hovering on the brink of death every single day, yet unable to die. I survived that agonizing, hollow existence for three months. Until I ran into Ryder. That day, he had just wiped out an entire mutated nest. Covered in black, viscous blood, he sat on a jagged piece of rebar amid the rubble, smoking a cigarette. I only approached him because I wanted to pick up a shiny glass marble lying near his boots. But he looked down. A cold, heavy blade pressed against my throat. "Where did you crawl out from, little monster?" Terrified, I dropped to my knees, holding up the marble with trembling hands, expecting him to slice off my head and dig out my core. But he didn’t. He studied me for a long, quiet moment, then slid his knife back into its sheath. He threw his half-smoked cigarette onto the dirt and crushed it with his boot. "Get in the truck." And just like that, he took me in. 3 "Eat if you’re hungry," Ryder said, watching me with lazy amusement. My lips parted, but I hesitated. The thought of eating felt wrong, but the gnawing ache in my stomach was unbearable. After a moment of desperate internal conflict, I crawled toward him on hands and knees. Ryder routinely unbuttoned his collar, exposing the broad expanse of his chest. I leaned over him, using my sharp canine teeth to pierce his skin. Closing my eyes, I pressed my lips to the tiny wound, carefully sipping the warm, metallic fluid. "Easy, little monster," he murmured. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while the other slid behind my waist, pulling me a fraction closer to his chest. Honestly, I had no idea how infected were supposed to feed. The first time I drank his blood, he had to guide my head down himself. As the hunger subsided, my fractured senses began to piece themselves back together. I stopped, releasing his skin. Unsure of what to do next, I stayed draped across his chest, peeking up at him through my eyelashes. Ryder looked down. He traced the faint, wet bite mark on his collarbone. "Full?" I nodded slowly. "Then go back and sit down." His hand left my waist, and I hurriedly scrambled back to the passenger seat, curling myself into a tight, protective ball. The sky darkened, and the brutal temperature drop of the wasteland began to settle in. My body—stuck at a permanent sixty-eight degrees—grew stiff and slow. Still, I dragged myself up to make dinner for him. It was the only way I could prove my worth. I refused to be called a parasite ever again. 4 I brought the small iron pot over and held it out to him. "Auu," I chirped. Eat. Ryder took the pot and drank the broth directly from the rim. A wave of relief washed over me. He ate it. It meant I was still useful. As long as I could cook and work, he wouldn’t think of me as dead weight. He wouldn’t throw me out. My tense shoulders relaxed. I happily reached into my pocket and pulled out a battered, one-eyed stuffed bear I’d salvaged from the rubble earlier that day. Its seams were splitting, and half its stuffing was spilling out, but I loved it. Clutching the bear to my chest, I curled up in the corner of the back seat. I wanted to have a sweet dream tonight. But I didn't. Instead, the nightmares took over. I was back at the Sanctuary with Tristan, during the days before everyone realized my awakening had failed. Back then, Tristan still protected me. He told everyone I was just a late bloomer. But slowly, the lies wore thin. Within a year, even Tristan stopped believing. He went from bringing me canned fruit and holding me tight to looking right through me. I spent my days on edge, only daring to take the worst rations—rotten potatoes and hard, insect-ridden biscuits. People pointed at me, calling me a leech, throwing dirt on my clothes. Tristan would just stand there, coldly cleaning his rifle, never once looking my way. And then came the supply run. The horde rushed us. Rotting faces pressed against the glass. Tristan grabbed me by the collar and threw me out into the cold. The stench of decay hit me as I crashed into the sea of bodies, watching his truck speed away into the dust... I bolted upright, gasping, though my dead lungs couldn’t even draw a proper breath. My teeth chattered violently, and a quiet, broken sob slipped from my throat. My tears felt freezing as they hit the back of my hand. Beside me, Ryder’s voice broke the silence. "Why are you crying? Dreaming about someone else?" I nodded miserably. "Auu..." Ryder didn't say anything else, but his hands kept moving. Only then did I realize he was sewing a new button onto my one-eyed bear. I let out an excited chirp, pointing at his hands. He was fixing my bear. Ryder. The strongest electro-kinetic in the Apex Sanctuary. Rumor had it he was ruthless, short-tempered, and strictly a solo hunter. I’d seen him from a distance back at the base. Everyone feared him—even Tristan. Nobody dared to cross his path. Yet here he was, carefully mending a ruined toy for me. 5 "Auu," I urged softly, nudging the bear closer to him. Hurry. Ryder glanced up at me, silent, but his fingers moved faster. When he finished the last stitch, he bit the thread off and handed the bear back. I snatched it up, hugging it tightly. My bear had eyes again. I wanted to roll around the backseat in pure joy, but my rigid muscles wouldn't allow it. Instead, I rubbed my cheek against the smooth surface of the new button eye. "How did you get bitten?" Ryder asked suddenly. "Why did the base send someone without powers on a high-risk run?" I froze. The warmth of the moment evaporated, replaced by a cold dread. "Auu... Auu!" I gestured frantically, pointing at myself, then out at the pitch-black highway, making a violent shoving motion. "Someone pushed you," Ryder said, his voice level. I nodded vigorously. "Auu!" Yes! "Someone from the Sanctuary?" I nodded again and began to make more complex gestures. I drew a small figure in the dust on the dashboard, and a slightly larger one beside it. I pointed to the smaller one, then to myself. "Auu..." A low whimper escaped me. I buried my face in the toy bear, too ashamed to look at the larger sketch representing him. Ryder fell silent for a long time. Just when I thought he had lost interest, he spoke. "You knew him." I chirped excitedly, my hands flying as I tried to explain. I pressed my two index fingers together, then bent one over the other, mimicking the motion of sliding a ring onto a finger. "Auu, auu!" "He was your... partner?" "Auu!" Yes! You're so smart! "What was his name?" How could I tell him a name? I paced the backseat anxiously, making panicked noises. "Calm down," Ryder’s steady voice cut through my panic. "I’ll ask, you answer." He paused, a look of disgust crossing his face. "Tristan Miller?" "Auu! Auu!" Yes! That's him! How did you know? Ryder’s gaze darkened as he watched my frantic reaction. "Ah. So he was your fiancé." "No wonder you used to hover around him like a shadow." I stared at him, stunned. He had noticed me back then? "Auu, auu?" Can you help me kill him? I wasn't a saint. That man had thrown me to the wolves, leaving me to rot and starve for three months. I hated him. I wanted to rip his throat out myself. "You want him dead?" Ryder arched an eyebrow, looking at my weak, swinging fist. I nodded with everything I had. "Auu!" "Look at yourself. You can barely walk straight. How are you going to kill him?" Frantic, I grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard. "Auu, auu!" If you kill him for me, I’ll cook for you every day, I’ll wash your clothes, and I only need a tiny bit of blood to survive! Ryder didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on my lips, his throat swallowing slowly. "You want my help?" he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, teasing drawl. "Then what are you going to give me in return?"
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