(POV: Ava)
They say the world ended with fire.
But they were wrong.
It ended in silence.
Not the kind you get in the forest at night, or the stillness after snowfall. No—this silence was hollow. A silence that stretched across cities, swallowed voices, and stripped the air of hope. It started with the mist. Then the shadows came. And then…the screaming stopped.
I haven't seen the sun in six days.
I don't know how many of us are left, but I haven't heard another human voice in two. Maybe three. Time's blurry now. Sleep comes in fragments, and even when I close my eyes, the nightmares still breathe down my neck. I used to count the hours by the glow of streetlights outside my apartment. Now I count my heartbeat.
One. Two. Three.
Still alive.
***
It was almost midnight when I left the church. It used to be a shelter. Now it's just cold stone and the smell of dried blood. I wrapped my fingers tighter around the handle of the axe I found in the rectory—its wooden grip stained, its blade chipped. Not ideal, but better than being unarmed.
My name is Ava. I'm twenty years old. I used to work at a bookstore and dream of Paris. Now I dream of surviving another night. I dream of my sister's voice. Of my mother's laugh. Of anything that reminds me I was once part of a world that made sense.
I walked along the cracked street, glass crunching under my boots. Mist slithered around my ankles, not natural fog—but something…alive. It moved with purpose. Like it was watching.
That's when I heard it.
A scrape. Then a click.
Not metal.
Claws.
My body locked up. I spun around and saw nothing—just shadows and broken buildings. But I knew better.
They don't need eyes to see you.
I moved fast, slipping into a half-collapsed alley, my breath sharp in my throat. The mist thickened around me, and my vision swam. My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted out.
Then I saw the figure.
Tall. Still. Standing at the end of the alley, bathed in silver moonlight that barely broke through the fog. A man—or something close. Long black coat. Broad shoulders. And a face half-hidden by shadows, but those eyes…
God.
Those eyes were red.
I backed up, axe raised. "Get the hell away from me."
He didn't move. Not at first. Just tilted his head, like he was curious. Like I was some kind of puzzle he hadn't solved yet.
"I'm not one of them," he finally said. His voice was low, deep—almost broken. "If I were, you'd already be dead."
"Comforting," I snapped, though I didn't lower the axe.
He stepped forward. Just one step. Enough for the light to hit his face fully.
He looked human. Mostly. But something about him was off. His skin was pale, too pale, and those eyes… they glowed like coals. His arms were wrapped in bandages, stained with blood. His jaw was sharp, his lips cracked. And yet—he didn't look monstrous.
He looked sad.
"I've been following you for a while," he said. "You're not careful."
"You're stalking me?"
"I was watching. Making sure…they didn't reach you."
I wanted to tell him to screw off. To run. But part of me… paused. There was something in his tone. It wasn't threat—it was warning. Worry. Like he knew what it meant to be hunted.
"What do you want?" I asked.
He met my eyes. "To help."
***
I didn't trust him. Not then. But I was desperate.
We ended up back at the church—him sitting against the wall, and me across from him, axe still in my lap. I watched him like a hawk, waiting for the moment he snapped. He didn't.
Instead, he pulled back the collar of his coat and showed me his neck.
Veins. Black and jagged, running like lightning under his skin.
"They got to me," he said quietly. "But I fought it. I'm still…me."
"You're infected?" I whispered.
He nodded once. "I don't know how long I have. But I can still think. Still fight. I won't hurt you."
I should've killed him then.
I didn't.
***
That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat by the broken stained-glass window, watching the mist curl under the moonlight, and listened to him breathe. Steady. Human.
Or close enough.
Something about him haunted me. Like a song I couldn't remember but couldn't forget either.
When morning came—what passed for morning now—I found him still sitting there, awake, staring at the floor like he hadn't moved all night.
"You have a name?" I asked.
He looked up. "Kael."
"Ava."
"I know."
That should've scared me. But for some reason, it didn't.
Maybe it was the end of the world. Maybe I was just tired.
But something in me whispered that I hadn't met him by accident.
Something bigger was coming.
And somehow, Kael was the only one who could help me survive it.
Or destroy me.