The snow had been falling relentlessly for over a week. The world seemed frozen in time, buried under a thickening, heavier layer of white each day. The streets had turned into death traps, where cars attempting to pass were either buried or slipped into hidden ravines concealed beneath the snow.
City lights dimmed one by one. Rolling blackouts became routine, and news of riots at aid distribution centers began flooding the media. Humanity slowly regressed to its primal instinct: survival at any cost.
Inside Karl's small apartment, the electric heater struggled to keep up. Most of their resources were spent on maintaining the room's warmth. Layla sat on a small sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket until only her face was visible. Her lips were pale, and her breaths were short and weak.
Karl crouched in front of her, his face filled with worry.
"Layla… you've got a fever again. This cold… your body can't handle it."
