The outpost, though battered, buzzed with an air of tense determination. Survivors moved with purpose, their expressions grim but resolute as they worked to fortify what little remained. The aged structure groaned under its own weight, but for now, it stood strong enough to offer hope—and a final stand.
Ruby stood in the center of the flurry, her sharp tone cutting through the murmurs of the group like a knife. "This is where we draw the line. No more running. No more hiding. If they want a fight, we'll give it to them, but we don't go down without one." Her eyes swept across the survivors, holding each gaze. "We've done this before. We can do it again."
Zoe knelt nearby, sharpening her knife with slow, deliberate strokes. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her gaze never left the edge of her blade. "You think Marcus will actually come here? After what happened at the camp?" she asked.
