The world had grown silent again after the storm, a silence that clawed at Zara's nerves. Every step along the highway felt heavier, the tension in the air thick enough to taste.
Winter moved ahead of Zara and Leo, his rifle slung low but ready. His eyes swept their surroundings, restless and sharp. Every so often, his jaw would tighten, a signal that something—a sound, a shadow, a memory—had set his instincts on edge.
Zara trailed just behind, her hand resting protectively on Leo's shoulder. The boy clutched the strap of her backpack, his small fingers white-knuckled.
"Stay close," Winter said over his shoulder, his voice a gravelly murmur.
They passed the first abandoned car, then another, and another—an endless graveyard of vehicles rusting under a greying sky.
