Leila's fingers trembled around the grip of her handgun, but she didn't lower it. The flickering lantern hanging from the ceiling cast jagged shadows over the cramped basement, turning Jace and Ellie's faces into something monstrous. Maybe they always had been.
"You're being paranoid," Ellie scoffed, crossing her arms. Her hoodie was stained with dirt and blood, though none of it was hers. Her lips twisted into an insincere smirk. "We're your friends, Leila. We would never hurt you."
Leila laughed, but there was no humor in it. A bitter, hollow sound that barely scraped past the lump forming in her throat. "Friends don't steal from each other. Friends don't plot behind someone's back." Her gaze flickered to Jace, who shifted uncomfortably. He had the decency to look guilty. Good.
"We had to," Jace said, jaw tightening. "You're hoarding all this stuff like you think you can survive on your own. We needed weapons, food—"
"My weapons. My food," Leila snapped, her voice rising with anger. "I opened my doors to you! I shared everything I had! And now you want to take it all and throw me out?!" Her eyes darted between them, searching for any sign of remorse, but all she saw was cold calculation behind Ellie's narrowed eyes and Jace's tense posture.
Ellie took a step forward, her lips curling into something almost pitying. "Come on, Leila. We both know you're not cut out for this. You're smart, yeah, but you don't have the stomach for what's coming. It's better this way." Her words hung in the air, heavy with finality, as if they had been rehearsed a thousand times.
Leila's stomach twisted, a dull ache gnawing at her chest. They had already decided. She had spent months securing this safe house, stockpiling food, fortifying the doors, making it a sanctuary. A place where she could survive. And now, the people she had trusted the most were taking it from her.
The moans of the undead seeped through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, an ever-present reminder of the world outside. The familiar, guttural sounds of hunger and desperation sent a shiver down her spine. If they threw her out, she wouldn't last an hour. Jace knew it. Ellie knew it. And they didn't care.
Leila clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the cold metal of her gun. She raised it, steadying her hand, her pulse pounding in her ears. "I won't let you do this."
Jace sighed, a tired, disappointed sound, like she was a child throwing a tantrum. "Ellie."
Before Leila could react, a sharp pain exploded through the side of her head. A blinding agony that sent her sprawling to the cold cement floor. Her vision blurred, spots dancing across her eyes, and the gun slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor with an almost mocking finality. Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Ellie's voice—low and triumphant, as if she had been waiting for this moment.
"Sorry, Leila. But you don't belong here anymore."
The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Betrayal. Her heart raced, and her thoughts scrambled, but before she could gather her bearings, rough hands grabbed her under the arms, dragging her toward the basement steps. Leila fought back, her body twisting and thrashing, but Jace was stronger, and Ellie had never played fair. The door above creaked open, and icy night air hit her like a slap. Outside, the city burned. Smoke billowed into the sky, curling like a living thing, and blood stained the streets. The distant moans of the undead grew louder, punctuating the desolation.
"No—Jace, please," she choked, her fingers scrabbling at the doorway, at his jacket, at anything she could cling to.
For a split second, something flickered in his expression. Regret? Doubt? But then Ellie's hand was on his shoulder, her voice a quiet whisper in his ear, and the hesitation was gone. It was like someone had extinguished the last ember of humanity left in him.
With one final, brutal shove, Jace threw Leila into the street.
She stumbled, barely catching herself before hitting the pavement. The impact left her breathless, her palms scraping against the rough concrete. The cold seeped through her clothes, but it was nothing compared to the chill creeping into her bones from the betrayal. Behind her, the heavy door slammed shut with finality, the locks clicking into place with a sound that rang in her ears.
No. No, no, no—
The first zombie caught her scent immediately, its head snapping toward her with a sickening crack, followed by another, then another. Their bodies, twisted and broken, lurched forward, their gaping mouths stretching into hungry, endless voids. Leila's heart pounded in her chest, panic clawing at her throat. She fumbled for her knife, the cold steel slipping from her grasp as her hands shook with terror.
And then—
Darkness.
Pain. Distant at first, then all-consuming. A firestorm of agony igniting every nerve, radiating from the jagged wounds torn into her flesh. Her own screams, raw and animalistic, barely reached her ears over the wet, grotesque symphony of her body being ravaged. Teeth gnashed through muscle, peeling back layers of skin like paper. The crunch of bone splintering under unrelenting jaws sent waves of nausea through her fading consciousness. Something vital tore loose—a wet, sickening squelch that sent the world spinning. Her vision blurred, swallowed by a haze of red and black. The air reeked of copper, decay, and betrayal. The taste of blood filled her mouth, thick and metallic, suffocating her.
Then the pain began to unravel, peeling away like the last fraying threads of a worn fabric. The searing agony dulled into a distant hum, the sharp edges of her suffering dissolving into an eerie numbness. Her body no longer felt like her own—just a weightless shell, adrift in an abyss of silence. Darkness crept in from the edges of her mind, blotting out the fire, the fear, the betrayal, until there was nothing left but the void.
And the world went black—not like the comforting embrace of sleep, but a void, a hollow absence where even pain ceased to exist. Her senses flickered, collapsed, and were swallowed whole, leaving nothing but the distant echo of her own fading heartbeat.
Leila's eyes snapped open, her breath hitching as the phantom echoes of pain and terror clung to her like a suffocating shroud. The sensation of torn flesh, of blood pooling beneath her, of teeth ripping through muscle—it had been real. Too real. But as she stared up at the familiar ceiling of her bedroom, bathed in the soft glow of early morning light, her mind reeled. The sounds of the undead were gone. The acrid stench of burning flesh had vanished. Her body was whole, unmarred, as if the horrors of the past night had never happened. And yet, deep in her bones, she knew. It wasn't a dream. It had happened. She had died. And somehow, impossibly, she was here again.
She was not on the bloodstained pavement. Not surrounded by the undead, not feeling her body being torn apart. Instead, she was in her bed. Her old bed. The sheets smelled like lavender, like home. The air was warm, untouched by the stench of decay, and the distant hum of morning traffic drifted in through the window, a sound so normal it nearly sent her reeling. Her fingers trembled as she clutched at the blankets, the fabric soft and real beneath her touch—nothing like the cold, filthy concrete she had died on. Her chest rose and fell in steady breaths, her heart pounding not from fear, but from life. And yet, the memory of her death clung to her like a shadow, vivid and raw. This was not a dream. It had happened. But now—now she was here again.
Her hands shot to her stomach, her arms, her throat—smooth skin, unbroken, unscarred. No bite marks. No torn flesh. She was whole. She was alive.
This… this wasn't possible.
She lurched out of bed, heart hammering against her ribs, and scrambled to the window. The city skyline was still intact. The sky was clear, painted in soft pink and orange hues of sunrise. No smoke, no fire, no rotting bodies. The world, the very world she had just witnessed falling apart, was still here. Still whole.
Leila turned to the calendar on her nightstand, her breath catching in her throat.
Three months before the outbreak.
The words burned into her mind, the reality of them sinking in like cold steel. She staggered back, a strangled laugh bubbling in her chest. Her hands shook, pressing against her face in disbelief.
She was alive. She had gone back. To a time before everything went wrong.
And this time… this time, she wasn't going to make the same mistake.
Jace and Ellie had thrown her to the wolves. Now, she would be the one hunting them.