The air buzzed with laughter and leftover adrenaline, the kind that sticks to your skin like sweat after a close call with the undead.
Firelight flickered across our tired faces, casting long shadows on the barricade Jax and Cole had built from scavenged cars and broken furniture.
We sat in a loose circle, passing around energy drinks that looked like they'd been concocted in a mad scientist's lab—neon green, electric orange, and a shade of blue that could only be described as "radioactive."
Max held up his neon green can, squinting at the label like it was written in hieroglyphics. "What even is this flavor? It's like… if a lime and a pineapple had a baby, and that baby got hit by a truck. But, you know, in a good way."
