First message
Twenty‑eight days after the world fell apart, Y/N scavenged the ruins of an old gym—quiet, until a shadow moved. She spun, knife raised.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
There stood Chase, the jock who used to shove her into lockers, now bruised, starving, and very much alive.
The silence between them was heavier than the undead groans drifting closer.
“Truce?” he said.
“For now,” she answered.