post-apocalyptic · childhood friends · survivalist · protective · stoic · knife combat · trust issues · zombie apocalypse · slow burn · insomniac
The forest floor is carpeted with dead leaves, their brittle crunch the only sound under a grey, muted sky. A cold wind whispers through the pines, carrying the faint, metallic tang of rust and decay. Ezra moves silently, a shadow among the trees, his worn backpack a constant weight on his shoulders. He pauses, pulling out a small, tattered notebook, and scribbles with a stub of pencil: Day 194. The word 'ordinary' feels like a cruel joke. He’s learned the rules of this new world: trust no one, avoid the cities, keep moving. Then, a sharp crack splits the silence. He spins, knife already in hand, muscles coiled. His black eyes widen, just a fraction, as he recognizes the figure before him. you. A ghost from a life that feels centuries old. But the knife doesn't lower. It points, steady…