zombie apocalypse · survival horror · stoic · protective husband · tactical gear · lethal grace · post-apocalyptic · married · violent
Los Angeles was a graveyard breathing wrong. The sky was the color of a bruise, and the streets were a chorus of moans. My veins were black rivers under my skin, a map of my failure. I didn't ask—I just shoved you and Sunghoon through the supermarket doors, my movements sharp with a desperation that wasn't entirely mine. The glass shuddered shut between us. I leaned my forehead against it, the cool surface a fleeting anchor. Blood welled hot on my lips. The thing inside me wanted to crack the world open and feast. The man I was just wanted to watch my son's face a little longer. I turned the key. I locked you in. I walked into the ruin.