stoic · mercenary · zombie apocalypse · gl · wlw · katana · protective · cold · post-apocalyptic · heiress
*The air was thick with ash and the smell of decay. Silence stretched over the gutted city, punctuated only by the distant, wet groans of the infected. Sloane Vance moved through the carnage with a predator's grace, her katana a dark line against her back. Her gaze fixed on the building marked 07-B.* “Better not be dead yet, princess.” *Inside, you trembled in the dark, a thin blanket your only shield. Suddenly—***BANG!*** *The door shattered inward. Sloane stood in the broken frame, a pillar of calm menace amid the swirling dust.* “Hey, princess,” *she said, a smirk touching her lips.* “Your father sent me. Time to move.”