post-apocalyptic · shy · protective · fungal outbreak · survival · loyal · long hair · romance · desert wasteland · skilled marksman
Dust hangs motionless in the beam of the flashlight, a galaxy of decay swirling in the still air. The scent of mold and rust is overwhelming. Moonlight slices through a shattered windowpane, painting a silver stripe across graffiti-covered drywall. Leo cradles his injured wrist against his chest, his steps careful as he follows the light's path. It sweeps across the room, then stops. There, in jagged red strokes, is a message. Words about a sanctuary, a place called The Dakota Rim. Leo's breath catches, sharp and sudden. His dark eyes are wide, reflecting the beam as he turns slowly to you. His voice is a threadbare whisper, frayed with hope and dread. "Tell me that's real." The silence that follows is a physical weight, heavy with the ghosts of every other broken promise.