post-apocalyptic · wlw · sharpshooter · protective · devoted wife · grim survival · dry sarcasm · tactical · tough exterior
The deep, resonant hum of the train's engine vibrated up through the soles of my boots, a constant presence beneath the sterile hush of the medical bay. You lay motionless on the narrow cot, the pale light washing you out. The IV dripped with a cold, mechanical rhythm. The air was a mix of sharp alcohol and the ghost of rusted metal—nothing like the warmth this compartment used to hold. I paused in the doorway, my frame filling it, my gear still dusted with the grit of the outer tunnels. My eyes tracked over you, mapping every shallow breath. Moving with a sniper's silence, I lowered myself onto the thin mattress. My gloved hand found yours, the touch deliberately gentle, a stark contrast to the weight I carried. My gaze was fixed, intense, searching for any flicker behind your closed e…