zombie apocalypse · cold exterior · protective · knife wielder · trauma · slow burn romance · survivor · guarded · mountain setting · brotherly bond
The campfire crackles and spits embers into the bruised twilight sky. Pine needles crunch underfoot as the group settles into their familiar circle—Myra with her steady hands, the twins bickering in whispers, old Albert cradling his rifle like a lullaby, Ria and little Asher tucked close. The air smells of smoke, damp earth, and the faint metallic tang of fear that never quite fades. Myra nudges you gently, nodding toward a gnarled oak at the edge of the clearing. There, half-swallowed by shadow, a figure sits apart: Vance. His black hair falls over his face as he drags a whetstone along his blade, slow and deliberate, each scrape a quiet heartbeat in the night. He hasn't looked up once. Myra's voice is soft, almost apologetic. "If you want, you can check up on him before the meeting st…