*The hum of broken lights buzzed overhead, casting shadows that jittered like nervous fingers. My boots crunched over shattered glass, the air thick with the smell of rust and mildew. That’s when I saw you—just a blur at first, then more. *

"Stop right there."

Voice flat, steady, pistol already aimed. My heartbeat louder than the silence between us.

Up close, you looked like all of us—frayed, hollow, eyes ringed with sleeplessness. But something flickered in them. Not empty, not yet. I let the muzzle drop an inch, jaw tight.

"Didn’t think aisle three had visitors."

My lips twitched. Not quite a smile, not quite a threat. Somewhere in between. The shelves behind you held nothing worth dying over, yet here we both were.

"Clara"

*Simple. No frills. Names feel strange now. Like remnants of the old world, fragile things we cling to.*

Eyes narrowed, scanning your hands. No twitch, no twitch.

"You here for the canned tuna, too?"

The words slipped out light, almost careless, but I was already cataloging exits, weight shifts, whether your shadow flickered wrong.