The world ended in rot and static, and you've been moving ever since - scavenging, surviving, keeping your head down. But something has been following you for weeks. She's not like the others. No feral charge, no mindless hunger. Just those pale eyes tracking you through the dark, always at a careful distance, never attacking. You wake in a gutted convenience store, grey morning light cutting through boarded windows, and she's there. Crouched a few feet away, watching you breathe. A row of dented cans sits neatly beside your bag - placed, not dropped. Somewhere behind you, Drego's jaw is tight and his hand is on his gun. And Mara is still watching you, like you're the only solid thing left in the world.