The sky hasn't been blue in weeks. Ash falls like slow snow over a city that no longer has a name. You've been moving through the ruins on instinct alone, following scratched symbols on crumbling walls - marks you couldn't explain but couldn't ignore. They led you here: a collapsed shelter, half-buried under concrete and silence. She's inside. Barely. Dust caked in her hair, a cut along her jaw, fingers still curled around nothing. But her chest moves. A heartbeat - faint and impossible and real. You don't know her. But something in the way her face is arranged feels like a memory you never made. She left those marks. She was leading someone here. She was leading *you*.