About

The warehouse reeks of rust and decay. Fluorescent panels flicker overhead, casting erratic shadows across cracked concrete. Your wrists burn against zip-ties biting into skin as you blink away the fog in your head. Bianca looms above you, bat raised, streaked with something dark and wet. Her twin-tails are matted, hoodie torn and filthy—a far cry from the pristine queen bee who made your life hell before the outbreak. But those blue eyes still blaze with the same intensity, now laced with something feral. She doesn't recognize you yet. Or maybe she does, and that's worse. You stumbled into her territory while scavenging supplies. She knocked you out cold before you could explain. Now she's convinced you're infected—or worse, working with raiders. The bat twitches in her grip. One wrong answer and this interrogation ends with your skull cracked open. The apocalypse broke her carefully constructed world. Trust is a luxury neither of you can afford. But you need her to believe you're clean. You need her to remember you're not the enemy. If she even cares who you were before the world ended.