Miku looked at Ross waiting for a reply.
He sat a few feet away, relaxed but alert, his broad shoulders outlined by the faint light of the tv screen.
There was sothing commanding about him, sothing that made the room itself feel smaller when he was in it.
His face was striking—too perfect, almost unreal.
Even with the faint stubble along his jaw and the exhaustion that ca from surviving a world gone mad, his handsoness was undeniable.
"I saved you from those five bastards," he said simply.
"They were planning to make you their slave, you know. If I hadn’t shown up, you wouldn’t be sitting here breathing right now."
His tone wasn’t cruel, just matter-of-fact, as though he were stating a weather report.
"I think I’ve helped you more than anyone ever has in your life," he added after a pause.
"If you want more, you’re free to stay. I’ve got food, clean water, and enough supplies to last through the next few months. I even make fresh burgers. Help yourself."
He gestured toward the kitchen counter, where several freshly cooked patties still stead beside a loaf of bread and a jar of pickles.
Miku blinked. The sll of real food—warm, aty, seasoned—was almost too much to process.
For so long, all she had known were dry rations, canned beans, and cold air.
The scent filled the room like a mory of the old world, of dinners with Ace before everything went wrong.
Her stomach growled, betraying her hesitation.
She hesitated for a long mont before standing up and moving toward the kitchen.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Ross didn’t answer right away. His eyes were now fixed on the television screen.
The newscaster’s voice was grainy and hollow, barely cutting through the static as the footage showed burning cities and collapsing buildings.
Entire highways were packed with unmoving cars—each one a coffin.
"The infection continues to spread across all major continents," the anchor’s voice droned. "Governnts have fallen silent. Containnt efforts are failing. Humanity’s survival... remains uncertain."
Ross adjusted the volu slightly. The signal flickered in and out, but it still held strong enough to deliver bad news.
Zombies were mindless creatures; they didn’t destroy communication lines or satellites.
The internet, against all odds, still survived—one of the last remnants of the old world.
It was eerie, seeing glimpses of civilization persist while the streets outside were filled with death.
Miku stood there, holding a burger in her hands, staring blankly at the screen.
The images of fire and blood blurred together.
Ross glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "You should eat," he said quietly. "You’ll need your strength."
She nodded and took a small bite. It was warm, soft, and rich with flavor.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.
Ross didn’t say anything more.
He turned his gaze back to the news, one arm resting on the back of the couch, his expression unreadable.
For a long ti, only the faint hum of the television filled the silence between them.
Knowing she had been unfair earlier, Miku sat for a long while in silence, her hands clasped tightly on her lap.
The warmth of the burger had faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of guilt.
She had spoken rashly before, perhaps too emotionally, and Ross... he hadn’t deserved that.
He’d saved her life, after all.
Taking a quiet breath, she turned to him. Her voice was gentle, almost hesitant.
"I’m Miku."
Ross finally glanced at her, his expression calm but distant. "Ross," he said.
And just like that, the silence returned.
The television continued to hum softly in the background, the image flickering between static and chaos—collapsed cities, burning cars, survivors screaming as hordes of the undead flooded the streets.
The world was ending, yet here in this small, dimly lit living room, ti seed frozen.
Five minutes passed. Miku stared at the floor, trying to gather the courage to speak again.
Her heart was pounding.
She didn’t know if it was desperation or foolish hope that made her open her mouth, but the words ca out before she could stop them.
"Please, Ross..." she began, her voice trembling, "please save my husband."
For a mont, Ross didn’t respond.
He simply stared at her—his eyes unreadable, his expression almost pitying.
Then, slowly, he exhaled and leaned back on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight.
"It’s a wild world out there, Miku," he said finally, his tone quiet but firm.
"Even if I wanted to, I’m not risking my skin for soone I don’t know." His gaze shifted toward the window, where faint light bled through the curtains.
"I can’t even save my own family, you know."
His words carried a heaviness that silenced her.
Miku’s lips parted as if to say sothing—but nothing ca out.
The room felt colder suddenly. She bit her lip, realizing how selfish her plea must have sounded.
Ross had his own battles, his own losses. Who was she to demand more from him?
"...I understand," she whispered.
Ross didn’t reply.
He only turned back toward the television, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the screen.
The news anchor’s voice droned on, lifeless and grim.
Outside, the distant moans of the undead rose and fell like the sound of the ocean—an unending reminder that safety was fragile, temporary.
The night passed slowly.
Miku ate the rest of the burgers Ross had prepared, though the taste barely registered.
Her thoughts kept drifting to Ace—where he might be, whether he was still alive, whether he’d given up searching for her.
Every bite she took felt like betrayal, like moving one step farther from him.
When she finally went to bed, exhaustion overtook her. The sheets were clean, the pillow soft.
For a brief mont, she almost felt human again.
She showered, washed away the gri and blood of the road, and changed into clean clothes Ross had left folded on the bed.
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