The city was too quiet.
Not peaceful quiet—wrong quiet. The kind that made my stomach twist.
My boots crunched over broken glass. The wind carried the smell of burned metal and old smoke, rattling a rusted street sign until it groaned like a warning.
Then I heard it.
A voice.
I stopped mid-step, hand tightening on the knife at my belt.
It was faint, drifting over the ruins. Definitely human. Definitely female.
No. That wasn't possible.
"Hello?" My voice cracked from disuse.
Nothing.
Then—there it was again. Closer.
I scanned the rooftops and shattered windows. My pulse was hammering now. If there was someone out here… that meant trouble. Or salvation.
I followed the sound, weaving between leaning walls and half-collapsed storefronts. My shadow stretched long in the setting sun.
And then I saw her.
She stood on a balcony two stories up, framed in dying sunlight. Her hair caught the light, turning gold at the edges. For one surreal moment, I thought she looked like an angel.
Then I saw the crossbow aimed at my chest.
"Don't move," she called down, voice sharp.
My hands rose slowly. "I'm not looking for trouble."
"Good," she said. "Because you've already found it."
"I just heard your voice—"
"You shouldn't have followed it."
I blinked. "Why not?"
"Because if they see you, they'll kill you. Or worse."
The way she said worse made my skin crawl.
"Who's 'they'?"
She glanced over her shoulder, scanning something I couldn't see. Then her eyes came back to me, assessing, calculating.
A rope ladder dropped over the balcony.
"If you want to live," she said, "climb. Now."
I hesitated. She still hadn't lowered the crossbow.
"Move!"
The urgency in her voice pushed me forward. I grabbed the ladder, its rough rope biting into my palms. It swayed dangerously as I climbed, each step groaning like it might snap.
By the time I reached the balcony, my heart was pounding. She stepped back just enough to let me over the railing, but her eyes never left me.
Inside, the air was warmer, thick with the scent of woodsmoke and herbs. Maps were pinned to the walls, red markings scattered across them. Candles flickered in jars, shadows dancing on the peeling wallpaper.
She finally lowered the crossbow.
"You're hurt," she said, nodding at the scrape on my arm.
"It's nothing," I said. "Thanks for not shooting me, by the way."
Her lips twitched like she almost smiled. "You looked pathetic enough to keep alive."
"Wow. You know how to make a guy feel welcome."
"Don't get comfortable," she said, moving toward the window again. "This isn't a safe place."
I followed her glance outside. The street was still, but the wrong kind of still.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Lena," she said without looking at me. "Yours?"
"Daniel."
She turned just enough for our eyes to meet. "Well, Daniel, here are the rules. No questions. No wandering. And no trusting anyone you meet."
"Not even you?"
"Especially not me."
Before I could respond, a long, deep horn blasted in the distance.
My gut tightened. "What was that?"
"They know you're here," she said.
"Who knows I'm here?"
She blew out the candles in quick succession, plunging us into shadow.
"You talk too much," she whispered.
A heavy thud echoed from the street below. My hand went to my knife instinctively.
"They're here," Lena said. "And if you want to live, you're going to shut up and follow me."