Alva's eyes snapped open the second the sky turned pale grey.
She didn't stretch. She didn't groan. She just breathed once and sat up straighter.
The spear was still across her knees. Her hand was already on it.
"Good. I didn't drop my guard," she said quietly, as if she was grading herself.
She checked her bag again:
bandages, disinfectant, meds, glucose gel, painkillers, tape, and small tools.
"Okay. no dead weight. Everything here has purpose."
She stood, walked aisle to aisle, checking shelves one last time.
She found a sealed box of sterile gloves.
"perfect. less fingerprints. less germs."
She slipped them into her pack and zipped it.
Now her voice was firmer:
"food. water. weapon maintenance. shelter. transport. those are today's goals."
She wasn't daydreaming anymore. She was planning.
She stepped outside the pharmacy and looked at the street.
Cars crashed.
windows smashed.
street signs bent.
But she nodded to herself like this was all normal now.
"Chaos is stable. Humans aren't."
She adjusted the spear angle in her hand.
Her mutation prickled — light static through her nerves — not painful, just sharpening.
She didn't panic.
She just exhaled.
"Fine. evolve if you want. I'll keep up."
She scanned the road — quiet — no movement — and started walking slowly.
Her boots clicked on broken concrete.
She wasn't wandering.
She was hunting for supplies.
She paused at a burned taxi.
"no value," she said. "batteries are probably dead."
She paused at an overturned grocery cart.
"nothing sealed left. useless."
Then she saw a spray-paint arrow on a wall, pointing left.
She tilted her head, interested.
"someone marked that intentionally," she whispered. "either a trap… or leftovers."
She grinned slightly.
"I'll risk it."
She turned the corner and saw it:
a blocked loading bay at the back of an old distribution building.
metal shutter half open.
boxes stacked behind it.
Her pulse kicked up — not fear — calculation.
She tightened her grip on her spear.
"Alright then," she murmured.
"let's see what you're hiding."
She crouched and began sliding toward the opening — quiet, controlled — ready to react.