The bank wasn't quiet.
Not truly.
It hummed with the low, constant noise of people trying very hard not to fall apart.
Kenzie noticed it as soon as the adrenaline drained out of her legs—the sounds beneath the silence. Shallow breathing. A child's hiccuping sniffle. The buzz of fluorescent lights overhead. Somewhere deeper in the building, a phone rang once and stopped, like it had remembered it shouldn't be making noise anymore.
Someone cleared their throat.
"Well," a man said carefully, stepping forward. "I guess… we should start with names."
He looked tired in a way that went deeper than lack of sleep. Mid-forties maybe. Clean-cut once, now rumpled. He held a young girl against his side—no older than six—her face buried in his jacket.
"I'm Daniel Cruz," he said. "This is my wife, Rebecca. Our kids—Sofia and Lucas."
The boy—Lucas—peeked out shyly from behind his mother's leg, eyes immediately locking on Kenzie's bag.
"Is that a dog?" he asked.
Kenzie blinked, surprised by the normalcy of the question.
Before she could answer, Barbie let out a small, excited yip, tail thumping wildly against the inside of the bag like she'd been waiting all day for this exact moment.
"Yes," Kenzie said softly. "She's… very friendly."
That was all it took.
Within seconds, Sofia and Lucas were kneeling in front of her, giggling as Barbie wriggled out into the open, soaking up the attention like a celebrity. Her fear vanished instantly, replaced with pure joy as small hands petted her ears and back.
The other kids noticed.
A little girl from across the lobby—about five—broke free from her father and joined them. Another boy followed, cautious but curious.
For the first time since the Jeep left, Kenzie felt her chest loosen.
The kids laughed.
Not hysterical. Not forced.
Real laughter.
It felt illegal.
Rebecca covered her mouth, eyes shining. "I can't remember the last time they laughed."
"Yesterday," Daniel said quietly. "Yesterday morning."
That landed heavy.
The introductions continued.
Four women stepped forward together, clearly sticking close out of habit.
"We're the tellers," one of them said, offering a shaky smile. "I'm Marissa. This is Tanya, June, and Rochelle."
"Loan officers," added a man with glasses smudged by fingerprints. "Kevin, Lou, and Priya."
"And I'm Harold Whitman," said an older man who still wore his blazer like armor. "Branch CEO. Or… I was."
An elderly couple stood near the chairs by the wall.
"I'm Eleanor," the woman said, voice thin but steady. "This is my husband, Frank."
Frank nodded. "We were waiting on a ride. Power went out before it came."
Two women sat together near the offices, hands clasped tightly.
"Sisters," one explained. "I'm Monica. This is Jade."
A man with tired eyes and a little boy perched on his knee stepped forward last.
"I'm Raúl," he said. "This is my son, Mateo."
Mateo waved shyly, then scooted closer to Barbie, who immediately trotted over like she'd been summoned.
Raúl exhaled. "Thank you. He hasn't smiled since yesterday."
Silence settled after that—not awkward, just full.
Caleb finally spoke up.
"We came from the gas station on Abercorn," he said. His voice sounded steadier than Kenzie expected. "It… didn't go well."
A few heads nodded. No one asked for details. Everyone already knew what didn't go well meant.
Harold rubbed his face. "We were closing when it started. Sirens. People running. A man came in bleeding. Then another. We locked the doors before—"
"Before they turned," Marissa finished quietly.
They shared food next.
Protein bars. Crackers. Bottled water from a cooler someone had dragged out of the break room. Nothing fancy, but it felt enormous.
"This is what we've noticed," Kevin said, voice low. "The ones bitten—they don't last long. Scratches… seem different. Not sure yet."
"We've seen people ignore bites," Priya added. "Lie about them."
"That never ends well," Daniel said.
Stories overlapped.
A woman who'd watched her neighbor collapse in the street. A man who'd run for three miles with his kid on his shoulders. Someone who'd tried calling 911 until the phone went dead.
Fear threaded through every word—but so did the need to be heard.
Kenzie found herself leaning closer to Lila without realizing it.
Lila didn't move away.
At some point, Lila's shoulder pressed lightly into hers. It felt intentional. Anchoring.
Caleb stayed busy—helping move chairs, checking doors, asking questions. He looked different here. Less hollow. Like having something to do kept the grief from swallowing him whole.
The kids sprawled on the floor, Barbie in the center like a queen. Her tail wagged nonstop.
Normal.
Temporary.
Precious.
Kenzie watched them and felt tears burn again—but this time they didn't fall.
For now, they were alive.
For now, they had walls.
For now, they had each other.
And in a world that had already proven it could take everything in a single moment—
that felt like something worth holding onto.