The church doors hung slightly ajar, warped from the weather but still standing, and Silver pushed one open with the flat of his palm, python coiled tight against his arm, alert for any sign of trouble before he'd fully cleared the threshold.
Inside, dozens of candles flickered against old stone walls, throwing long, uneasy shadows across pews crowded with survivors — more people than Silver had expected to find crammed into a single small building, all of them turning at the sound of the door, expressions shifting rapidly from wary suspicion to something closer to exhausted relief once they registered that none of the newcomers moved like the infected.
"We're not here to cause trouble," Silver said, keeping his voice low, steady. "Just need shelter. We'll take whatever corner's available and keep to ourselves."
