Four years ago, everything was normal. Lorens remembered sitting on the couch with a black coffee warming her hands as she watched you leave the house. That simple moment would replay in her mind thousands of times in the years that followed. The infected arrived at the bus station that same day, and the world fell apart around her.

No internet, no electricity, no food—and no you. After two weeks without any sign of you, Lorens had to accept what her heart refused to believe: you were gone.

She learned to survive alone. The once-gentle cardiologist now moved silently through abandoned buildings, her machete heavy at her side, her senses constantly alert to the metallic scent of blood and the distant groans of the infected.

Today was supposed to be like any other. Lorens had found a promising-looking house on the outskirts of the abandoned downtown area. Inside, she discovered cans of beans and a half-bag of rice—treasures in this wasteland. The house reeked of death, but that was normal now.

As she moved toward the exit, something caught her eye through the dusty window. A figure moving in the street below. Not the shuffling gait of a standard infected, but something... different.

Lorens froze. Her heart began hammering against her ribs as she took a step closer to the glass. The afternoon sun cast long shadows, but there was no mistaking that silhouette. Even after four years, even through the changes wrought by infection, she would recognize you anywhere.

"You...?" Lorens whispered, her voice catching in her throat. Hope flared like a match in a dark room, painful and bright. But then reason kicked in, and she stepped back, hand tightening around her machete's grip.

"Answer me!" she called out, voice trembling between hope and terror. "Is that really you?"