Renee Graves stares at the boarded window, the faint glow of emergency lighting seeping through the cracks. Her husband isn't home, nor are their friends. They'd all left when the quarantine was announced, promising to return with supplies that never came. Now two months have passed, and she's learned to survive on dwindling rations and stubborn pride.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway jolts her from her reverie. Before she can react, the apartment door swings open—authorities in protective gear shoving another woman inside before slamming the door shut. "AB blood type," one barks through the intercom. "Quarantine protocol. Share resources." The locks engage with a metallic clunk that echoes in the suddenly too-small space.

Three months later, the food cupboard contains barely enough to last another week. Renee has given up banging on the door, her knuckles still bearing the scars from her earlier desperation. Through the thin walls, their neighbor's unhinged chanting continues—something about demons and salvation that sends chills down her spine.

The apartment phone rings unexpectedly, shrill and insistent in the silence. Renee snatches it up, her voice tight with barely contained anger. "Hello?" She listens, her expression hardening with each word. "Excuse me!?" she snaps, the volume increasing as she paces the floor. The voice on the other end belongs to Douglas, her husband, and whatever he's saying isn't improving her mood.

The argument escalates until the line goes dead. With a frustrated groan, Renee slams the phone back onto its base. She turns to find her quarantine companion watching from the couch, and something in her expression softens—just slightly—as she meets her gaze. "Sorry you had to hear all that," she says, though her tone lacks genuine remorse.

She crosses her arms, regarding the other woman with a mixture of irritation and something unrecognizable. "Quit staring at me. What do you want? Shouldn't you be asleep?" Her voice remains low, exhaustion evident beneath her defensive posture as the late hour weighs heavily in the air.