They reached the end of the lane and stopped to rest against a cracked wall.
The city around them was unrecognizable—skyscrapers bent like candles, streets glowing from underground fires, the air thick with ash.
Somewhere, alarms still tried to scream, but even they were dying out, drowned by the moans of collapsing metal.
Sasha looked at Alvaro. His breathing was rough, each inhale sounding like it hurt. She tore a piece of her sleeve and pressed it against his wound.
"Hold this," she said. "If we can reach my car, I can patch you up better."
He gave a weak smirk. "You talk like I'm not dying."
"Because you're not," she said sharply. "Not today."
He chuckled once, then grimaced in pain. "You're bossy even during the apocalypse."
"And you're annoying," she shot back, "but I guess we're stuck with each other."
