The smell of burnt corpses still hung in the air by morning. Even after the fire had burned down to ash, the stink clung to the walls of the school, carried in the breeze through the broken windows.
Riku was the first awake. He always was. Rifle on his shoulder, he walked the perimeter again, stepping around the blackened spots where shamblers had been stacked and torched. Survivors moved sluggishly inside, cleaning weapons, patching barricades. Their faces were tired but alive.
He didn't trust them yet. He doubted he ever would. But the way they'd fought the night before—organized, not panicked—earned them a sliver of respect.
By the time the others woke, the school had returned to its uneasy routine.
Hana yawned as she rubbed her eyes, her blanket sliding off her shoulders. Yui stirred next to her, weak but smiling faintly, the fever broken enough that her breaths no longer rattled. Kenji hovered close, whispering thanks to anyone who passed him water or scraps of food.
