Rosalia — POV
Seeing Henry like this—without humor, without confidence, without control—
It terrified me more than any monster outside.
Without giving him time to resist, I shoved his hand away and, in one sharp movement, pulled up his shirt.
My breath stopped.
His struggle halted.
For a second—just one desperate second—
I wished, prayed, begged that I was wrong.
That my instincts were lying.
That the story wasn't repeating.
But…
Henry's honey-toned skin—
his strong abs—
his warm body that always radiated confidence—
They were marred by bleeding claw marks.
Rotten.
Blackened.
Deep purple swallowing the edges.
The infection spread like poison, creeping across his abdomen like veins of death.
It was alive.
Growing.
Expanding.
Spreading too fast.
Henry was…
He was—
Turning into a zombie.
My throat tightened.
My knees trembled.
My fingers curled around his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.
Henry stared at me—silent, unreadable.
