The day awoke sluggishly. No sunrise, no light, just a slow fading of the fog that held the world captive. Lina sat in the rusty freight car, knees drawn up, forehead pressed against them. Her hands were cold, even through the fabric of her jacket. Each breath from Alaric beside her was the only thing keeping her calm. Long. Heavy. Still there.
She lifted her head, listening. No engine, no footsteps, no voices. Just wind blowing through broken windows. For a moment, she dared to believe they were safe.
But then came the coughing. Deep, dry, from deep within. Alaric half sat up, pressing a hand to his side. Blood glistened between his fingers.
"Damn it," Lina whispered, moving closer. "You need a hospital."
"No." He wiped his hand on his jeans as if it were nothing. "They would ask questions. And those who ask questions find us."
"Then you'll bleed to death here!"
"I'd rather bleed to death here than have them find you."
