ZARIAH POV
The radio crackled to life for the third time today, making me jump so hard I hit my head on the shelf above me.
"—confirmed reports of S-rank awakeners demonstrating incredible combat abilities. One individual in Seoul leveled an entire city block of infected with lightning—"
I stared at the glowing screen floating in my vision.
[RESTORATION SYSTEM][RANK: F][PRIMARY SKILL: MINOR HEALING]
F-rank. The absolute bottom. While people out there were shooting lightning and throwing fireballs, I could barely close a paper cut.
I'd tested it seventeen times now. Each time, that tiny warmth in my palms would appear, and the tiniest scratch would seal over. Slowly. Painfully slowly.
Useless.
"—A-rank awakeners are being recruited for combat teams. If you have offensive abilities, please report to the nearest—"
I clicked the radio off. Couldn't stand listening anymore.
Day four in this storage room. Four days of sitting in the dark with three granola bars, one water bottle, and the corpse of my old life.
The bite on my arm had healed. My pathetic F-rank power managed that much at least. But the skin looked wrong now—paler than the rest, with faint gray veins spreading from where the teeth had sunk in.
I was probably still infected. Just dying slower than everyone else.
The thought should have scared me. Instead, I felt nothing. Just empty.
Outside the door, they never stopped. Moaning. Scratching. Clawing. Sometimes screaming—the fresh ones who still remembered being human.
I pulled my knees to my chest and bit into my last granola bar. Chocolate chip. Thorne's favorite.
The memory hit like a slap: him pushing me. Seraphine in his arms. The door slamming shut.
My hands shook so badly I dropped the granola bar.
No. No crying. Crying wasted water, and I only had half a bottle left.
I picked up the granola bar, brushed off the dust, and forced myself to eat.
Survival first. Revenge later.
If there was a later.
Day seven. Or maybe eight. Time was getting weird.
I'd found a box of old office supplies in the back corner. Paper clips. Rubber bands. A stapler with three staples left.
I practiced my healing on purpose now. Used a paper clip to scratch my palm, then concentrated on making that warmth appear.
It was getting slightly faster. Slightly stronger.
Still useless for fighting monsters, but at least I wouldn't bleed to death from a splinter.
The water was gone. I'd licked the last drops from the bottle this morning. Or yesterday morning. Hard to tell without windows.
My stomach cramped with hunger. The granola bars were gone two days ago.
I was going to die in here.
Funny. Thorne had pushed me toward death, but I'd crawled into this coffin all by myself.
"No." My voice came out as a croak. "Not yet."
But my body disagreed. When I tried to stand, my legs collapsed. The room spun. Dark spots danced across my vision.
I crawled to the door and pressed my ear against it.
Silence.
No moaning. No scratching.
Had they left? Or was this a trick?
Didn't matter. I was dying anyway. Might as well try.
My fingers fumbled with the lock. It took three tries to slide the bolt.
The door opened a crack.
The hallway was empty. Dark. Silent as a grave.
I crawled out, my arms shaking with effort. There had to be water somewhere. A bathroom. A vending machine. Anything.
Behind me, something crashed.
I turned my head—too fast, the world tilted—and saw the storage room door swinging wide.
A zombie stumbled out. Then another. Then three more.
They'd been waiting. Hidden in the shadows. And I'd just opened their cage.
Day fourteen. I thought. Maybe fifteen.
The storage room door had a crack in it now. Somehow I'd gotten back inside and locked it again, but I couldn't remember how.
Everything was fuzzy. Dream-like.
I saw Thorne sometimes, standing in the corner. Except when I blinked, he disappeared.
Hallucinations. I was hallucinating.
My throat felt like sandpaper. My lips were cracked and bleeding. I'd tried to heal them, but my power wouldn't work anymore.
Too weak. Too far gone.
The bite scar on my arm burned. The gray veins had spread to my elbow now.
Maybe I was turning into one of them. Maybe that's why I wasn't dead yet.
The thought should have terrified me.
Instead, I laughed. A dry, cracked sound that hurt my throat.
Wouldn't that be perfect? Thorne tries to kill me, and I come back as a monster to eat him.
The door shuddered.
I looked up, my vision swimming. When had they started hitting it again?
The metal groaned. The crack widened.
Oh.
This was it, then.
I'd survived two weeks alone. Longer than I thought possible. Longer than anyone expected from weak, pathetic Zariah.
The door buckled.
I closed my eyes.
At least I wouldn't have to see them coming.
The door exploded inward with a screech of tearing metal.
Heavy footsteps. Multiple sets.
I waited for teeth to sink into my flesh.
Instead, a voice. Deep. Male. Alive.
"What the hell?"
I forced my eyes open.
A man stood in the doorway. Tall. Dark hair. Eyes that glowed silver in the dim light.
Behind him, three zombies lay on the ground, their heads twisted at impossible angles. Dead. Actually dead.
The man looked at me. At the bite scar on my arm. At the gray veins.
"You're infected," he said flatly.
I tried to speak. My throat wouldn't work.
He pulled out a knife. Long. Sharp. Meant for killing.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he actually sounded sorry. "But I can't let you turn."
He stepped closer.
The knife gleamed.
And I realized I was going to die after all.
Just not the way I expected.