Page 28 of Ghosts of the Dead

She fits here too well. Not just physically. It’s the way her head tucks perfectly against my shoulder, like it belongs there. It’s the way holding her pushes back the noise in my head. Everything is clear. For once, everything feels…still.

Her arms drape around my neck, her breath soft against my throat. Her body is warm, curved against mine. I hold her closer, tighter. Like if I keep her close enough, nothing can touch her. Not rotters. Not dregs. Not even the ghosts that haunt me.

The static in my head, the low, constant pressure that never lets up, is quiet now. The heaviness pressing on mychest? Gone. The monsters in the shadows are still out there, but they feel distant and faint.

For once, I don’t feel hollow.

I feel tethered.

My steps are slow and careful while I walk through the crumbling landscape, not wanting to jostle her.

She’s something else. Something I can’t afford to lose. I’m not used to carrying something like that.

My boots crunch over gravel and brittle leaves when I retrace the path I took hours ago, back toward camp. My legs don’t shake like they did when I stumbled out here. My lungs don’t lock up like they do when the ghosts come calling.

I’m not even counting sidewalk cracks or calculating how fast I could run if the ghosts come back.

She makes me feel braver.

And that terrifies me.

She murmurs something in her sleep, but it’s too soft to catch. Her fingers twitch against my chest while she dreams. I tuck my chin down so I can watch her face in the pale moonlight.

God, she looks peaceful. Like she’s not trapped in the same wreckage I am. Like she’s dreaming of something better. Or maybe, like me, only of things she’s lost.

A soft rustle breaks the stillness, and I freeze mid-step. My arms tighten protectively around Autumn, and my pulse kicks beneath my skin.

The trees to my left shift when something brushes past the undergrowth, but then a pair of amber eyes blink into view, rimmed in shadow.

I shift, one hand moving instinctively for the knife at my belt, but then the shape steps forward enough for moonlight to catch it.

“Luna,” I whisper.

The German Shepherd stands half-shrouded behind a slanted tree where her coat catches glints of silver light.

I remember seeing Autumn feed her earlier. She’d snuck away from the group while the others argued about cooking duties, unaware that I’d followed at a distance to keep an eye on her. I heard her whisper the name “Luna” then and watched her share what little food she had. I doubt the others know about the dog yet, but I think Autumn’s been trying to gain her trust for a while.

Luna’s ears flick. Her body stays tense, but she doesn’t move closer. She only watches. First me. Then Autumn, cradled in my arms. Her head tilts, as if recognizing the one who’s been showing her kindness.

With a flick of her tail, she slips back into the shadows and disappears down the street again. I readjust my hold on Autumn and continue on.

The edge of camp comes into view. The fire burns bright. The car’s still parked in its shadow, almost hidden in vines we placed there to hide it from other survivors. The hood is propped open, and tools are scattered nearby in deliberate chaos.

Jace is hunched over the engine, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, grease smeared across one cheek. His gaze lifts when I approach. He didn’t see me leave, but he doesn’t miss me now.

His eyes land on us. On Autumn cradled in my arms, the woman who’s changing our lives by the hour.

Something flickers in his eyes. Not anger nor surprise, but something heavy, tight, and caged behind his usual control. Regret, maybe? Or loss.

Then it’s gone.

He turns back to the engine like he saw nothing. I lower my gaze and keep moving.

Inside the meager storefront shelter, I cross the last fewfeet of cracked concrete and sink down beside the fire, careful not to wake her.

The firelight catches in her hair, turning the purple strands almost copper and gold.

I settle against the wall and adjust her in my lap. One arm wraps around her waist, the other behind her back. Her cheek rests against my collarbone, lips parted, lashes dusting her cheeks.

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