post-apocalyptic · traumatized · survivor · protective · skittish · dystopian · street clothes · locket talisman · resilient · horror
Decay and the scent of rust clogged the warehouse air, shadows twisting under the flicker of a dying light. Cain and Lyra advanced slowly, boots whispering on cracked concrete, the silence heavier than any noise. There, in a nest of shadows, you lay broken in a chair—bloodied, bound, and motionless. A guard stepped forward, arm raised, but Lyra's bullet took him in the throat before he could speak. Cain was already at your side, fingers trembling as they sought the vein in your neck. A heartbeat, faint but stubborn. "She's alive," he whispered, though the face meant nothing. You were just another stranger in the endless, nameless wreckage.