Rows of gray stone houses press in from both sides of the street, built to squeeze as many lives as possible into the smallest strip of land.

  Bicycles and cars fill the street, and curtains still hang in places where glass should have been.

  “These streets must have been depressing even before the moss,” Lily says. “All these houses look exactly the same.”

  She hops onto the curb, arms out now, exaggerating her balance like she’s auditioning for something pointless.

  “I mean, imagine waking up every day and thinking, yes, this is the aesthetic I’m going to die in.”

  Colin doesn’t answer at first. His eyes travel the street, slow and measuring.

  “They had bikes,” he says.

  Lily looks at the rusted frames and flat tires. “Wow. Freedom on two wheels.”

  She pauses.

  “Okay, I take it back. This place is basically a theme park.”

  Colin exhales softly. “You can’t even ride one.”

  “Details,” she says. “The idea of bikes is doing most of the work here.”

  He slows. Just a fraction.

  His gaze settles on a small front yard where a broken plastic slide leans sideways, half swallowed by grass.

  “Let’s check that place,” he says. “I’ve got an idea.”

  Lily hops off the curb to follow him.

  Colin reaches for the handle and pushes. Nothing gives. He tries again, slower this time. Locked.

  “Huh,” Lily says. “That’s almost impressive these days.”

  She tilts her head. “Just punch the glass.”

  Colin doesn’t even look at her. “Absolutely not, you little pancake. We’re out of alcohol. I’m not losing a hand because you’re bored.”

  He leans into the door and drives his shoulder forward. The wood groans, but holds.

  “Okay,” he says, stepping back. “Clear.”

  Lily folds her arms and retreats a step. “And now?”

  Colin backs up, plants his foot, and moves in one clean motion. His kick lands just beside the doorknob.

  The lock snaps. The door swings inward and sags, barely clinging to its hinges.

  Lily pauses, taking it in.

  “Wow,” she says, passing him. “You’re so strong, marshmallow.”

  She bumps his shoulder as she goes, light and deliberate.

  Colin exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough to notice Freya brushing past him. She slips through the doorway without hesitation, nails ticking once on tile as metal gives way under her jaws. She tears into something canned, eating fast, body angled toward the hallway, never once looking back.

  “Keep an eye on her,” he says quietly.

  Lily watches the doorway, then shrugs. “Yeah.”

  The yard behind the house feels narrow and tired. Cracked tiles form a crooked path through artificial grass bleached into a dull, lifeless green, its edges curling upward as if it never quite belonged here in the first place.

  “There,” Lily says.

  Colin is already walking to the shed. The handle turns. The hinge protests softly as the door gives.

  Inside, dust hangs unmoving in the air. Against the far wall leans a black bicycle frame, a wooden box mounted at the front, scarred but solid, its corners worn smooth by hands that trusted it.

  A cargo bike.

  His gaze drops to the wheels.

  Flat. Both of them.

  “Of course.”

  He presses his thumb into the rubber.

  “We replace them.”

  “Please tell me this shed has something useful,” Lily says, nudging a crate with her foot.

  Colin is already rummaging. “Define useful.”

  She lifts a rusted wrench, squints at it. “If we hit something hard enough, maybe.”

  “That’s not how tools work.”

  “Agree to disagree.”

  He straightens, holding up a half-empty toolbox. “Hey. Jackpot.”

  Lily peers inside. “Those look… ancient.”

  “They still turn,” he says. “That’s all I need.”

  She crouches beside him as he kneels near the cargo bike, poking at the wheel. “So. What’s the plan, mechanic?”

  “I steal better wheels.”

  “That’s the plan?”

  “Yes.”

  They move back toward the street, scanning abandoned bicycles like scavengers in a department store no one will ever reopen.

  Lily stops at one with a bent frame. “This one looks promising.”

  Colin presses down on the tire. It hisses weakly. “Dead.”

  She frowns. “Okay but emotionally, it had potential.”

  Another bike. Then another.

  “This feels illegal,” Lily mutters.

  Colin snorts. “Everyone who could complain is gone.”

  “Still. Bad vibes.”

  They finally find one leaning crooked against a fence, its wheels intact if you don’t look too closely.

  Lily grips the handlebars. “I’m calling this a win.”

  Colin nods. “Take it.”

  Back at the cargo bike, they struggle in silence for a minute. A bolt refuses to move. Lily braces the frame while Colin pulls.

  “Are you sure you’re turning it the right way?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Because it looks like you’re committing a personal vendetta.”

  “Lily.”

  “Just checking.”

  The bolt gives suddenly. Colin stumbles back half a step.

  “Ha!” Lily says. “See? Encouragement.”

  “Do not encourage me.”

  They swap another wheel. It doesn’t quite fit.

  Lily tilts her head. “If we force it...”

  “No.”

  “If we gently persuade it...”

  “No.”

  She sighs dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

  They try again. Adjust. Reposition. At some point Lily ends up sitting on the ground, holding the wheel steady with her feet while Colin works.

  “This is definitely not ergonomically approved,” she says.

  “What even is that?”

  “Good. Then we’re fine.”

  Eventually, the wheel settles. Not perfect. Close enough.

  Colin spins it. It wobbles, then steadies.

  He pauses. Tries again.

  “…Okay,” he says.

  Lily grins. “We fixed a thing.”

  “Lower your voice,” he says, but there’s something lighter in it.

  She wipes her hands on her jeans. “Admit it.”

  “Admit what.”

  “That without me, this would’ve taken you way longer.”

  Colin looks at the bike. Then at her.

  “…Maybe.”

  She beams. “Teamwork.”

  She raises her hand. Colin hesitates for half a second, then claps his palm against hers.

  Colin lets his hand fall from the high-five and pushes himself up, brushing dust from his knees. The cargo bike stands beside them now, solid again, both wheels straight beneath the frame.

  Lily walks a slow circle around it, pretending to inspect it like some rare machine.

  “Well,” she says quietly. “Look at that.”

  Colin grips the handlebars and tilts the bike upright. The front box creaks softly, but the wheels roll clean when he nudges it forward.

  “Inside first?” Lily asks.

  “Yeah. Through the house.”

  She moves ahead of him and pulls the back door open wider, holding it with both hands as he guides the bike toward it.

  “Easy,” she says. “You break it now and I’m judging you forever.”

  “It’s a cargo bike.”

  “Still.”

  Freya lifts her head from the hallway floor when the tires roll over the tiles, ears shifting at the soft rubber sound.

  Lily walks backward through the living room, nudging a broken chair aside with her foot and dragging a loose board away from the doorway.

  “Little more left,” she says, glancing over his shoulder.

  Colin adjusts the handlebars and eases the bike through the narrow frame.

  “See?” Lily says with a small grin. “Graceful.”

  “Don’t start.”

  They move into the front hall where gray daylight spills through the cracked window beside the door.

  Lily slips outside first.

  “Hold on.”

  She jogs a few steps down the curb, dragging a rusted bicycle away from the entrance and kicking a plastic crate out of the path. When she’s done she brushes the dust off her hands and looks back at him.

  “Okay,” she says. “Come on.”

  Colin rolls the cargo bike forward and guides it carefully over the threshold. The tires drop onto the street with a soft, steady thump.

  For a moment he doesn’t move.

  His hand stays on the handlebar, fingers resting loosely on the rubber grip.

  Lily notices.

  “Colin?”

  He blinks once, like he’s only now remembering where he is.

  “Yeah.”

  “You good?”

  His gaze drifts down the empty row of houses. Curtains move faintly behind broken windows, stirred by a slow breath of wind. Moss crawls up the gray stone walls, softening the edges of things that used to be sharp.

  “Yeah,” he says again, quieter this time.

  Lily studies him for another second. Something about the way he’s standing there makes the joke she was about to say die halfway up her throat.

  Instead she leans lightly against the wooden cargo box and taps it once with her knuckles.

  “You know,” she says, trying for casual, “most people would be pretty proud right now.”

  “I am.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “That’s because I’m the one pushing it.”

  A small laugh slips out of her before she can stop it.

  They start down the street together, Colin guiding the cargo bike while Lily walks beside the front box, occasionally steadying it with her hand when the pavement dips.

  After a few steps she glances at him again.

  He’s still looking at the houses as if something there is pulling at a memory he can’t quite reach.

  Lily watches him for a moment longer than she means to, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  But she looks away before he can notice.

  Colin’s gaze eventually drifts down to the cargo bike beside them.

  “Well,” he says after a moment. “You wanna try it?”

  Lily follows his eyes to the bike. Then to the wooden cargo box at the front. Slowly, a grin begins to form.

  “You mean ride it?”

  “That’s usually the idea.”

  She folds her arms and studies the bike like she’s considering something important. Then she points at the box.

  “Okay,” she says. “But only if you sit in there.”

  Colin looks at the box.

  Then at her.

  Then back at the box again.

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  “That thing was not built for me.”

  “That sounds like a you-problem.”

  He exhales through his nose, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “You just want to see if I fit.”

  “Maybe.”

  Colin shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and drops it into the cargo compartment.

  “Well,” he mutters. “This is going to end badly.”

  He grips the side of the wooden frame and starts climbing in.

  The moment his weight shifts onto the bike the whole thing tilts violently to one side.

  “Hey—!”

  Lily grabs the handlebars instinctively, boots scraping on the pavement as she braces the bike before it can flip over.

  “Careful!”

  “I am careful.”

  “You’re enormous.”

  Colin lowers himself further into the box, folding his long frame into the space with all the grace of a bear trying to fit inside a laundry basket. His shoulders press against the wooden sides while his knees stick awkwardly over the edge.

  His boots nearly drag on the asphalt.

  He shifts, trying to get comfortable.

  The bike leans again.

  “Don’t move,” Lily says quickly.

  “I’m not moving.”

  “You’re absolutely moving.”

  Colin exhales and finally settles, one arm draped lazily over the side of the box while the other braces against the opposite wall.

  The cargo compartment is now completely filled by Colin.

  Lily just stands there for a moment, staring at him.

  Her lips press together.

  A laugh escapes before she can stop it.

  She tries to hide it behind her hand.

  Fails completely.

  Colin looks up at her.

  “What.”

  “Nothing,” she says, already grinning.

  Another laugh slips out.

  “You look… very comfortable.”

  “I hate you.”

  She wipes the corner of her eye and swings one leg over the saddle.

  “This is not going to work.”

  “Just pedal.”

  Lily places one foot on the pedal and pushes.

  Nothing.

  She frowns and tries again, harder this time. The chain catches with a dry metallic click and the bike rolls forward a few centimeters.

  “Oh.”

  Colin nods solemnly from the box.

  “Remarkable.”

  “Shut up.”

  Lily stands on the pedals now, putting her full weight into them. The cargo bike begins to move down the street, slowly, stubbornly, the heavy frame resisting every rotation of the chain.

  “You weigh like three people,” she mutters.

  “Efficient mass.”

  The bike crawls forward another meter.

  Then another.

  Lily exhales sharply as she keeps pedaling, arms tightening on the handlebars while the front box sways slightly under Colin’s weight.

  For a moment it actually works.

  The cargo bike rolls steadily forward through the empty street.

  Lily glances down at him.

  “See?” she says, a little breathless. “Perfectly under control.”

  Colin opens his mouth to answer.

  Then she tries to steer.

  The moment the handlebars turn, the balance shifts.

  The front wheel wobbles.

  Colin feels it immediately.

  “Lily—”

  Too late.

  The bike tilts hard to the side.

  For a split second it looks like they might recover, the whole frame rocking dangerously as Lily tries to correct it.

  Then gravity takes over.

  The cargo bike collapses sideways with a loud scrape of metal and wood.

  Colin spills out of the box in a heavy tangle of limbs while Lily goes down beside the frame with a startled yelp.

  The bike clatters to a stop in the middle of the street.

  For a moment neither of them moves.

  Then Lily bursts into laughter.

  Real laughter.

  She rolls onto her back on the pavement, trying to breathe as the absurdity of it hits her all at once.

  Colin slowly pushes himself up onto one elbow and looks at the fallen cargo bike.

  “…I blame the driver.”

  That only makes Lily laugh harder.

  She’s lying on her back beside the toppled frame, one arm across her stomach, trying to breathe while the laughter keeps escaping in uneven bursts. A strand of her long orange hair has fallen across her face, the rest spread around her on the pavement like a bright spill against the gray street.

  Colin watches her for a moment.

  Then he notices she keeps blowing upward, trying to get the hair out of her mouth.

  Without really thinking about it, he reaches out.

  His fingers catch the strand gently and move it aside, brushing it away from her face. The movement reveals the small freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose, and the clear green of her eyes looking straight up at him.

  For a moment she just watches him.

  The laughter fades into a quiet smile.

  Then she leans her head back slightly and whispers,

  “If you don’t move your hand right now…”

  Her smile grows a little wider.

  “…I will break it.”

  Colin lifts an eyebrow, but slowly pulls his hand back anyway.

  “Cute,” he mutters.

  Lily sits up, still smiling to herself as she brushes the rest of her hair back behind her ear.

  “You know…” she says quietly.

  Her eyes drift down the empty street.

  “The end of the world isn’t as bad as I thought.”

  Colin slowly stands, brushing the dust from his hands. For a moment he just looks at the silent row of houses, the broken windows staring back like empty eyes.

  “The world didn’t really change,” he says.

  Lily glances up at him.

  “No?”

  Colin shakes his head faintly.

  “People like to imagine the old world was built on rules… or kindness… or reason.”

  He nudges the fallen cargo bike with his boot.

  “But it wasn’t.”

  His eyes wander over the quiet street.

  “It was built on violence. Like everything that ever lived in this world.”

  Lily studies him.

  “From the fish that devours the smaller fish…

  to the grass that dies so the horse may live.”

  “The difference is that back then the violence was controlled.”

  He lifts a hand slightly, as if weighing something invisible.

  “Contained. Organized. Hidden behind laws, borders, uniforms.”

  A faint breeze moves through the empty road.

  “Armies. Police. Courts.”

  “All ways of deciding who gets to be violent… and who doesn’t.”

  He pauses.

  “All of it was just a way of deciding who was allowed to use violence… and when.”

  Lily watches him quietly now.

  “Civilization wasn’t the absence of violence,” Colin continues.

  “It was the management of it.”

  His gaze drifts across the empty street again.

  “Violence built the world. It protected it. It shaped it.”

  Another quiet moment passes.

  “And it broke people too.”

  He looks down at his hands for a second.

  “Violence can heal something inside a person.”

  A pause.

  “It can forge them.”

  Another breath.

  “Or it can scar them so deeply they never recover.”

  He finally looks back at Lily.

  “But it’s honest.”

  Lily tilts her head slightly.

  “Honest?”

  “You can’t hide from it.”

  Colin gestures faintly at the empty world around them.

  “If you exist… you are part of it.”

  He shrugs.

  “The old world just tried very hard to pretend otherwise.”

  A faint silence settles between them.

  “And now?” Lily asks.

  Colin glances around them once more.

  “Now the pretending is over.

  And we’re going to use it again… to rebuild.”

  Freya stiffens.

  Her body rises into a rigid stillness, tail lifted high, ears sharp and forward as her nose cuts through the air like a blade searching for something hidden.

  For a moment the street is silent.

  Then Lily smells it.

  Sweet.

  A sickly sweetness that doesn’t belong anywhere near living things.

  Her head lifts immediately.

  “We have to…”

  But Colin is already moving.

  The cargo bike is upright before her sentence even finishes.

  Somewhere down the street a sound drifts between the buildings.

  “Hihi…”

  Thin. Wrong. Almost playful.

  Then the scream comes.

  “AARRGH!”

  It rips through the quiet with such violence that the sound seems to shake loose from the stone walls themselves.

  The echo travels through the narrow streets.

  And then another voice follows it.

  “Run into there!”

  Footsteps erupt.

  Dozens of them, maybe more, pounding against the pavement as a group of people runs somewhere just out of sight, their panic carrying through the alleys like a storm breaking through a forest.

  Colin swings onto the bike.

  “Lily. Now.”

  She’s already moving.

  Her backpack lands in the cargo box first, and before she can even steady herself Colin’s arm reaches out instinctively. She grabs it, jumps, and he lifts her into the box in one smooth motion without breaking the forward surge of the bike.

  Freya explodes into a sprint beside them.

  The cargo bike rattles violently over broken asphalt as Colin hammers the pedals with brutal efficiency, every movement precise, balanced, controlled in the way only someone used to life-or-death moments can be.

  “Alley,” Lily says, pointing.

  Colin turns before she finishes the word.

  The bike cuts sharply into the narrow passage between the buildings.

  For a moment Lily looks back.

  She immediately wishes she hadn’t.

  Across the street a man bursts through a second-floor window.

  Glass shatters outward as he throws himself into the open air in pure desperation, arms flailing as gravity takes him.

  For the briefest moment he hangs there.

  Falling.

  Before the creatures below him catch him like a pillow softening his fall.

  They crash into him before he even reaches the ground, clawing and dragging him downward while four more bodies spill out of the broken window behind him like starving animals dropping onto fresh meat.

  The man’s scream dies instantly.

  The sound that replaces it is worse.

  Lily turns forward again, her stomach twisting.

  “Colin…”

  “I know.”

  His voice remains calm.

  Behind them the footsteps multiply.

  And somewhere in the street the laughter begins to spread.

  “Hihi…”

  “Haha…”

  Dozens of voices now, carried through the narrow streets by the buildings themselves.

  Closing in.

  But the chase never truly follows them.

  It lives in their heads long after the city is already behind them.

  Colin keeps pedaling.

  The rhythm of the bike becomes something mechanical and stubborn, the chain turning again and again while the narrow streets slowly loosen their grip on the world. Houses thin out, walls give way to small yards and broken fences, and before either of them quite notices it the city simply dissolves into open land.

  The road changes beneath the tires.

  Asphalt becomes cracked concrete.

  Concrete becomes gravel.

  Gravel becomes a narrow strip of dirt that cuts between the fields like an old scar.

  Flat farmland spreads out in every direction.

  Wide pastures breathe under the evening sky. Dark drainage ditches cut through the grass, their still water catching what little light remains. Old willows lean over them, their long branches whispering together whenever the wind moves through.

  Freya runs beside the bike, tongue hanging slightly from her mouth now, but she keeps pace.

  Still Colin pedals.

  Time stretches strangely out here.

  Without the buildings the world feels larger, quieter. The wind carries nothing except the smell of wet soil and grass. No laughter. No footsteps. Only the creak of the chain and the dull rhythm of the tires rolling forward.

  Eventually the city shrinks into a distant gray smear on the horizon.

  Only then does Colin finally slow.

  Lily lifts her head from the edge of the cargo box.

  “Colin…”

  Her voice sounds small in the open fields.

  He follows the direction she is looking.

  At first it seems like nothing more than another dark shape against the land.

  Then it becomes something recognizable.

  A barn.

  It stands alone near the edge of a pasture, large and tired, its wide wooden frame darkened by decades of wind and rain. The roof sags slightly beneath rows of old red tiles. One of the tall doors hangs crooked in its hinges, moving just enough for the wind to push it back and forth with a slow, patient creak.

  The kind of building meant to outlast the people who built it.

  Colin steers the cargo bike toward it without speaking.

  The tires crunch over gravel as they cross the farmyard. Rusted metal tools lie half swallowed by weeds, and an old milk tank leans sideways beside what used to be a tractor shed.

  Freya slips through the open doorway first.

  Inside, the air changes immediately.

  Dry hay. Dust. Old wood.

  Stillness.

  Colin rolls the cargo bike in after her and pulls the door shut. A thick wooden beam lies beside the wall where it must have fallen years ago. He lifts it and drops it back into its brackets. The sound is heavy and final.

  Lily looks around.

  The barn is taller than it seemed from outside. Thick beams run overhead into darkness, and one side of the structure is stacked with straw bales piled nearly to the height of the loft.

  “Well,” she mutters softly.

  “At least it’s not one of those depressing identical houses.”

  Colin is already moving.

  “Help me.”

  They drag the bales across the floor, one after another, stacking them against the doors and the wide gate that once opened for tractors. Straw brushes against the wood as they push them into place, building a thick wall that blocks the gaps where wind and light slip through.

  Freya circles the entrance once before settling down nearby, her eyes still fixed on the dark cracks between the boards.

  When the last bale slides into place the barn feels sealed off from the outside world.

  Lily finds the ladder first.

  The wood creaks beneath her weight as she climbs up into the hayloft. Loose straw covers the entire platform above, warm and dry from years of sitting undisturbed.

  “Colin,” she calls quietly.

  “You’re going to like this.”

  He climbs up after her.

  Together they tear open a few bales and spread the hay across the wooden floor, building a thick uneven layer that softens the boards beneath. Lily finds a torn sheet of tarp in the corner and drags it over the top, pressing it down with her hands until the straw settles beneath it.

  The bed is crude.

  But soft.

  And warmer than the open night waiting outside.

  Lily drops onto it first with a tired breath.

  Colin sits beside her a moment later, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders.

  Below them the barn settles into silence.

  Outside, wind moves through the empty fields.

  For the first time since the city,

  the world stops chasing them.

  The barn settles into a quiet that almost feels unreal after the chaos of the streets. Wind moves softly through the cracks in the wood, whispering somewhere high in the beams. Outside the fields stretch into darkness, but inside the air is still and dry.

  For a while neither of them speaks.

  Lily pulls her knees closer beneath her chin and rubs her hands together.

  “Okay,” she murmurs eventually. “Now I’m cold.”

  Colin glances at her but doesn’t answer.

  Instead his eyes move slowly through the barn, studying it the way he always studies places. Not just looking, but reading. The floor. The tools left behind. The stacked hay. The corners where dust has gathered undisturbed for years.

  His gaze settles on something near the far wall.

  A rusted steel milk can.

  Beside it lies a torn bag of potting soil, collapsed where it must have fallen long ago, the dark earth spilling across the boards.

  Colin stands.

  “Stay there.”

  Lily watches him disappear down the ladder.

  Below, the barn begins to shift with quiet sounds. Straw sliding across the floor. Something metal scraping softly. The dull thud of something being set down.

  A few minutes later a faint orange glow begins to bloom beneath the edge of the loft.

  Curious, Lily climbs down.

  Colin has cleared a wide circle in the hay, pushing the loose straw several meters away until only the old wooden floor remains. Over that he has spread the dark soil from the gardening sack in a thick layer.

  The milk can sits in the center of it.

  Inside the rusted cylinder a small fire burns.

  The flame stays low, contained within the metal walls. Just enough to warm the space without touching the barn around it.

  Lily crouches beside it and stretches her hands toward the heat.

  “…Okay that’s actually brilliant.”

  Colin shrugs a little as if it were obvious.

  “It’s a metal container.”

  Freya circles once before lying down beside them, her eyes half closed in the glow of the fire.

  After a while Colin reaches into the cargo bike and pulls out the fish they had caught earlier. He cleans it quickly near the open crack of the door where the smell won’t linger too much, then threads the pieces onto a bent length of wire he finds among the old tools.

  He holds it over the opening of the milk can.

  The meat begins to sizzle quietly.

  The smell spreads through the barn almost immediately.

  Lily leans back on her hands, watching the firelight dance along the wooden beams above them.

  “Not bad,” she says. “A barn, a fire, dinner…”

  She gestures vaguely around them.

  “…very rustic.”

  Colin turns the fish slowly.

  “Your standards collapsed with civilization.”

  “Maybe,” she says with a faint grin.

  They eat sitting on the barn floor beside the fire, sharing the fish piece by piece while the wind brushes against the outside walls.

  For the first time that day the world feels… still.

  But even with the fire, Lily shivers occasionally.

  Colin notices.

  He doesn’t say anything about it.

  He simply pulls the hoodie over his head and tosses it toward her.

  She catches it midair.

  “You’re going to freeze,” she says.

  “I won’t.”

  She studies him for a moment, then pulls it over her head anyway.

  The fabric is warm from his body. The sleeves hang far past her hands.

  She doesn’t give it back.

  Eventually the fire burns down until only soft glowing embers remain inside the milk can.

  They climb back up the ladder to the loft.

  The bed of hay rustles softly as they settle into it. Freya circles twice before collapsing near their feet.

  Lily pulls the hoodie tighter around herself and lies back.

  For a while they simply listen to the quiet.

  The wind outside.

  The slow breathing of the dog.

  The faint crackle of dying coals below.

  After a moment Lily shifts a little closer without really thinking about it.

  Colin doesn’t move away.

  Lily shifts a little closer in the hay as if the movement had always been part of the plan. The oversized sleeves of his hoodie swallow her hands while she pulls the fabric tighter around herself.

  “This thing is ridiculously comfortable,” she murmurs.

  “That’s because it’s mine.”

  “That’s because it’s enormous.”

  She nudges his arm lightly with her shoulder, settling into the warmth beside him while the last faint glow from the fire below flickers through the gaps in the loft boards.

  Outside the barn the wind drifts slowly across the fields, moving through the grass and the leaning willows along the ditches like a long quiet breath.

  For a while Lily watches the dark beams above them.

  “You know,” she says eventually, “today was weird.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  “I mean it,” she says, turning her head slightly toward him. “We fixed a bike, outran a nightmare, cooked fish in a milk can…”

  She gestures lazily around them.

  “…and now we’re sleeping in a barn.”

  Colin considers that.

  “Efficient day.”

  She huffs a quiet laugh.

  Then, without ceremony, she rests her head against his shoulder like she’s done it a thousand times before.

  “Still,” she murmurs, her voice already softer now, “you did good today.”

  “High praise.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her hand drifts absently against his arm, the sleeve of his hoodie bunching around her fingers while the warmth of the hay slowly seeps through the loft beneath them.

  Freya shifts somewhere near their feet, letting out a long satisfied sigh.

  The barn creaks softly around them.

  Lily’s breathing begins to slow.

  Just before sleep takes her, she mutters quietly,

  “If the apocalypse keeps having nights like this, I might forgive it.”

  Colin glances down at her.

  “That’s generous.”

  She doesn’t answer.

  Within moments she’s asleep, her head still resting against his shoulder.

  Colin stays awake a little longer, listening to the crackling of the fire.

  Then he adjusts slightly so she’s more comfortable against him and finally lets himself rest too.

  For a few quiet hours,

  the world leaves them alone.

  At first Lily thinks she is dreaming.

  Somewhere in the darkness of the barn a faint sound keeps repeating, irregular and brittle, like two stones knocking against each other in the cold.

  The hay beneath her is warm. Colin’s hoodie is still wrapped around her shoulders. For a moment her mind drifts lazily between sleep and waking, trying to push the noise back into whatever dream it escaped from.

  The sound comes again.

  Sharp.

  Closer.

  Her eyes open.

  For a few seconds she lies still, listening. The barn breathes quietly around them. Wind slides over the roof tiles. Freya shifts somewhere below in the dark.

  The sound returns.

  Clack.

  Clack.

  Her stomach tightens.

  She turns her head toward Colin.

  At first nothing looks wrong. He lies exactly where he fell asleep beside her, broad shoulders half buried in the hay, one arm thrown loosely across the straw.

  His teeth slam together again.

  The sound cracks through the loft.

  “Colin…?”

  Her voice barely rises above a whisper.

  His body jerks.

  Not a small shiver. Not the kind of cold tremor people get in the night.

  His entire frame convulses, muscles locking and snapping as if something inside him has grabbed the bones themselves and begun shaking them.

  The hay rustles violently beneath him.

  “Hey…”

  Lily pushes herself upright, confusion turning to unease as she reaches for his arm.

  The moment her fingers touch his skin the unease explodes into raw panic.

  He is freezing.

  Not cool. Not chilled.

  Freezing.

  His skin feels like stone left outside in winter.

  “Colin…”

  His teeth chatter violently, each impact loud enough to make her flinch. The shaking spreads through his entire body now. Shoulders. Chest. Hands clenching and releasing uncontrollably against the straw.

  “Colin!”

  She grabs him harder, trying to hold him still, but his muscles refuse to obey her grip. His body trembles with a brutal, relentless rhythm that seems to come from somewhere far deeper than the surface.

  His eyes are open.

  That frightens her more than anything.

  They are wide and unfocused, staring straight past her into something she cannot see.

  “Look at me,” she says, the words rushing out now. “Colin, hey…look at me…”

  His breath catches.

  A jagged gasp tears out of him, sharp and desperate, as if his lungs are struggling to remember how to work.

  Another follows.

  Shorter.

  Shallower.

  The cold in his skin spreads under her hands.

  Lily presses both palms against his face, trying to warm him, trying to force life back into the frozen surface of his cheeks.

  “Stay with me,” she whispers, the panic rising faster now. “Colin…stay with me…”

  His body shakes harder.

  Hard enough that the loose straw around them begins sliding down the loft boards.

  Below them Freya erupts into barking, claws scratching violently against the barn floor as the dog senses something is terribly wrong.

  Lily barely hears it.

  All she can feel is Colin’s body trembling beneath her hands.

  All she can see is the color draining slowly from his face.

  The terrible realization crawls through her mind, cold and unstoppable.

  He isn’t getting warmer.

  He is getting colder.

  “Colin…”

  Her voice cracks.

  For a long, horrifying second she stares at him, trying to understand what is happening.

  Trying to understand how someone so strong can suddenly look like he is slipping away in front of her.

  The thought forms before she can stop it.

  He’s dying.