Hugo gasped awake, his breath sharp and ragged. His fingers twitched around the grip of a gun that wasn’t there anymore. The cold, metallic taste of death still lingered in his mind, but he wasn’t in the bank. He wasn’t bleeding out on the floor.

  He was back in the van.

  His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him like a vice.

  Again.

  His eyes darted to the passenger seat. Riley y curled up, breathing steadily, her face rexed in sleep.

  Alive. Again.

  Hugo clenched his jaw, running a hand through his damp hair. He had already lost count of how many times he had died, but this was only the second time he had watched her die.

  And he had failed to save her both times.

  His breathing steadied, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. It burned, raw and deep. He forced himself to exhale slowly, staring at her. If he didn’t change something, this would keep happening. Again and again.

  He wouldn’t let it.

  Carefully, he pulled the bnket out and up over her shoulder, tucking it back into pce. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. He let her sleep a little longer, just like before, but this time, his mind was already running through the pn.

  An hour ter, he nudged Riley awake, less gentle than before. "Up."

  She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "What the hell—"

  "We need to move."

  She blinked at him, confused by the edge in his voice. "Alright, alright. No need to be a dick."

  Hugo didn’t respond, just grabbed his gear. Riley stretched, rolling her shoulders as she ced up her boots, letting out a quiet sigh.

  They moved quickly, retracing their steps just like before. The streets were the same, the dangers unchanged, but Hugo noticed every little detail differently this time. He was ahead of it now. He knew where to avoid, where the safest routes were, and where the threats would come from.

  It was a strange thing, living a moment for the third time, but he wasn’t wasting it.

  They reached the bar. Hugo went straight to the storeroom, killed the zombie without hesitation, and grabbed the bottles of liquor like before. The moment pyed out almost exactly as it had st time—except this time, he moved faster. More precise.

  Riley leaned against the bar, arms crossed, watching him. "You work fast when you’re in a mood."

  "Not in a mood. Just moving."

  She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

  As they left the bar, Hugo led them down the alley behind it, avoiding the main street where the horde would pass. After some time, He paused for a moment, gncing toward the bank down the street. Last time, they had gone in without a second thought.

  Not this time.

  He stopped walking, his grip tightening on his pistol. Riley frowned. "What?"

  Hugo didn’t answer right away. His stomach twisted slightly at the sight of the building. He could still see it. The blood. The bodies. Riley, dying in his arms.

  He wasn’t about to let that happen again.

  "We stop here first," Hugo said, his tone clipped.

  Riley furrowed her brow. "Why?"

  He exhaled sharply, already tired of her questions. "Just wait here. I’ll handle it."

  Her expression darkened instantly. "Wait here? Seriously?"

  "Yes." Hugo’s voice was firm. "Stay outside and keep watch."

  Riley scoffed, crossing her arms. "Wow. You’ve been a real joy to be around today, you know that?" She shook her head, looking away. "Fine. Whatever. Do your thing."

  Her bitterness was obvious, but she didn’t argue further. Hugo didn’t have time to make her feel better about it. He looked down at Salem, who had followed them quietly, tail twitching.

  "Stay here with her," he murmured, reaching down to scratch behind the cat’s ear. Salem blinked up at him but didn’t move.

  Riley crossed her arms. "Oh, so the cat gets an expnation, but I don’t?"

  Hugo ignored her, stepping into the bank, his movements precise, his body tense with purpose.

  The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of old dust and decay. He moved in silence, pistol raised, his grip steady. The yout hadn’t changed. He knew exactly where they would be.

  A fire burned low inside him, a quiet, seething rage coiled tight. They had killed Riley. This time, they wouldn’t even see him coming.

  Hugo moved through the shadows, creeping past overturned desks and broken furniture. Distant voices echoed from deeper inside. He followed them.

  The leader was sitting at a desk near the back, flipping through a stack of useless papers, the revolver resting zily on the surface beside him. Three of the other men were sorting supplies near the vault, and the st one sat near the entrance, keeping watch—poorly.

  Hugo struck first.

  A single shot to the back of the leader’s skull. The man’s head snapped forward onto the desk, blood pooling instantly. The sound of the gunshot exploded through the room, sending the others into chaos.

  He didn’t wait.

  The guard near the entrance spun, eyes wide, reaching for his weapon. Hugo put two bullets in his chest before he could even lift it. The man colpsed, gurgling.

  "Shit!" one of them shouted. "We’re under—"

  Hugo fired again, hitting the one with the chain in the throat. The man staggered back, choking on his own blood before crumpling to the ground.

  The st two finally got their bearings. One grabbed the leader gun and dove behind cover, firing wildly, bullets whizzing past Hugo as he kept moving. The other charged with a bat, yelling as he swung for Hugo’s head.

  Hugo ducked under the blow and drove his pistol into the man’s ribs, pulling the trigger point-bnk. The attacker colpsed with a wheeze, blood spilling onto the floor.

  The st man—Scar-cheek—was breathing hard, crouched behind an overturned desk. "We can talk about this!"

  Hugo, stepped forward without hesitation. "No, we can’t."

  He vaulted over the desk in one swift motion. The man barely had time to raise his weapon before Hugo was on him, shoving the gun aside and smming his own into the man’s skull. Scar-cheek crumpled to the floor, dazed.

  Without mercy, Hugo grabbed the man by the colr and drove his pistol into his mouth. The man’s eyes went wide, his breath coming in frantic, terrified gasps.

  "Please—"

  Hugo pulled the trigger.

  The room was silent again.

  Blood dripped onto the dusty floor, pooling around the bodies. Hugo exhaled slowly, his heart still hammering, but his hands steady. He had won.

  Then he heard the footsteps.

  He turned just in time to see Riley standing in the doorway, frozen in pce. Her wide eyes darted from the carnage to him, her breath shallow.

  "Hugo... what the hell did you just do?"

  Her voice was small, shaken. There was something else in her eyes now—something new.

  Fear.

  Hugo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It was us or them."

  Riley was still frozen in the doorway, her breath uneven. "No, it wasn’t. We didn’t have to come in here—you didn’t have to come in here!"

  Hugo clenched his jaw, stuffing a fresh magazine into his pistol. "They killed you st time. I wasn’t going to let that happen again."

  She blinked, confused. "Last time? What the hell are you talking about?"

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he turned and started looting the bodies, pulling the leader’s revolver from the blood-slick desk and pocketing extra ammunition.

  Riley watched him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes filled with something he didn’t like seeing—hesitation. Doubt.

  "You’re different," she muttered, shaking her head. "Colder. More ruthless."

  Hugo didn’t look up. "I do what I have to."

  She let out a sharp breath, frustrated but unwilling to keep arguing.

  After a moment, Hugo walked over to her, holding out the revolver. "Can you shoot?"

  Riley stared at the gun, then at him. "What?"

  "Can you shoot a gun?" he repeated, his voice firm.

  She hesitated, then took the weapon slowly. "I know how. Doesn't mean I want to."

  Hugo gave a single nod. "Wanting to doesn’t matter anymore. Only surviving does."

  Riley swallowed hard, gripping the revolver tighter. She didn’t argue.

  Riley hesitated, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. But she didn’t argue.

  She just nodded, stepping aside as he walked past her, leaving the bodies behind.

  As he moved past, he spoke lowly, his voice ft. "If you don’t trust me, you’ve got a gun now. You could always shoot me."

  Riley stiffened, gripping the revolver in her hand, but said nothing. She only watched him, her expression unreadable.

  They walked in silence after leaving the bank, moving through the ruined streets with careful, practiced steps. The air was thick with decay, the distant wails of the undead echoing through the empty city.

  They kept to the alleys, avoiding a horde that was shambling through a colpsed highway, and sidestepped a pair of runners feasting on a corpse in the gutter. It was tense, calcuted survival, but Hugo’s mind was elsewhere.

  He felt it before he realized it—his feet had slowed, his gaze flicking over the ruins ahead. Something about this street tugged at him, something familiar beneath the broken signs and charred buildings.

  Then it hit him.

  His old job.

  The restaurant was just a block ahead, its faded awning barely visible through the wreckage. The gss windows were long shattered, soot and grime covering what was left of the wooden sign.

  "Damn," Hugo muttered under his breath.

  Riley shot him a look. "What?"

  He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I used to work here."

  Riley blinked, gncing between him and the ruined restaurant. "Seriously? You were a—what, a waiter?"

  Hugo scoffed. "No. Cook."

  She gave a small snort. "Hugo the cook? I can’t see it."

  "Yeah, well," he shrugged. "It wasn’t gmorous, but it paid. I started out washing dishes, worked my way up. Wasn’t bad."

  Riley tilted her head, a bit of the tension between them finally cracking. "So, what, you were one of those angry chefs, yelling at everyone in the kitchen?"

  He huffed a quiet ugh. "Nah. That was my boss. I just kept my head down and worked. Didn’t see a point in screaming about burnt chicken."

  She smirked. "Bet you make a mean meal, though."

  "Better than canned beans and expired crackers."

  "So you can cook?" She gave him a teasing gnce. "That’s a hell of a skill to keep secret."

  "Didn’t come up."

  She let out a quiet ugh, shaking her head. "You’re full of surprises."

  Hugo looked back at the ruined restaurant, a strange nostalgia creeping in. He hadn’t thought about this pce since the world had gone to hell. It felt like another life, like something belonging to someone else entirely.

  But for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel the weight of the past few hours crushing him. Just for a moment, he wasn’t the man who had executed five people in a bank. He was just Hugo—the cook, the guy who used to burn his hands on hot pans and curse at the broken freezer.

  Then the moment passed. The world reminded him where he was.

  "Come on," he said, adjusting his pack. "We should keep moving."

  Riley followed, but there was something different in the way she looked at him now. Like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as afraid of him anymore.

  They continued walking, the silence stretching between them, broken only by the distant groans of the undead. Salem padded alongside them, occasionally darting between shadows, always keeping close to Hugo’s side. The heat of the afternoon was wearing on them, and Riley’s steps grew heavier. Her breath had become uneven, her forehead glistening with sweat.

  Hugo gnced at her. "You look like hell."

  "Gee, thanks," she muttered, swiping at her damp face with the back of her hand. "Feels like it too."

  He scanned the ruined street for a decent pce to rest. They couldn’t afford to stop just anywhere—too many open roads, too many risks. But if she kept pushing while exhausted, she’d be a liability if they ran into trouble.

  Before he could decide, the air shifted.

  A deep, guttural scream shattered the uneasy quiet, the sound so loud it sent vibrations through the pavement beneath their feet. Hugo froze, his grip tightening on his pistol. The ground trembled slightly, the low rumble of something heavy moving in the distance.

  Riley’s head snapped toward him, her face pale. "What the hell was that?"

  Salem, who had been padding alongside them, suddenly stopped, his ears fttened against his head. A low, uneasy growl rumbled in his throat as his fur bristled, his tail puffing up to twice its size. The cat’s eyes darted toward the direction of the sound, his entire body rigid with instinctual fear.

  Hugo didn’t answer. He was already turning, scanning their surroundings, every nerve in his body on edge. Salem rarely reacted like this.

  Whatever it was, it was big.

  And it was coming.