Riley’s breathing turned ragged, her body trembling as she stared at her own hands, at the dark veins creeping across her skin. A sickening realization settled into her features—one that made her chest rise and fall in sharp, panicked gasps.

  "No… no, no, no," she whispered, her voice barely there, as if saying it aloud would make it less real. "I can’t—I don’t—Hugo, I don’t want to turn into one of them—"

  Hugo crouched beside her, gripping her shoulder, steady but gentle. "Riley, breathe."

  She tried, but her whole body was shaking. Her hands fisted in her sweat-damp shirt as if she could cw the infection out of herself. "I don’t—I don’t want to be one of those things," she choked out. "I can’t—I won’t."

  Hugo clenched his jaw. He had seen people infected before. He had killed them before. But this was Riley. This was different.

  "You won’t," he murmured, keeping his voice steady, even as something heavy pressed down on his chest. "I’m here. I’m not leaving."

  She swallowed hard, but the panic in her eyes didn’t fade. "You don’t get it," she gasped. "I—I didn’t even know—I thought—"

  Hugo’s grip tightened slightly. "Tell me what happened."

  She sucked in a shaky breath, forcing herself to focus. "Yesterday—before you saved me—I got bitten. Not by a zombie, I swear, it was just this… small thing. Some kind of animal. I didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t a walker, it wasn’t—" Her voice cracked. "I didn’t know. I didn’t know."

  Hugo felt the weight of her words settle deep into his gut. Before the st reset.

  There was nothing he could do. No way to go back far enough to stop it. The infection had already been inside her when they had met. This whole time… she was already doomed.

  He exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into a fist on his knee. Hopeless.

  Riley’s eyes darted to him, wild and desperate. "Hugo, please," she whispered. "I don’t want to go out like that. Don’t let me turn into one of them."

  His throat felt tight. "I won’t."

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back, her expression twisting in frustration, anger, fear. "God, this is so messed up," she muttered. "I thought we had more time. I thought—I thought I’d die fighting, not… like this. Not rotting away."

  Hugo sat back against the wall, looking at her—really looking at her. Her body was burning up, her skin slick with fever, but underneath all of that, she was still Riley. And she was terrified.

  "I’m not leaving," he repeated. "I’ll stay with you. Until the end."

  A shaky breath escaped her lips, something between a ugh and a sob. "You always this stubborn?"

  "Yeah."

  She sniffed, wiping at her face, but the tears were still there. "Not fair. I just met you, and now I gotta die."

  Hugo swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I know."

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then let out another unsteady breath. "Do I—do I have time? Before… you know."

  Hugo hesitated. "A little."

  She nodded, opening her eyes again, searching his face. "Talk to me. Just—just talk to me, okay? I don’t want to think about it. Not yet."

  He nodded. "Alright. What do you want to talk about?"

  She gave a weak, lopsided smile. "Tell me about your restaurant."

  His lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. "It was a good pce. Busy, loud. The kind of job where you don’t think, you just work. I liked that."

  She hummed. "Bet you made the best food."

  "You’ll never know now."

  She let out a breathy ugh. "Damn shame. Could’ve used a good meal before the apocalypse got me."

  Silence settled between them for a long moment, only the sound of her uneven breathing filling the space. Then she whispered, "I’m scared."

  Hugo’s chest ached, but he didn’t let it show. "I know."

  She looked at him, eyes searching. "You’re not?"

  He was. He was furious. At the world. At himself. But he wasn’t scared for himself. He was scared for her.

  "I’ve seen worse," he said quietly. "But yeah. I am."

  She gave him a weak nod. "Not much we can do, huh?"

  "Not this time."

  She exhaled slowly. "Guess we just wait, then."

  Hugo nodded. And he did. He waited. He sat with her, talking until her words slurred, until exhaustion pulled her under.

  She would never wake up as Riley again.

  Hugo watched her, his chest tightening with every shallow breath she took. He had lost people before. But this—this was different. This was Riley.

  His hands trembled as he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her against him. She stirred slightly, her fevered body shivering against his own. "Hugo…?"

  "I’m here," he whispered, his voice thick. "I won’t let you suffer."

  Her fingers weakly gripped his jacket, her body too exhausted to resist. "Thank you," she breathed, barely above a whisper.

  Hugo swallowed hard, his vision blurring as he raised his gun, pressing the barrel gently against the side of her head. His grip was steady, his resolve unwavering.

  "I’m sorry," he murmured, his voice breaking. He pressed a soft kiss against her hair, his st act of mercy.

  Then, he pulled the trigger.

  The gunshot echoed through the empty building, cutting through the stillness like a final, cruel punctuation. Hugo didn’t move. He held Riley’s lifeless body in his arms, her weight pressing into him, but he felt nothing. No tears came. No anger. Just an emptiness so deep it swallowed everything inside him.

  Salem crept closer, his small frame pressing against Hugo’s side. The cat let out a soft, pitiful meow before curling into his p, as if sensing that nothing he did could fix what had just happened.

  Hugo sat there for a long time, staring at nothing, his hand still tangled in Riley’s cooling hair. The world outside didn’t matter. The walkers, the ruined city, none of it mattered.

  His mind drifted, unbidden, to Frank. To the old man he had tried to save, to the countless times he had failed.

  How many more times would he fail before it finally stopped mattering?

  He didn’t know.

  But he did know one thing.

  This wasn’t the outcome he wanted.

  His fingers tightened around his gun, his breath slow and even. Salem let out another soft noise, nudging at his chest, but Hugo didn’t react.

  He raised the barrel to his own temple and pulled the trigger.

  Hugo gasped awake, the familiar ceiling of the van staring back at him. The weight of failure pressed down on his chest like a stone. His hands twitched, remembering the cold steel of the gun against his skin, but it was gone.

  Riley was still there. Peacefully sleeping beside him, unaware of the fate she had just escaped.

  He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. Four times now. Four times he had failed to save her.

  His eyes flickered to Salem, curled up beside him, blinking sleepily. Hugo reached out and scooped the cat up, pulling him close. "Stay here," he murmured, pcing Salem next to Riley. The cat let out a soft noise but didn’t move, settling against her warmth.

  Hugo quietly opened the van door and slipped outside. The city stretched before him, silent and broken. He scanned the streets, his mind already working.

  Downtown had always been full of coffee shops. Finding one wouldn’t be hard.

  After some time running through the empty streets, dodging small groups of walkers, he spotted one—an old Italian café with its windows shattered but its signage still barely intact. He slipped inside, moving quickly. The shelves were mostly picked clean, but after some digging, he found an old tin of coffee grounds, untouched in the back of a cabinet. Then, his eyes nded on something else—a cssic Italian stovetop coffee maker, still on dispy.

  A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Perfect.

  The moment was short-lived. A low groan sounded behind him.

  Walkers.

  Hugo spun, raising his gun. The fight wasn’t long, but it was enough to waste precious time. By the time he dispatched them and got out, the sun was creeping further across the sky.

  Hugo exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He wasn’t done yet. If he was going to make this work, he needed more than just food and supplies—he needed a way to cook.

  A camping stove.

  It took longer than he wanted. He moved through the city carefully, searching old stores, abandoned homes, anywhere that might have been stocked before everything fell apart. After what felt like an hour of searching, he finally found one in the back of an old sporting goods shop. It was covered in dust but still intact, along with a few small gas canisters.

  "Good enough," he muttered He moved fast, retracing his way back to the van, already regretting how long he had taken.

  As soon as he got close, his stomach dropped.

  The van door was open.

  Riley was gone.

  Hugo’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t waste time searching blindly. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay focused. It wasn’t that he didn’t care where she was—he did. But in the end, it didn’t matter. He was going to restart the day anyway.

  Instead, he made a decision.

  He turned away from the van and set his course straight for his old restaurant.

  It took time, but he made good pace, avoiding rge groups of walkers and keeping to the shadows. By the time he reached the ruined facade of his old workpce, the sun had dipped lower in the sky.

  The restaurant was still standing, the windows cracked but not fully shattered, the doors hanging on loose hinges. Inside, the air was stale, carrying the faint scent of old grease and decay. Three zombies lingered near the bar, their sluggish movements slow and aimless.

  Hugo took them out quickly, wasting no more than a few bullets.

  Once the pce was clear, he took a slow look around. It was retively intact—enough that he could work with it.

  His fingers traced the edge of an old countertop as he moved through the kitchen, his mind already working. If this was going to be a pce worth returning to in the next loop, he needed to know what was still here.

  He scoured every shelf, every cabinet, every storage space, noting exactly what was left behind—spices, good silverware, an expensive bottle of wine still tucked away in the manager’s office. He memorized everything, knowing that the next time he came back, he’d grab them faster.

  The restaurant wasn’t perfect. But it would do.

  He brought his gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  Hugo gasped awake, the familiar ceiling of the van staring back at him.

  His eyes flickered to Salem, curled up beside him, blinking sleepily. Hugo reached out and scooped the cat up, pulling him close. "Stay here," he murmured, pcing Salem next to Riley. The cat let out a soft noise but didn’t move, settling against her warmth.

  Hugo reached over and gently shook Riley’s shoulder. She stirred, blinking groggily. "What?"

  "I’ll be gone for a bit," he said quietly. "Wait for me."

  She frowned sleepily but didn’t argue. "Fine. Just don’t take too long."

  Without another word, Hugo slipped out of the van. He moved fast, more efficient than ever, retracing his steps to the café, looting the coffee and the old Italian coffee maker in record time. He dispatched a few walkers on his way to the sporting goods store, grabbing the camping stove and gas canisters without hesitation.

  By the time he returned to the van, dawn was barely breaking. He set up near the van, quietly brewing the coffee, the rich aroma filling the cold morning air.

  A few moments ter, Riley stirred, her nose twitching. She blinked awake, confused. "Wait… is that—"

  "Coffee," Hugo said simply, pouring her a cup.

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes, before giving him an incredulous look. "Where the hell did you get coffee?"

  Hugo smirked slightly, handing her the cup. "Told you to wait for me."

  She took it, still looking at him like he had just performed a miracle, before taking a careful sip. Her shoulders rexed instantly. "Holy shit. I forgot what real coffee tastes like."

  Salem curled into her p, content, as she savored another sip.