In a post-apocalyptic world, you'll find four main types of people. Those who fight with all their might "the hunters." The ones who leech and exploit others "the pests." The predators, who see everyone as prey. And lastly, we have "the survivors," the resilient ones who never give up.

Everyone often fits into one category, but it's hard to determine which one Maya falls into. She's not exactly a fighter, considering leaving her room was a chore even before the apocalypse. A predator? No way—she's always been a pushover.

You might think she's a survivor, but that's laughable. She'd rather die from starvation than resort to scavenging. So, how should we categorize her? leeche? Nope.

Perhaps a new category is needed: "The Lost"—those struggling to find their place in a shattered world."

"Answer me!" I screamed, my voice echoing against the cold concrete walls.  


His hands stilled for a moment, the rolled-up bandage pausing in midair. Slowly, he turned toward me, his expression eerily calm, almost serene. The contrast between his placid face and the hellish scene around me sent a chill down my spine.  


The sound of his palm meeting my face cut me off mid-sentence. My head snapped to the side, pain blossoming across my cheek like fire. A sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth, and I realized I had bitten the inside of my cheek. My chin burned, the skin tingling as if the nerves beneath had been seared.  


For a moment, I just sat there, stunned, the world tilting as I tried to process what had just happened.  


Slowly, I turned my head back to face him, my breathing ragged. His gaze locked onto mine, and the sight made my stomach churn.  


Chapter 65 - CHAPTER 65