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."

I didn't react. I kept my face blank, my body still, even as my heart started pounding.  


Jay stepped closer, the chain in his hand jangling as he knelt by my ankle. I stayed calm, keeping my breaths steady, my gaze fixed on the floor. When the chain fell away with a metallic clink, I felt a surge of adrenaline spike through me.  


I lunged at him with everything I had left, my hands clawing at his shirt as I shoved him backward. Jay's eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked genuinely startled.  


Jay loved that gun. He carried it like an extension of himself, pulling it out at the slightest hint of a threat. But now, as I threw my weight against him, he didn't reach for it. He didn't even try.  


Chapter 80 - CHAPTER 80