The sun was not up yet when Kenji stirred. The diner was cold, the air still smelling faintly of old grease and dried blood. Rei was still fast asleep against his shoulder, her breathing soft and even. Across the room, Akane sat in a booth, sipping from a bottle of water and watching the dark windows like a hawk.
"We are low on food," she said quietly as soon as she noticed him awake. "If we don't restock today, we'll all be starving by nightfall."
Kenji knew she was right. The few snacks and canned goods they'd taken from the cafeteria were nearly gone.
By the time everyone was up, they had a plan—Rei, Kenji, and Tetsuo would head into the small strip of shops down the road to scavenge. Akane would stay back with the others and keep the van ready in case they needed to bolt.
The streets were eerily quiet as they moved. Every shadow felt heavier. Every sound carried too far.
They hit the first two stores—both already looted, shelves stripped bare. But as they rounded the corner toward the last one, a faint noise drifted from inside.
A voice.
It was low, desperate, and female.
Kenji raised a hand for silence and crept forward, peeking through the cracked glass door of a small clothing boutique.
That's when he saw her.
She was crouched behind the counter, clutching a steel pipe, her long black hair in disarray. Her clothes were torn—what remained of a red cocktail dress clung to her curves in ways that made Kenji's throat tighten despite the danger. A jagged tear ran from her thigh to her hip, revealing smooth, pale skin streaked with dirt and blood.
Her eyes met his through the glass, wide, pleading, alive.
Then a guttural snarl tore through the silence.
Three zombies shambled from the back of the store toward her. She swung the pipe, catching one in the jaw, but the others closed in.
Kenji didn't hesitate. He kicked the door open, bat swinging hard. Bone cracked, flesh split. Rei darted past him, knife flashing, and Tetsuo's shotgun blew the last one off its feet in a spray of gore.
The woman collapsed against the counter, breathing hard.
"Are you hurt?" Rei asked, kneeling beside her.
The woman shook her head, but her hands trembled. "I—I thought I was dead." Her voice was smoky, almost sultry despite her fear. "My name's Eri. Eri Nakahara."
Kenji froze for half a beat—he knew that name. She was a local socialite, widowed last year, and rumored to own half the shops in this district.
They helped her to her feet, and it became clear the dress wasn't just torn from the fight—it had been like this when they found her. She clung to Kenji a second longer than necessary when he steadied her, her perfume faint but intoxicating after days of blood and sweat.
"I owe you my life," she said softly, her gaze lingering on him. "I'll do anything to repay it."
Tetsuo muttered something under his breath, but Kenji ignored him.
"Right now," Kenji said, "repaying us means surviving."
They left the boutique with a handful of supplies, Eri sticking close to Kenji as they moved. She was quick on her feet, but every so often, her hand brushed his arm, her eyes catching his in a way that made his pulse jump.
When they returned to the diner, Akane raised an eyebrow at the sight of her.
"And who," Akane asked flatly, "is she?"
Kenji didn't answer right away, because he already knew this was going to get complicated.