Chapter 3

Ember froze at the top of the stairwell. Moonlight spilled through broken windows, slanting across the lobby in pale, dusty beams. No electricity, no hum of lights—just shadows shifting in the corners.

The first floor lay open and empty at first glance, but she knew better. Shapes drifted through the gloom, hunched and slow, noses lifting, ears twitching. The air smelled of dust, mildew, and decay.

Time to move.

She slid down the stairs one step at a time, boots whispering over worn wood. Every floorboard that groaned or cracked made her pause, eyes snapping to the shadows.

Near the front desk, she spotted three walkers. Another leaned against a vending machine, swaying slightly, its head lolling. Four total. Manageable.

She hugged the wall, staying in the dark, letting moonlight outline the nearest figure. Knife ready, she moved closer, stalking between furniture, debris, and shadow.

A swift stab. A body goes limp. No sound beyond the faint scuff of shoes on floor.

Second walker—she slinks behind chairs, freezing whenever a shadow shifts. A quick thrust, and it falls.

Two more. Too close together for silent knife work. She pulls the pistol from her belt, suppressor on.

Three steps back. Breathe. Aim.

Pop. Pop.

Bodies collapse. Moonlight catches their empty eyes, their open mouths.

She stays pressed to the wall, counting heartbeats, scanning every corner, every doorway. No movement.

The badge had to be somewhere on this floor.

Her hand brushes over the cold, chipped wood of the front desk. Shadows deepen, and her eyes adjust.

Ember crouched low, stepping into the lobby’s deeper shadows. Moonlight from broken windows slanted across the floor, revealing overturned chairs and scattered papers.

She moved slowly, listening. Every creak of the floorboards made her freeze. A walker shuffled just around a corner, its head twitching toward a sound she hadn’t made. She pressed herself against the wall, barely daring to breathe.

Sliding between desks, she peered into an open office. A walker there sniffed at a broken chair. She counted—one, two, three. Too many to handle with just a knife.

She eased the pistol from her belt, suppressor in place, and aimed at the farthest figure. Two quiet pops, two bodies crumpling to the floor.

Still, others stirred. A distant moan echoed down the hall. She ducked behind a counter, eyes scanning each doorway.

A shadow moved closer. Ember pressed against the wall, heart hammering. The walker hadn’t noticed her yet—but it was getting closer. Her fingers tightened around the knife handle. She’d have to move.

Moonlight leaked through narrow windows, drawing thin silver lines across the floor. Ember kept her shoulders low, hatchet in hand, pistol holstered but ready.

The first hallway stretched left and right, darker than she liked. She listened—quiet groans, slow steps, the soft drag of something across tile. Too many sounds to count.

She chose the left corridor.

Her boots moved in small, silent shifts. She avoided loose paper, broken pens, anything that could snap underfoot. Each open doorway got a quick look. Most rooms were empty—desks overturned, chairs pushed into corners, dust thick on every surface.

Then—movement.

A walker stood near a filing cabinet, back turned, shoulders trembling with slow, automatic breaths. Ember leaned in, scanning the corners. No other shapes.

She slid behind it, one careful step after another. When she was close enough to see the grime on its hair, she struck—knife driving hard into the temple. The body sagged; she caught it under the arms and lowered it to the floor without a sound.

She wiped the blade on her sleeve.

Keep going.

The next room had two walkers. Both hunched over a desk, sniffing at something she couldn’t see. She waited, watching their patterns—slow turn, pause, slow turn again. When their backs lined up, she moved.

The hatchet came down once. A soft, wet crack.

The second head snapped toward her.

Ember darted forward, driving her knife into its eye. It fell against her, and she pushed it off, chest heaving from the sudden burst of effort. She listened. Silence. No one else coming ... yet.

She kept moving.

Farther down the hall, a sharp clatter echoed—metal rolling on tile. Ember froze. Someone—or something—had knocked over a cup in one of the rooms.

A shadow shuffled into the doorway ahead.

This one was big. Shoulders wide, arms dragging. Too dangerous up close.

She pulled the pistol free, aimed low, breathed out.