A ripple passed through the group—fear, relief, uncertainty all mixed together.
The five women leaned in closer to Giana, their faces pale from exhaustion and the ever-present sense of danger that clung to them like a second skin.
Giana's jaw tightened.
"Three people… inside a house this deep in the dead zone? That's not normal."
"Maybe they're like us," whispered Delia, the youngest of the five.
Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched her pistol, knuckles white.
"Or maybe they're worse," muttered Suri darkly. "Humans are more dangerous than zombies nowadays."
No one disagreed.
Giana surveyed their surroundings with cautious eyes. The house looked sturdy—too sturdy.
The windows weren't boarded with scrap wood but reinforced with metal panels.
The front yard, though dark, had a strange orderliness to it.
Even the cracked stone path leading to the doorway felt… maintained.
People lived here. Thrived, even.
And that was terrifying in its own way.
