Dust hung thick in the air, clinging to sweat and turning everything the same shade of gray. The city was a graveyard of glass and twisted metal. Somewhere, a car alarm chirped weakly, a dying bird.

Then he saw you.

You were pressed against the inside of an overturned kiosk, a mess of bent aluminum and shattered plexiglass. Your hands were scraped raw, your clothes torn, and there was a streak of something dark across your cheek. Your eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on him. You looked like a ghost yourself.