DAY 3
Xenia blinked up at the ceiling.
Faded white paint. A lone crack slicing through it like a lightning scar, jagged and stubborn. The kind of ceiling that belonged to a quiet, lived-in apartment. The kind of ceiling that had seen spilled coffee, weekend naps, maybe a forgotten birthday balloon still floating months after the party.
Not the kind of ceiling you expected to wake up to in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
For a moment, her brain floated in that hazy purgatory between sleep and wakefulness. And then... bam... everything came flooding back like a freight train to the chest.
Bodies. Blood. Shrieking in the streets. The cold slap of fear. Running barefoot through a city that had decided to devour itself. The acrid scent of smoke. The taste of the coffee cappuccino. The echo of her own heartbeat trying to punch its way out of her ribcage.
She sat up slowly, limbs stiff and uncooperative. Rafaela was curled up beside her on the mattress like a comma, her chest rising and falling in peaceful little waves. Her face was soft in sleep... like none of it had happened. Like the world hadn't tilted off its axis while they were still clinging to the edge.
Xenia slipped out from under the blanket, legs shaky, and padded barefoot across the floor to the small built-in closet. When she opened it, the mirror on the inside of the door caught her full reflection.
Yikes.
Rafaela's oversized hoodie drooped off one shoulder and her hair... once a pride poin... had gone full disaster ponytail. Dark bags sat beneath her eyes like war paint for the emotionally wrecked.
"…Still real," she muttered to herself.
Then she quietly shut the door and made her way downstairs.
The smell of coffee hit first... blessed, blessed coffee.
Rafe stood in the kitchen, already awake, already dressed in a plain gray sando and black joggers. He looked unfairly put together, like some brooding model from a survivalist calendar. He sipped silently from a matte ceramic mug, not bothering to look at her.
Before she could say anything, he slid a second mug across the counter without a word.
Xenia blinked. "…Thanks."
He gave a single nod.
She walked over and took the seat at the small breakfast table, the planner she'd scribbled in the night before waiting like a loyal companion. She opened it slowly. Pages covered in messy handwriting and uneven bullet points stared back. Doodles of barricades. Makeshift maps. Emergency lists.
One phrase sat circled, twice:
Survive. Strategize. Supply Run.
Her eyes narrowed. She took a sip of coffee and started mentally running through the list of potential teammates.
Jecipher? Too loud like a drama drag queen. Might try to reason with the infected like he was on a reality show.
Rafaela? Brave, bright, and reliable... but Rafe turned into a stressed-out superhero whenever she was in danger. A walking anxiety spiral.
Rafe? Skilled. Capable. Like a veteran fighter, maybe? Or at least gym bro turned Samurai. But couldn't focus with Rafaela nearby. Too protective. Too tense.
Herself? Well. She'd survived Nero Café. Escaped barefoot. Held her own. Maybe not fearless... but definitely not fragile.
She took another sip.
Behind her, Rafe finally spoke... voice low, even, like he'd been waiting for the right moment to break the silence.
"Can't decide who's best for the task?"
Xenia glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes still sharp from caffeine and resolve. "No. I already decided. I'm just assuming you won't like it."
His brow arched slightly. "Go on."
She closed the planner with a soft but decisive snap and turned to face him. "We're going scavenging for supplies."
He blinked, once. "We?"
"Yes," she said, firm and steady, locking eyes with him across the kitchen.
Rafe placed his mug down with care, folding his arms across his chest. His stance was calm, but the tension in his shoulders didn't lie. "Xenia, that's not... "
"I handled myself yesterday," she said, cutting him off before he could derail the conversation. Her tone wasn't defensive... just honest. "I made it back here in one piece. No shoes. No map. No backup. Just a kitchen knife and a broken bat. And I still survived."
"You had me."
"You were saving your sister," she replied, softer now. Not accusing... just factual. "I stayed alive on my own. You saw that."
A long pause settled between them like fog. Only the fridge hummed behind them and the faint sound of wind whistled at the windowpane.
"I'm not saying I'm some action movie hero," she went on. "I'm saying I'm not dead weight. I can contribute. I can think. I don't freeze under pressure."
Rafe didn't reply immediately. His silence wasn't cold... it was thoughtful. He studied her for a long beat, as if measuring not just her words, but the weight she carried behind them.
Finally, he said quietly, "You're still not going alone."
"I don't want to."
He exhaled through his nose and leaned back a little, arms still crossed. "So, who's your pick? Please don't say Jecipher."
Xenia snorted, unable to help the smirk that pulled at her lips. "God, no. He'd try to trade canned food for bath bombs or something."
"Rafaela?"
"She's brave, yeah. But if something happened to her out there, you'd combust like Mentos in soda."
He didn't even try to argue.
"So," he asked, tilting his head, "who then?"
She gave him a grin. "You and me. The apocalypse duo."
Rafe stared at her flatly. "That's what we're calling it now?"
"Unless you've got a better name. I'm workshopping it. I'm open to any feedback."
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath. Probably a prayer for patience. "Fine. But I'm leading."
"Obviously... Professor Lysandros" she replied, grabbing her coffee again with exaggerated grace. "You're the muscle. I'm the brains."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
He turned, walked over to the supply shelf, and started checking his gear... backpack, gloves, and that ridiculous but effective katana he kept by the door.
"We leave at nine-thirty," he said without looking back.
"Got it."
As he moved into the hallway, she stared down at her planner again. Her pen hovered for a second, then she pressed it hard to the page and underlined one word in thick, confident strokes:
MISSION: GET. STUFF. & FIND ZOE.
Because that girl... her friend, her roommate, her ride-or-die through finals and heartbreak... was still out there somewhere. And Xenia wasn't the type to sit still while the world fell apart and the people she loved went missing.
"Let's raid the houses near your place first," Xenia said, peering out the window of Rafe's apartment. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the edge of her planner, a pen twirling restlessly in her other hand.
Rafe raised a skeptical brow, arms crossed like a shield. "Those are my neighbors. You want to rob my them?"
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Chill. We're not robbing anyone. We're scavenging for survival. If someone's still in there, we help them. If not… well, supplies don't collect themselves."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You explain things as if you've already done them before."
"Force of habit," she muttered, flipping a page in her planner. "Valedictorian life."
He shook his head with a groan. "Alright, alright. Let's just go before I overthink this and talk myself out of letting you lead."