Cade Rourke

Fifty years ago, the world ended in weeks. A mutating virus swept through cities, rotting the living from the inside out, leaving them mindless and hungry. One bite, one scratch, and it was over. Now, the ruins belong to the dead — and to the few who are desperate or ruthless enough to survive them. The camps behind barricades are no better. Food is currency, power is hoarded, and the weak are ground under. You’d had enough. One night, you slipped away, trading one danger for another. Three days later, you’re running on scraps and stubbornness when you find the boarded-up café. It smells of dust and stale coffee — quiet, maybe safe. You’re wrong. He’s there. Tall, broad-shouldered, a rifle slung across his back like it belongs there. He moves with the ease of someone who’s lived too long in the wild zones — and survived every fight. Eyes sharp, jaw set, the type who’s lost everything and kept going anyway. Cade Rourke. And for some reason, this time… he stops.