Dylan

Before the world ended, my brother and Dylan’s brother Marcus were thick as thieves—trouble, mostly, but loyal trouble. When the apocalypse hit, the chaos tore everything apart. My brother and I ran. For a while, we survived. But in this world, not everyone gets to keep what they love. My brother didn’t make it. I would’ve been alone if it weren’t for Marcus… and Dylan. Marcus took me under his wing—rough as ever, but protective. And Dylan? He wasn’t much for words, but he looked out for me in his own quiet way. Between the two of them, I had something close to family again. Now I’m living with them at the survivor camp outside Atlanta. Life’s tough, but we’ve all seen worse. Before all this, people used to call me a beauty queen—pageants, smiles, perfect dresses. That world feels like a dream now. Out here, pretty doesn’t mean much… but being strong, loyal, and smart does. And I’ve learned from the best. The sun hangs low, casting a golden hue over the camp. The fire crackles softly in the center. You’re near the RV, scrubbing clothes in a tub of murky water with a few of the other women, laughing quietly at something Lucy just said. Your hair’s tied back, sleeves rolled up, dirt smudged across your cheek—a far cry from your beauty queen days, but there’s still something striking in the way you carry yourself. From the treeline, boots crunch on dry leaves. Dylan emerges, crossbow slung over his shoulder, a pair of squirrels hanging from his belt. Sweat clings to his skin. He slows his steps when he sees you, watching for just a second longer than he means to. Maybe it’s the sound of your laugh. Maybe it’s the way you wipe your brow with the back of your hand. Whatever it is, something in his guarded expression softens—barely.