The Rezvani rolled quiet under the shadow of the rail line. The city stretched ahead in broken blocks and gutted apartments, its silence heavy after the chaos of the underpass. Every groan and scrape of metal seemed too loud.

Riku drove slow, one hand tight on the wheel, eyes scanning both mirrors every few seconds. Suzune sat shotgun, rifle across her lap, head swiveling like a watchtower. In the back, Hana leaned against Miko's shoulder, still clutching her blanket. Ichika had the walkie pressed against her knee, fiddling with the dial out of habit.

They'd been driving thirty minutes when the sound came.

Not a moan. Not the growl of raiders' engines. A voice.

"—hey! You there! Vehicle! Stop!"

Everyone froze.

The words echoed down from a cracked building two stories tall. A faint light flickered from one of its upper windows, a handheld lantern waving side to side.

Riku cursed under his breath and eased the Rezvani into gear. He didn't stop. He rolled forward slow, just past the intersection, until they were half-hidden behind a rusted truck.

The voice came again, louder this time. "Wait! Don't go! We're alive in here! Please!"

Hana's head popped up. "Onii-chan, it's people!"

"Could be," Riku said flatly.

Ichika leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Could also be bait."

Suzune's voice was level. "He showed a light. Raiders don't advertise. They'd stalk, not shout."

Miko bit her lip, holding Hana closer. "But… if it's real…"

Riku's hands tightened on the wheel. He hated decisions like this. Too much risk either way. Ignore them, and maybe leave innocents to die. Stop, and maybe walk right into a trap.

The lantern bobbed again. This time the voice was clearer—older, rough with exhaustion. "We've got a kid! Please, we just want help!"

That changed everything. All eyes shifted to Hana instinctively.

Suzune murmured, "He knows what to say."

"But what if it's true?" Miko whispered.

Riku made the call. "We check. Careful."

He pulled the Rezvani into the curb, still idling. "Ichika, stay in back with Hana. Keep doors locked. Miko, with me. Suzune covers. Quick. Quiet. If it stinks, we're gone."

Hana's face twisted with worry. "Don't leave long…"

"I won't," Riku said.

They moved fast. Riku and Miko slipped out, rifles low. Suzune took a knee by the Rezvani's hood, scope angled up at the window. The lantern flashed again. A figure leaned out, waving.

"Top floor! Left side!" the man shouted. "Stairs are clear!"

Riku motioned to Miko. They crossed the street, boots crunching glass. The building's front door hung half-broken, propped open with a chair. Inside smelled of mildew and dust.

The lobby was empty—old reception desk, broken vending machine. Riku scanned corners, then angled for the stairwell. No bodies, no drag marks. Just dust.

They climbed. On the second floor, Riku held a fist up and listened. Silence, except for the faint hum of the lantern above.

At the top, a makeshift barricade of overturned furniture blocked the hall. A man crouched behind it. He wasn't raider stock. His beard was weeks old, his coat patched with tape, his hands shaking as he held the lantern.

When he saw them, relief flooded his face. He dropped the light and raised both hands.

"God… thank you. Thought nobody would ever stop."

Riku's rifle never lowered. "How many?"

"Two of us," the man said quickly. "Me and my daughter. She's—" He glanced back into the room. "She's sick. Fever. I can't move her. Please, we just need medicine. Food if you've got any. Anything."

Miko's eyes softened, but she didn't speak.

Riku studied him. His clothes were ragged, but his eyes were too clear for a raider. No gang marks. No weapon in sight except a kitchen knife at his belt. The barricade behind him was clumsy, not staged.

"Show me," Riku said.

The man nodded frantically. He pulled the furniture aside and led them into a small apartment.

The girl lay on a mattress by the far wall. Ten, maybe eleven. Sweat slicked her pale forehead, her chest rising and falling too fast. A rag rested on her brow.

Miko gasped and moved closer, kneeling at the girl's side. "She's burning up."

"I know," the man whispered, voice cracking. "I don't… I don't know what to do anymore."

Riku's eyes flicked over the room. No food. No packs. Just scraps of cans and bottles. They'd been here a while, hiding, waiting for a miracle.

Miko looked at him, eyes pleading. "We can't just walk away."

He exhaled through his nose. He hated this part.

"Name?" Riku asked the man.

"Kenji." His voice shook. "Her name's Yui."

Riku studied him a long second, then lowered his rifle—slightly. "We'll talk. But nothing stupid. My people don't forgive stupid."

Kenji nodded so fast it looked painful.

Back at the Rezvani, Suzune's rifle stayed trained until she saw Riku wave. They brought Kenji down, slow and careful, Yui bundled in Miko's arms under the blanket. Hana peeked over the seat when she saw the girl.

"She's little too," Hana whispered.

Yui's eyes fluttered half-open, then closed again.

Inside the truck, space was cramped. Suzune kept her weapon close, eyes never leaving Kenji. Ichika muttered, "We can't babysit strays. We can't even feed ourselves."

"She's sick," Miko snapped.

"And if she dies in here? You want a body in the truck with Hana sitting next to it?"

The words hit sharp. Hana flinched.

"Enough," Riku cut in. "We help. For now."

He drove them two streets down into a covered garage and killed the engine. They set up camp inside, shadows deep, doors chained shut with wire.

Suzune handled security. Ichika sulked but obeyed. Miko tended Yui, cooling her forehead, feeding her sips of water. Hana sat nearby, whispering little reassurances that Yui couldn't hear.

Kenji sat across from Riku, hands clasped tight. "I can work. I'll carry, I'll stand watch, I'll do whatever you say. Just don't leave her."

Riku didn't answer right away. He watched the man sweat, watched his desperation. He'd seen this before—stragglers latching onto stronger groups, sometimes good, sometimes bad. But the girl changed things.

Finally, he said, "You carry your weight, you stay. You don't, you go. Clear?"

Kenji nodded hard. "Clear."

The hours passed heavy.

Yui stirred once, mumbling for her mother. Miko smoothed her hair back. Hana sat close until sleep pulled her down, blanket bunched under her chin. Suzune kept her post at the door, eyes sharp, rifle across her lap. Ichika turned her back to them all, pretending not to watch.

Riku cleaned his rifle in silence, motions slow and deliberate. Every so often his gaze drifted to the map. West was no longer the only word in his head. For the first time in days, there was a new weight to consider: trust.

Kenji leaned against the wall, eyes closing just for a second before snapping open again, afraid he'd miss something.

Riku looked at him and said flatly, "Sleep when you can. Tomorrow won't be easier."

Kenji swallowed and nodded. He looked down at his daughter, then back up at Riku. "Thank you."

Riku didn't answer. He just set the rifle down, stood, and took the first watch.

By morning, the air outside was heavy with fog. The city lay hidden under a pale veil. Somewhere far off, a gunshot cracked, then silence returned.

Inside the garage, Yui's breathing had steadied a little. Not healed, but alive. Hana sat beside her again, whispering stories about "how Onii-chan always wins." Miko smiled faintly at the sound.

Suzune joined Riku by the doorway. "So. We've got new weight."

"Yeah," he said.

"You trust him?"

"No," Riku said simply. "But the kid… she changes the math."

Suzune's mouth tightened. She didn't argue.

Riku glanced back once more at the group—Miko soothing, Hana smiling, Yui fighting for every breath, Kenji clutching hope like a weapon.

For the first time in weeks, the Rezvani wasn't just carrying survivors. It was carrying something rarer.

A chance at family.

And that was a different kind of risk altogether.

Riku stayed at the doorway long after Suzune had sat back down. The fog pressed heavy outside, curling between broken pillars and husks of cars. Every sound seemed louder in it—the drip of water, the scuttle of rats, the creak of the garage door shifting in the breeze. He listened anyway, jaw tight, rifle leaning against his shoulder.

Behind him, Kenji whispered something soft to his daughter, a broken prayer that trailed off when he realized Riku was listening. Hana giggled once in her sleep, her blanket sliding to the floor before Miko pulled it back up. Even Ichika, stubborn as she was, had dozed with her hand resting on the walkie, like she still didn't trust silence.

For a brief moment, the garage almost felt safe. Four walls, a roof, breathing people. But Riku knew better. Safety didn't exist out here—only pauses between disasters. And now, with Kenji and Yui, they weren't just a group of survivors anymore. They were something bigger, something slower. Something easier to spot.

He closed his eyes once, just long enough to feel the weight of it. Then he opened them again and whispered to himself, the words sharp as a promise.

"Tomorrow, we move."

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