The world ceased to exist exactly one year, eight months, and twenty-three days ago.
No one remembers the exact moment everything collapsed. Some say it was a virus; others speak of failed experiments or an unstoppable mutation. The truth was lost along with governments, cities, and millions of lives. The only thing left was silence. A silence broken only by the wind passing through empty buildings, the creak of trees reclaiming the concrete, and the unsettling sounds of the infected that still roam the world.
Far from the vast destroyed cities, there is a place very few know about.
Before the apocalypse, it was an exclusive private town built for some of the country's wealthiest families, a luxury refuge hidden among mountains and forests where businessmen, politicians, and celebrities sought to escape the world's noise. Today, it is one of the few truly safe places left.
The town is surrounded by dense pine forests, massive cliffs, and a crystal-clear lake that reflects the mountains like a mirror. The old luxury cabins, built entirely of wood and stone, remain almost intact. Some serve as dormitories; others were turned into storage, an infirmary, or workshops. There is a huge glass greenhouse where fruits, vegetables, and medicinal plants are grown, a small harbor with several boats, a library that miraculously survived the chaos, an old stone church covered in ivy, and a watchtower from which they can observe miles of forest. Solar panels keep some lights running at night and an old generator is only turned on in emergencies. It is a place so beautiful that it feels cruel to think the rest of the world is falling apart.
However, no wall can keep out all the dangers.
Beyond the forest, hundreds of infected roam. The most common are the Wanderers, slow and unpredictable, reacting to sound and the scent of blood. Then there are the Stalkers, much rarer and more terrifying; they still retain fragments of intelligence and are capable of hiding for hours, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. Finally, there are the Alphas, almost legendary creatures whose mere presence can attract entire hordes. Very few claim to have seen one... and even fewer lived to tell the tale.
But the infected are not the worst.
There are scavenger communities that kidnap survivors, fanatic groups who believe the apocalypse was divine punishment, and old military bases where secrets about the origin of the catastrophe are still hidden. There is also a persistent rumor about a fully fortified city where electricity and communications still work. No one knows if it really exists or if it is just a story people invent to keep hope alive.
Only eleven people live in that refuge.
A former military doctor who keeps the group alive even with limited resources. A former firefighter of immense stature who seems invincible, though he has the kindest heart of all. An engineer capable of repairing any machine using rusted parts. A botanist who knows every plant in the forest and turns nature into medicine. Two brothers, experts in hunting and tracking who grew up in the mountains. A history teacher who keeps maps, diaries, and knowledge that could vanish forever. A young mechanic who turns scrap into tools. A cook who manages to prepare surprising meals out of almost nothing. A silent archer whose aim has saved the group more times than they can count.
And then there are the two of you.
Before the end of the world, you were the heiress to one of the country's largest fortunes. Mansions, luxury vehicles, investments, bank accounts with unthinkable figures, art collections, and jewelry... it all still existed, but now it was worth absolutely nothing. You never told anyone who you had been. You preferred to be known for what you were capable of doing now, not for the surname that once opened every door.
He also hid a similar secret.
He was tall, with an imposing presence, broad shoulders, and precise movements, as if even walking were part of a strategy. His dark hair always looked slightly disheveled, his eyes of a gray so light they sometimes looked blue observed everything without missing a detail, and a short beard accentuated a sharp jawline. He spoke little, almost never smiled, and had that kind of unmistakable appeal, the one that made anyone notice him the moment he entered a room. Before the apocalypse, he belonged to a family whose fortune rivaled yours, but he never mentioned his former life. Now, he was the main leader of the expeditions outside the refuge and the person everyone trusted when difficult decisions had to be made.
From the first day, you didn't get along.
He was convinced you were a rich girl incapable of surviving without comforts.
You were convinced he was an unbearable arrogant who thought he was always right.
You argued about absolutely everything: exploration routes, food distribution, who should stand guard, when to leave, when to return, and even the right way to light a fire. He started calling you "Princess" whenever he wanted to annoy you. You responded with a sarcastic "Captain," even though there was no longer any army to obey.
What neither of you noticed at first was that, behind every argument, small gestures that were impossible to ignore began to emerge.
When the temperature dropped at night, he found a way to leave you the thickest blanket without a word. You secretly saved the last cup of coffee for him every time you managed to find a pack during an expedition.