The first thing Luna noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
Not the safe kind.
The suffocating kind.
The clinic—her fragile, hard-earned sanctuary—had gone completely still. No wind. No distant groans. No scraping footsteps outside. Even the building itself seemed to be holding its breath.
Luna crouched behind the reception desk, fingers tight around her knife. The voices she had heard earlier had faded, but the feeling of being watched had only grown stronger.
She knew this feeling.
It was the same one she had felt right before she died in her previous life.
The air shifted.
A shadow moved behind the frosted glass of the hallway.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She didn't hesitate.
Luna lunged.
She vaulted over the desk and sprinted down the corridor, knife raised, aiming straight for the silhouette.
But she never made it.
In a blur of motion, something grabbed her wrist mid-strike and twisted. Her knife clattered across the tiles. A strong arm hooked around her waist, spun her around, and slammed her back gently—but firmly—against the wall.
Before she could react, her wrists were pinned above her head.
Trapped.
She thrashed instinctively, but the hold didn't tighten painfully. It was controlled. Calculated.
"Relax," a low voice said. Calm. Smooth. Dangerous. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be gone."
Luna froze.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze.
And forgot how to breathe.
He was tall—easily over six feet—his body lean but solid, built with the kind of strength that came from real survival, not gym mirrors. His skin was lightly tanned, as though the sun itself had kissed him too often. Strands of black hair fell messily over his forehead, damp with sweat, framing sharp features that looked almost unreal.
Like he didn't belong in this broken world.
His eyes were darker than the night outside—deep, unreadable, dangerous. The kind of eyes that saw everything and trusted nothing.
A warrior's eyes.
A survivor's eyes.
A monster's eyes.
He wore a torn black hoodie, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked with faint scars—proof that he'd fought more than a few battles. Blood—zombie blood, judging by the color—stained his knuckles.
This was no beginner.
This was someone high-level.
A hunter.
A killer.
A player who had survived far longer than she had.
His gaze flicked over her face, assessing. Calculating. Judging.
"Another scavenger?" he muttered quietly, almost to himself. "Or a bait."
Bait?
Her heart pounded.
Players used bait?
To lure others?
His grip remained firm, but something about his expression shifted. Confusion, perhaps. As though the narrative in his head wasn't matching the reality in front of him.
Because Luna wasn't what he expected.
She wasn't aggressive.
She wasn't threatening.
She wasn't hardened like the others he'd encountered.
She was trembling.
Not from weakness—but from exhaustion.
From hunger.
From fear.
From carrying too much alone.
And when she looked up at him fully—eyes wide, lashes damp, blue gaze glimmering with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability—something inside him faltered.
Just for a second.
Just a fraction.
But enough.
Because the moment their eyes met properly, something unfamiliar twisted painfully in his chest.
His heartbeat stuttered.
His grip loosened slightly.
It wasn't pity.
It wasn't attraction.
Not yet.
It was something worse.
Recognition.
He didn't know why, but looking at her felt like staring at a fragile star in a sky full of monsters. Something that should have been extinguished long ago, yet somehow still shone.
Annoyingly bright.
Dangerously beautiful.
Troubling.
"…You're not armed," he said quietly, glancing toward the fallen knife.
Luna swallowed.
He noticed.
The system window flickered in the corner of his vision.
Player Detected
Name: Unknown
Level: ???
Threat Level: Unclear
Unclear.
That almost never happened.
He studied her again.
Messy hair. Dirt-smudged cheeks. Torn clothes. But she stood straight even while pinned. Didn't beg. Didn't cry. Didn't collapse.
Her eyes held him.
Not fearfully.
But searchingly.
As if she were trying to understand him too.
And that… unsettled him more than any weapon could.
Slowly, deliberately, he released her wrists and stepped back.
She didn't move.
Didn't attack.
Didn't run.
Just watched him.
Smart.
Cautious.
"Who are you?" he asked.
Luna opened her mouth.
Then froze.
Right.
No one knew she was mute here. Not yet.
She shook her head gently and gestured awkwardly to her throat.
Understanding flickered across his features.
Mute.
Great.
Of course.
Why wouldn't fate make this more complicated?
He ran a hand through his hair with a quiet sigh.
"Tch… unbelievable."
He turned slightly, checking the hallway behind him. No movement. No other players. Good.
"You live here?" he asked, more calmly now.
Luna hesitated, then nodded.
A pause stretched between them.
"I thought this place was abandoned," he admitted. "I've been using it as a temporary checkpoint."
Checkpoint.
That explained how he'd moved so confidently through her space.
"So you're the one who's been reinforcing the windows," he added. "Smart."
She blinked.
He noticed that too.
He shouldn't be noticing things like that.
He didn't usually care.
He wasn't supposed to care.
But something about her presence kept tugging at his attention, like an unfinished thought.
He crouched to pick up her knife, inspected the blade, then offered it back to her handle-first.
A gesture of trust.
Or at least… neutrality.
"Take it," he said. "You'll need it more than I do."
Luna accepted it slowly, cautiously.
Their fingers brushed.
Just barely.
But the contact sent an unfamiliar heat up his spine.
Ridiculous.
He stood abruptly, scowling faintly at nothing.
Get a grip.
She's just another player.
Just another survivor.
He had lost enough people in this world to know better than to form attachments.
Yet when he looked at her again—standing there in the broken clinic, clutching her knife like it was the only thing tethering her to life—his chest tightened for reasons he refused to name.
"…Name's Kai," he said finally. "For now, we're not enemies."
Not friends.
Not allies.
Not yet.
But not enemies.
Luna nodded softly.
And for the first time since arriving in this brutal world, she felt something unfamiliar bloom quietly in her chest.
Not safety.
Not comfort.
But… possibility.
Outside, the undead groaned.
The system hummed faintly.
And somewhere deep within the mechanics of this cruel world, fate took notice.
Because two players had just collided.
And nothing would remain the same.