Nightfall brought a deep silence to the city, once vibrant with light and life, now shrouded in darkness. Only a few scattered lights hinted at the presence of survivors.

  At 9 PM, in the top-floor suite of the hotel, the living room was dimly lit. Robbie and John stood by the window, beer cans in hand, quietly discussing the night outside. Both were military men, and their conversation flowed naturally. Across the street, a few lights flickered in the high-rise buildings—signs of other survivors. The street, like many others, still held pockets of life.

  People's perspectives varied. Vincent was eager to leave New York, weighed down by the dangers he foresaw. Others, however, chose to stay, believing the city offered better access to food and that the mindless zombies posed little threat if one stayed hidden. The risk of leaving, with its unknown perils, seemed far greater to them. Few considered the looming threat of plague, a danger only someone like Vincent, with his knowledge, would immediately recognize.

  In the living room, Jason sat on the north sofa, headphones on, nodding to the music. His eyes occasionally opened, catching sight of Kaitlyn, the young black girl, curled up on the west sofa. She had kicked off her shoes, her feet tucked under her, lost in thought.

  Jason removed his headphones, glancing around. Seeing Robbie and John still engrossed in conversation by the window, he quietly moved to sit beside Kaitlyn.

  Startled, Kaitlyn shrank back, then looked at him with wary eyes.

  Jason smiled warmly, his white teeth gleaming. "Hey, don't be scared. I'm Jason. Not a bad guy. What's on your mind?"

  Kaitlyn's lips parted slightly, but she remained silent, her gaze dropping to her toes.

  Undeterred, Jason continued, his tone light and friendly. "Why won't you talk to me? I know you're not afraid of me. What's wrong?"

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  He rambled on, trying to engage her. "Your hands are so pretty. Can I... never mind, forget I said that."

  "Want to listen to some music? Rihanna's new album. Man, if the world hadn't gone to hell, I'd be at her concert right now. It'd be amazing."

  "You know, you kinda look like Rihanna. Are you two related?"

  Kaitlyn remained silent, but Jason noticed subtle changes in her expression—tiny smiles that gave him hope. He knew from Vincent that Kaitlyn's muteness was psychological, a result of the trauma she'd endured. Jason believed that by talking to her, he could help her find her voice again.

  Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Christine had cried herself to sleep in Manuela's arms. She woke around nine, hungry and emotionally drained. The room was dimly lit, and the bed was freshly made with linens from the closet. The old, bloodstained sheets had been tossed out the window.

  Manuela lay on the right side of the bed, absentmindedly twirling Christine's hair. Christine, lying beside her, mechanically ate snacks, her eyes swollen from crying.

  "Christine," Manuela finally spoke, turning to her. "You're so brave."

  Christine looked up, confused. "What?"

  Manuela smiled, pinching Christine's nose playfully. "I've wanted to bite him, too. He can be so infuriating, so clueless. I never had the guts, but you did it. Good job!"

  Christine blinked, stunned. She had expected Manuela to be angry, not supportive.

  "Really?" she asked, her voice small.

  "Of course," Manuela replied, then hesitated. "I mean, when we're alone, he's... different. But never mind that. I shouldn't be telling you this."

  "Why didn't you bite him?" Christine pressed, still fixated on her actions.

  Manuela thought for a moment. "Because... he might have left me. Or worse. He's not the forgiving type, not with me. But you're young. He might let it slide."

  Christine frowned, skeptical. "He didn't kill me..."

  "Because you're a kid," Manuela explained. "He can excuse your mistakes. But me? He'd think I did it on purpose. He's too rational, too calculating. He'd see it as a threat."

  Christine stared at her, still unsure.

  "Believe it or not," Manuela added, lying back, "you should apologize tomorrow. Otherwise, he might start treating you like some crazy girl. He won't hurt you, but he'll keep his distance."

  "Okay," Christine murmured, still processing. "Thanks."

  As the night deepened, the lights in the suite went out one by one, and the group drifted into sleep.

  The next morning, Vincent was jolted awake by the noise of the streets below.