Chapter 3: A Name in the Dark

Owen stayed beside the little girl, his presence a silent offering of companionship. She still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t acknowledged him beyond that brief flicker of eye contact earlier. She clutched the crumpled piece of paper as if it were the last thing tethering her to this world, her small fingers gripping it tightly.

He had seen people react to grief in different ways. Some got angry, lashed out at the world. Others just… shut down. She was the latter, trapped in her own mind, shutting everything and everyone out.

Owen didn’t blame her.

He sat beside her in silence, letting the distant murmurs of the survivors fill the room. He could hear Mark giving quiet orders, Alyssa talking strategy with a few others. The children who still had family whispered softly to each other, trying to find some comfort in the presence of those they loved.

This girl, however, had no one.

Owen exhaled softly. “You know,” he began, “I had a dog once.”

No reaction.

He leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “His name was Max. Big German Shepherd. Dumb as hell, but loyal. Always used to steal my socks, but never chewed them. Just hid ‘em under the couch like some kind of secret collection.” He let out a small chuckle.

Still, nothing.

Owen tilted his head toward her, glancing at the paper in her hands. The name Evelyn was scrawled across it in messy, faded ink.

“Evelyn,” he murmured aloud.

The reaction was immediate.

The little girl snapped her head toward him, her hollow eyes suddenly sharp with awareness. “How… how do you know my name?” Her voice was small, fragile—barely more than a whisper.

Owen hesitated, realizing he might’ve scared her. He shook his head slightly. “I don’t,” he admitted. “I just saw it on your paper.”

She blinked, then looked down at the paper in her hands as if only now remembering it was there. Her grip on it loosened slightly.

After a long pause, she finally spoke again. “Did you… know my parents?”

Owen’s chest tightened at the question. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he also didn’t want to tell her the truth—that he had no idea who they were or what had happened to them.

He shook his head. “No. But I’m sure they were good people.”

Evelyn looked down at her lap, her fingers fidgeting with the edges of the paper. “They were,” she whispered.

Owen studied her, watching as the light in the room flickered slightly from the dim overhead lanterns. That was when he noticed it—her eyes weren’t focused on him anymore.

They were focused on his.

His golden irises, the ones that set him apart from humanity.

Evelyn’s brows furrowed slightly as she stared. “Your eyes…” she murmured.

Owen stiffened. He turned his head away slightly, hoping to hide the unnatural glow, but it was too late.

“They’re pretty,” she said softly.

Owen blinked, startled. That wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting.

He had spent the last month hiding, knowing that the moment someone noticed how different he was, they would fear him. Avoid him. Maybe even try to kill him.

But this girl… she didn’t seem scared.

Instead, she tilted her head slightly, as if examining him. “They glow,” she pointed out.

Owen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s… complicated.”

Evelyn didn’t press further. She simply nodded, accepting his answer without question.

Something about her words stirred something deep inside Owen. A memory.

“Your eyes are weird, Owen.”

“Gee, thanks, Em.”

His little sister had scrunched her nose, studying him from across the dinner table. “Not in a bad way,” she had said. “They’re cool. Like… like the way the light brown shines in the sun, like a sunrise.”

He hadn’t thought about that conversation in so long.

Hadn’t thought about her in so long.

He had searched for her, gone back to their home after waking up from the apocalypse. What he had found still haunted him—an empty house, blood smeared across the floors and walls. No body. No sign of where she had gone.

Just a mess of crimson that told him everything he needed to know.

Owen swallowed hard and forced a smile. “You have pretty eyes, too,” he said, shifting the focus away from himself.

Evelyn blinked at him, surprised. “I do?”

He nodded. “Hazel, right? My sister had the same kind.”

Evelyn hesitated before mumbling, “My mom did too.”

Owen softened. “Then you definitely have pretty eyes.”

For the first time, something flickered in Evelyn’s expression. A tiny crack in the cold, distant walls she had built around herself.

She looked down at the paper in her hands again, her fingers smoothing out the wrinkles. “I wrote their names,” she said after a moment.

Owen glanced at it, noticing now that there was more than just her name. There were two others, the ink smudged but still readable.

Sarah & Michael.

Her parents.

Evelyn traced her finger over the letters, her small voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to forget them.”

Owen felt a lump form in his throat. He knew that feeling all too well.

“You won’t,” he assured her. “No matter what happens, they’ll always be with you.”

Evelyn gripped the paper tightly, nodding slowly.

Silence stretched between them, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something else.

Understanding.

Owen exhaled quietly and leaned back against the wall, letting Evelyn have her space. He wasn’t going to push her to talk more if she didn’t want to.

But as the minutes passed, she shifted slightly closer to him.

It was small—barely noticeable.

But Owen noticed.

And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel so alone.

Mark’s footsteps were steady as he approached. Owen could tell it was him before even looking—his scent, the way his boots scuffed slightly against the tiled floor, the way his breathing was heavier from exhaustion.

The moment Evelyn noticed him coming, she shut down.

Her small hands clenched around the crumpled paper again, her shoulders stiffening as she turned her head away. Her hazel eyes, which had started to show a flicker of warmth, became distant once more. Cold. Emotionless.

Owen frowned slightly, feeling a pang of sympathy for her. It wasn’t just grief—she didn’t want to be around anyone. Didn’t want to open up.

He couldn’t blame her.

Mark came to a stop beside them, glancing down at Evelyn before turning his attention to Owen. He didn’t press the issue, didn’t ask why the girl had suddenly withdrawn. Instead, he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“We’ve got enough food here to last us a little while,” Mark started. “But food ain’t the only thing we need. Tomorrow morning, we’re heading out to find supplies.”

Owen nodded, listening carefully.

“Anything that can be used to make weapons, armor—hell, even just something sturdy enough to reinforce our defenses. If we can figure out a solid weakness for these bastards, we need to use it to our advantage.”

Owen glanced toward the barricaded windows. The Ghouls weren’t easy to kill. Not without the right weapons.

“They go down if you hit the brain,” Owen said, as if reciting something obvious.

Mark huffed. “Yeah, but that’s easier said than done. Some of ‘em don’t drop even after a few bullets to the head. Not unless you hit the right spot.”

Owen remained quiet. He knew that. Ghouls could survive a lot of damage, but they weren’t invincible.

Mark studied him for a moment before smirking. “You’re a skilled fighter,” he said. “Lived here alone for a while, huh?”

Owen hesitated, then nodded. He had to play the part.

Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Then you’d be great working with the scout team. We need people who can handle themselves out there. You in?”

Owen didn’t hesitate this time.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m in.”

Mark’s smile was warm, the kind that made it seem like, for a brief moment, things weren’t as bad as they were. He gave Owen a firm pat on the shoulder before stepping away.

“Glad to have you on board, kid. Get some rest—we head out at sunrise.”

Owen nodded, watching as Mark walked off to join the others. He could hear the quiet discussions happening in the background, people strategizing, sharing whatever scraps of hope they could cling to. The air in the grocery store was heavy with exhaustion, but at least there was purpose now. A goal.

He turned back to Evelyn, who still sat curled up against the wall, her fingers wrapped tightly around the crumpled piece of paper. She hadn’t spoken again since Mark arrived, shutting herself off the moment another person got too close.

Owen let out a quiet breath and stood up. “Try to get some food,” he said gently. “And some sleep. You’ll need your energy.”

She didn’t respond, just kept staring at the ground.

Owen sighed and turned to walk away, but before he could take another step, he felt something small tug at his sleeve.

He stopped, glancing down.

Evelyn was gripping the fabric of his shirt, her tiny fingers trembling slightly. She didn’t look up at him, but when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

“…Be safe.”

Owen’s chest tightened.

She barely knew him, yet she still cared enough to say those words. The sincerity in her voice stirred something deep inside him—something that reminded him of the past.

Of his little sister.

A wide smile slowly spread across his face, one of the few genuine smiles he had given in a long time.

“I promise,” he said softly. “I’ll make it back safe.”

What she didn’t know—what she couldn’t know—was that he was the safest one out there.

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