Everything had changed. And this was only the beginning.
Pryanki noticed the way Ron stared at his hand as they sat at the table, eating quietly.
He hadn't touched the food much.
His left hand, exposed beneath a torn glove, looked... off. The veins threading across it shimmered faintly green beneath the skin, as if something inside was alive and pulsing.
"What happened to your hand?" Pryanki finally asked.
Ron flexed it once, then looked at her.
"That's where it started."
He told her everything.
About the orb.
How it had forced its way into his body—no, into his left hand—and changed something deep beneath the skin. How, after that moment, he could feel the undead, sense the cores glowing inside them like lanterns behind flesh.
"I absorb them with this hand," he said, lifting it slightly, the green glow pulsing gently. "The cores—their energy—it feeds something inside me. Strength. Speed. Healing."
"And anyone can do this?" she asked, voice quiet.
"No," Ron said. "That's the thing. Not everyone changes. I've seen others try. They cut open the bodies, take the orbs… but nothing happens. No change. No power."
"Then how do you know who's chosen?"
Ron's gaze turned grim. "The orb chooses the host. Possesses a part of them. For me, it was my left hand. I think... it's alive."
Pryanki wrapped her arms around herself, goosebumps on her skin despite the heavy coat.
She looked at him—not with fear, but with a depth of seriousness she hadn't shown before.
"Call me Priya," she said softly.
"What?"
"My name. I'd rather you use Priya."
Ron nodded.
Priya glanced at the cracked window. A layer of frost had grown on the inside of the glass, glittering in the crimson light.
"It's freezing," she whispered.
"Exactly," Ron said, rising. He pulled his hoodie tight, checked his knife, and reached for the satchel.
"I'm heading out."
Priya stood too. "Now? It's almost minus thirty out there."
"That's why it's perfect," he said. "The heat's gone. The dead won't be rotting fast. I need more cores—if Raj is evolving too…"
She stepped in front of him, frowning.
"Come back before sunset. Promise me that."
Ron looked at her—then gave the smallest nod. "I will."
The streets groaned with ice.
Cars were buried in frost, and the buildings looked skeletal under the pale moon. Ron moved like a shadow, slipping between alleyways and shattered fences.
And then he saw it.
A group of men—armed with machetes and crowbars—surrounding a twitching mutant. It was still alive. Barely.
"Keep it breathing," one of them said. "Raj wants fresh ones."
The others grunted, dragging the monster by its feet.
They were dragging two more corpses behind them—zombies, their bellies already slit open.
No doubt about it. Ron watched from the rooftop above.
Raj was evolving.
They were harvesting cores for him.
The men laughed and joked like scavengers who'd found a gold mine.
Ron moved silently, tracking them to a collapsed hotel where a makeshift campfire burned inside.
That's when he heard the words.
"Raj says tomorrow's the day," one of them whispered.
"Fourth Sector's ours."
Ron's eyes narrowed.
Fourth Sector…
The city was divided into four such blocks. First, Second, and Third Blocks were more upscale, filled with high-rise towers and gated communities. But Fourth Block was for the middle class—old apartments with cracked walls, narrow stairwells, and flickering lights. There were eight buildings in total. Six of them were five stories high, and two stood opposite each other, stretching up to six floors. Ron and Priya lived on the 4th floor of one of those taller buildings.
Though much of the Fourth Block had fallen to chaos, it wasn't empty. Survivors still clung to the ruins, holed up in apartments, living day by day. But nearly 70% of the people here had already turned.
He didn't wait to hear more.
He ran.
He didn't make it back before sunset.
In fact, it was 10 p.m. by the time he reached the apartment. The sky was ink-black. Cold stung his lips, his joints, his fingers.
He had four more orbs in his satchel.
But when he opened the door, he knew something was wrong.
Priya was curled on the couch, knees tucked to her chest, eyes red from tears she clearly didn't want him to see.
She looked up.
"You promised," she said.
Ron froze in the doorway. "I know. I—"
"I thought you left me," she said, voice raw. "Like the others."
The words hit harder than any blow.
Ron stepped forward and placed the satchel down quietly. "I didn't. I wouldn't."
She stared at him, searching for the lie in his eyes.
Then nodded once, turned her face away.
Neither of them said anything else.