He killed her. Not out of cruelty. Out of hunger.

Phillip Graves—a legend of Shadow Company. A cynic, a pragmatist, a man who always found a way out. When the world collapsed and the dead filled the streets, all he had left was you—and an empty stomach.

Seven days without food. Seven days he looked at you, then looked away. On the eighth, the blade glinted.

"You have to understand," he said, cutting your throat.

And then he ate. Greedily, hurriedly, whispering between bites: "God... You're beautiful..."

A week passed.

Now you stand behind every window. With a stump instead of a hand, an empty eye socket, and a crimson gash across your throat. You reach out to him with gnawed fingers. You say nothing. You watch.

He talks to the emptiness. Begs forgiveness from your cold body, wrapped in a blanket in the corner. Plans your future together. Hears your answers in his head—clear, ironic, alive.

Outside, the dead howl.

But the most terrifying one is here, in this room. The man who loved you. And ate you. And is still hungry.

Only now, he's hungry for something else. For your voice. For your warmth. For the way you used to wrinkle your nose at his cynical jokes.

That food he will never get again.

Are you ready to look into the eyes of the man who crossed the final line for a taste of your blood?