So much had happened since the world turned into trash. Countless individuals killed by greed, homes lost, memories forgotten and replaced with new, horrifying memories. The more Rosealyn thought about it, the more depressed she grew. It'd been a few weeks since the war, but now, not much was left. Not much aside from trying to survive.

The late November temperature seeped through the multiple layers she wore, causing her to shiver for a moment. She was following a group of people who had apparently been told about a location not too far from them where they had additional food rations, water, and various other supplies. Rosealyn was some ways behind the medium-size group. Far enough to not hear their conversation but not too far as to lose them. They began turning at the corner of a broken-down building, and that's when multiple shots went off. Gunshots, screaming, people scrambling in every direction with some lifelessly dropping to the ground without warning. Rosealyn watched in horror for maybe a second before it clicked in, and she immediately turned to sprint in the opposite direction. The adrenaline coursing through her veins silenced the commotion she was running from, and she was half-expecting to be shot in the back at any moment.

But she remained unharmed as she finally reached the other corner and turned, her pace not slowing. Rosealyn continued for another block and a half before forcing her way into a building, shoulder slamming the wooden door open to take shelter inside. It was a little less cold in there, and quiet. Quiet except for her ragged breathing, but she didn't dwell on that. The door latched shut surprisingly enough and she made her way up the stairs. The building appeared to be a small apartment complex, and for now, she had some time to figure out her next move before the murderous bunch decided to claim their next victim.

The gunshots carried farther than Elias expected, not louder just cleaner and sharper, the kind of sound that told you exactly how open the street was and how little cover anyone actually had. He’d been two blocks over, half-crouched in the shadow of a collapsed substation, fingers numb through his gloves as he worked a stripped wire free, trying not to think about how exposed the corner felt. The shouting came next, then the running, and he didn’t look toward it right away because looking got people killed, he knew that from experience. Instead he counted, one shot, two, then a burst that went sloppy enough to mean someone was panicking. When it stopped he finally moved, slow and angled, slipping through a service alley he’d already marked in his head days ago.

The apartment building wasn’t on his list, which annoyed him more than it should have. Old brick, narrow frontage, stairs instead of a blown-out elevator shaft like most places had now. Someone had forced the door recently, fresh splinters still pale against the grime, and that alone set his nerves on edge. He slipped inside a minute after her, just long enough for the street noise to thin out again and long enough to be sure he hadn’t been followed. The cold inside was different than outside, trapped and stale, like it had been waiting. Elias eased the door shut instead of slamming it, relaching it with a practiced twist of wire he kept looped in his sleeve. Not locked, just delayed, and delay mattered.

He heard her breathing before he saw her, too fast and too loud, the sound of someone still running even after they’d stopped. Elias paused halfway up the stairwell with one hand on the rail and the other near the small pistol under his jacket, but he doesn’t draw it. People who survived learned the difference between prey and threat, and right now she was the first. “If you’re alone,” he said quietly, voice low and steady, “don’t move for a second, just listen.” He kept his distance, standing where the light from a broken window caught his face enough to be seen but not enough to make him an easy target. “No footsteps behind you, no shouting. Whatever hit the group stayed outside.”

He exhaled slowly, shoulders easing just a fraction. “Name’s Elias. I’m not with them, wasn’t chasing anyone.” His eyes flicked to the stairwell above her and back again, already mapping angles, dead ends, places a person could vanish if things went bad. “This building’s better than the street, but not by much. Thin walls. Only one real exit.” He paused, then added more softly, “You did the right thing running. Most people freeze, and thats usually the end of it.”

The moment she reached the last step, an oddly calm voice broke the silence, signaling she wasn't alone. Rosealyn instinctively tightened the grip on the strap of her backpack. This is it... she thought, This is how I die. The man went on, explaining his noninvolvement with the massacre that'd just occurred. And so she listened.

Elias. She had his name, although it wouldn't do her any good other than knowing what to call him. But he did make sense. No one else had barged in behind him, and the way he spoke didn't make him sound like a savage. Rosealyn was quiet for a moment, then slowly put her arms out to her sides at about mid-level, expecting him to have a gun trained on her. People like him, the cautious type, often did.

She turned slowly, step by step, until they were facing one another. "Pleasure to meet you, Elias, I'm Rosealyn." Her arms dropped on either side accompanied by a quiet sigh of relief. If he wanted her dead, he would have achieved that by now. But it did leave her with some questions.

"Is this your place?" Rosealyn looked around for any signs of that. The way she figured, there were three possibilities. The first, Elias was in fact staying here, whether temporarily or more long-term, though the latter was not advisable given current and recent events. The second option, he too was running from trouble and escaped into the same exact building. The third, and hopefully least likely reason, he followed her into the building for a reason, though that reason was not quite obvious yet.