Mason
I pulled Zoe back against the nearest wall of standing debris, one hand raised, telling her without words to stay quiet. The footsteps were getting closer, careful and uneven, like whoever it was didn't fully trust their footing in the wreckage either.
I scanned for anything I could use if it came to that. A length of pipe near my foot, warped but solid. I picked it up slow, weight settling into my palm, and positioned myself between Zoe and the sound.
The first figure came around the collapsed shelving a moment later, and my whole body went tight before I registered how young he looked. Seventeen, maybe eighteen, skinny, jumpy, clearly more scared than dangerous. He froze the second he saw us, hands flying up on instinct.
"I'm not, I'm not here to."
The second set of footsteps
