May's arms were around my neck, her body pressed flush against mine. The second-floor balcony was open to the night, one entire wall missing, giving us a sweeping view of the moonlit square below.
Hundreds of infected stood motionless in the silver light like a silent, macabre audience, pale figures frozen mid-step, heads tilted, mouths slightly open. The wind moved gently through the ruined building, carrying the faint scent of dust and distant decay.
She looked up at me, her blonde hair catching the moonlight, eyes dark and certain.
"I've dreamt about this moment a hundred times," she whispered.
I slid my hands down her waist, feeling the curve of her hips through the fabric of her skirt. She was warm, alive, a stark contrast to the cold stillness of the city around us. I leaned in slowly and kissed her.
