Chapter 12: Still Yours

The days passed in silence. Within the abandoned lab, where they once worked side by side in laughter and ambition, Lena and Ethan now sat in two distant worlds—hers human, his... something else. The lab had become their sanctuary, their prison, their dying dream.

Ethan didn't speak, couldn't speak. His body had long crossed the line of humanity, but his eyes—those broken, haunted eyes—still searched Lena every time she stepped close. He wouldn't hurt her, never had. Even now, when hunger twisted him into something unrecognizable, he would turn away from her. He fed only when absolutely necessary, and even then, Lena couldn't bear to watch.

They tried everything. Lena buried herself in old research notes, hoping for a miracle. Vials, equations, failed serums littered the tables. She tested him, soothed him, whispered old memories in hopes they would tether him back to who he was. But nothing worked. Every time Ethan tried to speak, it came out as a guttural sound that shattered her heart.

She would lie beside him on cold nights, her head resting on his shoulder, remembering the times when he would hold her close and hum her favorite tune. Now, all she had was silence.

One evening, while eating from the stockpile of canned food they'd found, Lena looked at him across the dim light of the emergency lamp. His hands trembled, his eyes full of shame. "You're still in there," she said, more to herself than him. "Aren't you?"

He turned away.

The next morning, they were surrounded.

Through the cracked lab window, Lena saw flashing lights—military vehicles, armored soldiers, loudspeakers demanding surrender. They had tracked them, finally.

"We know you're in there! Come out peacefully. We do not want to hurt the girl!"

Lena stood frozen. Ethan watched her. He was nervous. Afraid. He knew. He felt the tension.

She stepped outside, hands raised. "Please," she pleaded. "He hasn't hurt me. He's different. He's... Ethan."

One soldier approached, calm but firm. "Miss, I understand. But he's infected. We can't risk it."

"There has to be another way. Please, give us more time. I can help him."

But the answer was already decided. "The order is final. If you don't cooperate, we'll be forced to take action."

Back inside, Ethan sat with his head lowered. He was shaking. He knew he was the target. Lena rushed to him, cupped his face with trembling hands.

"We have to run. We can't stay."

He hesitated. She saw a flicker of confusion in his eyes. And then, he followed her.

They escaped through the back corridor as bullets ricocheted and soldiers stormed in. Ethan shielded her, knocking over soldiers but never killing. He was trying so hard to stay in control.

Then they saw it. A little boy. Crying, hiding beneath an overturned gurney. Alone. Afraid.

Ethan froze. The hunger surged. He stepped forward, body twitching, teeth clenching. His eyes turned black with need.

"No! Ethan, stop!" Lena screamed, stepping between him and the boy.

He snarled. His body shook. Tears welled up in his eyes. He let out a cry—a scream of agony—and slammed himself against the wall to stop. Blood dripped from his mouth. But he didn't touch the boy.

Lena knelt by the child, who sobbed into her arms. She looked at Ethan, who now knelt on the floor, sobbing silently. She knew then.

He was suffering. Every moment alive was pain. He was starving. And every time he saw her, he remembered who he was—and what he could never be again.

She hugged the child tighter, then looked to Ethan. "We can't keep doing this."

He stared at her, eyes pleading. She walked to him slowly. Her fingers touched his face. He leaned into her touch.

"I love you," she whispered.

He blinked. A tear fell.

The soldiers came again, surrounding them.

"Please," she said. "Let me say goodbye."

They hesitated, then lowered their weapons slightly.

Lena turned to Ethan. She took his hand. Kissed it. Then, with a trembling smile, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. One last time. One long, soft, trembling kiss that held every memory, every heartbeat, every lost dream.

He didn't pull away. He didn't snarl. He just kissed her back, soft and broken.

And then the shot rang.

She stood, blood on her face, her hands. He had collapsed.

Lena didn't scream.

She took the pistol from one of the stunned soldiers, placed it to her temple, and whispered, "Still yours."

The second shot echoed through the ruined world.

Later, the army cleared the scene. The boy survived. The lab was empty.

But on the walls of that room, scratched into the concrete with shaky hands, were the words:

Still Yours