Chapter 1367: Story 1367: Love or Lust or Death

It started with her eyes.

Not her voice. Not her story. Not her weapon.

Just her eyes—sharp, golden-brown, and wide enough to make me forget the broken world we lived in.

We found her trapped in the old nightclub on 7th, surrounded by corpses in clubwear. Glitter still clung to her shoulders.

A bat in one hand. A knife in the other.

Dried blood painted her legs like tribal warpaint.

She didn’t thank us for saving her.

She just asked one question:

“Got anything stronger than water?”

Her name was Lacey.

I think.

But in a world of rot and running, names were like perfume—forgettable, unnecessary, and dangerous when clung to for too long.

The others didn’t trust her.

She was too calm. Too smooth.

Too… untouched.

I didn’t care.

I needed a distraction.

She laughed like the world hadn’t ended.

Told me I smelled like sweat and fear.

Asked me if I wanted to feel something other than grief.

I kissed her that night.

Maybe it was the hunger. Maybe it was the moon.

Maybe I just wanted to pretend the world could still be intimate.

But when I woke, she was gone.

So was my knife.

And my last can of peaches.

I tracked her down by accident, three days later, in a broken greenhouse outside the city.

She was feeding a restrained walker—her “lover,” she claimed.

His face half-eaten, his teeth clacking as she whispered sweet nothings to him.

“He didn’t judge me,” she said.

“He stayed when others ran.”

My blood ran cold.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

She licked her lips, eyes glittering.

“Because love is dead,” she said. “But lust? Lust doesn’t care what’s human.”

She tried to kiss me again.

I shoved her away.

She laughed.

“You think you’re better?” she hissed. “You kissed me in a room full of corpses. That wasn’t love. That was desperation dressed up in fantasy.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I should’ve left her there.

Should’ve ended her, like we did with threats.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I watched her walk back to her monster…

…and lay her head on its chest like it still beat.

That night, I told the others she vanished.

No one asked questions.

Sometimes I dream about her.

The way she looked at me like I was prey and promise in one body.

Was it love?

Was it lust?

Or was it just death playing dress-up?

I still don’t know.

But the next time I feel lips on mine, I’ll ask myself:

Is this warmth… or a warning?