The sun was a pale smear above the horizon, barely enough to chase away the night.
Kale was crouched beside a broken vending machine, prying open the casing with his machete and muttering every profanity he knew. Which was a lot.
"Come on, you junk pile. I've survived three dungeon collapses and a slime that whispered in Latin, and you're gonna make me work for one goddamn granola bar?"
A creak behind him.
He froze.
Then glanced back.
Nothing.
But there it was — that feeling again. The weight of eyes. The soft hush of breath not far away.
"I swear," he said.
"if you snuck up behind me again just to watch me swear at appliances, I'm going to start charging you for the entertainment."
A pause.
Then the tiniest voice:
"You're really bad at this."
He sighed. "Wow. You wound me. A whole apocalypse and I can't even get respect from my own personal ghost child."
A small rustle of movement. This time, he turned — slowly, carefully — and there she was.
Not quite in full view, but more than before. A girl, maybe eight or nine, crouched just behind an overturned bench. Dark hair, tangled. Eyes too big for her face. Watching him with the cautious intensity of something feral trying not to flinch.
She clutched the stuffed rabbit from before.
Kale blinked.
"Hey," he said gently. "There you are."
She didn't move.
So, he held up both hands, palms open.
"Not gonna hurt you. I mean, unless you're secretly a dungeon mimic in disguise, in which case — I'm flattered, but also mildly concerned."
Nothing.
Just a blink.
Then, quietly:
"You're weird."
He grinned. "Oh, thank God. I was worried I'd been acting normal this whole time."
She actually smiled at that. Just a flicker, but enough.
Kale sat down slowly on a chunk of broken concrete and gestured beside him.
"If you want to sit… you can. I won't bite. Unless I'm hungry. Then it's negotiable."
She crept forward. One step. Then another.
Eventually, she settled on the opposite end of the concrete chunk, rabbit in her lap, eyes never quite meeting his.
They sat in silence.
Kale tapped his fingers on his knee.
"So… got a name?" he asked.
A pause.
She didn't answer.
"That's okay," he said.
"Mystery works too. Very on-brand for this creepy urban horror vibe we've got going."
She blinked. "Do you have a name?"
He tilted his head.
"Did you not hear me swear it at least six times this week? I'm Kale. Like the vegetable. Except not as healthy. Or green. Or respected."
"…Kale?"
"Yeah, I know. Blame my parents. They thought irony was cool."
Another tiny smile.
More silence.
Kale pulled a cracked energy bar from his bag and handed it over.
She took it slowly, hands cautious, like it might vanish.
And then, as she chewed with suspicious enthusiasm, Kale found himself staring at her — this tiny thing, alone, hungry, hiding in the shadow of a world that hated everything still breathing.
And something in his chest — something long buried under grief and sarcasm — shifted.
He cleared his throat. Rubbed the back of his neck.
"Alright," he said.
"So. Look. This is gonna sound really stupid, but… I've been thinking."
She looked up.
His voice wavered slightly.
"You keep following me. Watching me. Mocking me, mostly. Which, fair. But if you're gonna stick around, I should probably— I dunno. Be responsible or something."
A long pause.
Then, blurting it out like ripping off a bandage:
"…You should just become my kid."
She blinked.
"…What?"
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "See? Told you it was stupid."
She tilted her head. "Like… your daughter?"
"Yeah. Sure. Why not. I mean, it's not like there's a line at the adoption center anymore, and you've already passed the 'staring silently while I talk to myself' test, which is crucial."
Silence.
Then:
"Do I get a bedtime?"
Kale laughed, sudden and surprised.
"Hell no. I don't even have a mattress."
"Do I get to swear like you?"
"Only the classy ones."
"Can I call you 'dad'?"
That made him pause.
A long one.
He stared at her. Really looked this time.
And when he answered, it wasn't funny. Not even a little.
"…Yeah. If you want to."
She looked down at her rabbit. Then back up.
"…Okay."
And that was that.
That night, they camped in the hollow of a collapsed parking garage. The ceiling creaked. Water dripped nearby. Kale sat with his back to the concrete wall, machete close, one eye open.
She slept beside him.
Not too close. Not touching. But there.
And he watched her, long into the night, until the shadows faded and the sky turned from black to a dull, ash-gray blue.
He felt the ache in his chest again. The one that never left.
But this time, it wasn't just pain.
It was fear.
Because now, for the first time in a long time, he had something to lose again.
And gods help anyone who tried to take her.