The village quieted after the crowd scattered, but Luna still felt their fear clinging to the air like smoke. She stood frozen in the square, staring down at the crumbs of bread scattered on the ground.
"Come on," Elias whispered, tugging gently at her hand. His skin was warm against her cold fingers, and for some reason, Luna didn't pull away.
He led her quickly through narrow alleys and past shuttered windows until they reached the far edge of the village. There, hidden behind a half-collapsed barn, stood an old root cellar—its wooden door rotting and covered in vines.
Elias crouched and pushed it open, revealing stone steps that sank into darkness.
"No one comes here," he whispered. "You'll be safe."
Luna hesitated at the top of the steps, peering down into the shadows. It smelled of earth and old straw, damp but not unkind. Slowly, she climbed down, her bare feet scraping against the cold stone. Elias followed, lowering his lantern until the glow filled the cellar.
The small space was lined with shelves, some broken, others still holding jars of pickles and dried beans. A blanket lay crumpled in the corner, left behind years ago.
"This… is for me?" Luna rasped.
Elias nodded. "Until we figure something better. The others… they don't understand yet."
Luna lowered herself onto the blanket, the fabric scratchy but comforting. Her cloudy eyes lifted toward Elias, wide and uncertain.
"Why?" she asked. "Why help me?"
The boy set down his lantern and shrugged. "Because you're not like them. The others—real zombies—they don't talk. They don't… look sad." He tilted his head. "You do."
Luna blinked, and for the first time since she had woken in the graveyard, she felt something strange sting her eyes. She didn't cry—not really—but her chest ached as if she might.
Elias rummaged in his satchel and pulled out a small loaf of bread. He broke it in half and handed her a piece.
"I don't know if you can eat," he admitted, "but you should try."
Luna stared at it. Her hunger was constant, gnawing, but it wasn't the same hunger the other zombies had. Carefully, she lifted the bread to her lips and took the tiniest bite.
It was dry and rough, but as she chewed, a memory flickered—sitting at a table, someone laughing, warm hands passing her a plate. The ache in her chest swelled.
She swallowed. "Good," she whispered.
Elias grinned. "Then I'll bring you more tomorrow."
But even as he spoke, voices echoed faintly from outside. Villagers were still on the streets, searching, whispering warnings.
Elias quickly snuffed out his lantern, plunging the cellar into darkness.
"Stay quiet," he whispered. "They can't know you're here. If they find out… they'll drive you out of the village. Or worse."
Luna curled against the blanket, her little body trembling. She didn't speak, but in the dark, she reached out and touched Elias's hand.
He squeezed it once, reassuring.
Above them, the footsteps faded. The village slept. And in the cellar, for the first time, Luna did not feel alone.