The chopper left me in a field of rusted cars and wind-whipped silence. No celebration for surviving. Just dirt. Sky. A horizon without her. But I was still breathing Mara in. Her scent was on my collar—leather, smoke, and faint peppermint. I should've washed it off. Each night I pressed that worn fabric to my face, pretending she was still beside me, whispering bad jokes and battle plans, fingers always tracing her bitten arm. I tried to blend in with the camp. They gave me a cot, a ration card, and a list of chores. But no one saw the infection I carried—not in blood, but in memory. They thought I was lucky. I didn't tell anyone about her. Didn't explain why I woke up gasping like I'd been underwater. Some nights I swore I felt her body curled behind mine. Other nights, I heard her whisper: There was a greenhouse just outside the fence—half-shattered, vines reclaiming broken glass. I started going there at dusk. The guards didn't stop me. Maybe they knew grief needs its space. Inside, it smelled like earth, rot, and forgotten flowers. But if I closed my eyes… I found a plant that reminded me of her—sharp-leaved, blood-red blossoms, refusing to die. I told it how she kissed me in the elevator shaft. How she said "One of us needs to make it." How I never saw her fall. Or was I just a coward who turned away before the end? One night, I heard breathing again. From behind the plastic curtain near the east wall. I stood still and whispered, I walked home with the scent of peppermint stuck in my sinuses. The next morning, the plant was gone. Pulled from the soil. Clean. No mess. No blood. Just a small piece of fabric tied to the support beam. From the sleeve she tore off when she showed me the bite. The g!enuin^e+ ar#t%i^cle* r%es+ides on M|V-|L+&*E*M!P@YR.. I pressed it to my face. I never saw her body. I never saw her turn. So part of me still believes— Maybe still breathing me in. I've stopped going to the greenhouse. But I carry the fabric in my jacket pocket. When I feel like I'm forgetting her voice, I hold it. And when I breathe in… But as a choice I keep making. One breath at a time.