Louis's words hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
The tentative warmth that had been building between them froze solid. Shane's smile died on his face. He looked at the boy—those blue eyes still bright even in the dim light—and found himself at a loss.
Louis lowered his head. Long golden lashes hid whatever was happening behind his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was calm. Too calm for an eleven-year-old.
"I just remembered some things. My parents died a long time ago. I've been living with my uncle's family ever since."
He paused.
"When the outbreak started, they said they were heading to a safe zone. Atlanta. But the roads were dangerous, and..." Another pause. "They said it wasn't convenient to bring a child."
Shane felt something cold settle in his gut.
"So they went ahead to scout. Said they'd come back for me once they got settled." Louis looked up and forced a smile. It didn't reach his eyes. "They left me some food and water. Told me to wait."
Damn it.
Shane had been a cop for years. He'd seen the worst humanity had to offer—domestic abuse, neglect, abandonment. He knew exactly what he was hearing.
Scout the route? Come back for him? Bullshit.
They'd dumped the kid like excess baggage. Left him to die in a world full of monsters because he slowed them down.
No wonder the boy was so calm. No wonder he could bash a walker's skull in without flinching. He'd already learned the hardest lesson this apocalypse had to teach: you can only rely on yourself.
"I'm sorry, kid." The words felt hollow. What could you even say to something like that?
Shane's eyes drifted to the suitcase Louis had been clutching since they met. Through chaos and carnage, the boy had never let it go.
"That case," he said, trying to shift away from the weight pressing down on them. "Must be something important in there."
Louis nodded. Without hesitation, he unlatched it.
Shane leaned in, expecting canned food, bottled water—survival supplies.
Instead, he found books.
Hardcover books with gilded spines and strange titles. The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. The Encyclopedia of Practical Spells.
Shane blinked.
The covers were ornate, decorated with symbols he didn't recognize. They looked like props from a fantasy movie. Expensive props—the kind parents might buy for a kid obsessed with make-believe.
"These are..."
"Birthday presents." Louis's voice went soft. "From my mom and dad. Before they died."
He lifted a velvet box from the case and opened it carefully. Inside lay a sleek black wand, polished to a mirror shine.
"I always wanted to go to Hogwarts," Louis said, running his fingers along the wood. "But they said it was too far. They wanted me to study on my own first."
He looked up at Shane, and something fragile flickered in his expression.
"Today's my eleventh birthday."
Hogwarts. Birthday. Wand.
The pieces clicked into place.
Shane understood now. Louis's parents—his real parents, not the uncle who'd abandoned him—had created a fairy tale for their son. A beautiful lie about magic and wizards, complete with textbooks and a wand, probably planning to reveal the truth when he was older.
They'd never gotten the chance.
And now their son was clinging to that fantasy in the middle of the apocalypse, on his birthday, alone.
Shane opened his mouth. Closed it.
He wanted to tell the boy the truth. That magic wasn't real. That Hogwarts was just a story. That no amount of wishing would bring his parents back or make the monsters outside disappear.
But how could he? How could he take away the last thing this kid had left?
Before Shane could find the words, Louis straightened up.
"It's okay, Officer." His voice was bright now—almost cheerful. His blue eyes shone with an innocent determination that made Shane's chest ache. "I know this is all just a test. Like in the books! Harry had to face challenges too before he became a hero."
He clutched the wand to his chest like a talisman.
"Once I learn all the spells and save the world, I'll see my parents again. In heaven."
Shane stared at him.
Then he reached out, pulled the boy into a hug, and held on tight.
"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "Yeah, kid. God will bless you."
Outside, the sounds of walkers had faded to a distant murmur. Night had fully claimed the city, draping everything in darkness.
They decided to stay until morning. Moving in the dark was suicide.
"Get some sleep," Shane said, nodding toward a small sofa in the corner. "I'll keep watch."
"No." Louis shook his head firmly. "You're our main fighter. Scouting, combat—that's all you tomorrow. You need rest more than I do."
Shane raised an eyebrow.
"I'll take the first shift," Louis continued. "If I get tired, I'll wake you. Promise."
Shane wanted to argue, but Louis cut him off with a small smile.
"Besides, I won't get sleepy." He held up The Standard Book of Spells. "I'm going to start my magic studies."
Despite everything—the horror of the day, the exhaustion, the weight of a world gone mad—Shane felt a laugh escape him.
There it was. The reminder that underneath the calm, the violence, the unsettling maturity... Louis was still just a kid.
Part of Shane wanted to tell him that learning to shoot or swing a crowbar would be more useful than reading fairy tales. But he swallowed it. The boy had been through enough. If pretending to be a wizard helped him cope, who was Shane to take that away?
"Alright, little wizard." He ruffled Louis's hair. "But if you get tired or hear anything weird, you wake me up. Deal?"
"Deal!" Louis gave a playful salute.
Shane settled onto the sofa, and within minutes, the exhaustion of the day pulled him under.
The moment Shane's breathing steadied into the rhythm of deep sleep, the innocence vanished from Louis's face.
The wide-eyed wonder. The childish determination. The fragile hope of a traumatized orphan clinging to fantasy.
Gone. All of it.
What remained was something colder. Calculating.
Louis allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
Good. He bought it.