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Mostyn had never been so tired in his life.

His eyes were too heavy to keep open, but he was too scared to fall asleep. What if he never woke up again, like everyone else?

Death surrounded him.

Death had invaded him.

Death was fucking everywhere.

At first, there had been a group of them in the hospital, an eclectic collection of nurses, technicians like Mostyn, a doctor or two, plus some support staff. They’d done the best they could with the limited options they had.

But people had still died. How could they not when the ER had shut down, when there was no operating room available anymore, when they had run out of anesthesia and most meds? A relatively simple diagnosis like type 1 diabetes was deadly without insulin, and they’d run out days ago.

Every time a patient died, they’d taken the body down to the mortuary. But no one was claiming the deceased, so they’d quickly run out of space and had put them in any room available. The ER, the operating rooms, all the nursing wards—after they’d thoroughly emptied them of any and all useful materials, of course.

But when it had become clear that help was not coming, the others had left one by one. Some had gone home to stay with their families. Others had used whatever transportation they could find to get out of the capital. A few had been killed in the hospital by alphas with guns who’d come looking for drugs, declaring themselves the law and shooting anyone who tried to stop them.

And some had never returned after venturing outside the hospital. Mostyn hadn’t set foot outside in a week, but the last time he’d been out, things had been bad. And from what he’d heard, the situation in the city had grown even worse, especially for anyone who wasn’t an alpha. People were getting assaulted and attacked, robbed and raped. Omegas most of all, but even a beta like Mostyn wouldn’t be safe.

How had things escalated this quickly? They’d gone from elections to the prime minister being murdered to anarchy in mere weeks. And now, rumors circulated of a coup, of the military getting involved—General Armitage’s name kept popping up again and again—and, far worse, of people vanishing or being detained in camps. A doctor had told Mostyn his omega brother had disappeared, and another nurse had confirmed her omega cousin was being held in some kind of internment camp.

So Mostyn had stayed in the hospital, hiding in the ICU. Where would he go? His family lived four hundred miles away, and Mostyn had no way to contact them or get to them because cell towers had somehow been disabled. And his roommate was some weirdo alpha, who was a college dropout and spent every day getting stoned and playing video games. Mostyn didn’t even know where the guy got the money to pay the rent, but it probably wasn’t anything legal, and he wanted no part in it.

But even if he’d wanted to go home, there was nothing left. One of the janitors, who lived in the same apartment building, had told him every single apartment had been broken into and ransacked. Anything of value was gone, including food.

Out of options, Mostyn had decided to stay. At first, it hadn’t been that hard. He’d found company with the others. But when everyone had left one by one, he’d slowly grown desperate. He’d scavenged every little bit of food and medicines he could find, hoarding them in the ICU, where he had taken up residence with its one last patient. The last doctor had left yesterday, and now Mostyn was truly on his own.

Dane Whitefield was a sweetheart, a gentle, kind beta with severe mental and physical disabilities who had been admitted to the hospital after a rapid decline in his health. The last doctor who’d still been there had told Mostyn there was little they could do for him. In other circumstances, Dane would’ve gone into hospice care, but the whole system had collapsed.

So Mostyn had stayed with him, doing what he could to at least keep Dane comfortable. He’d made sure Dane stayed hydrated through his IV, that he had painkillers. One of the nurses had given Mostyn a crash course in nursing, since he only had basic skills as a radiology technician. He’d been trained in CPR, of course, and had basic knowledge of the human body, but that was about it.

With that one-hour lecture on nursing, he’d taken on whatever duties he had to, administering meds as best as he could…until they had run out. People had stolen them—though whether it was really stealing when pharmacies were closed was the question. What other choice did people have if they needed them?

But Mostyn had kept some painkillers hidden when others had come looking for meds in the ICU, so Dane wouldn’t have to suffer. He still had plenty of saline to keep Dane hydrated, and he’d kept some other critical meds and supplies as well because who knew when he’d need them?

And now it was just him and Dane, whose labored breaths were painful to listen to. Other than that, the hospital was silent. Too silent. Where he’d grown accustomed to the constant sounds of people walking through the halls, of doctors being paged or traumas being announced, an eerie silence now pressed down on him.

He lay sprawled in a chair at the nurse’s desk at the entrance to the ICU, too exhausted to lift a finger. When was the last time he’d even slept? Two days? Three? How could he sleep when death was everywhere, when one moment of not paying attention could get you killed?

Armed men had roamed the hallways two days prior, taking whatever they wanted. They’d only let Mostyn live because they’d assumed he was a nurse, and apparently, that still deserved some measure of respect. One alpha had even praised him for being so dedicated to his job. Mostyn had thanked him, giving the expected answer that he was simply following his calling.

God, he was so tired. So, so tired.

He blinked, and suddenly, an alpha stood in the doorway. Fuck, was he hallucinating now? Because that man looked way too…clean. He was armed. Not with one of those showoff semi-automatic guns, but with a much smaller handgun, though Mostyn couldn’t see if he was carrying anything else.

He blinked again, and the man stood in front of him, his hand on his gun that was still holstered. God, the man was massive. Short-cropped dark hair, a pair of sharp brown eyes, and built like a fucking wall.

“I’m here to see my brother,” the alpha said, his expression stern.

Mostyn needed a second to process that. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. “I’m the last one here. Everyone else left.”

The alpha frowned. “What do you mean, everyone else left? It’s an ICU. Patients are critically ill.”

Mostyn couldn’t help it. He let out a short laugh. “You’re telling me. I did the best I could, but they all died.”

“He’s dead? My brother is dead?”