With a steadying breath, Ethan turned the handle, half-expecting to find it locked. To his surprise, the metal door creaked open with a reluctant groan, revealing a dimly lit hallway. As he stepped inside, the door closed behind him with an unsettling thud that echoed down the corridor. Ethan's eyes scanned the space — fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, flickering and casting eerie shadows on the walls. The scent of stale air and lingering traces of cleaning products filled his nostrils.

The hallway led to more doors, all closed, each bearing a small plaque with room numbers and nondescript titles like 'Conference Room,' 'Accounting,' and 'Human Resources.' Beside one door was an overturned janitor's cart, its contents — mops, buckets, cleaning supplies — strewn across the floor. Tacked on the walls were company notices, a framed 'Employee of the Month' portrait, and a fading fire evacuation plan.

As Ethan took in these details, the pieces clicked into place. He was in an office building, and judging by the lack of any residential elements, it appeared to be solely commercial. This realization carried a mixed bag of emotions. Offices usually had a good supply of non-perishable food items — leftover snacks from meetings, vending machines, perhaps a stocked pantry. They could also contain medical supplies, like basic first-aid kits. However, the maze-like layout of the building and the countless hiding places increased the likelihood of encountering the infected.

Before Ethan could decide his next course of action, a sound froze him in his tracks — a stifled sob, barely audible, echoing faintly down the dim hallway. His body tensed, adrenaline surging once again through his veins. The sound was human, frail, and unmistakably that of a young girl. It seemed to come from one of the closed doors further down the corridor.

Ethan weighed the risk. Investigating could lead him to another survivor, possibly a child in need of help. However, where there was one human, there was often the infected, drawn by the scent or sounds of the living. He stood there, every sense heightened, straining to hear any additional sounds that might guide his decision. No other noise came, but the muffled sob he had heard was enough.

His feet moved almost of their own accord, carrying him cautiously down the corridor, ears straining for any hint of movement — human or otherwise. As he approached the door from which he thought the sound had emanated, he noticed that it was slightly ajar, the room beyond shrouded in darkness.

Ethan hesitated, his hand hovering near the handle. The implications of what he was about to do flooded his mind, each one tinged with a sense of foreboding. But the thought of leaving someone — especially a child — alone and vulnerable overrode his apprehensions. With a deep breath to steady his racing heart, he gently pushed the door open and stepped into the room, his eyes straining to adjust to the dark interior.

And that's when he saw it — a small figure huddled in the corner of the room, partially obscured by an overturned desk. It was a young girl, her eyes wide with terror, face streaked with tears. Next to her lay a teddy bear, its fur matted and dirty. But what caught Ethan's attention even more was the absence of any of the infected in the room.

The girl locked eyes with Ethan, her gaze filled with a mixture of hope and caution. For a split second, both of them assessed the situation, trying to gauge the other's intentions.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," Ethan whispered, taking slow steps toward her while keeping his voice as soothing as possible.

The girl's eyes brimmed with tears, and before he could reach her, she started crying. The sound was heartbreaking — a combination of relief, fear, and pent-up emotion all escaping in a deluge. The wail echoed through the otherwise silent room, a human sound in a place that had long since been stripped of its humanity.

For a moment, Ethan froze. Every survival instinct screamed at him to quiet the girl before the noise attracted any unwanted attention. But seeing her there — vulnerable, alone, terrified — he pushed aside those instincts. Instead, he hastened to her side, kneeling to bring himself to her eye level.

Ethan reached out slowly, making sure his movements were deliberate and non-threatening. "Hey, hey," he whispered, his voice quivering with both urgency and comfort, "it's all right. You're safe now."

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The girl's eyes flickered to Ethan's hand but didn't recoil. Taking this as a tentative sign of trust, he gently patted her shoulder. Her sobbing lessened, if only a bit, each shaky breath making her small body tremble.

"My name's Ethan," he offered quietly, his eyes holding hers. "What's yours?"

After a pause that seemed like an eternity, the girl whispered, "Lily."

"That's a beautiful name," Ethan said, smiling softly. "How old are you, Lily?"

I'm eight," Lily whispered, her voice barely rising above the ambient hum of the flickering fluorescent lights.

"Eight, huh? You're brave to be here all by yourself," Ethan responded, maintaining a soft, reassuring tone. "What are you doing in a place like this, Lily?"

A pause hung in the air, a silent chasm that Ethan feared might be filled with unspeakable horrors from the young girl's perspective. Lily's eyes darted away for a moment as if gathering the courage to answer. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a trace of uncertainty, mingled with a child's honesty.

"I was with my mom. She works here. But then... Everyone started running and screaming. Mom told me to hide and stay quiet. So I did."

Ethan's heart clenched at the thought of an 8-year-old hiding in a dark, abandoned office while chaos erupted around her. Yet the fact that she had managed to stay hidden and safe spoke volumes about her resilience.

"Have you seen your mom since?" he asked, already fearing the answer.

Lily shook her head, her eyes misting over again. "No. I heard some loud noises, then... then it got quiet. Really quiet."

Ethan's stomach tightened as Lily's words sank in. For a moment, he zoned out, his mind adrift in a sea of what-ifs and grim scenarios. The quiet that usually followed something terrible; he knew that quiet all too well.

"So, what do you think we should do now?" Ethan found himself absently asking, his words filling the heavy silence.

Lily looked at him, confusion clouding her eyes. "Why are you asking me? I'm just eight."

The absurdity of his own question dawned on him. Here he was, an adult, asking a child for direction in a situation that no one — let alone an eight-year-old — should ever have to face. It was a momentary lapse, perhaps a subconscious attempt to share the weight of the decisions he had to make. He offered a small, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Lily, that was a silly question to ask," Ethan said, his eyes meeting hers. "I'm the adult here; I should be the one making the decisions."

Lily nodded slowly, her eyes still tinged with a mixture of relief and worry. "So, what do we do now?"

Ethan sighed, his mind racing. "First, we need to find a safe place. Once we're secure, I need to look for my sister, Jane. She's out there somewhere, and I have to find her."

Lily's expression changed, her eyes widening. "Can we look for my mom first? Please?"

Ethan hesitated, his heart pulling him in two directions. Time was a luxury they couldn't afford, and every moment they spent in the building increased their risk. Looking for Lily's mother would mean diverting from his original plan, yet the plea in the young girl's eyes was hard to ignore.

As Ethan's gaze met Lily's, a torrent of conflicting thoughts flooded his mind. He knew every tick of the clock was precious, and with each passing second, his sister, Jane could be moving further out of reach, facing who knows what dangers out there alone. Yet, as he looked into the depths of Lily's tear-filled eyes, he felt a wrenching pull at his conscience.

The raw desperation etched on her face tugged at him, stirring a deep, paternal instinct he couldn't shove aside. His sister was out there, possibly scared and alone, but so was this little girl's mother — and here was Lily, right in front of him, her hope now interwoven with his actions.

Jane was resourceful; he clung to that belief to stave off the guilt that gnawed at him for even considering a detour. Yet, as much as he yearned to start searching for Jane right away, the thought of turning a deaf ear to Lily's plea was unbearable.

He weighed his options, the seconds ticking away like hours. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with both resolve and compromise. "Alright, Lily, we'll look for your mom first. But we have to be quick and careful. If we don't find her soon, we'll need to focus on getting to safety. Deal?"

Lily's eyes sparkled with a flicker of hope, her small hand gripping her teddy bear a little less tightly. "Deal," she whispered.

Ethan met Lily's eyes, understanding the significance of the moment. "Okay, Lily. Let's go find your mom."