They arrived at the outpost just after sundown.
No signs. No fences. No guards. Just a chain of gutted trucks surrounding a half-collapsed church. A single lantern swung from the steeple like some kind of sad flag. No sermons here. Only survivors.
Micah didn't like it. That was clear from the way his hand kept brushing his pistol. But they needed rest. Supplies. Fire. Somewhere to think. Somewhere to plan. Somewhere they could stop pretending they weren't both falling apart.
Lira stood beside him at the tree line, eyeing the makeshift compound through narrowed eyes.
"You think it's safe?" she asked.
He scoffed. "Nothing's safe anymore."
She smiled.
"Perfect."
Inside, the place looked like a graveyard of what used to be a community. Torn pews, shattered glass, and burn marks scarred the walls. People moved quietly, like ghosts. Most were armed. Some too thin. Some too still. But all of them wore the same expression: hollow hope.
A wiry man with a chain around his neck greeted them at the door. Pale skin. Yellow teeth. Eyes that didn't blink enough.
"You clean?" he asked.
Micah nodded. "Yeah."
The man's eyes shifted to Lira. And stayed there. "She clean too?"
Lira stepped forward, slowly. Intentionally.
"I'm the cleanest thing you've seen in weeks."
He didn't answer. Just smirked.
And Lira let him.
Sometimes, letting a man think he's in charge is the easiest way to walk past him.
He waved them in.
"You get one night," he said. "No drama. No fights. Keep your hands to yourselves."
"Understood," Micah said.
But Lira didn't answer.
She was too busy watching the room.
Watching them.
Hungry eyes. Quick glances. Whispers under breath.
She felt it.
That crackle.
That shift in the air.
They weren't just seeing a girl.
They were seeing a target.
Later that night, they were given a corner near the broken altar. Just a mat. A blanket. A single candle.
Micah started cleaning his gun. Lira sat against the wall, legs crossed, staring at the flame.
She spoke softly.
"I'm going to take control of this place."
Micah looked up, confused. "What?"
"I'm going to bend them. Make them want me. Fear me. Obey me."
He frowned. "You planning to start a cult or something?"
"No," she said, voice like silk. "Just a kingdom."
He studied her for a moment. Then said, "This place is full of men who'd stab you in your sleep if you looked at 'em wrong."
She smiled.
"Then I won't look at them wrong."
It started with the leader.
He called himself Daryl. He had an office in what used to be the choir room. Big man. Bald. Scar on his jaw. Thought he was a king. Walked like one. Spoke like one.
Lira waited until Micah was asleep. Or pretending to be.
She walked to Daryl's room barefoot, hips swaying gently, hair tied up, eyes half-lidded.
She knocked once.
He opened the door.
And for a second, just a second, she saw the exact moment his pulse spiked.
"What's this?" he asked, grinning.
Lira didn't smile back.
She stepped inside. Closed the door.
"You want me?" she asked.
He blinked. "What?"
"You've been staring. Since I walked in. You think I didn't notice?"
Daryl stepped closer, cautiously. "You offering?"
"No," she said.
And then stepped forward until their bodies touched.
"I'm inviting."
That was all it took.
She let him touch her.
Let him pin her.
Let him strip her bare.
But every second, her mind was working.
Every moan, every sigh, every gasp measured.
Not because she liked it.
Because he did.
Because men who feel powerful are easier to weaken.
She whispered in his ear. Told him he was strong. That he was better than the rest. That he made her feel safe.
She gave him a version of herself she never planned to be again.
And by the end, Daryl wasn't just sweating he was shaking.
Begging for another night.
And she smiled sweetly.
"Only if I ask you next time."
She walked out of the room naked but unashamed. Took her time dressing in the dark hall. Made sure two men nearby saw her button her shirt.
She saw their eyes.
Saw how they shifted.
Not with lust.
With curiosity.
With respect.
And something even better: fear.
The next morning, food rations were "accidentally" larger for her and Micah.
Two bottles of water.
Three protein bars.
And firewood.
Micah noticed instantly.
"What did you do?" he asked, chewing slowly.
"Just had a conversation," she said.
"With your mouth or your body?"
Lira looked at him and said calmly, "What's the difference, if it buys us power?"
Micah stared at her.
Then tossed her a cigarette he'd been saving.
"You scare me," he said.
"Good," she whispered. "Because I don't scare myself anymore."
Later that night, Lira stood outside the church, watching the sky. A cold wind brushed her skin, but she didn't flinch.
Micah came out, arms crossed, leaning against the wall beside her.
"You're building something," he said.
She nodded.
He lit a cigarette, took a drag. "Why?"
"Because I'd rather be feared than fucked."
Micah turned to her. "You think they won't turn on you?"
She looked at him with fire in her eyes.
"They can try."