JOSH.
The rooftop smelled like clover and fresh hay.
Houdini and Luna wrestled under the sunflower bed while Dolly snorted gently in her stall. The chickens were unusually quiet — probably sensing the air shift. The sky was dipped in that strange pre-storm silver, everything washed in a grey that made the city feel farther away than usual.
I stood by the greenhouse door, watching the freight elevator indicator descend.
Ding.
Jessi stepped out first, ponytail tucked through a ball cap, her jacket slung over one arm.
"Still don't believe you're sane," she muttered, "but I gotta say — this place smells better than I expected."
"That's the lavender. Or the cow."
She grinned.
Then came Boris. Late twenties, beard, calm energy. He moved like someone used to animals — not flustered, not loud. He nodded once, slowly taking in the glass dome, the coop, the filtration bins.
"You built a micro-sanctuary," he said. "Like a vet tech wet dream."
"Cool," I replied. "You're hired."
He gave me a wry look, but I saw the understanding in his eyes. He got it — or at least enough to follow the unspoken rule: ask less, adapt more.
Last was Jules.
Sunglasses, even indoors. Windbreaker zipped tight. Blonde hair in a messy bun. She had blueprints under one arm and a tool belt slung over her shoulder.
"You didn't tell me your cousin was FEMA Barbie," Jessi whispered.
"She's not. She's worse. She's brilliant."
Jules dropped her stuff by the door and surveyed the rooftop like a battlefield.
"I'll need three days to finish the wiring, six if you want to expand the battery array. And your support beams are overloaded."
"Love you too," I muttered.
We had maybe twenty minutes of light left when the first drops hit the glass.
It was soft — not a storm yet. Just the polite kind of rain that says something's coming.
I was halfway down the hallway from the rooftop when the buzz echoed through the building's internal intercom.
BZZZT.
Jules turned sharply.
I stopped walking.
BZZZT.
She walked to the security panel I'd installed on the wall beside the freight door, pressed the audio.
"Yes?"
A pause.
Then a voice — distorted, but unmistakable.
"Hey… It's Rosie. Um… Josh said we could stay with him? It's starting to come down out here. Can you let us up?"
I saw Jules' shoulders stiffen.
She looked at me.
I shook my head.
She pressed the button again.
"Josh isn't home."
"Wait, what? I just talked to him yesterday—"
"He's out of town. Storm evacuation. You should be too."
Another pause.
Then muffled voices behind Rosie — Brent, low and annoyed, and Eric, grumbling something about the door code.
"Can you just—can you tell him we're here? Please?"
"This isn't a shelter," Jules said flatly. "Try somewhere else."
And then she pressed the kill switch.
Cut the feed.
We watched on the monitor as Rosie stood there, lips parted, rain soaking into her coat. Her mascara began to smear. She turned to Brent and Eric.
They stepped back.
Brent kicked the front door.
It didn't budge.
Eric took out something that looked like a crowbar and jammed it under the lock.
I held my breath.
The door held.The bulletproof, one-way glass shimmered with the weight of the impact.From the outside, it still looked empty.To them, we were gone.
To us, they were the beginning and they'd be back.