Adrian couldn't remember the last time he sat down without a gun across his chest. He couldn't remember the last time someone handed him a grilled cheese sandwich, warm and buttered and made with real cheese.
But here he was.
Sitting in a sun-warmed courtyard behind a villa that shouldn't have survived the Fall. Surrounded by people who probably shouldn't be alive either. Light banter surrounded him. Tom and Bryce were bickering over canned fruit like it was the most pressing issue of their lives.
"Only if you eat them cold." Bryce insisted, stabbing at his chipped ceramic bowl with a fork. "Heat ruins the syrup."
"You're confusing syrup with spoiled sugar water," Tom replied, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh.
Mira sat nearby, perched like a cat on the edge of a stone ledge. Her sunglasses were improbably clean, despite the dust and ruin around them. She snorted.
"This is what civilization died for?" she asked. "Arguments over sugar soup?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair. Laughter rippled around the table, slow but true. He felt out of practice hearing it, like a language he hadn't spoken in years. It didn't quite fit yet. But it wasn't unwelcome.
Then she emerged.
Julyah.
Quiet. Measured. Still the most capable person in the villa and the most difficult to read. She came through the back door, carrying a dented tray in her hands. The mismatched mugs rattled slightly as she walked.Inside them was something close to coffee. Though Adrian had long since stopped calling it that. It was dark and bitter, and spiced with something citrusy. Ellis said the herbs were for mental clarity. But Adrian wasn't sure he had a mind left to sharpen.
Julyah didn't speak. She set the tray down on the table and gave the group a quick, calm glance. Like a commander checking on her squad. Then she turned, ready to vanish again.
"Stay," Greer said.
He didn't say it loudly. It wasn't a command or even a full invitation. Just a word that made space. Not because they needed her presence but because they respected it.
Julyah paused with her hand on the doorknob. Her gaze slid to Adrian, unreadable as always.
"I watered your lemon tree," Ellis said, dead serious. "It told me you're mad at me."
That earned her first smile of the morning. Small. A little tired. But real.
She huffed a short sigh, said something about bad influences, and sat beside Mira without making a show of it. The way she moved was careful. Like she knew exactly how long to stay and exactly when to leave.
The table fell silent for a moment, not from discomfort but something heavier. Maybe trust. Maybe peace. The kind that was rare enough to make everyone cautious.
Then, as usual, Bryce spoke.
"What's with the tattoo?"
Julyah blinked, caught off guard by the question."What?"
He nodded toward her wrist. The inside of her left arm was inked with a small, elegant design. Charcoal gray lines formed a flower with five pointed petals and a spiral stem. It looked both delicate and exact, like something sketched in an old, forgotten language.
"You don't seem like the ink type," he added, still chewing his toast.
She curled her hand slightly as if to cover the mark. "Got it a long time ago."
"What kind of flower is it?" Mira asked, her voice lower now. "It doesn't look familiar."
"It's not local," Julyah answered.
"So where's it from?" Ellis leaned forward, squinting. "Looks more like a sigil than a flower."
"It's not magic," Julyah said quickly.
Her voice didn't rise. But something shifted. The air stilled. Adrian noticed the way her thumb brushed over the bloom. Not a casual movement. More like a check. Like she was testing whether the tattoo was still warm—or ready.
He didn't press.
Julyah seemed to feel the weight of their attention, so she moved the conversation along. "How'd you all meet, anyway? You don't exactly look like childhood friends."
Tom grinned. "We worked for him," he said, pointing at Adrian.
Bryce added with dramatic flourish, "You're looking at a former politician.Real one. Suits, speeches, headlines, the whole deal. Man was halfway to the presidency before the world caught fire."
That got a round of laughter. Even Julyah smiled, though it was more of a quiet exhale than an actual laugh. Still, Adrian noticed. Her shoulders sagged just a little.
Maybe this could work.
Later that night, long after the coffee had gone cold and the laughter had died, Julyah stood alone in her room.The windows were open. The air outside was thick with residual heat, though not as bad as it had been earlier in the week.
She sat at the edge of her bed and looked down at her wrist.
The tattoo glowed faintly in the low light. The petals pulsed like a heartbeat. She whispered and the bloom began to glow softly. Her fingertip passed through it as though dipping into still water.
The space opened up in her mind—huge, layered, orderly. Inside were supplies she had packed with care: shelf-stable food, clean water, warm clothing, fuel, weapons and tools. Everything arranged with purpose. Nothing spoiled. Nothing stolen.
She moved through it quickly, checking the inventory. Some rations were low. One of the medical kits was missing key components, likely used when Greer had twisted his knee on the last supply run. She'd restock it tomorrow.
The villa had protected them so far, hidden deep in the hills and fortified by old wards and smarter routines. But she didn't believe in safety. Not really.
The heat wave had only been the first test.
They didn't know what else was coming. Not Adrian. Not Mira or Tom or Ellis. They thought the firestorm was the worst of it.
But Julyah had seen further.
She remembered the snow.
Not gentle flakes or pretty white drifts—but walls of ice and wind sharp enough to peel skin. She remembered storms that lasted weeks. Then months. A winter so long it blurred the lines between seasons.
She had seen it in her dream.
And dreams didn't lie.
This time, she wouldn't wait for the cold to take them. This time, she would be ready. And if they stayed, if they chose to stand beside her, then she would keep them alive.
Even if the world fell all over again.