There was a stillness to the villa at certain times. The quiet that comes with early mornings, before the sun comes up.When the rest of the world is asleep and the only thing moving is a single dust mote waltzing in the air. It was the kind of silence that felt like borrowed time. A wholeness that was never meant to last. For just a second, in the very first light, the villa held a stillness so profound it was like the world had paused. A stillness before it ended.
Julyah padded barefoot down the hallway, following the cool stone under her feet. The villa was empty. Not a soul in sight, at least, not awake. By now, Mira's music was usually droning faintly through her door, and Bryce was likely already loudly professing the virtues of cold beans for breakfast. But not today. Today, the villa was silent but for the wards by the windows, a quiet hum as they flickered gently to life in the sunrise.
She paused near the east window, where the light poured in thick and golden and slow, and ran her fingers over the flower tattooed on her wrist. It had been simple when she'd first seen it, a delicate bloom. But powerful. A secret of her own.
The petals throbbed warm under her fingertips and then, slowly, began to open. The tattoo pulsed with light, a gentle glow, and a shimmer of air appeared before her eyes, bending and curving the air like pavement in the heat. And then, like a soft ripple, the pocket dimension opened.
Her mind stepped inside.
The place smelled like dry herbs, melted wax, and oiled metal. Invisible walls stretched away as far as her eyes could see, shelves and crates stacked in neat, clean rows. Everything had its place, and everything was in its place: sealed food packs, bundles of wool blankets, rows of medical kits and pouches, jars of vitamins, rows of flashlights and solar chargers, tins of old-world coffee, and most recently—fur-lined winter coats she had traded for with the last of her crystal bullets.
Snow was coming.
She could feel it. Not in the air, not yet. But in her bones, in that quiet part of her that saw the end of the world before it happened. The heat had been the second trial. The third would come in white.
Ice. Blizzards. Frostbite. Roads buried. People dying in their homes, quietly. She had seen it in dreams. The cold wouldn't come with warning. It would come all at once, like a trap door opening beneath their feet.
And they weren't ready.
Julyah's eyes darted around her supplies, double and triple-checking her mental lists of everything. It would be enough to survive, just barely. If the storm lasted more than a few weeks... if one of them fell ill... if someone made a mistake...
Or if Adrian kept looking at her like that.
She closed her eyes for a second, shaking her head, forcing the thought away. It wasn't that his gaze bothered her. It was the way it lingered. Like he saw something in her she didn't see in herself. Like she was something rare. Warm. Alive. Breakable.
And maybe she was.
She brushed her fingers over the flower again, and the shimmer faded. The tattoo faded back into her skin like it had never been there at all.
By the time she made it back to the courtyard, the sun was up higher and so was Ellis. He stood shirtless, stretching lazily in the sunlight, a cat that had discovered a patch of warm tile.
"You know," he said, voice teasing, "if you keep saving the world and cooking like a goddess, you're going to make some poor bastard fall in love with you."
She blinked. "Some poor bastard?"
"I mean me," he said cheerfully. She rolled her eyes and walked past him, but he fell in beside her as they walked.
"Seriously, Julyah," he continued. "You've been feeding us and patching us up and organizing supplies and making it look easy. If I were ten percent smarter or twenty percent less of an idiot, I'd marry you."
"You're twenty percent more of an idiot than usual today."
"I'm nervous," he said, mock-serious. "I think I'm catching feelings."
"Take antibiotics."
From the patio, Mira was watching them with narrowed eyes. She didn't say anything, but her expression was sharp, more so than usual. Julyah had noticed. Mira had seen how Adrian's mood changed around her. How the notoriously silent ex-agent who rarely said two words to a stranger seemed to always be within arm's reach when Julyah entered a room. Eating when she cooked. Listening when she spoke.
And watching. Always watching.
She didn't need that kind of attention. Not now.
She was stacking dishes in the kitchen when Adrian slid into the room, as quiet as ever. He didn't say anything at first, just leaned his shoulder on the doorframe and watched her rinse the bowls.
"You're always the first one up," he said at last.
"I like the quiet."
He nodded. "The quiet before it breaks."
She glanced at him over her shoulder but couldn't read his expression. Still, she felt something unsaid hanging in the air between them.
"I've seen the cold coming," she said finally. "It's going to be worse than the heat. Worse and quieter. And it won't wait for us to be ready."
Adrian stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Then let's be ready. Tell me what you need."
"Trust."
He didn't flinch. "You have it."
She turned to face him, fully. "Even if I see things you don't?"
He met her eyes, and for the first time, she saw no walls there."Especially then."
Over breakfast, spooning soup made from dried root vegetables and a bit of jerky, Mira finally said something. She spooned a bite dramatically and sighed.
"If you start a cult," she said, "just know I'm not shaving my head."
"Speak for yourself," Bryce said. "If she promised warm soup like this every day, I'd shave my eyebrows too."
The others laughed, but Adrian didn't. He just sat at the end of the table, silent, eyes trained on Julyah like she was the only thing in the room worth watching.
They thought it was over.
The air had cooled. The sun no longer felt like a punishment. People started talking about rebuilding, about trading routes, about planting again. Ellis had even joked about starting a food truck. They were beginning to hope.
And Julyah just watched them, quietly.
She cleared her throat. "Don't get comfortable," she said. The table went still.
Tom raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" She looked up, her voice steady. "You think it's over because the heat died down. But it's not over. It's changing. The cold will be worse. Harsher. Quieter."
They didn't laugh. Not this time.
She stood, grabbed the plates, and carried them to the kitchen without looking back.
The silence behind her stretched.
She didn't need them to believe her. She just needed them to be ready.