They were silent when they reached the villa. The storm had worn them down. Faces raw with the biting wind, lips cracked and eyes squinting against the glare of the world outside: an unearthly white of ice and branches and sky. The silence didn't feel heavy. It felt tired. Bone-deep and quiet like people who had nothing left to complain about.
The wind behind them was picking up again. Shifting and rolling through the woods, blowing a curtain of white that swallowed the trunks and the sky. Chasing them, almost getting too close.
Tom reached the garage first. He planted his boot and shoved the metal door up with a loud creak. The rest of them followed. Their footsteps echoing on the icy concrete floor, boots crunching with each heavy step. Arms laden with scavenged supplies, they slipped inside one by one.
Greer leaned back against the wall, pulling off his scarf and gloves. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths."We're gonna feel that tomorrow," he muttered.
"Tomorrow's not promised," Bryce replied, rolling his sore shoulder. His coat was torn on one side, snow dusting the frayed edge."But at least we got fuel."
"And weirdly specific canned soup," Mira added, dropping a small sack on the ground and fishing out a dented can. She held it up, eyeing it with a frown. "Clam chowder. Who even eats this shit during the apocalypse?"
"No one with any taste left," Greer said.
"Beggars can't be choosers," Mira replied with a tired shrug.She shoved the can back into the sack and rubbed her frozen fingers together.
Ellis didn't join the banter. He quietly set down the gas can he'd been carrying, eyes flicking across the frosted windows. Always watching. Always waiting.
Adrian took a slow headcount. One, two, three… Something was off. He narrowed his eyes.
"Where's Julyah?" he asked. But she was already gone.
—
She didn't stop in the hallway, didn't check in with the others, didn't pause to eat or drink. Julyah's steps were quiet and purposeful as she slipped through the villa and out towards the greenhouse.
The outer glass was frosted over. The snow had climbed nearly halfway up the side walls, but the structure still stood. That was what mattered. It had become her quiet place. Not because of the plants, not because it was warm, but because no one else ever came there.
She stepped inside. The heat hit her immediately, thick and damp like a blanket.It smelled of soil and faint herbs. The tomatoes were hanging on. Barely. The basil and rosemary had lost their luster, but they weren't dead.
Like everything else around here, they were surviving.
She passed by them without a glance. She wasn't there for the garden.
Julyah found the corner where no security camera could see, just in case.She pulled back her sleeve and took a look at her wrist.
The flower tattoo shimmered. The lines lit up gently, petals glowing just beneath her skin.
She pressed two fingers to the center.
The air shifted.
There was no sound, no flash. But she knew she had crossed the threshold. Inside the hidden space, her personal dimension, rows of crates were waiting. Everything she'd gathered over time. Every emergency plan she couldn't speak of. Blankets. Dried food. Water filters. Medicine. A folded cot. Even a wind-up radio and solar lanterns.
She ran her hand across the top of the nearest crate. She didn't open it. She didn't take anything. She just needed to know it was still there.
The others didn't know. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Not unless she had no choice.
One day, she thought, this might be all we have.
The villa felt strong. The structure had held up better than most. But so had the city. So had the others safehouse, before fire took it.
Everything felt strong, until it wasn't.
—
When she stepped back into the house, the change in temperature made her flinch. The hallway was quiet. The heater still hummed, but it was barely enough to take the edge off. The light from the windows had already gone gray, sky shifting fast. More snow was coming.
She walked quietly, trying not to wake anyone. The others were scattered across couches, bundled up in makeshift beds or curled in blankets near the fire. Mira snored softly in the corner. Greer twitched in his sleep.
Then she saw him.
Adrian stood near the window in the central hall. Arms crossed. Eyes on the snow outside. His jaw was tight with worry.
He turned when she passed.
"You didn't eat much," he said, voice low.
She stopped. "Wasn't hungry."
He raised an eyebrow. "You've said that for three nights."
She looked at the window instead of him. "The wind's shifting again. You can hear it."
He stepped closer. His movement was calm, steady. Not pushing, just showing he was there.
"What are you planning?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away.
"Nothing," she said finally. "Not yet. I'm just trying to be ready."
His eyes stayed on her face for a few more seconds. Long enough to make her wonder if he was about to call her out. But he didn't. Instead, he just said:
"If you go—wherever it is you go—don't leave me behind."
Her breath caught. His voice wasn't angry. It wasn't desperate. It was real. Honest.
She didn't know how to answer right away. Her fingers curled at her sides.
"I won't," she said quietly.
They stood beside each other in silence, the only sound the wind against the glass. Somewhere upstairs, a door creaked open and closed. But down here, in this moment, there was only the two of them.
Outside, the storm was gathering again. The trees were swaying. The road had already disappeared under a fresh layer of snow. The villa might hold for now, but nothing was promised.
Still, something between them felt steady. Not safe. Not sure. But steady.
Adrian didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.
And for once, Julyah didn't feel completely alone.
Not with him standing beside her.
Not in this kind of calm.
The calm that wasn't kind—but at least, for now, it wasn't cruel.