It smells of wood smoke and something cooking. Actual food, not the canned crap we’ve been surviving on.
“We have power?” Sienna asks, noticing the dim lights.
“Solar panels and a backup generator,” Julien says. “Water from a well and a river in the back. Place was designed to be off-grid. Is everything working well?”
“No warm water,” Cole answers. “But other than that, it’s perfect.”
“My husband survived one apocalypse,” Rosa says, lowering herself onto the couch with a sigh. “He wasn’t taking chances on another.”
Cole directs us to wash up.
I splash my face, avoiding the hollow-eyed stranger in the mirror. The past week has carved new lines around my eyes, drained the color from my cheeks. I look like I’ve aged years, not days. When I emerge, they’re discussing sleeping arrangements.
“Rosa, you take the ground-floor bedroom,” Julien says. “Maya and Leo can have the one next to it.”
Maya nods gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Cameron, Sienna, you’re upstairs on the left. Ramirez, you’re across the hall from them.” Julien’s hand finds the small of my back, a touch so light I barely feel it. “Dakota’s with me.”
“Let’s eat.” Arianna points to the long wooden table beside the kitchen. “Made extra.”
We gather around the large table while Arianna ladles stew into a bowl and Cameron and Sienna distribute it.
My stomach clenches with hunger, but when I lift the spoon to my mouth, nothing happens. The food sits there, cooling, while conversations flow around me.
“You should eat,” Julien murmurs, his fingers squeezing mine under the table.
I lift the spoon again. Force it into my mouth. Chew. Swallow. I’m sure Arianna is a good cook, even though it tastes like nothing.
“So, security?” Ramirez leans forward, elbows on the table. “What’s the setup here?”
Cole gestures with his spoon. “Motion sensors on the perimeter. Cameras covering all approaches. Everything feeds to monitors in the basement. Battery and generator backup if the power fails.”
“Military grade?” Ramirez asks.
“Better.” A smile tugs at Julien’s mouth. “My grandfather was a bit paranoid.”
“That’s one word for it.” Rosa snorts into her stew.
“Best part is the stone wall,” Julien says. “More robust than any fence could be.”
I swallow another bite. Then another.
The old wooden clock on the wall reads 8:17.
“I should—” The words catch in my throat.
I should what?
The spoon drops from my nerveless fingers, clattering against the bowl as the room swims.
My chest seizes up.
I should what?
“Sorry.” I push back from the table. “I-I have to?—”
The chair scrapes. Too loud.
