Page 163 of My Undead Love Life

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.” She did not seem comfortable with gratitude. That made me trust her more.

She handed Spencer a smaller pack last. “For you.”

Spencer blinked. “What is it?”

“Sanitary supplies. Electrolytes. Iron supplements. Things you didn’t ask for but will need. I included a sterility shot…if you’re interested.”

“I am!” Spencer’s entire face lit up. “You’re the best.”

Sofia smiled. “I know.”

Keith’s brows rose. “Sterility? It made her sterile?”

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Thank you,” Spencer said thickly. “I’ve really been worried about this.”

Spencer and Sofia shared a look.

“Is it safe?” I asked.

“Yes,” Sofia promised. “It’s the same one I used. Very reliable.”

“Good.” I checked the weight of my backpack, then the route in my head, and the scent-masking spray Sofia had given us the night before.

She noticed. “Don’t forget to spray yourselves before you leave the bunker,” she instructed. “The compound will temporarily confuse scent tracking. It does not make you invisible, though. It only buys time.”

“Meaning?” I gave her a look, trying to get her to just be blunt.

“It will probably catch up to you even with the spray,” Sofia continued, “but the spray should confuse it enough for you to get to your next location before that. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” Oxi repeated. “I hate that word now.”

“Everyone hates that word. It’s honest.”

Spencer stepped forward and hugged Sofia. She stiffened before one of her hands lifted awkwardly and patted Spencer’s back twice. “Thank you for everything.”

“There, there,” Sofia said, like she’d read about comfort in a manual.

Spencer laughed softly, pulling back with wet eyes. “You really should visit.”

“I might,” Sofia said.

Spencer brightened.

“I said might.”

“That’s enough.”

Sofia looked toward me, and for a moment, the oddness settled into something serious. “Your map.”

I pulled it from my backpack and unfolded it over a nearby counter. She marked her location with a small, precise symbol that didn’t scream bunker to anyone who might see it, then drew a route toward the farmhouse and another toward what she called a “less terrible fallback option.”

“Less terrible?” I asked.

“It has walls.”