Page 7

Outside, the wind shifts—wrong—carrying that sour, heavy smell…

The night hums low. Even the cicadas go quiet. It should’ve stopped by now. Somewhere past the tree line, wood creaks—slow, deliberate. Not wind. Something else.

Cass’s eyes flick to the door. Scarlett’s hand stills around her fork.

And me? I just keep chewing—deciding not to hear it. Pretending the world outside isn’t sharpening its teeth again, because the world doesn’t care what we choose. It only cares what it can take.

We don’t say anything. Just keep eating.

Cass gnaws the last bit of meat from the bone, tosses it onto her plate. Scarlett chews slow, eyes far away. The noise outside fades, but the silence it leaves hums loud enough to hear your own heartbeat.

I stare down at my corn, pretending not to taste the fear still thick in my mouth.

Then Scarlett clears her throat, sets her fork down, and forces a small smile. “Well,” she says, “at least dinner wasn’t trying to eat us this time.”

Cass huffs a laugh—short, sharp, but real. “You’re twisted, you know that?”

Scarlett shrugs, weary humor flickering in her eyes. “Aren’t we all?”

The tension cracks, just enough to breathe. Enough to remind us we’re still here.

We finish in silence. Scarlett washes while I wipe the table. Cass stacks dishes, careful not to chip what’s left. The tap groans before the water runs warm—thank you, Scarlett’s tinkering.

Steam fogs the cracked window. For a moment, the world beyond it doesn’t exist. It’s just us—scrubbing, rinsing, moving around each other like we’ve done this a thousand times before. Because we have.

When the last dish is put away, Scarlett snuffs the lamps. The house sinks into a warm glow, firelight throwing slow shadows across the walls.

We pile onto the couch, drawn to the heat like moths. It sags under our weight, but it holds. I curl up first, head in Scarlett’s lap. Her fingers find my hair, combing through it gentle, the way Mama used to. Cass drops beside us, legs draping over mine, our ankles tangling in the heap of blankets. Shadow’s already curled by the hearth, tail twitching in sleep.

“Whose turn?” Cass asks, digging through the crate of battered paperbacks.

“Mine!” I answer immediately.

She groans. “Please, not the horny bat again.”

“It’s Dracula, not the horny bat,” I protest, swatting her thigh. “Classic literature, Cass.”

Scarlett snorts. “Don’t you mean clit-erature?”

I groan, burying my face in Scarlett’s thigh. “You’re both disgusting. Maybe he’ll drink you just to shut you up.”

Silence lasts a heartbeat before laughter explodes—loud and helpless. Cass leans back clutching her side; Scarlett’s fingers tighten in my hair, tugging till I look up.

“Lord above,” she says through a grin, “you might look like me, but you’ve got Cass’s wicked streak.”

Cass shakes her head, still smiling as she fishes out the book. “Enough filth for one night. Back to our regularly scheduled nightmare.”

We’ve been doing this every night since the world fell apart—piling together like pups, blankets stacked high, fire snapping low. A ritual carved from ruin. Cass complains the whole time…right up until her voice drops low and rhythmic, pulling us into a world where monsters have rules and men still pretend to be heroes.

I close my eyes and let the words wash over me.

Out there, the world rots.

In here, it’s just us.

For now, and now is a fragile thing.

IV