The scent hit him first, garlic, something roasted, something green. It didn't smell like the end of the world. It smelled like memory.
Adrian paused in the doorway of the villa's dining room, stunned. He hadn't expected this.
The table wasn't set like a fancy feast. There was no candlelight or white linen or soft music playing. But it was real. There was warm food. Real food. A roasted bird, definitely not chicken, maybe wild turkey. Fresh greens. Something starchy. A pot of soup that was still steaming.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten something that wasn't from a tin, a vacuum-sealed bag, or some chalky protein bar that crumbled like dust in his mouth. This wasn't just a meal, it was a miracle.
Across the room, Julyah moved smoothly between the table and the counter. She tied back her braid with a strip of black cloth, her movements quick and practiced. She wore cargo pants and a sleeveless thermal shirt. No apron. No fuss. Just the ease of someone who knew what they were doing.
She had spent the morning reassembling a sniper rifle with cold, steady hands. Now she was plating soup like a mom on a Tuesday night.
Adrian couldn't stop staring.
"You're staring," she said, not looking up.
"I'm thinking," he replied, stepping inside. "And wondering if I'm about to wake up with a mouth full of dirt."
"Trust issues?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Survival instincts," he said.
She placed a bowl of greens in the middle of the table. "You'll survive longer if you sit down and eat. I don't poison my guests."
"Noted. I'm sorry about the basement and the supplies. We were just… overwhelmed. We didn't mean to pry. And we didn't take anything," he said, voice low.
"It doesn't matter," Julyah replied evenly. "Just don't let them go down there again."
One by one, the rest of his team came in.
Greer was first, scanning the windows before sitting down, his back to the wall like always. Ellis let out a low whistle and slid into the nearest chair like he couldn't believe his luck. Tom looked at the food with wide, shining eyes—like he might cry. Bryce stepped in, sniffed the air like a suspicious dog, and pointed at the roasted bird.
"This mutant-free?"
Julyah didn't blink. "Don't insult my cooking." She handed him a fork. "I've kept this place clean for a reason."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were forks clinking against plates, spoons scraping bowls, and soft, stunned sighs.
Adrian ate in silence. Slowly. Carefully. His team devoured everything in front of them like they hadn't seen food in days—which, in truth, they hadn't. But Adrian kept his eyes on her. On the way she sat at the head of the table, composed, almost still.
She wasn't just feeding them.
She was watching.
Studying.
Measuring each of them with a quiet, unshakable stare.
When the plates were empty and the cups refilled with clean, filtered water, Julyah finally broke the silence.
"You can stay here," she said. "For now."
Ellis looked up. "That 'for now' is doing a lot of heavy lifting."
"I'm not running a charity," she said. Her tone was calm, but there was no softness in it. "You follow my rules, or you leave."
Greer nodded without a word. Tom straightened in his seat. Bryce rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
"What rules?" Adrian asked.
Julyah stood slowly. She crossed her arms, face unreadable.
"One," she said, "no one goes into the east wing. Don't ask questions. Don't get curious. Don't even stand near the doors."
Ellis raised a brow. "That where you keep the armory?"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Adrian kept his voice even. "Why?"
"Because I said so."
He held her gaze, then nodded. "Fair enough."
"Two," she continued, "you'll all take turns on watch duty. We rotate. The perimeter sensors still work, but I don't trust them. This isn't a hotel."
"Dibs on sunrise shift," Ellis said with a yawn.
Julyah ignored him.
"And three…" She paused for a moment. Then gave a small shrug. "I'll let you know when I think of it."
Bryce leaned back and smirked. "Great. Mystery rules. What could go wrong?"
Adrian set down his cup. "Regardless. Thank you. This is the best meal we've had since the world fell apart. Maybe even before."
Tom nodded. "Were you a cook? Before the Collapse?"
Julyah didn't smile. She stacked the dishes neatly. "No. I was a medical student."
"Ohhh," Bryce said slowly. "That explains the whole 'patching people up like a pro' thing."
"It's not much," she said. She turned away, carrying dishes to the sink without waiting for thanks.
The conversation ended there.
Not suddenly. Just... completely.
Adrian leaned back in his chair. He watched her move through the small kitchen, light from the tall windows catching in her hair.
She didn't move like someone trying to impress anyone.
She moved like someone with a plan.
She saved them. She fed them. She didn't ask for anything in return except obedience.
That was what scared him.
She didn't want attention. She wanted control.
And for some reason, that made him trust her more than anyone else he'd met since the Collapse.
Maybe that was a mistake.
But sitting there, with a full stomach and clean water and the faintest feeling of safety curling in his chest like smoke—
Adrian felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Hope.