It started with footprints.
Julyah didn't even have to look to know who left them. They were muddy, spaced too far apart to be Greer, and too heavy to be Ellis. Definitely Adrian. He was always in boots. Always pacing like the ground might vanish if he stood still for too long.
She crouched near the tiled entryway, damp rag in hand, and wiped away the newest trail. The dirt smeared before it came clean, but she kept at it.
Civilization had fallen. Fires had burned cities to ash. Water had swallowed whole coasts. Yet somehow, housekeeping survived.
"Let it go," she muttered under her breath. "Let them be."
But her hand moved faster. Her fingers scrubbed harder.
"I owed him my life in the dream," she whispered. "This is just mud."
By the third day of hosting them, Julyah began to notice patterns.
Greer was always up at dawn. He never waited for orders, just walked the perimeter like it was second nature. His movements were silent and focused, like a soldier still at war, even though the world had already lost.
Bryce had taken over a corner of the garage. He used duct tape, wires, and—she was pretty sure—what used to be her blender to build a homemade alarm system. He didn't explain how it worked. He didn't have to. The blinking lights and high-pitched beeps were enough to make her trust it more than she wanted to.
Tom had reorganized the pantry. Every can was now in alphabetical order. Tomato soup, tuna, turnips. He hadn't said much since they arrived, and Julyah had the feeling he needed to be useful more than he needed to speak. You didn't alphabetize lentils unless your hands were trying to keep your heart from falling apart.
Ellis? He tried to motivate the houseplants.
She had caught him giving a heartfelt speech to her lemon tree.
"You've got potential, buddy," he had said, tapping the pot gently. "Strong roots. You're going to bear fruit. I believe in you."
She had walked out before he noticed her. She was not emotionally prepared to engage in citrus-based optimism.
Even Mira Zhao, who never helped without a side of sarcasm, had taken it upon herself to clean the back windows. The glass still had streaks, but Julyah noticed the effort. Mira didn't like anyone, except maybe Adrian, and even that was more respect than warmth. Still, she scrubbed. That said something.
And Adrian?
Adrian drifted.
He didn't claim a room or a task. He didn't ask for anything. But somehow, he was always helping. If something needed lifting, he was already there. If someone missed a watch, he took the shift without being asked. And unlike the others, he didn't just look around the villa—he watched her. Not in a way that made her uncomfortable, but in a way that made her feel like she was standing on a ledge.
He studied her like he was waiting for something to break. Or explode.
She wasn't sure which.
That night, Julyah stood on the villa rooftop with her rifle across her back. The city below was nothing more than broken bones and dust. Streets that used to hum with life were now shadows and silence.
No gunfire. No screams. Just the steady chirp of cicadas and the faint buzz from her perimeter grid. A single light flickered—probably a power dip. She made a mental note to check the solar array in the morning.
"Can't sleep either?" came Adrian's voice from behind her.
She didn't turn. "Didn't plan on it."
He stepped beside her, keeping a respectful distance. His hands were in his jacket pockets. He looked calm, but she knew better. He never really rested. There was always a weight behind his eyes, like he carried too many memories he didn't know where to put.
"I thought you lived alone," he said after a moment. "But this place… it's not abandoned. It's maintained. Clean. Secure."
"I like clean lines," she said simply.
"I think you liked people. Once."
That made her glance at him. Not sharply, just enough to let him know she was listening. He didn't flinch. He kept his eyes on the skyline.
"I don't like variables," she said.
"I get that."
"I don't like noise."
"But you let us in."
"I regret it every five minutes."
That made him laugh, a real one. Low and warm. She didn't join him.
Because she hadn't let them in out of kindness. Not really. She had let them in because of the dream.
In that dream, the world had ended. Fire had rained from the sky. The ground had split open. People screamed. Cities fell. And through it all, Adrian had stood beside her. She didn't remember much else. Not who survived. Not where they went. Only the way he had shielded her, always stepping in front of the danger.
So this time, she had stepped in front of his.
She told herself it was just repayment. A balance.
She didn't remember the rest of his team. Not Mira's sharp wit, or Ellis's cheerful nonsense. Not Greer or Bryce or Tom. Just Adrian. Which made the others feel like side characters in someone else's story.
Adrian looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You ever think about leaving this place? Going somewhere less... dead?"
She considered that.
"Every time I think about leaving, I remember the roads are worse. The people are worse. And the dead don't ask questions."
He didn't press her.
Good.
Because there were things she hadn't told them. Things she hadn't even told herself out loud.
This villa had been her refuge—her last safe corner of the world. But she'd always known it couldn't last forever. She had prepared for that too. Etched on her wrist was a flower tattoo, more than just ink. When activated, it opened a pocket dimension, an enchanted space where time stood still. Inside, she had food, equipment, medicine, and enough clean water to survive for years. Enough to outlast a second apocalypse… maybe even a third.
She had packed everything, except for people.
She hadn't planned for them. Not their footsteps, not their noise, and especially not him.
But they were here now. And maybe… just maybe… she didn't want them to leave.
Julyah adjusted the rifle on her back and leaned against the ledge. Below them, the world lay quiet, like it was holding its breath.
So she did too.
And beside her, so did Adrian.