Adrian couldn't remember the last time he sat down without a weapon strapped across his chest. He also couldn't remember the last time someone handed him a grilled cheese sandwich, warm, buttery, made with actual cheese.
But here he was.
Seated in a sun-warmed courtyard behind a villa that shouldn't have survived the Fall, surrounded by people who probably shouldn't be alive either. Around him, the mood was light. Tom and Bryce were deep in a debate over canned fruit, as if sugar content was the most important issue in the world.
"Only if you eat them cold," Bryce insisted, stabbing at his chipped ceramic bowl with a fork. "Heat ruins the syrup."
"You're confusing syrup with expired sugar water," Tom replied, shaking his head with a dramatic sigh.
Mira sat nearby, perched like a cat on the edge of a stone ledge. Her sunglasses were somehow still spotless, despite the dust and ruin around them. She gave a snort.
"This is what civilization died for?" she asked. "Arguments over sugar soup?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair. The laughter spread across the table, slow but real. It felt unfamiliar, like hearing a language he hadn't spoken in years. It didn't fit just yet. But it wasn't unwelcome either.
Then she stepped out.
Julyah.
Quiet. Measured. Still the most capable person in the villa and the most difficult to understand. She came through the back door with a dented tray in her hands. The mismatched mugs rattled slightly as she walked. Inside them was something close to coffee, though Adrian had stopped calling it that a long time ago. It was dark, bitter, and spiced with something citrusy. Ellis claimed the herbs sharpened the mind, but Adrian wasn't sure he had a mind left to sharpen.
Julyah didn't speak. She set the tray down on the table and gave the group a quick, calm glance. Like a commander checking on her squad. Then she turned, ready to disappear again.
"Stay," Greer said.
He didn't say it loudly. It wasn't a command or even a full invitation. Just a word that made space. Not because they needed her presence, but because they respected it.
Julyah paused with her hand on the doorknob. Her gaze slid briefly to Adrian, unreadable as always.
"I watered your lemon tree," Ellis announced, dead serious. "It told me you're mad at me."
That earned her first smile of the morning. Small. A little tired. But real.
She gave a short sigh, said something about bad influences, and sat beside Mira without making a show of it. The way she moved was precise. Like she knew exactly how long to stay and exactly when to leave.
The table went quiet for a moment, not from discomfort but something heavier. Maybe trust. Maybe peace. The kind that was rare enough to make everyone cautious.
Then, as usual, Bryce broke it.
"What's with the tattoo?"
Julyah blinked, not expecting the question. "What?"
He nodded toward her wrist. The inside of her left arm bore a small, elegant design, charcoal gray lines forming a flower with five pointed petals and a spiral stem. It looked both delicate and exact, like something sketched in an old, forgotten language.
"You don't seem like the ink type," he added, still chewing his toast.
She curled her hand slightly, as if to shield the mark. "Got it a long time ago."
"What kind of flower is it?" Mira asked, her voice softer now. "It doesn't look familiar."
"It's not local," Julyah answered.
"So where's it from?" Ellis leaned forward, squinting. "Looks more like a sigil than a flower."
"It's not magic," Julyah said quickly.
Her voice didn't rise, but something changed. The air seemed to still. Adrian caught the way her thumb brushed over the bloom. Not a casual movement. More like a check. Like she was testing whether the tattoo was still warm—or ready.
He didn't ask questions. Not yet.
Julyah seemed to feel the attention, so she changed the subject. "How'd you all meet, anyway? You don't exactly look like childhood friends."
Tom grinned. "We worked for him," he said, pointing at Adrian.
Bryce jumped in with dramatic flair. "You're looking at a former politician. Real one. Suits, speeches, headlines, the whole deal. Man was halfway to the presidency before the world caught fire."
That got a round of laughter. Even Julyah smiled, though it was more of a quiet exhale than an actual laugh. Still, Adrian noticed. Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Maybe this could work.
Later that night, long after the coffee had gone cold and the laughter had faded, Julyah stood alone in her room. The windows were open. The air outside was thick with leftover heat, though it wasn't as bad as it had been earlier in the week.
She sat at the edge of her bed and looked down at her wrist.
The tattoo shimmered faintly in the low light. The petals pulsed like a heartbeat. She whispered and the bloom began to glow softly. Her fingertip passed through it as though dipping into still water.
The space opened up in her mind—vast, layered, orderly. Inside it were supplies she had packed with care: shelf-stable food, clean water, warm clothing, fuel, weapons, and tools. Everything arranged with purpose. Nothing spoiled. Nothing stolen.
She moved through it quickly, checking the inventory. Some rations were running low. One of the medical kits was missing key items, likely used when Greer had twisted his knee on the last supply run. She'd restock it tomorrow.
The villa had protected them so far, hidden deep in the hills and guarded by old wards and smarter routines. But she didn't believe in safety. Not really.
The heat wave had only been the first test.
They didn't know what else was coming. Not Adrian. Not Mira or Tom or Ellis. They thought the firestorm was the worst of it.
But Julyah had seen further.
She remembered the snow.
Not gentle flakes or pretty white drifts—but walls of ice and wind sharp enough to peel skin. She remembered storms that lasted weeks. Then months. A winter so long it blurred the lines between seasons.
She had seen it in her dream.
And dreams didn't lie.
This time, she wouldn't wait for the cold to take them. This time, she would be ready. And if they stayed, if they chose to stand beside her, then she would keep them alive.
Even if the world fell all over again.