The Vineyard wasn't a vineyard anymore.
What had once been careful rows of grapes had become a communal hollow built around their memory. Stone arches still stood, cracked but stubborn, reclaimed by hanging greenery that softened the scars. Long tables filled the space, their surfaces worn smooth by years of hands. Warm light glowed from salvaged lanterns and string bulbs, and for the first time since entering the city, Felicity felt the subtle absence of armor.
This was a place where women gathered without weapons.
Rose stiffened the moment they stepped inside.
It was instinctive. Her shoulders tightened, her weight shifted, spine bracing for judgment that hadn't arrived yet. Felicity felt it immediately and slowed her pace without comment, matching Rose step for step, presence steady at her side.
They didn't make it far before a woman with thick braided hair and scarred hands looked up from one of the tables and smiled openly. No appraisal. No calculation.
"You must be the ones everyone's whispering about," she said, lifting her hand in a casual wave. "Come sit before you decide we're dangerous."
Rose bristled.
Felicity smiled politely and followed the invitation.
"I'm Mara," the woman said once they'd settled. "That's Elin. That's Jo. We keep the place running."
They talked.
Not about battles. Not about levels or kill counts or who'd lost what to the world ending.
They talked about gardens that refused to die. About children who learned faster than adults ever did. About which commanders were tolerable, which ones listened, and which ones needed to be managed like weather rather than men.
Rose relaxed in increments so small they were almost invisible. The tight set of her jaw softened. Her vines stayed quiet. When someone asked about her magic without fear or fascination, only curiosity, something in her finally eased.
"They're… normal," Rose muttered later, like the word itself felt suspect on her tongue.
Felicity laughed softly. "That's allowed."
Damien had waited outside the arches, respectful, unobtrusive. Rose noticed. Filed it away.
"He's good," she said quietly.
Felicity didn't look surprised. "I know."
From the walls above, unseen eyes tracked the gathering.
And took notes.
The kindergarten was louder than Felicity expected.
That alone felt miraculous.
It occupied what had once been a sunken storage hall, its stone walls painted over with uneven murals. Handprints. Flowers. Stick figures with too many limbs. Someone had hung strings of paper birds from the ceiling, their wings fluttering gently whenever the doors opened.
Children filled the space in controlled chaos.
Not running wild. Not silent. Moving with purpose, voices overlapping in a way that spoke of safety rather than neglect. Wooden practice weapons lay stacked neatly by one wall. Low platforms for climbing. Thick mats for falling without fear.
Luna froze at the threshold.
Her fingers tightened instantly around Frost's hand, eyes wide as she took it all in. For a heartbeat, Felicity thought she might bolt.
Then a girl about her age waved.
"Hi!" she said brightly. "You're new!"
Luna's ears flicked. She glanced up at Felicity for confirmation.
Felicity smiled. "Go on."
Luna let go of Frost and marched forward like she was storming a castle. "I'm Luna," she announced. "I'm really good at climbing and I have magic but it's still learning."
"That's okay," the girl said seriously. "So is mine."
Frost hovered near the doorway, half-hidden behind Felicity's leg. He watched. Catalogued. His gaze tracked exits, teachers, older children, the way the room moved as a whole.
Tommy crouched beside him.
"So," Tommy whispered, "on a scale of one to ten, how dangerous do you think this place is?"
Frost considered. Then held up three fingers.
Tommy nodded gravely. "Yeah, that tracks."
A teacher with grey-streaked hair and a calm, unflappable expression approached. "You must be the new ones," she said, not asking. Her eyes flicked briefly to Tommy. Then back. "You're welcome to observe."
"Observe," Tommy repeated. "Yes. I am very good at that."
Within thirty seconds, he was sitting on a tiny chair.
Within sixty, it broke.
There was a long pause.
Tommy stared at the splintered remains in his hands. "I think I sat wrong."
No one yelled.
The teacher sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose, and handed him a replacement chair. "Try again. Slowly."
Tommy lowered himself onto it with exaggerated care, sweating like it was a combat maneuver.
Frost watched this with intense interest.
Luna had already been absorbed into a group learning how to fall safely. She hit the mat, rolled, popped back up laughing.
"Again!" she demanded.
Frost edged closer to the mat. A teacher knelt beside him. "You don't have to join," she said gently.
Frost hesitated. Then nodded once.
He stepped onto the mat. Fell badly. Sat up, surprised.
No one laughed.
Luna clapped wildly. "You did it!"
Frost's mouth twitched. Just barely.
Tommy, watching from his chair, gasped. "Did you see that? That was amazing. I can't even fall on purpose."
A child tugged on his sleeve. "Are you a teacher?"
Tommy froze. Looked at Felicity in panic.
She covered her mouth to hide a smile.
"I think," Tommy said carefully, "I am more like a mascot."
The child nodded. "That's important too."
By the time Victor was called away, Luna had made three friends, Frost had stopped hovering near exits, and Tommy was being used as a climbing structure under strict supervision.
Felicity watched from the wall, heart aching in a good, dangerous way.
This wasn't training.
This was hope, scaled down to child-sized hands.
And for the first time since arriving at Vineyard, she understood what they were really protecting.
Victor
The commander requested Victor privately. No guards. No drawn weapons. No audience.
Just two men who understood exactly what it cost to keep people alive.
"You're not temporary," the commander said plainly once the door shut behind them. "Not with what you bring to the field."
Victor didn't respond. He never did when men were measuring him.
"I want Snow Team folded into command," the commander continued. "Autonomy preserved. Strategic authority shared. You answer to me in name only."
Victor studied him in silence.
"We don't trust easily," he said at last.
"I noticed," the commander replied, dry.
His gaze shifted briefly toward the training yards below, where lightning still crackled faintly in the air. "The horse brothers," he said. "Effective. Disciplined. Dangerous."
"They are," Victor agreed.
"And loyal," the commander added. "That matters more."
His eyes moved again, this time farther, toward the green edges of the city where vines climbed stone they had no right to claim. "The vine woman. Rose. Is she… available?"
Victor blinked.
Once.
Then his expression locked down again.
"She's not property," he said flatly.
"I didn't say she was," the commander replied. "I asked if she's spoken for."
Victor considered. "She chooses her own path."
The commander nodded, accepting that without pushback. "Good. Then ask her."
When Victor left, the answer remained unspoken.
Rose
She felt the commander's presence like a splinter under her thumb.
He was everywhere and nowhere. Leaning against a parapet two stories above during morning reports. Standing at the edge of the training yard with his arms crossed while drills ran. Sometimes issuing clipped, precise instructions. Sometimes just watching, weighing.
She caught him staring in the mess hall.
She caught him during sparring, his gaze heavy enough to register even through adrenaline.
Worse, she caught herself looking for it. Adjusting her stance. Fixing her hair.
Her cheeks betrayed her every time, buzzing hot as nettles, Rose hated that more than the routine.
The worst of it was that the man almost never looked surprised. Not when she braced Victor in a bare knuckle bout and won by a split second. Not when her temper earned her an hour in isolation for snapping a table in half.
He just counted it all. Logged it somewhere. Did the math.
And looked at her with the same steady, unhurried interest, like he'd already known she was capable of everything she did.
Victor did not help.
"He probably wants to be your beast husband," he said deadpan after the second post drill interrogation.
The third night, she was summoned alone.
No guards. No preamble. Just the commander's voice outside her quarters, low and expectant.
"Walk with me."
She wanted to refuse.
Her feet followed anyway.
They walked in silence at first, the city ruins speaking instead. The sky was black, but what stars remained looked close enough to grab. He led her to the northern wall, far from the warmth of the Vineyard.
Below them, survivors slept under patched quilts. Beyond that, the wilderness shifted, alive and dangerous.
"I know you hate it," he said quietly.
"Hate what?" she snapped.
"The routine. The rules." He leaned on the parapet, forearms corded with muscle. "You're built to be wild."
She scoffed. "You built a fence and feed wolves inside it."
A faint smile. "I am a wolf."
"You're a shepherd."
"That's why I want you in command."
There it was.
No pitch. No manipulation.
"I'm not offering you a cage," he said. "I want you to show others how to survive when fences fall."
The words lodged under her skin.
"You intimidate half my officers," he went on, almost amused. "The rest want to claim you. I want you to lead."
"Because I scare you?"
"Because I respect you."
She wanted to hit him. Or kiss him. Or jump off the wall to see if he'd follow.
"Let me think," she said instead.
"I'll wait."
He left her there, vibrating with something dangerously close to hope.
The next morning, Rose didn't say yes, She simply showed up.
She took a seat at the officers' table and waited for someone to stop her, No one did.
Not even the commander, who watched her with the faintest, most infuriatingly satisfied smile.