QuillMistress

You’d think seeing the future would give me a head start on surviving the apocalypse. I had it all planned—until everything I knew shattered when my husband sacrificed himself to save me and our son. Now it’s just me, my three-year-old son Leo, and my cursed gift of foresight that only seems to kick in when it’s nearly too late.

I’m doing my best to keep us safe, to find food, to make some kind of plan—

“Mommy?”

I glance down, trying to ignore the tug on my pant leg as I focus on our supplies. “Not now, Leo. Mommy’s thinking.”

“Mommy!”

I sigh and finally look down. My three-year-old is standing there, clutching… I blink. “Leo, where did you get a knife?”

He shrugs, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

My heart stutters. “No, really. Where did you find that?”

I try not to laugh. I mean, he’s three. Maybe he just—found it somewhere? But the next day, it’s a water bottle. Then, a tiny flashlight, somehow with batteries still inside. 

I don’t even know what else; he’s pulling things out one by one with the pleased grin of a kid who’s just figured out his favorite game.

Well, we may just survive this mess after all.

Now, if only the universe could have spared me from him. I don’t even know his name, but I know his type: tall, broad, and annoyingly handsome, with an air of calm control that’s out of place in this chaos. Ex-military, if I had to guess, with a voice that’s just as infuriating as his smirk. The man has a habit of showing up at the worst—or best—possible times, with a gun at the ready and secrets buried as deep as those bright green eyes.

I mean, he’s probably useful, but I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize here: survival. 

For Leo and me. 

Because, foresight or no foresight, nothing is guaranteed in this new world—except the fact that people like him are trouble.

Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son

The group settled down for the night near the car, their faces drawn and weary. Leo perched quietly on Winter's lap, clutching his worn stuffed toy. He had taken it out of his space unconsciously again. Winter's arms rested protectively around the boy, though his sharp gaze stayed fixed on the men patrolling the perimeter.

Zara knelt beside Sam, peeling back the bloodied makeshift bandage from his arm to inspect his wound. Her fingers worked quickly but gently, and her brow furrowed with worry. "It's not as bad as I thought," she murmured, glancing up at Sam's pale face. It still needs cleaning, though."

"I can handle it," Sam replied with a weak smile. "Just need the right supplies."

Richard and Mike stood a few paces away, their arms crossed, also watching the armed men move about. Mike shifted his weight, fingers twitching toward his side, where his utility belt rested—uncomfortably close.

89: A World of Memories