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 patrol team moved along the wall in silence, boots crunching against the gravel path. Winter adjusted his jacket against the sharp morning chill, his eyes narrowing as he studied the mist beyond the tall, reinforced walls.

It hovered, dense and unnatural, a living entity that seemed to breathe and shift on its own. Every now and then, it licked at the base of the wall, as if testing its limits.

"Creepy, isn't it?" a soldier muttered, breaking the silence. Winter glanced at him, noting the man's wary eyes fixed on the fog.

"Creepy doesn't even begin to cover it," another chimed in, hefting his rifle over his shoulder. "I swear I saw shadows moving out there last night. Not human ones either."

Winter kept his thoughts to himself, his gaze lingering on the mist. Shadows? He could believe it. The longer he stared, the more it seemed to ripple, like something—or someone—was just out of sight, waiting.

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