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 sickening crunch of bodies torn apart.

Smoke, thick and black, and the scent of iron, choked the red air.

Blood pooling on the cracked pavement.

Something—something worse than zombies—tearing through the camp, devouring, destroying.

Cold eyes stared right through her soul and something cold wrapped around her.

Zara jolted awake, a strangled gasp caught in her throat. Her hands trembled violently as she shoved the blankets off, cold sweat drenching her skin.

She barely registered it at first, heart hammering, lungs heaving for breath. The nightmare clung to her like tar, her mind still there, trapped in the horror of what she had seen.

The world realigned itself. She scrambled to her feet, crossing the room in a daze. She yanked the door open, and Winter barely had time to frown before she grabbed his wrist and dragged him inside.

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