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

Zara sat cross-legged on the cold floor, her back pressed to the wall, eyes locked on the small bundle curled on the cot.

Leo twitched in his sleep, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling like he was grasping at something in a dream. His breath hitched once, then again—before he whimpered a fractured word.

Her chest twisted. She squeezed the vial in her palm until the cool glass bit into her skin. The stolen drug sloshed softly inside, catching the overhead light with an oily glint. One dose. She didn't even know what it did—only that it had been locked up.

Zara crouched next to Leo's curled form, watching his eyelids twitch as murmurs escaped his lips, muffled, frightened.

"It's ok, baby, mommy's here. You're safe." She smoothed a hand over his dark hair, the motion too gentle for the storm raging beneath her skin. Her thumb brushed his cheek, but the comfort didn't reach her.

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