A Flicker of Romance

The afternoon sky was streaked with pale clouds, a quiet lull settling over the shelter after a round of fence checks and scouting preparations. Snow still clung stubbornly in some corners of the yard, but the thaw had exposed patches of damp earth where muddy puddles reflected the wan light. Survivors bustled about with their usual tasks—repairing gear, organizing supply logs—but the pace felt marginally less frantic than during the peak of winter.

Leila stood near the orchard gate, arms folded, scanning the tree line for any sign of roving silhouettes. Her mind churned with worries about Jace and Ellie possibly controlling the gas station raiders. Since Darren's subtle hints of Ellie's sabotage style, she'd struggled to contain her growing anxiety. Every now and then, her gaze flicked across the yard toward Kai, who was finishing a conversation with a pair of watchers about the evening shift.

She tried to quell the flutter in her stomach whenever she saw him. Keep it together, she told herself, ignoring how memories of Jace's betrayal clashed with the odd comfort she felt around Kai. After a moment, she turned back to the orchard, half hoping the illusions of normalcy in the yard would soothe her dread.

Suddenly, soft footsteps crunched behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see Kai approaching, a small burlap sack in hand. The air between them felt charged, though only a faint breeze stirred the orchard's skeletal branches. He cleared his throat gently, offering a tentative smile.

"Hey," he said, voice low. "I, uh, noticed you missed the midday meal. Thought you might want something." He held up the sack, from which the faint smell of toasted grains wafted—perhaps a simple stew or portion of bread.

Leila's shoulders tensed, a reflex reaction. She typically brushed off personal gestures from him, but a gnawing emptiness in her stomach reminded her she hadn't eaten in hours. Her eyes flicked from the sack to his face. She saw no judgment, just concern. "Thanks," she murmured, resisting the urge to snap a dismissive reply. He's just being kind.

Kai dipped his head, stepping closer. "Mind if we sit? You've been on your feet all day."

Part of her wanted to refuse—to keep him at arm's length—but something in his calm gaze coaxed her. She exhaled, relenting. "All right. But just for a moment."

They moved to a cleared patch near the orchard fence, where a couple of crates served as makeshift seats. The yard's bustle receded, leaving them in a pocket of relative quiet. Kai opened the sack, pulling out a hunk of coarse bread and a small container of leftover stew. Its warmth steamed in the cool air.

They sat on the crates, shoulders almost touching. Leila felt an uneasy sense of closeness, yet also a flicker of comfort—he's not Jace, she reminded herself. She accepted the half of bread he offered, biting off a piece. The plain but hearty flavor grounded her for a moment, distracting from her swirling thoughts of sabotage and infiltration.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard," Kai observed softly, breaking the awkward hush. "I see it in how you skip meals, how you never stop to rest."

She swallowed, hating how transparent her stress had become. "There's no time for rest," she said. "Too much to worry about. The orchard watchers, stolen supplies, rumors of raiders…"

He nodded, letting a brief silence form. "I get it. But you can't carry it all alone."

Her chest tightened. She tore at a piece of bread, gaze fixed on the orchard beyond the fence. "Letting someone in… it leads to heartbreak," she whispered, the words slipping out before she could censor them. She half expected him to push her to elaborate, but he just waited, offering a calm presence that felt oddly safe.

She glanced at him, heart pounding. "Back before everything fell apart, Jace was…" She paused, throat constricting. "We were together. College sweethearts. I trusted him more than anyone. Thought we'd face the apocalypse as partners. Then… he betrayed me. Turned on me for power, or convenience, or… I don't even know." Her voice quivered, a raw edge creeping in. "He left me to die. That kind of betrayal—"

Her breath caught. She didn't finish. The orchard's quiet magnified the raggedness of her confession. Kai's eyes softened, empathy written in every line of his face. She braced for him to dismiss her fears, to tell her she was overreacting. But instead, he validated her pain.

"I'm sorry," he said gently, setting his portion of bread aside. "That's a deep wound. No wonder you're afraid to trust."

She exhaled a trembling sigh. Hearing him articulate the core of her fear felt both a relief and an ache. A swirl of conflicting emotions churned in her chest—gratitude for his understanding, guilt for not letting him in, and the ever-present memory of Jace's cold eyes.

Seconds ticked by, the hush turning charged. She found herself leaning slightly toward him, magnetized by the warmth in his gaze. He shifted closer, as if prepared to cradle her sorrow, to let her see that not everyone would abandon her. Her heart pounded so loudly she swore he could hear it.

She realized with a start how close they were. The orchard fence loomed behind them, the yard's bustle distant. Time seemed to slow, a quiet flicker of possibility in the air. Kai's eyes dropped briefly to her lips, then flicked back up, his expression an unspoken question—could this be okay?

Leila's breath caught. For the briefest heartbeat, she wavered—should I let him in, just for a moment? She felt an undeniable spark, as if defying her old fears might lead to solace. But the specter of Jace's betrayal lunged from the depths of her mind. Her pulse jerked, panic swirling with longing.

Suddenly, she tore her gaze away, heart racing. The rawness in her eyes hardened, her guard snapping back. She snatched the remains of her bread, face flushing with a mixture of regret and fear. "I—I should check on Tamsin," she stammered, rising abruptly from the crate, the moment shattered.

Kai blinked, clearly registering the heartbreak that flashed through her expression. He dipped his head, acceptance etched into his features. "Of course," he whispered. He didn't chase her, giving her the distance she demanded.

Clutching the half-eaten bread, Leila strode across the muddy yard, internal conflict blazing in her chest. She'd nearly let a glimmer of warmth slip past her defenses, but old scars were too deep. Jace's ghost loomed over her, reminding her how trust had cost her everything once before.

Kai remained by the crates a moment longer, exhaling a breath of quiet resignation. Despite the closeness, they remained parted, tension thick and unconsummated. A flicker of romance had glowed between them, only to be extinguished by Leila's fear.