Lachlan didn’t go straight ho after the briefing.
He stopped by the hardware store first—one of those oversized warehouse-style places with concrete floors and shelves stacked too high. The kind of place where n in flannel muttered over drill sets and retired preppers ran their fingers down rows of propane tanks like prayer beads.
He walked the aisles like a man on a mission, barely glancing at the prices. Rope, duct tape, collapsible water containers, heavy-duty tarps, solar lanterns. Every item went into the cart with the sa quiet deliberation.
He didn’t even know what he was preparing for—not really. There was no official warning. No flashing alerts on the news. No governnt-issued pamphlets. Just Sera’s voice in his head, low and steady, as she spoke about winter.
Not with panic. Not with paranoia. But with a kind of resigned calm that unnerved him more than anything else.
People who panicked were usually wrong. They ran toward the fire or froze in place. But people like her—people who expected the worst, who planned for it, who studied it like religion?
They were the ones who survived.
He kept going. Bought a water filter, a fire starter kit, and a dozen packets of thermal blankets, thin and tallic like foil candy wrappers. He threw in a camp stove on instinct. And then—just as he was about to leave—he doubled back and grabbed a second one. One to keep. One to give.
By the ti he reached the checkout line, his cart was overflowing. A second cart had been added along the way when he circled back for plastic bins, hand warrs, thick wool blankets, and extra batteries. He added cans of kerosene, lighters, and a crowbar. Not for defense, he told himself—but he wasn’t sure he believed that.
A cashier raised an eyebrow when he wheeled everything to the register.
"Prepping for the apocalypse?" she asked with a crooked grin.
Lachlan offered a faint smile in return. "Sothing like that."
She scanned the items without further comnt, though her eyes lingered on the water barrels and the stack of long-life ergency rations.
When she gave him the total, Lachlan paid in cash.
As he loaded the haul into the back of his Humr, a strange quiet settled over him. The sky was dull above the parking lot, grey and stretched thin, like it was holding its breath.
He wasn’t a paranoid man. He didn’t follow conspiracy theories or doom blogs. He had killed people for a living, crossed borders that didn’t exist on maps, and seen real threats—the kind that bled.
But sothing about the way Sera had looked at him in that office... the tension in her voice... the betrayal in her eyes...
It had rooted itself sowhere deep.
He paused before slamming the trunk shut and looked at the bins and bundles cramd inside. It still didn’t feel like enough.
On the way ho, he stopped at a grocery store and grabbed canned goods—beans, stews, fruit in syrup. He added powdered milk, flour, and salt. He wandered down the baking aisle and, for so reason he couldn’t explain, tossed in three bars of dark chocolate and a bag of marshmallows.
It made him think of her. Not because she ate sugar—he’d barely seen her eat at all. But because it felt like sothing that didn’t make sense.
And still mattered.
By the ti he finally got ho, the sun had already dipped behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the front lawn. He parked, sat in the car for a minute longer than he needed to, then got out.
The mont he stepped through the threshold of his apartnt, Lachlan moved differently.
He wasn’t his usual relaxed, joking self. The grin he wore around the team—the one that kept people from looking too closely—was gone. He dropped the bags near the door, grabbed a notebook from the kitchen drawer, and sat at the dining table.
His apartnt was sparse but clean. No clutter. A couple of jackets hanging from wall hooks, boots lined neatly by the door, dishes already rinsed in the sink. The living room was dim, lit only by a warm lamp near the couch and the quiet flicker of the muted TV screen.
He opened the notebook and started writing:
Water filter
Portable stove
Canned fruit
Mylar blankets
dical kit – upgrade
Painkillers, antibiotics
Fire starters, matches
Extra gloves, boots
Vitamin supplents
Two hours later, the kitchen floor was covered in gear.
Lachlan crouched and started organizing it into categories: warmth, water, food, tools. Everything had to serve a purpose. Everything had to fit in crates that could be grabbed and tossed into the back of a truck if needed. His movents were precise. Efficient.
He’d done this before.
Not here. Not in this country. But back when he was living in the field, part of long-term recon missions for a governnt that pretended not to know his na. When you lived in uncertainty long enough, preparedness beca muscle mory. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the feeling of readiness. Of control.
His hand hovered over a package of freeze-dried stew, and for a brief mont, he imagined Sera’s face—cool, unimpressed, half-hidden beneath that hood she sotis wore on colder days. She’d probably mock the packaging. Say sothing like, "That’s not food, that’s cardboard with a flavor packet."
And she wouldn’t be wrong.
Still, he kept it.
He didn’t know if she’d ever need this. Hell, he didn’t know if he would. But sothing inside him refused to ignore the warning. Not after the way she looked that night in the gym. Not after the way her voice cracked—not from fear, but from the pain of being dismissed.
That was what stuck with him most.
Not her logic. Not her predictions.
Her disappointnt.
The way her shoulders had curled inward, as if bracing for the next blow. As if she already knew it was coming.
-----
At midnight, Lachlan stood barefoot in the kitchen, sipping lukewarm tea. The apartnt was silent now, gear stacked neatly against one wall. The lists were updated. The bags were packed. The weapons were cleaned and checked. He’d even set reminders on his phone for when to rotate supplies and where to stash secondary kits.
He was ready.
Or as ready as a man like him could be.
But despite that... he couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut. The unease. Not fear. Not exactly.
Just a weight. Heavy and certain.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the screen for a long mont before finally opening his ssages.
Lachlan: You were right. Just thought you should know.
He hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Then, after a beat, he added:
Lachlan: If it gets bad, you don’t have to face it alone.
He didn’t expect a reply.
And none ca.
But sohow, sending it made sothing settle in his chest.
-----
Across the city, in the silence of a small cabin surrounded by trees, Sera sat at her desk with a hunting knife in one hand and a chocolate bar in the other. The creature inside of her stirred, content. Alert. Watching the world through her eyes with interest now, not rage.
They had food. They were a weapon. They had a plan.
And apparently, they had soone else preparing too.
Soone who didn’t laugh. Soone who didn’t try to fix her.
Just soone who listened.
She didn’t reply to the ssage.
But she read it twice.
Then tucked it away—along with the warmth blooming sowhere deep inside her ribs—and let the darkness slip over her shoulders like a second skin.
Winter was coming.
And for the first ti since she had been reborn, she wasn’t worried.
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