Page 13 of What Remains

“We’re going home, baby.”

She pushed the cart out into the night forgoing paying as a fresh wave of sirens rose across the city.

Back in the basement, Josie crashed back in to reality.

At some point, Layla had crawled into her lap, small arms wrapped around Josie’s waist, the butterfly drawing forgotten on the floor beside them.

Josie pressed a long kiss to the top of her daughter’s head.

“We’re okay,” she whispered—to Layla, to herself.

“We’re okay.”

Even if the world upstairs no longer was.

The next morning, the sky was dark, promising another dump of snow before noon. The group moved through their routines: Addy tending breakfast inside, Sawyer splitting kindling by the door, Cara out checking snares. Jay sat sharpening an axe on the porch steps when Seth stepped out of the cabin.

He didn’t move like the confident, capable man who’d been growing stronger by the week. This Seth came out stiff and hesitant, shoulders drawn tight beneath his jacket. His eyes swept the tree line with the haunted look of a man expecting an attack he knew was coming.

Jay didn’t miss any of it.

He’d seen that look before.

He’d worn it himself, years ago, back when everything in his own world had gone to hell and he’d walked around pretending otherwise.

Seth walked over, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “Morning.”

Jay grunted a greeting, tracking the younger man’s tense movements without turning his head. Seth started stacking wood, but his movements lacked their usual pep.

Finally, Jay said, without looking up from the blade, “Didn’t see you eat much at breakfast.”

Seth shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

“Mm,” Jay hummed. “Something bothering you?”

Seth hesitated—only for a second, but long enough for Jay to catch it.

Then he forced a smile. “Just thinking, about our upcoming supply run.”

“Yeah.” Jay pushed himself to his feet, leaning an arm on the axe handle. “You’ve handled worse than a supply run.”

Seth didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

The silence said everything.

Jay looked from Seth to the axe blade and back again, catching the small tells: The tremor in Seth’s fingers. The anxious shift of his weight. The way his gaze kept darting to the treeline as if something out there were calling to him. Jay felt a familiar, unwelcome feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“You sleeping alright?” Jay asked, his voice low.

“Yeah fine.” Too fast.

Jay nodded slowly. “Right.”

Seth swallowed, his eyes darting back to the woods. “Look, I’m good, Jay. I can do the run.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Jay replied, his voice even.