Page 68 of What Remains

She was close enough to see the amber flecks in his eyes, the tiny white scar that cut through his right eyebrow—a detail she'd never noticed before, one that only appeared when someone stood this near.

Neither of them moved.

Then Seth lifted a hand, almost unconsciously, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Josie didn't pull away.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, quick and undeniable, but she didn't let fear slow her down. She met his gaze and held it, asking permission with her eyes without letting doubt take over.

Seth leaned in.

Josie met him halfway.

Their lips touched in a gentle kiss—no rush, no hunger. Just a quiet agreement between two people who had carried too much for too long and recognized the same hurt and grief in one another.

When they parted, their foreheads rested together again.

They breathed the same cold morning air without talking, letting the closeness settle into something solid.

Then—

A loud, indignant moo burst through the silence.

Both Josie and Seth looked over at the cow, which stared at them as if lodging a complaint.

Josie laughed first, the sound bright enough to cut through months of tightness. Seth's laugh followed, softer but real, filling the old feed barn.

Outside, the sun climbed higher, casting gold across the snow-covered fields.

As they prepared to leave, Josie made one last slow pass through the feed storage barn.

The three cows lifted their heads as she approached. Grain dust clung to their muzzles, and their eyes tracked her with calm, steady curiosity while morning light slipped through cracks in the weathered steel walls. They chewed contentedly, unconcerned with the plans humans made when the world turned cruel.

Josie smiled anyway, the edges softer than she meant them to be.

"You're on your own now, girls."

One by one, she cut open every remaining bag with the utility knife she'd found. Grain spilled across the floor in long golden streaks, a feast the cows could reach without fighting the sacks.

She crossed to the enormous sliding doors, hands braced against the cold metal. With both palms, she shoved, forcing the frozen seam to give. The rollers groaned, protested, then finally released.

Cold morning air surged inside.

Josie propped the doors open with a rusted length of pipe and walked around to the opposite side, opening the second door as well. Wind could move through now. Animals could wander without scraping themselves on locks.

"There," she said under her breath, as if the barn needed reassurance.

Now they could come and go as they pleased—shelter from the wind, step into the surrounding fields if they chose, follow whatever instinct still told them the day might not end in disaster.

She reached out and scratched the nearest cow between the ears one last time. The cow leaned into her hand and answered with a soft, contented moo.

A tremor went through Josie's lip, just slightly, before she turned away.

A few minutes later, they were back on the highway.

Jay and Cara took the lead. Seth guided Beast into the fresh tire tracks already cut through the snow, steadying his breathing the way he'd been steadying everything else all winter.

Inside the SUV, silence settled in again—but this one didn't match the quiet they'd shared earlier.

It sat between them, and they both found reasons to look at their hands, the window, the middle distance—anywhere that wasn't the last few days.