CHAPTER 219: 219

Zara hadn’t moved in over an hour. More or less, she couldn’t tell time here, and neither did she care.

She sat at the edge of the makeshift bed at the back of the truck, her body angled protectively toward the small figure nestled under the soft folds of a blanket.

Leo lay still, his tiny chest rising and falling slowly. A folded hoodie cushioned his head. The flush in his cheeks had faded to a pale, healthy pink. The fever had broken. But he hadn’t woken up yet.

Her fingers hovered just above his brow before she brushed back a damp curl, almost too gently to be felt. Her hand lingered there.

Her other hand cupped his tiny one.

She should be relieved. But all she felt was guilt.

"You ever gonna blink again?"

The voice came softly from behind her, familiar in its quiet humor. She didn’t turn. She didn’t need to.

Winter was trying to help in his own way and she couldn’t express how grateful she felt for his presence.

Winter lowered himself beside her with a quiet grunt, his arms resting on his bent knees. He didn’t speak again right away. Just sat there. Letting the silence stretch.

Zara welcomed it. For a little while.

Her voice, when it came, was cracked and barely above a whisper.

"I know I know I’ve said this a million times, but he’s just a baby."

Winter didn’t answer. She wasn’t really talking to him anyway.

"He’s not supposed to... He’s not supposed to save us."

Winter waited.

"I should’ve stopped him," she continued, her voice tight. "I knew he was close to burning out. I saw the signs—he was tired, scared. I didn’t make him rest. I didn’t make him stay back. I let him push too hard, again."

"Zara..."

"I used him," she snapped, finally turning toward him. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry. "I let him do it because it meant we’d all survive, and now he’s—look at him."

Her hands trembled as they clutched Leo’s smaller one. "And I keep thinking about the next time. And the next. What if he saves us again and it breaks him? What if the only thing I’ve done as his mother is teach him how to burn for other people?"

Winter turned toward her slowly. His gaze didn’t flinch away from her pain.

"Zara, love. Look at me," he cupped her face. "We’ve been over this. No use repeating it."

She opened her mouth again and he shushed her.

"You didn’t use him," he said gently. "He acted. He protected the people he loves. And yeah—it nearly broke him. That’s terrifying. But ignoring that it happened won’t make it less real."

Her jaw clenched, her face twisting. "He’s my baby," she said thickly. "The whole reason I tried so hard to survive was so he didn’t get hurt or feel pain. But

"And we’ve decided that we’ll help him carry it," Winter said. "We teach him to hold it steady. Not hide it. Not fear it. Definitely not do it alone. You trust me right?"

Zara closed her eyes and nodded. Was she being unreasonable by stating her fears constantly? It was starting to seem so. She didn’t want to cry. She wouldn’t cry. Not when Leo needed her to be strong.

But Winter’s voice, steady and low, kept unraveling her defenses.

"Have you noticed?" he said after a moment. "The way this space looks now?"

Zara blinked, wiping her face quickly. "What do you mean?"

He gestured out the window and around them.

"Last time we were here, it was just... stuff. All the supplies we crammed into his space. Just shoved into corners. No shelves. No layout. The ceiling doesn’t even exist—just sky. Now look."

Zara glanced around. She hadn’t noticed earlier because Leo had her full attention but the little room from the start of the apocalypse had changed into a small warehouse of sorts.

The warehouse also had structure now. Shelves rose like steel trees in a forest, high and orderly. There were aisles—crooked, a little uneven, but functional.

Light filtered from the ceiling above, a soft golden hue like a memory of summer. The air smelled faintly of strawberries and cookies—things Leo had always associated with safety.

"It’s like a store," she murmured.

"Or a memory," Winter added. "You remember that supply cache in city B?"

"Of course I do."

"You brought him with you. He was with you when you went through the aisles. Helped you sort food from clothes. You said he went around looking for things too right? I think..." Winter paused, glancing up at the sunlit ceiling, "I think he remembered it. And his mind rebuilt it here. Stored safety like a picture. Like how a bird builds a nest."

Zara exhaled shakily. "So he’s building a whole world in here."

"Yeah. And maybe it’s not just memory. Maybe it’s capacity."

She turned toward him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"The shelves. The room. The size. It’s all growing. Because he’s holding more. Not just supplies. Us. All of us. This time... he pulled everyone in."

Zara looked away, her chest twisting again. "So what if it keeps growing? What if he makes it too big? What if it consumes him?"

"Then we make sure it doesn’t."

She didn’t answer.

Winter leaned closer. "Zara. He’s evolving. Changing. That’s not your fault. But you can help him grow in the right direction. Safely."

"And what if I can’t?"

"Then I will."

She looked up sharply.

Winter didn’t flinch. "He’s not just your son anymore. He’s mine too. Maybe not by blood. But that doesn’t change a damn thing. I’m here. I will carry some of this weight. I’m not going anywhere."

Zara stared at him, silent, her eyes scanning his face. She didn’t know what to say to that. She wanted to believe him. Part of her already did.

Then Sam’s voice drifted from the front of the truck. "Zara? Winter?"

Zara was on her feet in a second. "What is it?"

Sam leaned out the door with a faint smile. "He’s stable. Fever’s gone. Vitals are normal. He’s sleeping now. Peacefully."

Zara’s knees went weak with relief. She returned to Leo’s side, brushing the curls from his forehead again. "Thank God," she whispered.

Sam packed up the scanner. "I’ll stay with him. You look like you need a minute."

"I’m fine."

Winter stood and gave Sam a nod. "I’ll make sure she doesn’t overthink the meaning of a minute."

Zara opened her mouth to protest, but Winter was already reaching for her arm. His hand was warm, firm, but not forceful. "Come on. Just a walk. He’ll be right here."

Sam smiled. "Go. I’ll keep an eye on the other two, too. They’re curled up like kittens. Not going anywhere."

Reluctantly, Zara let Winter lead her out of the truck and into the warehouse.

*****

They walked slowly.

The warehouse felt... settled now. More solid. More real. Each aisle hummed with a strange sense of peace. The air was cool but gentle.

Like the kind of morning where birds hadn’t started singing yet.

Further inside the warehouse, they could hear others talking with awe and confusion. Murmurs of "how did this get here" and "look at this thing" drifted to them.

Zara ran her hand along a shelf as she passed. It was packed with canned soup, bandages, batteries... and next to them, a tower of plush animals. Neatly stacked like emergency rations.

She stopped, frowning. "Why are there cereal boxes beside toilet paper?"

Winter chuckled. "Same shape. Same idea, probably. Rectangles go with rectangles."

"He still thinks that way."

"You’re the one who keeps talking about how he’s still a baby. Makes sense in baby logic, I guess."

Zara exhaled. She reached out, moving some of the cereal to a higher shelf, next to similar food.

Winter joined her, sorting a scattered pile of socks from a crate of glowsticks. "He’s not changing as fast as you fear," he said gently. "His space is. Because he needs it to. Not because his growing fast."

A sudden clatter echoed from a few rows over. Miles appeared around the corner, his voice rising in disbelief.

"Winter! Hey—Winter, you gotta come see this!"

Zara and Winter turned. Miles jogged up with something in his hand—a brightly colored tin, dented on one side but unmistakable. The label was still clear: Beanie’s Buttercrunch.

Winter blinked. "No way."

"I knew it!" Miles beamed, holding it up like a relic. "I knew I smelled something sweet earlier. You remember these, right? From that rickety vending machine in the City K transit hub?"

"I thought they stopped selling?" Winter said, eyebrows lifting.

"They were! I haven’t seen one of these since before Naomi got pregnant." Miles turned the tin in his hands like it might vanish. "Wait till she sees this. She’s gonna flip. This was our midnight snack during the evac routes. We used to fight over the last cookie."

Winter gave a half-smile. "I didn’t think Leo ever saw this."

"He didn’t. Wasn’t born yet when they got discontinued." Zara piped in. "I must’ve brought it in from the cache. Or Leo did."

Both men looked at her. "I barely remember grabbing it. It was at the bottom of a bin, low enough he could have been intrigued by the colouring."

"That kid’s a miracle! The thing still looks edible." Zara blinked at Miles’s tone.

He beamed, rushing off again. "Naomi’s gonna freak when she sees this!"

Winter nudged her shoulder gently. "Why don’t you ever get that excited to see me?"

Zara snorted without meaning to. "Maybe because Naomi’s used to Miles’ nonsense. They’re married. That kind of love comes with a lifetime of tolerating."

Winter turned slightly, eyes twinkling. "So what—you saying all it’d take is a wedding band?"

She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised—but her ears, very noticeably, turned pink.

"You think that’s your definition of a good distraction?" she said coolly.

He stepped closer, boxing her in gently against the shelf, palms braced on either side.

His voice dropped just enough to make her heart skip.

"Depends," he murmured, "on how distracted you want to be."

Zara looked up at him, breath hitching just slightly. The space around them quieted, thickened with something heavy and electric.

His face was close. Too close.

Her voice was soft. "I thought you said this wasn’t the time."

He dipped his head lower. "Maybe it is."