CHAPTER 36: THE WARMER THINGS IN LIFE

The fluorescent lights in the grocery store buzzed faintly overhead, casting a sterile glow across the aisles. It wasn’t crowded—late afternoon on a weekday rarely was—but Seraphina still kept her hood up and her eyes down. She didn’t like crowds. Or sounds. Or being looked at more than necessary.

A folded list rested in her palm. It was written in smudged pencil, the creases so deep it threatened to tear with every re-check. She didn’t need it—she never forgot anything—but it helped her pass for human. And these days, she was getting better at pretending to be normal.

Rice. Flour. Salt. Lentils. Olive oil. Rubbing alcohol. Tea. Matches.

She moved through the aisles quickly, quietly. The cart’s wheels clicked faintly as she steered around an elderly couple arguing over canned soup and a mother scolding a child for dropping a container of yogurt. It was all so normal that it made her teeth itch.

The creature inside her remained still but alert. Watching. Listening. Picking up every breath and heartbeat around them, every heat signature behind the shelves. But it wasn’t hostile. Not today. Not when she had fed it well and run it to exhaustion the night before.

She reached for a gallon of oil when something in her chest shifted. Not her own impulse—something more... primal. Curious.

Her feet turned without conscious direction, and she found herself standing in front of a large display in the center aisle, built like a promotional shrine.

Chocolate.

Rows and rows of it. Dark chocolate. Milk chocolate. Salted caramel chocolate. Filled with caramel or peanut butter. Foil-wrapped. Handcrafted. There were even some containers of powdered hot chocolate on the lower shelves.

If it was chocolate, it was there.

Unless it could melt, of course.

She blinked.

The creature pressed forward with the strangest sensation—it wasn’t hunger. Not the kind that made her bones ache or her jaw clench. This was softer. Warmer. An almost purring satisfaction at the scent.

It liked it.

"What the hell," she muttered under her breath, grabbing one of each type and tossing them into her cart. Then, after a moment’s pause, she added two more of the salted dark bars.

By the time she reached the checkout, her cart looked like a survivalist’s bunker kit. Two 10kg bags of rice. Cans of dried beans. Vinegar. Boxes of candles. Disinfectant. Four packs of matches. Six containers of iodized salt. She piled it neatly on the conveyor belt.

"Planning for the end of the world?" the teen at the register asked, trying to sound casual as he raised an eyebrow at her collection.

"I like to cook," Sera answered dryly, not bothering to smile. "But unfortunately, I burn everything I touch." She paid in cash, waited for her change, then started bagging everything herself.

It wasn’t until she turned to leave that she saw it.

A clearance rack by the doors—scarves, gloves, wool-lined socks, and folded sweaters in dull earth tones. Mostly men’s sizes. No signage. Just a slumped display that most people would pass by.

She didn’t mean to stop. Her fingers brushed over a heavy brown scarf, then slid to a thick pair of flannel gloves. But it was the dark green cable-knit sweater that made her hesitate.

It looked warm. Solid. Something about the weave made her think of trees. Of pine needles and steady hands.

She could picture him in it.

Lachlan.

The creature stirred again—not with its usual dominance or warning—but with something else. A strange sort of warmth. Like it approved.

She picked it up.

Folded it carefully.

And without another thought, turned around and paid for it.

------

The sky outside was the dull gray of approaching evening, the clouds were heavy with precipitation, but indecisive... like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain, snow, or just go on its merry way. However, while it decided that part, the air that felt more like early spring than the dead of winter. The sidewalks were mostly clear while the gutters were lined with slush.

Sera didn’t bother with the bus. She never did. Instead, she walked, plastic bags balanced between both arms, her hood pulled down tighter against the breeze. Every step was measured. Quiet.

When she was half a block from her cabin, she slipped one chocolate bar from the bag and peeled the wrapper.

Just a piece.

The second it hit her tongue, the creature inside her sighed.

It was strange. Like... peace. Like comfort.

There wasn’t a rush of sugar or energy—though she could sense that too—but something that made it want to curl up and stay calm. Chocolate, apparently, was now classified as a peacekeeping tool.

Noted.

She popped the rest of the square into her mouth and kept walking through the forest until she came to her backyard.

The cabin greeted her with familiar silence.

The lock clicked open beneath her fingers, and she stepped inside, shutting the door with a soft push of her boot. She toed them off, dropped her bags by the door, and let out a long breath as she shrugged out of her coat.

The lights remained off. She didn’t need them.

Stacking the chocolate in a small wooden drawer beneath her tea, she labeled it Non-Essential Emotional Stabilizers—because labeling everything made her feel like the world made sense.

Then she moved to restock her pantry.

Rice was poured into large mylar bags before she threw in some oxygen absorbers she had found and sealed them shut with a flat iron she hadn’t used since before her return. Flour was sealed in sealed metal canisters with bay leaves, just in case. And the canned goods were stacked in neat pyramids. She wiped down each shelf, even though they were already clean. She needed the routine more than anything else.

When she reached the bottom of one of the bags, she pulled out the green sweater.

It didn’t belong with the rest.

After a moment of indecision, she opened one of the drawers in the spare room and folded it inside, smooth and precise.

Not hers. But... waiting for a good time to give it to him.

She didn’t unpack that thought either.

-----

Later, she stood in the kitchen doorway, staring out through the frosted window toward the tree line. The snow was receding. The earth would soften soon. It wouldn’t be long before the roads turned to mud.

She bit another square of chocolate and let it melt on her tongue.

The creature purred again. Settling. Still.

The cabin was silent. Her heartbeat even. Her mind... almost quiet.

She reached for her pencil and flipped her notebook to the first page.

At the top of her next supply list, she scrawled a single word in sharp, capital letters.

CHOCOLATE.

Then, underlined it three times.