CHAPTER 44: SOFT THINGS DON’T LIE

The weather had turned again.

Not with a storm, not with snow, but with the kind of grey stillness that settled deep into your bones. A cold that didn’t bite, but watched. Waiting. Breathing down your neck like it knew you were wasting time.

March was supposed to be spring, by all intents and purposes, but March so close to the ocean meant that it could be hot, rain, snow, and hail all in the same day.

Seraphina adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder as she stepped off the bus. She didn’t take the main road this time. Her boots crunched over a side path, frozen leaves breaking beneath each step like quiet reminders that nothing was ever still—not really.

The city moved in slow rhythms. Storefronts buzzed with neon signs that flickered, barely visible in the hazy morning light. She kept her head down, scarf high on her jaw, one glove-covered hand tucked in her coat pocket, and the other wrapped tightly around her phone like a tether. The creature inside was dozing, content, lulled into a state of half-sleep after last night’s small indulgence—a raw steak from a butcher she didn’t plan to revisit.

At least during the winter, she didn’t have to worry so much about makeup. Between her clothes, her mitts, the scarves, and the hats, she was completely covered from head to toe. Especially for times like this were she was going out just for some more supplies.

Top it off with a pair of sunglasses, and she didn’t even need those damned contacts.

The creature inside of her stirred with mild interest when she crossed the threshold into the home goods store.

It was warm inside. The kind of manufactured warmth that smelled faintly of cinnamon, polyester, and dust from display baskets no one had touched in weeks. A bell chimed overhead, and a young woman greeted her in a sing-song voice that trailed off when she saw Sera’s expression. No smile. No eye contact. Just a nod.

Sera grabbed a cart—not because she needed one, but because it would give her something to push, something to separate herself from the people grazing through aisles like livestock. She kept to the back, far from the glass candle jars and coffee-themed wall art, making her way toward the textiles section.

Her fingers trailed across the plush fleece throws and flannel sheets like she was searching for a particular texture. Something soft. But not weak.

Not fake.

The creature inside lifted its head, curious. It had no name for comfort. No vocabulary for texture or pattern or pastel pink—but it responded anyway. To the pile of faux fur pillows stacked like clouds in a wire basket. To the lavender-scented hot water bottles shaped like cartoon bears. To the warmth of flannel pajamas with lace-trimmed cuffs and ribbon-tied waists.

Nest. It hissed, over and over again. We need a nest. Have to have a nest.

The words formed not only in Sera’s mind, but also somewhere deeper, like her very soul was making the same demands the creature was.

Her only problem was that she had no idea what a nest was, or how to even create one. But if it kept the zombie happy, then she would buy it whatever it wanted.

With the internal pressure coming from the creature, she grabbed two fuzzy blankets, four pillows, and a stuffed rabbit with floppy ears that had no practical use. Then, without thinking, she crossed to the men’s section and ran her fingers along a rack of thermal sweaters, pausing on one in a warm gray. Lachlan would like this color. He wore too much black.

She didn’t need it.

But she bought it anyway.

By the time she reached the cabin, the sun was dipping low on the horizon. Her breath clouded in the air—not yet freezing, but warning her that time was running short. She unlocked the door with a practiced twist and kicked it open with one booted foot, letting the warmth of her new portable heater hit her face like a promise.

The generator hummed softly outside. She’d rigged it last week. It wasn’t silent, but it wasn’t loud enough to draw attention—not yet.

Inside, the cabin smelled of clean pine, old wood, and just a hint of peppermint. She set the bags down by the fireplace and went about unpacking. First the canned goods. Then the vacuum-sealed rice and jars of coconut oil. Her hands moved fast—precise. She sorted by expiration date, by storage temperature, by usefulness.

Then, she stopped.

The pink throw blanket looked ridiculous against the weathered rocking chair. But she draped it there anyway. The pillows followed—arranged near the fire on a reclaimed wool rug that didn’t match anything. She tucked the stuffed rabbit beneath the edge of a folded fleece, like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

The creature inside settled, deeply, with a sigh she felt more than heard.

Sera sat on the floor in front of the fire for a long time, her legs crossed as her arms rested on her knees. She didn’t think. She didn’t plan. She just... sat.

Soft things didn’t lie. They didn’t promise they’d understand and then call her unstable. They didn’t set up appointments or talk about her behind her back. They just... were.

Letting out a long breath, she shook her head, ridding herself of the useless thoughts.

This would technically be the first time she was in Country N for the apocalypse. Since she was already in Country M before the ice age hit, she was left with rumors and whispers in the darkness as the scientists continued on experimenting on her. But just because she hadn’t lived it the first time around didn’t mean that she wouldn’t survive it this time around.

Opening the bag with only a single item, she unpacked the gray sweater last. She ran her fingers over the folded collar, then smoothed it out on the back of a chair. It smelled like nothing. Like clean fabric and factory air. But unlike the first sweater she had bought for him, she didn’t put it away.

Maybe next time he came by—if he ever did—she’d give it to him. Say it was a leftover or a backup or something practical. He didn’t need to know she thought of him when she picked it up. Or that the creature inside approved.

The lights dimmed slightly as the generator hiccuped once. Sera stood slowly, listening. The creature inside tensed, but only for a second. Just power stabilizing. She crossed the room and added another log to the fire.

The night would fall hard and fast.

She didn’t mind.

There were worse things than silence.