Page 6 of What Remains

She had rolled her eyes at him that day. Accused him of being dramatic. Told him the house cost way too much, that it made no sense, that he'd fallen in love with an aesthetic and expected her to mortgage their future for it.

But God, she could hear him now—the way he'd nudged her side, the way he'd pulled her close against him and whispered all the stupid, sweet reasons it had to be this one, this house, no other.

The corners of her mouth lifted, just slightly, in spite of everything.

Each piece of this new life, she'd made herself: the barricade, the dwindling pile of furniture for the fire, the crowbar under her pillow. Mark would have teased her about becoming so 'handy,' and the thought was a fresh pang in the reality of this new life.

"Thank you," she whispered into the nothingness, unsure whether she meant it for him or for the universe that had given her those years at all.

You're gone. But thank you anyway.

The house groaned faintly above her, settling against the cold. Josie adjusted her grip, her attention fixed on the homemade door brace—two-by-fours bolted together, wedged tight against the basement door each night before they slept.

Slowly, carefully, she slid the bar free. The metal brackets she'd screwed into the studs groaned in protest. Josie winced, freezing, listening for any change in Layla's breathing.

Still steady. Still slow.

Josie slowly pulled the basement door open an inch, wincing at the loud metallic whine that seemed impossibly loud in the stillness.

She slipped through and closed the door firmly behind her, the latch settling with a soft click.

The upstairs air hit her like a slap. Frost had etched delicate crystalline patterns into the corners of the windows, spreading in pale, feathered whorls across the glass. The floorboards beneath her socks might as well have been sheets of ice.

Every morning since the last normal day, she began the same pilgrimage, her ritual never changing. First to the living room window, with its view of the street, looking for signs of life. Then to the kitchen, where she'd portion out their meals—two cans on a lucky day, split two ways, the smaller share always quietly claimed as her own. Finally, she would stand in the center of what had once been their dining room, arms wrapped around her middle, willing the world to have somehow healed itself overnight.

But today, as she moved through the dark hallway toward the kitchen, the shadows shifted around her in ways they never had before. The house's familiar creaks shifted into something unfamiliar. Her stomach tightened as if her body had understood something her mind hadn't caught up to yet.

Today carried a different weight.

And she couldn't shake the growing certainty that something waited for her on the other side of that front window.

The sky hung low and white—each axe strike echoing through the trees with a weight that reached beyond wood. Sawyer swung his axe cleanly through a log, the halves splitting apart and tumbling onto the snow at his feet. Jay picked one up, steadying it on the block for the next cut, while Seth knelt nearby, sorting the growing pile into neat stacks.

Their breath visible in the cold, mingling with the scent of fresh-cut pine.

"Spring's gonna sneak up fast," Jay said, placing a new log on the block. "We'll need more space before then."

Sawyer nodded, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah. And more supplies. Which is what I wanted to talk about."

He swung.

CRACK.

The log split neatly, and Seth tossed it onto the pile without breaking rhythm.

"And a new coop," Jay added, wiping frost from his beard with the back of his glove. "Chickens are doing good now, but we'll need more birds for steady eggs and meat through next winter. Maybe a goat, get some milk going."

Sawyer almost smiled—almost. "A goat, huh? Let's survive the damn winter first."

Jay snorted. "Fair."

A comfortable moment passed, filled with the sharp sounds of the axe and the thud of wood splitting.

Then Sawyer rested the axe head against the ground, and his face shifted into a somber expression.

"We need to talk about something bigger."

Jay straightened at the change in his voice. Seth's hands stilled on the wood.