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26. Follow Up
publish date:
2026-06-05 18:42:26
Latest chapter
Till The End of The World 35. The Price of Loyalty
EMMA. I wake before I fully open my eyes, strong footsteps reaching me first. A second later, his scent finds me. Smoke. Leather. Pine. And beneath it all, something unmistakably him. Even half asleep, I know exactly who stands outside that door. The handle clicks softly, wood moving against carpet as the door opens, and a thin strip of light slices through the dark room. The steady thud of his heart reaches me through the quiet, strong and unhurried, beneath the low hum of the air conditioner. Slowly, I open my eyes. He stands in the doorway, one hand still wrapped around the handle, broad shoulders outlined by the light behind him. His gaze sweeps over the room before finally coming to rest on me. For a moment, neither of us moves. The room remains still, filled only with the quiet rhythm of two hearts beating in the dark, until there's a faintest change in his. And suddenly, I'm wide awake. “What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice even, though not surprised as he clos
Till The End of The World 34. His Duty
CLARA. For a second, I simply stare at him, genuinely wondering if enough flour got into my mouth to finally reach my bloodstream. Then he moves. His boots strike the concrete with quiet thuds, little clouds of white powder puffing off his clothes with every step, and before my brain can catch up, he's standing in front of me. Not behind me. Not beside me. Right in front of me. Broad shoulders blocking half my view of Emma, and up close I can see flour still caught in the dark strands of his hair, streaked across his shirt and dusting the sharp line of his jaw. The faint smell of soap and grain reaches me, and a few loose specks drift down from him onto the floor between us. I blink as a drop of sweat slides slowly down my neck, and somewhere behind us somebody sucks in a sharp breath, but my brain is too busy trying to process the giant, flour-covered problem currently standing between me and Emma. What...what's he doing? Is he... Is he defending me? Me? “Evan?”
Till The End of The World 33. Choices and Consequences
CLARA. I turn slowly to see Emma standing at the entrance, perfectly composed, perfectly clean, not a single speck of flour on her. Her cream dress falls in smooth lines to her ankles, her dark hair pinned neatly in place, and beside her one of the maids clutches a tablet to her chest, looking about three seconds away from fainting. Silence crashes over the warehouse so hard even the carts have stopped rattling. Flour still flies in the air, drifting through the shafts of sunlight, and somewhere behind me somebody coughs into the sudden quiet. Emma's eyes sweep over the warehouse once, taking in the overturned sacks, the white footprints, and the workers suddenly pretending none of it exists, before finally stopping on a very white-looking Evan. “What,” she asks again, her voice soft and sharp at the same time, “is happening here?” I glance around and find everyone frozen, one man still clutching a handful of flour like he forgot how hands work, another halfway behind a shel
Till The End of The World 32. Warehouse Chaos
CLARA. “EVAN BLAKES!" My voice echoes through the warehouse, making several workers instantly drop what they do, heads turning so fast you'd think someone had pulled a fire alarm. I scoop a handful of flour from the sack and throw it at him. He sidesteps easily. "Flour got in your eyes?" he taunts. Fuck. I point at him. "You're so dead!” I jump off and go after him, but he just turns and walks away. Seriously? No. you’ve picked the wrong person to fight, Human tower. “Get him!” I shout, pointing at the nearest worker. He freezes mid-step, crate still in his hands. “Move!” I snap, grabbing another handful and throwing it myself. He ducks—clean. Too clean. The flour flies past him and hits a worker behind instead. “Come on!” I yell, already moving. “Stand still now!" He’s already gone again, I run after him fast, too fast for a warehouse that suddenly feels way smaller than it was five seconds ago, every aisle somehow leading to exactly where he isn't.
Till The End of The World 31. Making Art
CLARA It turns out inventory work is less terrible than I expected. Not exciting and fun. Not at all. But not terrible too, since I'm not the one doing the heavy work. For the last hour I've been moving through the warehouse with a tablet in one hand and a growing understanding of why Stefan called me an idiot in the other. Never tell him that. I'm currently seated behind a wooden desk that's been shoved between two shelves of inventory records. Someone thoughtfully left me a chair too. Every shipment that arrives gets checked. Every crate gets counted and every supplier gets recorded too. The air smells like flour, grain, wood, and enough spices to make me hungry. A worker drops another inventory sheet onto my desk, with a little too much force for the poor paper. I see, we're both unhappy about this arrangement. "Twenty-seven." He grumbles. I glance down. "Twenty-eight." The worker frowns, a second later I realize I'm reading the wrong row. Fantastic. "It's
Till The End of The World 30. Information
CLARA.I wake up early and I hate it immediately.The room is still half-dark, pale morning light slipping through the curtains. For a second I just lie there staring at the ceiling, considering the possibilities of not existing for a few more hours, unfortunately I can't.Emma calls.So I get up and drag myself into the bathroom and let the hot water hit my skin until my brain starts to wake up. I get out stretching and pick a sage green dress, bell sleeves, square neck, and the hem just below my knees. It’s fine. It covers everything that needs to be covered. Flat sandals because I’m not fighting my life with heels today.My blonde hair goes into a medium ponytail. I throw on a pair of earrings, glance at myself in the mirror, and nod.I look good. Nah, I'm gorgeous, I always am.Maybe today will be good too and that thought lasts exactly until I open my door.Evan.Standing right outside my door, in a back shirt, sleeves rolled, black pants, boots polished enough to reflect my fac
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