The Alpha's Apocalypse Sweet Queen
Inside, the sanctuary was preparing for a brief moment of happiness, a celebration of life amid the ruins.
The air in the small, makeshift kitchen was warm, carrying the dry, sweet scent of preserved fruit and stale flour scraps Rhea had spent months trading medical supplies to gather. On the wooden table, a single lantern cast a warm, golden glow over their meager ingredients. Tess was carefully arranging a handful of bruised, canned peaches onto a cracked tin plate, her movements precise and full of quiet determination.
"It's not much," Tess murmured, her voice barely carrying over the distant sound of thunder. "But it's enough for a cake. Or, at least, what passes for one in Sector 4."
Bab Populer