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Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son

You’d think seeing the future would give me a head start on surviving the apocalypse. I had it all planned—until everything I knew shattered when my husband sacrificed himself to save me and our son. Now it’s just me, my three-year-old son Leo, and my cursed gift of foresight that only seems to kick in when it’s nearly too late. I’m doing my best to keep us safe, to find food, to make some kind of plan— “Mommy?” I glance down, trying to ignore the tug on my pant leg as I focus on our supplies. “Not now, Leo. Mommy’s thinking.” “Mommy!” I sigh and finally look down. My three-year-old is standing there, clutching… I blink. “Leo, where did you get a knife?” He shrugs, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My heart stutters. “No, really. Where did you find that?” I try not to laugh. I mean, he’s three. Maybe he just—found it somewhere? But the next day, it’s a water bottle. Then, a tiny flashlight, somehow with batteries still inside. I don’t even know what else; he’s pulling things out one by one with the pleased grin of a kid who’s just figured out his favorite game. Well, we may just survive this mess after all. Now, if only the universe could have spared me from him. I don’t even know his name, but I know his type: tall, broad, and annoyingly handsome, with an air of calm control that’s out of place in this chaos. Ex-military, if I had to guess, with a voice that’s just as infuriating as his smirk. The man has a habit of showing up at the worst—or best—possible times, with a gun at the ready and secrets buried as deep as those bright green eyes. I mean, he’s probably useful, but I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize here: survival. For Leo and me. Because, foresight or no foresight, nothing is guaranteed in this new world—except the fact that people like him are trouble.

QuillMistress · Romance
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85 Chs

64: The World Filled with Emotions

"Get the fuck off her," Winter barked, his voice a deep, raw growl that reverberated off the peeling walls.

His rifle was still smoking from the single round he had fired to drop one of the bastards. The man he had just shot crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him. 

The rest of the men froze, the collective tension in the room visible. They hadn't expected a confrontation, let alone a man with a rifle aimed directly at them. One of the men, his hand still wrapped around the struggling woman's waist, paused and looked at Winter in disbelief, realizing all at once that they were no longer the ones holding the power.

Winter eyes swept over the scene—a scene that twisted his stomach in ways he didn't want to think about. 

He took in the disarray of limbs, the child clutched tightly by one of the men—his face red from crying—and the woman, her body straining against the weight of the attacker pressing her down.