Chapter 22 (Joshua’s POV)

  Eighteen hours.

  That number pulsed behind my temples like a strobe, synchronized to the soft click?click I alone could hear—an imaginary metronome the Gate seemed to have lodged inside my skull. Each click pushed me one millisecond closer to that violet shimmer, one heartbeat nearer to the moment the copper door would decide enough and sling me back across realities whether I felt prepared or not.

  I paced the narrow corridor between the kitchen island and the barricaded window, boots whispering over knotted floorboards. My right knee bounced every time I paused—an involuntary piston that hammered out my anxiety for the entire cottage to feel. Anna pretended to focus on fletching a new set of arrows at the table, but her eyes flicked up with each creak of wood, tracking me the way you watch a pot ready to boil over. She said nothing. Perhaps she understood there was nothing useful to say.

  The Inventory Never Slept

  I had already run through my departure checklist a dozen times:

  72?pound GATE bucket??Strapped, sealed.

  Med tote??Lot numbers double?checked, bubble wrap tight against glass ampoules.

  New Kevlar forearm guards??Folded atop foam mattresses, ready for her.

  Ledger with pricing, pearl counts, and Mirabelle’s last?known address??Tucked inside the inner pocket of my jacket.

  Cash cushion for toll and emergency??Exactly $2,400 in twenties, fifties, and two crisp hundreds.

  Everything lay where it should, yet the sense of looming failure wouldn’t unclench its jaws. Logistics were easy; uncertainty was the true freight.

  Ghost Scenarios

  Every click of the mental metronome spun out another nightmare script:

  What if the Gate lagged on the return cycle—forty?eight hours stretching into seventy?two because of some cosmic maintenance window?

  What if the Empire finally pushed this far north and discovered the copper door while I was away, turning the cottage into an ambush site?

  What if Anna, stubborn to her marrow, went vault?cracking without backup and bled out on a boardroom carpet while I compared socket?wrench prices in Jersey City?

  What if the Gate noticed I’d tinkered with the house plumbing and decided that broke some rule, revoking my “user license” mid?transit?

  Each what if slammed against my ribs like a battering ram, reverberating down to my jittering knee.

  At one point I stopped pacing, palms braced against the counter’s edge, knuckles white. I looked at Anna across the room. She sat cross?legged on the floor now, sorting arrow shafts by straightness, the lamplight gilding the curve of her Shoulder— As I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, I couldn’t help but be utterly captivated by Anna. Her presence commanded my attention, and I found myself unable to look away. She was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman I had ever laid eyes on.

  Her long, flowing hair cascaded down her shoulders, framing her face in a way that accentuated her high cheekbones and full lips. Her eyes, a deep and emerald green, held a world of mystery and strength that drew me in. They sparkled with an intensity that made my heart race, and I could feel myself getting lost in their depths.

  Her body was a masterpiece of curves and strength. The green tank top she wore clung to her in all the right places, highlighting her toned arms and the gentle swell of her breasts. The straps of her tank top crisscrossed over her shoulders, adding an element of ruggedness that only made her more alluring. Her waist tapered in, leading to hips that flared out perfectly, and her legs were long and shapely, hinting at the power and agility she possessed.

  If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  The way she stood, confident and unyielding, with her hands on her hips and a determined look in her eyes, made her seem almost otherworldly. She was a vision of both strength and sensuality, a woman who could conquer any challenge and still make my heart skip a beat. Every movement she made was graceful and purposeful, and I found myself imagining what it would be like to have her in my arms, to feel her body pressed against mine.

  Her skin, slightly tanned and glowing with a healthy sheen, begged to be touched. I could imagine the softness of her touch, the warmth of her body, and the electric spark that would undoubtedly pass between us if I ever got the chance to be close to her. She was the embodiment of every fantasy I had ever had, and I knew that I was falling deeply, irrevocably in love with her. For a heartbeat the click?click died away and there was only the soft rasp of feather against wood, the faint catch of her breath.I shook my head Day dreams no way a strong woman like her would ever be into a whimp like me, especially not with a world seperating us, my thoughts turned to my father. He had managed why cant I…I banished the thought before looking at Anna again.

  She sensed my stare and lifted her head. There was no scolding in her expression, only an exhausted patience—like someone waiting out a storm she’d seen forecast days in advance. That silent steadiness both soothed and stung: why should she have to spend her calm on buffering my panic?

  I pushed off the counter, exhaled through my nose, and forced my knee to still.

  “Eighteen hours,” I said, surprising myself with the rawness of my voice. “Two weeks there. In the best case, that’s fourteen dawns you stand watch alone.”

  Anna laid an arrow on the table, brushed fletching dust from her palms, and shrugged. “I’ve stood watch for longer stretches—without coffee and plywood deliveries.” Her tone held a wry edge, but the words meant to reassure.

  “That was before you had to defend a fixed location,” I argued. “Before the Empire learned a scavenger embarrassed their patrol. They’ll come for you eventually or one or more of the scavengers themselves will.”

  “Then they’ll find new barbed wire and a woman who shoots straighter now,” she said. “Courtesy of your shopping addiction.”

  I almost smiled, but the knot in my gut didn’t ease. “Humor me,” I whispered. “Walk me through tomorrow in detail. From the moment the Gate seals.”

  She sighed—an unspoken you need this?—then indulged me, reciting a schedule:

  Dawn – Feed the rooftop solar bank; tilt panels if wind permits.

  Mid?morning – Finish reinforcing the south?east bedroom door with the steel bars I brought. Tax her arms but doable.

  Noon scouting loop – Quiet circuit past the pawnshop block to confirm no new Empire graffiti.

  Afternoon – pull well water for ration packs; label one gallon for medical washing only.

  Evening – Configure the paracord trip?lines in the cul?de?sac, collect any crows snared in them for protein.

  She rattled the plan off like a range card, eyes flicking up to ensure I registered every checkpoint. I nodded, but the knot only twisted tighter. I wasn’t worried about her competence; I was terrified of random chance.

  When she finished, silence pooled. The wind rattled plywood. Somewhere a loose nail pinged the siding—a metallic heartbeat returning the cadence my mind tried to escape.

  “I hate leaving.” It slipped out, raw and small. “The Gate… it’s like a parent that drops you off at two different day?cares, then forgets which child is where.”

  Anna wiped dust across her thigh, considered. “You blaming yourself for physics doesn’t feed me or protect me,” she said. “You know how you help? You bring back the next concrete bag. The next antibiotic course.” Her throat bobbed; the set of her shoulders betrayed fatigue she rarely showed. “I’m not fragile china, Joshua.”

  “Doesn’t mean I want to gamble with you,” I muttered.

  She pushed to her feet, came to stand opposite me. The lamplight cut a warm line down the planes of her face, before softening on her collarbone. She hooked a finger under the ratchet strap securing a crate of coffee tins. “Help me move these downstairs,” she ordered. “If you carry instead of pace, your knee might stop jittering.”

  I barked a laugh—short, embarrassed—and obeyed. The boxes were heavy but finite. Each run to the basement grounded me in practical exertion: weight, friction, the strain of nylon on gloves. Work replaced thought.

  By the time we stacked the last load, sweat slicked my spine and the phantom ticking had dimmed. Anna pressed a mug of weak coffee into my palm—leftover from our earlier ration—and nudged me toward the front door. “Take a walk,” she said. “Look at the moon. When you come back, we’ll talk about that bank vault.”

  I took two gulps of the bitter brew, let it scorch my tongue, and nodded. Before stepping onto the porch I risked one more glance at her, silently memorizing the slope of her shoulders, the set of her jaw, how the faint glow from the copper door haloed around her silhouette.

  Eighteen hours. I could not halt the metronome, but maybe I could soften its echo—turn panic into purpose as she did. Outside, cold night air slapped my cheeks and carried distant moans of roamers along its current. I breathed the rot?tinged wind and made myself recite the plan:

  Finalize weld spots on barbed?wire fence.

  Double?count the pearls.

  Change the batteries in the lantern.

  ..14 days, I would need every possible lucky break i could get.

  Inside, the Gate patiently clicked down, but I heard Anna’s soft footsteps above it—steady, unafraid. I let that rhythm replace the ticking as I walked the perimeter beneath a bruised moon, war?hammer at my hip.