The convenience store was dark except for the thin spill of moonlight leaking through the front windows and the dull glow of a dying emergency light near the back. Shelves loomed like shadows around us, half-empty, picked clean in places where panic had already passed through.
We sat on the floor in a loose circle, backs to coolers and overturned crates, everyone clutching whatever food they'd scavenged—protein bars, crushed chips, dented cans. The sounds of chewing and rustling wrappers felt too loud in the quiet.
Lila was pressed against my side.
Not just close—clinging. Her arms were wrapped around mine, fingers locked together like she was afraid I'd vanish if she loosened her grip. Her head rested on my shoulder, warm, familiar. I could feel her breathing, slow and deliberate, like she was reminding herself I was real.
Everyone noticed.
