Page 49 of Ravaged Saints

“Always.” Knox shrugs as he grabs his own rifle from a locker near the door.

“Maybe I should have one too,” I say, casually.

“Not a chance in hell, pet.” Knox barks, and I chuckle, hearing his grunt behind me.

We leave the base. The cool air hits my face like a slap; I trail behind Knox. My steps are slower while Dante walks beside me. His presence is a strange comfort.

“You okay?” Dante asks, amusement flickering in his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s barely holding back a smirk. I know exactly what he’s referring to—last night.

I could pretend not to remember, but it wouldn’t be fair to Knox, not after what Bryn accused him of. “Kind of,” I murmur, keeping my gaze on the ground.

Thankfully, Dante doesn’t press, and we continue in silence. The only noises coming are from the birds and the leaves moving with the wind.

We reach the river, the air thick with damp earth and the crisp scent of running water. I kneel by the edge, brushing my fingers over the dewy leaves of wild herbs; the silence between us is broken only by the gentle rush of the current.

I walk to another bush and kneel, smelling each plant, my hands brushing its leaves. I missed doing this.

“You know about this stuff?” Dante asks, nodding toward the plants.

I shrug, plucking a few sprigs between my fingers. “I was studying agricultural science before the plague. Only made it through my freshman year, but I took an extra class on plants and herbs.”

Dante lowers himself beside me, his presence warm, and I feel a shiver down my spine. “And your family?” His voice is quieter now, like he already knows the answer will cost me something. He reaches for a few herbs, mimicking my movements.

I take a slow breath, the words thick in my throat. “We had a farm; it was the family business, and my two brothers and I were supposed to take over…” I trail off, swallowed by the ache that never really fades.

Dante’s hand brushes mine, a touch to ground me, to give me support. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

I force a small smile, nodding once before shifting the conversation. “So, the base—the lights, the water.” I glance back at Knox, who lingers behind us, always watching. “How did you guys manage that?”

Dante’s lips twitch in something close to pride. “The base was built years before the plague. Solar panels and a generator connected to a battery storage. We even have wind turbines to boost power in the winter.”

Knox steps forward, his adding weight to the explanation. “The water’s pulled from a source behind the base, deep enough to stay fresh. It runs through a filtration system before hitting the main pipes.”

That’s smart; even though the base wasn’t designed for survival in a dead world, it sure as hell works now.

“The water heater’s shit, though,” Dante chuckles.

I huff out a laugh. “I noticed.”

Knox studies me for a moment before asking, “You lived alone before you met Bryn?”

“Yes,” I say, meeting his gaze. “Four years, give or take.”

Knox crosses his arms. “How old were you when the plague started?”

“Eighteen.” My hands sink into the dirt, tugging at another handful of herbs. The feel of soil beneath my fingers has always calmed me. It makes me feel connected and grounded, even now.

Dante tilts his head. “You’re twenty-eight now?”

I nod, glancing between them. “And you guys?”

“I’m thirty-six, and Knox is thirty-eight,” Dante answers easily.

My lips twitch. “Not old enough to be called daddy.”

Dante’s laugh is immediate, rich, and unrestrained as he pushes off the ground; his full-size body shakes with amusement. “Fucking hell, Aspen.” He shakes his head, still grinning.

I smirk; my gaze flicks to Knox. He doesn’t laugh, but there’s a half-smile ghosting his lips, and I feel proud to almost make him smile.

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