Jiang Roulan (POV)
March 18th, 20xx — 6:38 PM
Zone 3A-Δ – Fifth Floor – Jiang Roulan's Apartment
———
The stew was still hot.
The pot clicked softly as I lifted the lid. A thin layer of steam rose and touched my face — not enough to burn, just enough to sting.
I didn't know why I made it.
Habit, maybe. Training. When things start to fall apart, cook. Feed people. It was the only instinct that hadn't been ripped out of me yet.
The vegetables were soft now — rehydrated rations mixed with real meat I'd stripped from last week's beef. Nothing extravagant. Just enough for two.
But I didn't serve it.
I just stood there.
Holding the ladle.
Waiting.
For what?
Footsteps?
A knock?
A message saying he'd remembered or couldn't stand being away from me?
…No.
John wasn't coming back.
Not now.
Not from the look in Qinglan's eyes when they left... I knew it.
Right now, she was probably—
Damn it.
I pressed my lips together and turned away from the pot before I could imagine it.
