Chapter 12 – The Calm Before the Cold

  The cafeteria lights buzzed gently above us as Jasmine leaned over the supply tablet. Her fingers tapped methodically, but I could see the worry in her furrowed brow.

  “We need to start planning our expedition carefully,” she said, not looking up. “Do you think we’re ready to venture out? Or should we try to stretch what we have for a little longer?”

  I crossed my arms, eyes trailing down the dwindling list. Food. Fuel. Batteries. Basic mana kits, barely functional. Enough to brave the cold—but not thrive in it.

  “We can’t wait forever,” I said. “But going too soon might get us killed.”

  She sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’ve been lucky so far. But out there?”

  Her words trailed off. I could hear the fear behind them. Not weakness—just honesty.

  “We’ll be careful,” I told her. “But yeah… I’ll lead. I’ll protect you all, Jasmine. Even if it costs me.”

  That made her look up.

  Her green eyes searched mine for a moment—something soft behind them.

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  “I believe you, Seven,” she said quietly.

  The moment passed, and she returned to the numbers.

  “We need to get everyone ready. No half-measures. Whatever abilities we’ve been given… they’re not random. We’ll need all of them.”

  I nodded. “We’ll train, plan routes, assign tasks. The works.”

  She smiled faintly. “Sounds like someone who’s already halfway into leadership mode.”

  Later that evening, I wandered past Chris’s quarters. His door was open, and he was rummaging through an old supply bin. Tools, wiring, a couple torn manuals.

  Then he froze. Pulled something from the bottom.

  “Guys!” he called, holding up a dusty camera like it was a golden artifact. “Look what I found!”

  I stepped in, raising a brow. “A DSLR?”

  Chris grinned. “From Earth. Still works. Looks like it was packed just before we got here.”

  He flipped through the back display. The last few photos were urban—some skyline shots, maybe a balcony. The faces in the images didn’t tell us much. Friends, probably. Maybe family.

  “Nothing useful,” he muttered. “But… it’s something.”

  He paused.

  “Y’know,” he added, “if we’re gonna be stuck here for a while… we should take a group photo. Before everything changes.”

  “Why?” I asked, even though I already knew.

  “Because someday, we’ll want to remember the people we survived with.”

  Chris passed through the shelter, calling everyone in.

  Jake was still practicing with his ice—trying to shape water into blades without freezing his own fingers.

  Jasmine was near the storage hall, sorting gear again, always double-checking.

  Yuri had claimed the training room. I’d seen her there before—blades cutting through air like silk, focus honed to a razor’s edge.

  Greg was pulling apart the ventilation system, muttering something about checking filters. Always moving. Always lifting.

  “Everyone,” Chris said, waving them in. “Quick break. Let’s make a memory.”

  They came, one by one.

  Tired, but curious.

  We gathered in the cafeteria, the safest space in a place we couldn’t fully trust.

  Chris set the camera on a crate, timer blinking.

  “Alright,” he said, standing back. “Smile.”

  The flash went off.

  And I smiled.

  Not forced.

  Not for show.

  But real.

  We broke after that—each of us drifting back to whatever we did to feel normal. But something shifted.

  Maybe it was the photo.

  Maybe it was the moment of laughter.

  Or maybe… it was the feeling that, even just for a second, we weren’t lost strangers anymore.

  We were us.