Seraphina's Revenge: A Rebirth In The Apocalypse Novel

Chapter 433: The Warmest Plate

Zubair woke the same way he had every day since he was seventeen—at five in the morning, as if something inside him tugged him back to the surface without mercy or hesitation.

But today, the moment he surfaced, there was no cold rush of adrenaline. No need to brace for alarms or footsteps or the metallic tang of danger riding under the walls. No missions that needed to be completed on the other side of the world.

Just the soft, even breath of the horde around him.

He opened his eyes slowly, forcing his body to relax.

Aerenyx was still sitting where he’d fallen asleep, his back against the bedframe, and his head tipped just slightly to the side. He looked like he had drifted only because Sera had, his body synced to hers with unsettling precision.

Lachlan was sprawled on the floor, one foot pressed against the bedframe as if anchoring himself to her. Alexei sat half-upright against the wall, his posture relaxed but his attention still tracking subtle sounds even in sleep.

And Sera—wrapped in her blanket, Oogie Boogie tucked under her cheek, and her hair messy across the pillow—slept like the world wasn’t sharpening its teeth somewhere beyond their walls.

He didn’t dare disturb her.

Zubair shifted his weight with practiced silence, stepping between them with careful foot placement. The floor groaned under his heel once, but Sera didn’t stir. She’d sunk so deeply into rest that even her creature slept, coiled warm and content beneath her ribs.

That alone made rising early worth it.

He slipped into the hallway and eased the door shut behind him. The air in the corridor smelled faintly of old paint and the lingering imprint of the night before. Pale stripes of morning light seeped through the curtains, dust motes drifting lazily in the beams. Zubair followed them downstairs, each step slow, instinct softened by the rare chance to give her more sleep.

The kitchen greeted him with stale air and the ghost of old meals past.

The pantry door stuck slightly before giving way, revealing the meager contents left by the house’s former owners: a half-used bag of dry pancake mix, a tin of peaches, a box of stale crackers.

Nothing fresh. Nothing vibrant. But enough for a breakfast.

His creature grumbled at the lack of real food—real meat—but it quieted when Zubair imagined Sera stepping into the kitchen, eyes still half-lidded, blanket around her shoulders. She’d eat whatever he placed in front of her just because he made it.

He turned on the stove and mixed the pancake batter with the last of the water stored under the sink. The smell of warming griddle filled the kitchen slowly, something soft and old, something almost familiar.

Footsteps whispered behind him.

Alexei appeared first, his hair mussed, eyes sharper than wakefulness should allow. He didn’t speak at first—just scanned the room, then the stairs, then the window, cataloguing the morning’s edges before acknowledging the quiet.

"She’s still asleep," he said finally, voice low.

"Good," Zubair replied as he flipped the first pancake. "Let her stay that way."

Alexei leaned against the counter, folding his arms loosely. The tension he carried by nature never vanished, but this morning it rested differently—less like a blade, more like a hand hovering over a heartbeat.

Next came Lachlan.

He stumbled into the kitchen like gravity had personal beef with him, rubbing his eyes with both hands. His hair stuck out in angles that defied physics, and his shirt was twisted halfway around his torso.

"Mmm," he said, sniffing loudly. "Food. Not the military sludge. I could cry."

"It’s pancake mix," Zubair said.

Lachlan responded by dramatically placing a hand over his heart. "Then this is the best day of my life."

He went straight for the back door and let Luci outside. The dire wolf bounded into the yard like he’d been waiting his entire life for this moment, rolling in the thin patch of grass before trotting along the fence line.

"He’ll keep watch," Lachlan said, closing the door gently.

Aerenyx entered last.

He paused in the doorway, staring at the griddle with the same expression one might give a burning trash heap. His nose wrinkled. His lip curled. His eyes narrowed at the batter like it had personally offended him.

"What is that?" he asked, voice flat with horror.

"Breakfast," Zubair said.

Aerenyx blinked slowly. "For who?"

"All of us."

"No," he said immediately. "Not her."

Alexei pinched the bridge of his nose.

Lachlan bit into a pancake from the cooling plate and choked on a laugh.

Aerenyx approached the stove with the grim determination of someone inspecting a crime scene. "My female isn’t eating paste," he declared. "This is for animals that can’t hunt. She requires substance. Blood. Heat. Bone. You’re giving her... mush."

Zubair flipped another pancake without emotion. "This is what we have."

"Unacceptable," Aerenyx muttered.

"Then you go out and hunt," Zubair replied, too tired to sugarcoat it.

Aerenyx stiffened. "I am not leaving her."

"Then she gets pancakes."

Silence.

Aerenyx stared at the pan like it was plotting her assassination.

The light through the kitchen window grew brighter, stretching across the counter and warming the mismatched plates. Coffee didn’t exist here. Fresh fruit didn’t exist here. But somehow the moment still felt... domestic. Not peaceful. Not safe.

Just borrowed. Brief. Something they might never get again.

Lachlan leaned against the fridge, watching the batter bubble. "Feels weird," he said. "Like the world paused for five minutes and forgot to scream."

"It’ll remember," Alexei murmured.

"Probably soon," Zubair agreed.

Aerenyx crouched beside the bottom of the staircase, sitting with his back straight and his gaze fixed upward. He looked like a sentinel carved out of shadow—silent, patient, immovable.

Zubair placed a warm plate on the table and set out forks, careful not to make loud clinks. His creature settled inside him, not resting but observing—waiting for the moment Sera’s breathing changed upstairs, the moment her foot touched the first step.

It didn’t take long.

Soft footsteps approached from above, slow enough that he knew she was still more asleep than awake. Her creature’s presence unfurled a heartbeat before she appeared, brushing against his mind with a warm ripple of awareness.

Sera reached the bottom of the stairs in flannel pajamas—blue, oversized, sleeves falling past her wrists. Her white hair was a mess of tangles, half flattened on one side, and her eyes were barely open.

She looked soft in a way the world had no right to see.

All four men froze, not in fear, but in instinctive recalibration.

She blinked at them, yawned once, then rubbed her face with her sleeve.

"...pancakes?" she asked, voice rough with sleep.

Zubair didn’t say anything, he just handed her the warmest plate.