Seraphina's Revenge: A Rebirth In The Apocalypse Novel

Chapter 86: Quieter Inside

The snow crunched beneath Zubair’s boots as they crested the last incline leading back to the cabin. His breath misted in the cold air, but his skin still radiated heat. Not like before—when he’d been burning from the inside out—but like embers now, glowing steady beneath the surface.

He didn’t say a word as they walked, and neither did Sera.

In his left hand, the trout dangled by the gills, stiff and already half-frozen. He could’ve dropped it. Could’ve handed it back to her. But instead, he kept walking in silence, carrying it like a tether to something more grounded than the conversation they’d just had.

As they approached the edge of the trees, the lights from the cabin spilled soft and golden through the windows.

Sera stopped just short of the clearing.

Zubair followed her gaze as she studied the house, every window lit, faint movement behind one of them—Noah probably pacing with snacks, or Alexei rooting through the fridge like a bear.

Then, without a word, Sera veered off toward the side of the house and crouched by her bedroom window.

Zubair blinked. "The door’s open."

"I know," she said over her shoulder, sliding the window up and ducking halfway inside. "But I’m not walking through the front door like this."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?" he asked. She hadn’t hesitated before to show him who she really was, so why was she being like this now? "Because of the purple?"

"Exactly." Her voice was flat, even with a faint smile on her face. "Just because you know doesn’t mean the rest of them need to."

She disappeared inside without waiting for a response.

Zubair lingered a moment, watching the dark space she’d left behind. He nodded once, then turned and circled around to the back. She wasn’t wrong. Some things should be played close to the chest.

She had said that it was a past life, the images he saw when he had the fever, but she also said that they could be visions of the future.

And if that was the case, then Zubair couldn’t fully trust some people he had once considered to be his friends.

The kitchen door creaked open as he stepped into the warmth of the cabin.

Alexei looked up from where he’d spread out spices across the counter like a surgeon prepping for surgery. Lachlan was slouched at the table, his boots up, and his head tipped back, balancing a bottle on his forehead.

Noah was stretched out on the other couch, staring at the TV as a cooking show talked about the best way to make a meringue.

The scent of garlic, onion, and scorched butter hung in the air like home, and Zubair couldn’t help but breathe in deep.

He strolled forward without ceremony and dropped the trout onto the counter with a thump. "I assume you know what to do with that."

Alexei raised a brow. "I was raised on fish. You want it skinned or seared whole?"

"Don’t care. Just feed the team."

Lachlan lowered the bottle and looked over, squinting like Zubair was something new. "You look less... ragey."

Zubair frowned, but didn’t correct him.

Instead, he moved to the bench near the fireplace and sat down, dragging his fingers through his hair. His body felt loose—too loose. Limber. Like something had been pulled taut for years and had finally been allowed to snap.

Lachlan leaned forward, arms braced on his knees. "How’re you feeling?"

Zubair considered lying. But the words stuck somewhere in his throat.

He inhaled instead. Slowly. Deeply. Let the warmth of the room settle around him.

The heat inside him was no longer painful. It pulsed, low and steady, like a warning without a threat. And his skin didn’t itch the way it had. His muscles didn’t ache. The pain in his shoulder from the Hindukush fall was gone. The crack in his ankle from a childhood accident was fully healed and no longer bugging him. In fact, he couldn’t even remember which ankle it had been anymore.

He wasn’t superhuman. Not even close.

But he no longer felt like a broken soldier that was reaching the end of his prime either.

"I feel," he said at last, "like me. Just... quieter inside."

Lachlan tilted his head. "Quieter?"

Zubair tapped his chest. "No pain. No edge. No buzz under the skin. I’m not running hot anymore."

"Good," Alexei muttered, already gutting the fish. "Maybe now you won’t try to strangle the medic."

Zubair didn’t respond.

He didn’t regret what he’d done to Elias. Not really. The images from the fever dream still burned behind his eyes—the cage, the blade, the laughter. But Sera had said those weren’t real. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Still.

He didn’t like being someone who lost control. He didn’t like being a variable.

The door to the hallway creaked open behind them.

Zubair didn’t need to turn to know it was her.

Sera walked through without ceremony, dressed in dry clothes, hair damp and loose down her back. Her skin looked normal again. Almost too normal. But Zubair knew better now.

No one else seemed to notice.

"Any bear left?" she asked, moving past the boys and into the fridge.

"Nope," Alexei replied. "But this fish will do. I’ll make stew."

"Make sure to save some for tomorrow. We’re going to have to grab more supplies if the military doesn’t hurry up and pick up their people. Remind me again why they aren’t getting their own supplies?" She shut the fridge and leaned against it, arms crossed.

"Because they are high enough up the ranks that they don’t so much as pick up a pencil without three people beneath them offering to write whatever was needed," replied Zubair with a straight face. "It’s easier and safer to send the grunts than to risk them."

Lachlan glanced at her, then back at Zubair. "Everything good between you two?"

Zubair nodded.

Sera didn’t answer.

"I’ll take the couch," Zubair said suddenly, standing. "Let the others take the bunks tonight."

Alexei snorted. "Mighty noble of you."

Zubair didn’t rise to the bait. He grabbed one of the folded blankets from the stack beside the hearth, dropped it over the armrest, and sat down.

The fire crackled. The cabin creaked with settling wood and melting snow. For a while, no one said anything, not even Noah.

However, Elias was nowhere to be found.

Zubair leaned back, hands folded across his stomach, staring at the flames.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for now, the quiet was enough.

He could feel the hum inside him still—but it was no longer a storm.

And that suited him just fine.