Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 165

Chapter 165: 165

Winter’s jaw tightened at Zara’s suggestion.

"That’s not how it works," he muttered, arms crossed. "You said they came when they wanted."

Zara didn’t waver. "And we don’t have time to wait for them to come to me at random."

Winter exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "And if you break something in your head trying to force it?" His voice was rough, low, edged with frustration. "Then what?"

She stared at him, gaze steady. "Then at least I’ll have tried."

Winter’s scowl deepened. He knew that tone—Zara had made up her mind. Still, he refused to let this go without a fight. "You know how bad it is when they happen naturally," he argued. "What if forcing it makes it worse?"

Zara clenched her jaw. "Winter, I get it. You’re worried. But I have to do this. We need information, and this might be the only way to get ahead. If we sit around waiting, they’ll find us first."

Winter rubbed a hand down his face. Every instinct in him screamed against this. He remembered the last time—how her body had gone rigid, unresponsive, how she hadn’t woken for nearly half a day. The memory of it coiled tight in his chest, but Zara looked at him like she had already made peace with whatever happened next.

A long beat of silence stretched between them. Then, reluctantly, he exhaled. "If we do this, we’re being extra fucking careful. You stop if something doesn’t feel right."

"I know."

That wasn’t enough to reassure him. It never was. But it was all he was going to get.

Winter watched as Zara checked on Leo, smoothing a hand over his dark curls as he lay tucked in the blankets. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his small hands gripping the sheets. Winter looked away, his chest tight. They shouldn’t have been doing this here, not with Leo so close, but there was no choice.

Zara settled on the floor across from him, crossing her legs. Winter mirrored her, his body tense as he watched her.

Before she closed her eyes, he hesitated. "How are you planning to force it?"

Zara shifted slightly, exhaling. "I don’t know. Maybe meditating, focusing on the feeling of it happening." She paused, rolling her shoulders. "I’ll try to bring it forward, somehow."

She didn’t sound convinced.

That only made Winter more worried. That uncertainty sent a fresh wave of unease through him. His hands curled into fists. "You don’t even have a plan?"

"It’s not something I can plan, Winter." Her tone was patient, but tight. "I’ll just... try."

That made everything worse. He dragged a hand through his hair again, restless, unsettled. "This is a fucking terrible idea."

"Noted," she muttered, settling into position.

Winter didn’t move. He watched her, jaw tight, his body refusing to relax.

She was going to do this whether he liked it or not.

For all her confidence, she wasn’t sure about this either.

"Zara," he said, his voice quieter now, lower. "If there’s even a chance that this messes with your head—"

"I don’t have a choice," she interrupted.

The words hung between them, heavy and unyielding.

Winter clenched his jaw, glaring at the floor. He hated this. Hated how reckless she could be. Hated that, despite everything, she was probably right.

His stomach felt tight as he finally gave a stiff nod. "Fine."

The only time he had ever seen her have a vision, she had been walking beside him outside the base. One second she was fine, the next she had collapsed, eyes glassy, body rigid. He had caught her before she hit the ground, shaking her, calling her name—until she had finally sucked in a sharp, gasping breath and come back to him.

This time, she was forcing it.

That unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

Winter kept a hand on her arm, grounding her. "If anything feels wrong, you stop."

"I know," she murmured.

But did she?

His grip tightened slightly, but he forced himself to release her.

She focused.

The air shifted, the temperature seeming to drop by a degree. The space around them felt heavier.

A stillness settled over the room, subtle but unnatural. The hairs on the back of Winter’s neck stood on end.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself.

At first, nothing happened.

Then, a tremor ran through her shoulders.

Winter leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto her face.

Zara furrowed her brow, focusing harder, reaching deeper into that part of herself that called to the unknown.

A sharp inhale.

A wince.

Her fingers twitched against her knee.

Winter leaned forward, his voice edged with warning. "Zara—"

And then her breath caught.

A strangled sound left her lips as her body jerked. Her pupils dilated, then—

*****

Darkness.

The world around her vanished.

There was nothing but static.

Zara blinked, but it didn’t help—she couldn’t see. Everything was black, shifting like an unfocused screen.

The air was thick.

Muffled voices. Warped sounds, like hearing them through water.

She knew she was somewhere—felt the distant press of something against her skin—but nothing made sense.

She tried to focus, tried to push through, but the moment she did, pain lanced through her skull like a burning wire.

Her breath stuttered. The world around her shook.

Something was wrong.

A deep, distorted voice cut through the static, unintelligible but urgent.

She strained to hear—

Then—

"Zara!"

A loud voice, calling her name.

Winter.

The sound ripped through the vision, yanking her away.

The world slammed into her with a force that made her head throb like it was splitting apart. Her breath stuttered as sharp, blinding pain shot through her skull, radiating down her spine like a live wire. It was worse than before—worse than anything she’d ever felt.

She barely had time to process it before a rough hand grabbed her face.

"Look at me." Winter’s voice was hard, clipped, his fingers pressing into her jaw. "Open your damn eyes."

Zara forced them open, but everything blurred—colors too sharp, shadows too dark. The pressure in her head made her stomach lurch.

A sharp curse. Then Winter’s hand was swiping at her mouth, fingers coming away stained red.

Her blood.

Shit.

Her breath hitched, but Winter didn’t let go. His grip only tightened, his expression shifting from anger to something darker.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he snapped, voice low, shaking. "What the hell was that?"

Zara barely had the strength to respond. "I—I don’t know."

Wrong answer.

Winter’s jaw clenched, his anger spilling over like a dam breaking.

"Of course you don’t know!" he barked. "Because you didn’t think! You didn’t plan, you just—" He exhaled harshly, dragging a hand through his hair before grabbing her shoulders, shaking her just once. "Do you even hear yourself, Zara? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was?"

She winced as the movement sent another spike of pain through her skull. "Winter—"

"No. You don’t get to talk right now." His voice was sharp, but his hands didn’t leave her. "You collapsed. Again. You were bleeding. Again." His breath was ragged, unsteady. "And you didn’t wake up."

Something in his tone made her stomach drop.

She hadn’t woken up—not right away.

Winter’s grip on her was iron-tight, like if he let go, she’d disappear. His eyes were locked on her face, searching, frantic, furious.

"Do you know how long you were out?" His voice was quieter now, but no less dangerous.

Zara swallowed thickly, still trying to breathe through the pain. Her whole body ached, her skull felt like it was on fire, and every muscle screamed from the inside out.

"...Minutes?" she guessed.

Winter’s eyes went cold.

"Try half an hour."

Her breath caught.

"That’s how long you were fucking gone, Zara." His fingers dug into her arms. "Half an hour where you weren’t breathing right. Half an hour where I didn’t know if you were ever gonna wake up." His jaw clenched. "So yeah, I’m a little pissed off."

The weight of his words pressed into her like a second kind of pain.

"...I’m sorry," she whispered.

Winter shut his eyes, exhaling through his nose, like he was trying to shove the anger down. It didn’t work. When he looked at her again, his expression was still tight, his fingers still gripping her arms like a vice.

Then, suddenly, he let go.

Zara nearly slumped forward at the loss of support, but Winter caught her before she hit the ground. His hands hovered at her sides for a moment before he swore under his breath and pulled her against him.

Not gentle. Not soft. Just angry, frustrated, terrified.

"You’re done," he muttered into her hair, voice rough. "We’re not doing this again."

Zara’s body still throbbed, her skull still burned—but Winter’s hold was solid, grounding.

She wanted to argue. Wanted to say they’d have to try again.

But right now, her body was screaming for her to stop.

So she let herself lean into the warmth of his chest, just for a second.

Winter’s arms tightened around her.

Neither of them said anything after that