Emma’s parents led Julian and his group into a private room inside the shelter, a modest but cozy space with old couches, a small table, and some sleeping bags neatly arranged. Julian accepted the offer with a polite nod.
"Thank you for bringing us here," Julian said to Luke, offering a rare, small smile.
Luke waved him off. "No problem at all. Glad we could help reunite you."
As Luke and his patrol headed off to their own quarters, Emma’s father, a broad-shouldered man with streaks of gray in his hair, stepped forward. "I’m Randoff Leight," he said, voice deep but warm. He looked Julian up and down, eyes narrowing slightly. "Thank you... for bringing my daughter home."
Julian inclined his head. "I should thank Emma. She’s saved me more times than I can count."
Randoff barked out a surprised laugh, slapping his knee. "HA! That’s my girl!" But his amusement faded as his gaze shifted between Julian and Emma, who was now fidgeting behind Julian. "So... Emma. Will you stay here with us?"
Before Emma could answer, Julian’s calm voice cut in. "That won’t happen. She’s already... involved with me."
Time froze. Emma’s mother, a kind-looking woman named Eliza, covered her mouth. Emma herself went redder than a tomato, eyes fixed on the floor. Clarissa, Veronica, and Aya shared a collective oh no expression.
Randoff’s smile vanished like a candle in a hurricane. "Involved? INVOLVED?! WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!" His voice boomed across the room as he took a step forward, fists clenched.
Emma squeaked, "D-dad! Calm down!"
Randoff’s face was crimson. "Calm down?! How am I supposed to calm down when this guy says he’s involved with my baby girl?!"
He lunged toward Julian, who didn’t even flinch. in fact, he looked bored. "You bastard! What did you do to Emma?!"
Eliza and Emma both hurried to grab Randoff’s arms, pulling him back like handlers restraining an angry bull. "Randoff! Stop it! You’ll scare the kids outside!" Eliza hissed, trying to soothe him.
Julian, still unmoved, looked Randoff dead in the eyes. "She chose to be with me. And I don’t plan on letting her go."
Randoff spluttered. "LET HER GO?! WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT LETTING GO?! YOU—!"
Emma wailed, "DAD, STOP!" practically sitting on his shoulders to weigh him down.
Eliza sighed, patting Randoff’s back. "Why don’t you calm down and let me talk with them? You’ll burst a vein."
Randoff, red-faced and still glaring daggers at Julian, pointed a trembling finger. "We’re not done... boy..."
Julian tilted his head slightly.
Clarissa leaned over to whisper, trying not to laugh. "I think this is the first time I’ve seen someone who could make you look like a rebellious teen."
Veronica snickered, arms crossed. "I almost feel bad for Emma. Almost."
Aya gave Emma a sympathetic smile. "I-I’m sure your dad will calm down... eventually..."
Eliza ushered Randoff and Emma aside. "Why don’t you two talk things out as a family? Julian, the room is yours. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Julian nodded once, then led his group into their designated room. The sun still hung high outside, it was too early to sleep, so they spread out and lounged around.
Clarissa sat close to Julian, her eyes thoughtful. "What will you do... if Emma decides to stay with her family?"
Julian’s voice was low but resolute. "That won’t happen. I won’t let go of someone I’ve claimed."
Veronica rolled her eyes dramatically. "Poor Emma... falling for someone like you."
Aya giggled softly, covering her mouth. "He’s serious about it, though."
Outside the door, faint sounds of Randoff’s voice, still ranting, drifted through the walls, punctuated by Emma’s embarrassed protests and Eliza’s exasperated sighs.
--------×--------
That night, the main meeting hall in the shelter, was filled with hushed whispers and anxious stares. At the front of the room sat a middle-aged man with a firm posture, a well-groomed face, silver hair slicked neatly back, and a black suit he still maintained despite the collapse of the world, he was Gabriel Sutherland, former CEO of a giant construction company who had become the founder and leader of this shelter.
His sharp gaze assessed every person in the room. His trained baritone voice sliced through the silence. "Tonight’s meeting is held to discuss the situation with our dwindling food supplies."
Everyone held their breath. Then, from a chair on the left, a portly man with a round face and double chin, thin hair desperately combed over, and a faded blue uniform from his days as a janitor, this was Brandon Holt, once a janitor in the same property company that owned this building.
Brandon snorted loudly. "It’s all because of Randoff’s reckless habit of saving worthless people!" he barked, jabbing a thick finger toward an empty seat. "We have too many mouths to feed, and our supplies are running out!"
Some people murmured in agreement. But from the front row, a skinny old man with disheveled white hair, wearing a torn leather apron he still wore with pride, Albert Grayson, who owned a traditional weapon smithy before the apocalypse, snapped back, "Hey, Brandon! It’s our duty to help our fellow humans. Have you forgotten who we are?!"
Brandon turned, his face flushed red. "Duty?! We’ve exceeded our capacity! Because of Randoff, our dear friend here," he sneered, glaring at a middle-aged man sitting at the end, Derrick Collins, a former urban farming manager, "he’s been working himself to exhaustion with his skill."
Derrick, a man with a slightly bulging belly and short-cropped hair graying at the temples, stammered, "I-I... my [Green Cultivation] skill isn’t as effective anymore... if I keep pushing, my crops won’t grow properly..." He looked down miserably. "The soil is losing its fertility, we need time to recover it..."
Gabriel only listened, hands resting on the table, eyes calculating as he looked from Brandon to Derrick. The tension thickened.
Brandon slammed the table hard, the sound echoing throughout the hall. "It’s clear! If we don’t act now, everyone here will starve! We have to kick Randoff out and make him take care of all the people he brought himself!"
Before he could finish, the hall doors burst open with a bang. All eyes turned toward the entrance.
Randoff Leight, a muscular man with short red hair streaked with gray at the temples, wearing a thick, worn-out brown jacket, stood there with a piercing gaze and confident stride. "Sorry I’m late," he said in a low, firm voice.
Gabriel immediately nodded, his tone flat but commanding. "No problem, Randoff. Please, have a seat."
Brandon scoffed, glaring at Randoff with fiery eyes. "Why are you late for a meeting this important?! It’s all your fault! You recklessly increased our shelter’s population, making things harder for everyone!"
Randoff stared straight into Brandon’s eyes, unwavering. "I was late because I had to make sure everyone I saved was safe and not bringing trouble here," he said in a calm, steel-edged tone. "And yes, I saved them, because it’s our duty, to help one another. If we abandon each other, how are we any different from the zombies outside?"
Brandon let out a derisive laugh. "Ha! Big words! How will they ever be useful?! We’ll starve to death before they can ’help build this shelter’ like you dream!"
Randoff swept his gaze across the room, his voice quiet but ringing out. "I have a solution."
The hall fell completely silent. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, waiting for what would come next. Brandon clenched his jaw, barely containing his anger, while Albert looked on with a glimmer of hope.