| |
|
From outside, Emma’s voice carries faintly through the hall, calling for both of you to come play tag with the younger kids. Ray doesn’t move. He just raises an eyebrow toward you. “So? Are you going, or are you going to stay and prove Holmes missed something else?” Would Sharona take the challenge and go along, or stay in her quiet corner?
|
|
|
| |
|
Ray’s eyes flick to Milly and Mila, taking mental notes immediately. His respect for them is evident in the slight nod he gives—subtle, but loaded with recognition. He understands the value of exceptional senses in a world like this. “…Good. That means early warning and quick reaction,” he mutters quietly, almost to himself, while scanning the room and the entrances. “With eyes like Milly’s and ears like Mila’s, plus the walls, fences, and generator-powered defenses… this place is as close to safe as it gets in a world like ours.” He glances at you, expression unreadable but intense, and his voice drops slightly, steady but carrying weight: “You’ve done more than survive… you’ve given everyone here a real chance. That’s impressive, Sharona.” Even as he says it, his mind is already running through contingencies, patrols, and zombie movement patterns—because trust in safety here is never blind, only calculated.
|
|
|