18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 447

In the wake of the apocalypse, memories are either as sharp as a cold blade or jagged like shards of glass. Everyone's scars bleed fresh, and some wounds never heal, no matter how much time passes.

Stella, not one to pry, carried a bucket into the house.

Everyone's got their own battles. I remember the first time I saw Miranda. She wore that same dress, looking all dolled up with exquisite makeup, preserved remarkably well.

She was fiery and jealous, but she stood out among the women, thriving like no other.

Now, still in that dress, she looked as if she had aged decades, her gaunt figure nearly unrecognizable.

They say time is a butcher's knife, but the apocalypse came even swifter.

Stella picked up a mirror and scrutinized her reflection, "Jasper, do I look much older?"

"Not at all, pretty much the same as always."

"You're just humoring me." She had passed her prime, yet she maintained her looks with an almost reckless abundance of expensive creams.

"You're only 29, at the peak of your beauty."

Having read his fair share of romance magazines, Jasper's emotional intelligence had shot up, "No matter how you change, you'll always be the most beautiful to me, forever the same as when we first met."

The way she looked when they first met? Forever 19.

Those were good days, the days of youth.

Stella gazed at Jasper, "Jasper, you seem older."

Jasper touched his face, from his early twenties when they met, to now in his thirties, they had both been at the best times of their lives. Sadly, the end of days had them focused on survival instead of normal couple things like dating, getting married, or throwing a grand wedding for her.

He felt he had shortchanged her.

"Do I look very old?" He never cared much for his looks, but her teasing suddenly made him self-conscious.

Hmm, he hadn't shaved in days; he'd probably end up pricking her face that night.

Stella smiled, "It's okay, you look more mature and steady."

A touch of the wear of time added to the charisma of a man in his thirties.

Such a man was even more attractive.

Their eyes met, brimming with tenderness.

Rosie, feeling like a third wheel, pretended to look away while secretly turning Cooper's doggy head in the other direction.

Shh, don't look, they'll notice.

Comforted by Jasper's emotional savvy, Stella boasted with less anxiety, "Your wife is the prettiest, happy?"

Used to the give-and-take of their relationship, Jasper replied, "Yeah, and your husband is the handsomest."

They shared a laugh, inadvertently flaunting their bond.

Rosie had overheard Miranda's words earlier; Dylan had been separated from them.

She wondered how he was doing. He was her only friend, after all.

Rosie was worried but kept it from showing.

Stella bent over to inspect the purified seawater, "Is it really clean?"

Jasper was uncertain, "Maybe we should store it in Arcadia for irrigation and stick to drinking regular water?"

That was a given. Stella didn't fancy the idea of potential long-term effects from drinking it.

She trusted the base to ensure safety as much as possible, but who knew how many ancient viruses lurked in the ocean, and whether they could be fully eradicated?

After storing the water in Arcadia, Stella retrieved a light dinner from the Arcadia villa, waiting for it to cool in The Garden before they ate.

The villa's Arcadia was great for keeping things fresh, but hot food tended to lose its flavor quickly.

After years of disaster, survivors craved food instinctively, their sense of smell sharpened beyond that of a dog's – the slightest scent could be detected.

Following their lukewarm meal, Rosie didn't forget to wipe down the room to make sure no scents lingered on the furniture.