"She looks like a goddess." The people around her stared, eyes wide and unblinking. In this broken age, beauty was rare as a perfect jewel. At the beginning of the fall, beauty had been dangerous. It drew predators and turned women into targets. But now, years later, beauty meant power. It meant influence. It meant the kind of strength that few could reach. Everyone knew it. If someone could still stay clean and radiant in this wasteland, the power behind them was immense. Theresa stepped down from the helicopter with sharp precision. She looked like a goddess walking among mortals, her presence a blaze against the gray ruin. No one else compared. Solan Rowen's eyes gleamed when he saw her. He marched forward with his voice firm. "You must be Ms. Hall?" "I am." Theresa's gaze moved to the man in the patched cotton coat. He looked thirty or so. His face was plain, but his expression was cold and strict. His eyes burned with strength. His hands carried thick calluses, proof of endless training. He carried the same soldier's weight that Lucas did. "You are Solan Rowen, the leader here?" she asked. "I am." He nodded quickly, his eyes brightening. "Welcome. You're truly welcome here." "All good. Did Lucas tell you why I came?""He did. Tomorrow morning, I'll send my best fighters with you. They'll take your orders." "Thank you." Theresa gave him a faint smile and offered her hand. Solan stiffened. He reached halfway, but a sharp cough broke the moment. He pulled back his hand and gave her a crisp salute. Theresa's eyes flicked past him. A woman stood there in a nearly new down coat. She looked just over thirty, her face striking though her skin was pale and worn. Even so, she looked healthier than most around her. Her eyes cut straight to Theresa, sharp and full of disdain. Solan spoke quickly. "This is my wife, Arwen." "Hello, Arwen." Theresa gave a polite nod. Arwen nodded back, but her face stayed flat and cold. Solan frowned. "Arwen, this is an honored guest." Arwen's eyes flared. She snapped, "What do you want from me? Should I bow to her?" Solan didn't anger. He smiled lightly and turned to Theresa. "Forgive her. Her words are rough." The love in his tone was clear. Theresa had not expected the strict commander to be a man who spoiled his wife. It made her respect him more. Then another voice cut in. "My sister's temper is bad. Don't take it to heart!" A young man strode up, his features much like Arwen's.He wore a brand new down jacket and tall leather boots. He looked richer and sharper than his sister. His cheeks were full with color. He swaggered to Theresa, eyes roaming over her. He stretched out his hand, grinning wide like a peacock. "This is my brother-in-law, Orren Sinclair," Solan explained. Theresa gave the young man a glance, ignored his hand, and said flatly, "Alright. We should go inside." "Yes, yes, of course. We shouldn't stand out here talking." Solan hurried to lead the way. Theresa walked after him without slowing. Orren's hand stayed frozen in the air. His face twisted with irritation, but he forced it down in front of the others. Theresa followed Solan deeper into the camp. He arranged a building for her to stay in and laid out a table full of food. Theresa ate a little, then began to speak with him. Piece by piece, she learned the history of this camp. Solan had been a soldier before the fall. But his post had not been here. When the world collapsed, he fought his way across a thousand miles of wasteland from the west. He did it for one reason. To save his wife. When he finally brought her to safety, he built this camp. His strength was fierce, but his leadership even sharper. His past as a soldier gave him the respect of survivors. Step by step, he grew this place into what it had become. Theresa listened, her eyes steady. He was no ordinary man. He was one who had carved his life through fire and ruin.