CHAPTER 41: THE BRIEFING

The safehouse was a squat, low-slung building tucked between two abandoned shipping depots on the edge of City H’s industrial district. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a rusted-out utility shed. Inside, however, it was all hard corners and reinforced steel. Dim lighting. A concrete floor scrubbed clean, matte black tables, and old military cots pressed flat against the walls.

Zubair leaned over the long table in the center of the room, his fingers splayed against a satellite map. He didn’t look up when Lachlan entered—just grunted once in greeting. Elias was already seated, his notebook open as he chewed absently on the edge of a pencil, like the world wasn’t five seconds from falling apart. Alexei lounged sideways across a chair near the window, one boot propped up, eyes half-lidded.

And now Noah, the newcomer, was seated perfectly straight across from Zubair— his spine stiff, his posture military, and his too-perfect uniform creased like it had just come off a mannequin.

Lachlan dropped his bag against the wall and rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "Long day."

"Yeah?" Zubair didn’t look up. "Still managed to smile through it."

Lachlan shrugged. "Force of habit."

Alexei tilted his head. "You’re late."

"I’m not late. I’m the one who chose the damn place, and the one who called the meeting."

Zubair finally looked up. "Then start talking."

They didn’t do pleasantries here. There were no beers. No small talk. Just the job, the mission, and whatever intel they could scrape together before being deployed again. Lachlan scratched the back of his neck and stepped forward. He hadn’t meant to bring it up today, but the memory of Sera’s voice lingered in his chest, low and calm and raw with disappointment in humanity as a whole.

And her parents in particular.

"We need to talk about winter," he said bluntly.

Elias raised an eyebrow. "It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? It’s the middle of January."

"And yet," Lachlan said, dragging a stool closer to the table, "that’s the problem."

Zubair frowned. "Explain."

"I’ve been doing some reading. Not the usual government files—they don’t say shit worth trusting anyway—but climate data. Weather patterns. Soil reports. The last two winters have been weird, right? Too mild. Not enough snowpack. Rivers running thin."

Alexei tapped his temple. "Sounds familiar."

"Exactly," Lachlan said. "This year’s been even warmer. Less snow. More fungal growth in early spring. That’s not just annoying—it messes with the summer harvest. Moldy crops. Short growing seasons. Bad distribution."

"And?" Elias asked, eyes narrowing.

"And if that happens," Lachlan continued, "it means next winter’s going to be bad. Like, food-shortage bad. Power-grid strain bad."

Zubair studied him for a beat, dark eyes unreadable. "You get this from a report?"

"No. Someone I trust."

Alexei tilted his head. "Someone not in uniform?"

Lachlan’s mouth twitched. "She’s... observant."

The men stilled just slightly at the pronoun, but no one commented.

Elias leaned forward now, resting both elbows on the table. "I’ve seen the meteorology summaries from Country N’s climate board. They’re saying the opposite. Mild winters are the new normal. We’re moving toward temperate spikes, not cold snaps. Even if the crops suffer, we’ve got artificial supplements and genetic grains ready to backfill production lines."

Lachlan shook his head. "You’re talking from inside the lab. I’m talking about reality."

Elias frowned. "You think you’re seeing the real world better than I am?"

"I think data doesn’t always predict what instincts do, what nature does," Lachlan said flatly. "This isn’t about paranoia. It’s about patterns. And people who actually live off the land are already noticing the shift."

Alexei stretched, slow and feline. "You sound like my grandmother. She used to say when winter comes soft, it’s just waiting to bite harder next time."

Lachlan pointed at him. "Exactly. And if anyone knows about winter, it’s the fucker from Country S."

Zubair turned toward Noah, who’d remained unnervingly silent throughout the exchange. "You got anything to add?"

Noah looked up, calm and blank. "I go where I’m sent. If we need to freeze, we freeze. If we need to starve, we starve. It’s not my job to guess the weather."

Zubair grunted. "That’s honest, at least."

Lachlan shook his head. "This isn’t just about weather. It’s about supply lines, heating oil, medication stockpiles, fresh water access. If any of it gets interrupted, we’re looking at riots. Especially in the rural zones. I’m not telling you to panic—I’m saying maybe we start preparing. Just in case."

"You been stockpiling, mate?" Alexei grinned, eyes sharp.

Lachlan ignored the jab. "I’m going to. Just the basics. Water. Shelf-stable food. Extra batteries. If I’m wrong, no harm done. If I’m right..."

Zubair crossed his arms. "You think we should all do the same?"

"I think you should each decide for yourselves. I’m just passing the warning along."

A beat passed.

Elias exhaled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, I get it. We’ve all got our gut feelings. But science says we’re shifting to longer summers, not harsher winters. My advice? Don’t act on fear. Wait for the numbers to tell the truth."

Lachlan stood, tone easy. "And when the truth gets there too late?"

Elias didn’t answer.

No one did.

Zubair glanced between them all. "We done?"

There were no objections, but the silence lingered a little longer than usual.

After the meeting broke, the men dispersed. Alexei made a joke about hoarding peanut butter and cookie. Elias went back to reviewing medical intake files. Zubair stepped outside to call a contact on the border.

But Lachlan lingered.

He sat alone at the corner table with his tablet open and began writing a list.

Water.

First aid kits.

Battery-powered radios.

Thermal blankets.

Canned protein.

Rice. Flour. Salt. Oil.

Seeds. Tools. Matches. Tarps.

And one line he didn’t say aloud.

Trust her.

Because even if Elias laughed, even if Zubair stayed neutral and Noah remained a loyal company man, Lachlan had seen the look in Sera’s eyes. The cold certainty. The frustration. The knowledge that no one believed her.

But he did.

And that was enough.