Catherine POV
The smell of the emergency rations was better than any five-star meal I’d ever had in Manhattan. We sat inside the orange raft, the flickering orange glow of the campfire outside casting long, dancing shadows against the rubber walls. I had carefully opened two silver packets. One was a dense, lemon-flavored energy bar, and the other was a vacuum-sealed portion of beef stew that could be eaten cold.
I handed the first spoonful to Alexander.He was propped up against the side of the raft, his leg bandaged properly with the sterile gauze from the new kit. He looked weary, but his eyes were sharp again.
"A celebration," I said, holding up my piece of the lemon bar. "To not dying."
"To your persistence," he corrected, taking the bite. He chewed slowly, a look of genuine relief
