Page 73 of Bunker Down, Baby

Maple moves to the side of the bed, no hesitation in her body. No caution either. Which is either brave or deeply stupid. Probably both. She kneels beside the frame and twists the key with the same ease I’ve seen people flick open a lighter.

“This won’t hurt a bit,” she says, voice light, lilting.

The cuff unlocks with a soft click, and that’s it.

I’m loose.

Free.

One twist of my wrist, a breath, and the metal falls away like it was never there.

She steps back, not far, just enough to give me space, but not enough to signal fear. Her chin’s up. Her eyes never leave me.

And I sit there, not moving.

Because the wild part of me, the one that’s been tracking exits, calculating angles, cataloging everything that could be used as a weapon, isn’t in a rush anymore.

I could hurt her.

That’s not bravado. It’s fact. She’s five steps from the door, maybe less. I could pin her before she even blinked. I could break her wrist, shove her against the wall, demand my gear and keys and whatever the hell else I need to disappear into the hills.

I don’t.

Because the thing no one ever tells you about freedom?

It’s a little overwhelming when you actually get it. When it’s handed back to you like it wasn’t a fight. Like it wasn’t earned with blood and broken rules.

She just gave it and stood there like she knew I wouldn’t run.

And that’s the part that fucks with me.

That confidence. That unnerving calm. That strange little smile like she sees straight through me and still thinks I’m useful. Worth feeding. Worth keeping.

“I’m gonna walk out,” I say, voice rough from too much silence. “See what you’ve built. Meet the men.”

Maple tilts her head. Her lips twitch, just barely. “You’re not gonna stab anyone with a spoon, are you?”

I look at her. “Not unless they give me a reason.”

“Fair,” she says. She turns like she’s already assumed I’ll follow, and god help me, I do.

Not because I’m tamed, but because I’m curious.

Because the world outside that bunker door is burning, and this woman built something underground that’s warm and alive and completely, irreversibly insane.

And maybe I just want to see what kind of man stays.

Maybe I want to see if I’m one of them.

The hallway’s quiet. Not tense. Just... still. Like the walls are waiting.

Maple walks ahead, hips swinging like she doesn’t know I’m watching.

She does. She always does.

The smell hits first, something savory and warm and way too nostalgic for a concrete bunker in the ass-end of a dying world. Bread. Spices. Meat. The kind of smells that make your stomach do stupid things, like forget you were planning to stay pissed all evening.

She turns into the main room, and suddenly I’m standing in the middle of the strangest goddamn family dinner I’ve ever seen.

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