Chapter 97 Frozen Bonds

• The third dawn after the blizzard’s lull arrived in soft shades of gray and white. The world outside remained buried under sheets of snow, but within the shelter, warmth pulsed from the hum of life. Metal stoves hissed quietly, filling the air with the faint scent of boiled rice and dried herbs. People moved through the narrow corridors wrapped in thick blankets, voices subdued but steady — proof that they were still holding on.
• Lucy stood near the corner of the common hall, her sleeves rolled up as she guided a small group of children and teens in repotting herb clippings under the artificial grow lamps. The makeshift garden within the shelter had become her project — a patch of green hope in a world gone white. Her voice was calm, almost melodic, as she explained how each plant helped heal or soothe.
• “Always trim near the base,” she instructed gently, holding up a stem of mint. “Don’t tug, or it’ll stress the roots. Plants don’t like panic. They like care — patience.”