Chapter 138

• There are groceries lined neatly along the far wall—rows upon rows of canned goods, fresh produce stacked in crates, sacks of flour, rice, and dried beans. The variety is impressive, covering every dietary need and cultural craving. It’s a testament to thoughtful planning, not just sustenance. Next to the food section, a smaller corner holds basic clothing—socks, underwear, plain shirts—and a modest hygiene display with soaps, toothbrushes, and sanitary products. It’s admittedly not much, but Lucas has assured me more is coming. He says once the first month’s results are in, they’ll begin expanding. New stores, more shipments, maybe even a full distribution route.
• The last section, my favorite, is reserved for enjoyment—books, games, and a few puzzles that look like they’ve been around since the early 2000s. The shelves here are still a bit bare, the spines of donated novels leaning into each other like survivors of a long journey. But even in its sparsity, it offers a sense of comfort. Of hope. Something beyond survival.
• I know all of this has cost Lucas a fortune. He won’t tell me how much, not exactly. But I’ve overheard enough. He’s paid for most of it out of pocket and even opened his ports—his private docks—to traders and suppliers he wouldn’t normally trust, all to fund some of the more expensive setups. I don’t tell him, but I see the strain around his eyes in the mornings. I know it’s wearing on him.