Amelia
The shortages were becoming impossible to ignore. Families in the outer bunkers grew restless as food lines stretched longer each day, and medicines ran out before the lists of names did. The elders argued in circles, blaming rogues, blaming one another, blaming Richard’s withdrawal from the Pack House. But none of them offered solutions. So I stepped in.
By dawn, I was in the supply hall, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in dust as I helped soldiers sort crates of dried grain and boxes of herbs. When the guards hesitated to follow my instructions, I picked up a ledger and began dividing rations myself, my voice firm and clear. “Two per family for now. Rotate the medicine. Prioritize the children and wounded first. No exceptions.”
A few soldiers exchanged doubtful looks but obeye
