The room was just too warm.
Dr. Chloe felt like she was roasting in a furnace with that thick parka on. She didn't care that Ethan still had a gun pointed at her—she yanked off the heavy coat just to breathe easier.
She was gasping for air, eyes shimmering with tears.
Warmth.
Real warmth.
This was the first time in forever that she felt what it meant to be… human. A normal, livable room temperature. A basic comfort that she hadn't had in so long.
Ethan, still standing there with his pistol steady, spoke coldly.
"Did you forget something? Like the fact that this is my home, and that you still haven't fully passed my test?"
That snapped Chloe back to reality.
She froze, suddenly aware of the man in front of her.
That man still had a gun pointed right at her head.
She tried to smile.
"You're cautious to the extreme, aren't you? I already did everything you asked. I took out your enemies. Doesn't that earn at least a little trust?"
Ethan's voice remained indifferent.
"Those people were just as much your problem as mine. Getting rid of them wasn't purely for me—you did it because you wanted to survive too."
"All you've proven is that you're useful. That meets the minimum standard to be a helper."
"But now? Now you need to prove that you're harmless."
There it was—the key point.
After surviving this long in the apocalypse, Ethan didn't trust anyone easily.
No matter what kind of person someone used to be, desperation changed people. Even saints turned into monsters.
In Ethan's world, the only person he could trust was himself.
Chloe looked helpless. She'd already done everything he asked. What more did he want?
But she wasn't about to walk away from this haven of warmth and safety.
"Then what do you want me to do… to prove I'm not a threat?"
Her voice was soft. Her eyes searched his, full of anxious pleading.
Ethan narrowed his eyes.
"You're not carrying any weapons, are you?"
Chloe rolled her eyes and lifted both hands.
"Come on, seriously? Dressed like this? Where would I even hide a weapon?"
Ethan didn't flinch. He twirled the pistol in his hand slightly.
"Hands up."
He meant a full search.
Chloe flushed.
But she knew… she had no room to bargain.
This house was heaven compared to where she'd been. She couldn't risk getting kicked out.
Everyone pays a price for what they want. Chloe understood that all too well.
"Fine," she murmured.
She slowly raised her arms above her head, then reached behind to clasp her hands, turning to press against the wall—just like in those crime dramas.
Ethan moved in, eyes sharp, scanning every inch of her for concealed weapons.
This wasn't about taking advantage. It was about survival. Security.
He completed the pat-down thoroughly.
Chloe stayed silent the whole time.
"Satisfied now?" she asked, only after he stepped back.
Ethan said nothing. He just glanced at the medical bag on the floor.
"Take a shower. You'll feel better."
Chloe's face turned even redder.
She knew she hadn't smelled great. She hadn't showered in… God, how long? But what could she do?
She didn't argue. Just turned and fled into the bathroom.
Ethan reached into his dimensional storage and pulled out a set of clean women's clothes. He left them outside the bathroom door.
"There's a change of clothes for you. I picked the size based on your build—should fit. If not, I'll grab you something else."
He'd managed a warehouse, after all. His eye for sizing was spot on.
From inside the bathroom, Chloe's voice came out in a tiny murmur.
"Okay…"
Then came the sound of running water.
Ethan walked to her med kit, opened it, and carefully examined the contents.
Almost empty.
Only a few nearly used rolls of gauze and two unopened syringes.
He took the syringes and tossed them into his storage. Then shut the box.
Satisfied, he sat on the couch, waiting for Chloe to finish her shower.
Inside the bathroom, Chloe stood under the steaming water, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Warm water. God, I forgot what this felt like.
She hadn't realized how precious the little things were.
Human civilization had made life so easy, so soft. And now that it was all gone, every convenience felt like a miracle.
She washed carefully. Thoroughly.
After thirty minutes, she suddenly remembered—this was someone else's house.
She quickly sped up, worried she was using too much water.
But Ethan didn't rush her. Didn't knock. Didn't say a word.
Water wasn't a problem for him. He had plenty stored, and worst case, there was a frozen world of snow outside just waiting to be boiled.
Click.
The bathroom door opened.
Ethan looked up just in time to see a slender, steam-wreathed arm reach out to grab the clothes he'd left for her.
A few minutes later, Chloe stepped out.
She was dressed in clean pajamas, her wet hair cascading down her back.
She was breathtaking—silent, soft, freshly scrubbed.
Ethan didn't even blink.
He still had his gun.
Still watching her.
In a world like this, even a beautiful woman could be the most dangerous enemy.
"Thank you, Ethan," she said softly. "I… it's been so long since I've taken a proper shower. I used so much water… you're not mad, are you?"
Her voice was sheepish.
She didn't know what kind of man Ethan really was yet.
And in the apocalypse, caution was always smart. One wrong move, and she could be back in the cold—or worse.
After tasting what comfort felt like again, no one would want to go back out there.
Not ever.