Michael woke before sunrise, as he always did. Old habits didn't fade easily, not after years of being conditioned to move before the rest of the world stirred. Even after retiring from special operations, his body still kept the same clock. He sat at the edge of his bed, letting his eyes adjust to the faint gray light sneaking through the curtains.
The house was silent. That silence wasn't ordinary; it was a silence he maintained. Windows sealed, locks checked twice the night before, and a habit of setting one chair slightly off-angle near the front door. To anyone else it would look like nothing, but to Michael it was an indicator. If someone slipped inside at night, they'd move it, and he'd know. It was just one of the dozens of little precautions he carried over from the field into civilian life.
Still, he wasn't paranoid. At least, he didn't think of himself that way. Prepared was the word he used. After all, the world had shown him too many times how fragile life was.
He rose, stretched his shoulders, and moved to the kitchen. Coffee first, then the quiet ritual of checking his lists. He didn't keep journals or anything sentimental, but he wrote inventories. Supplies in the pantry, medical kits in the closet, batteries lined up in a drawer. Even the small things mattered. He updated the lists weekly, not out of obsession but discipline. If anyone asked, he'd joke that he was just organized, but in truth it was training that never left him.
From the window above the sink, he caught sight of Joel's place across the street. Joel was already outside, hammer in hand, working on the fence again. Michael half-smiled to himself. Joel wasn't a soldier, not by a long shot, but he was a worker solid, dependable, and stubborn as hell. The kind of man who survived by sheer grit, even if he didn't always think ahead.
Michael grabbed his mug and walked out to the porch. The boards creaked under his weight, and the cool morning air brushed against his face.
"Up early again," Joel called, not looking away from the plank he was lining up.
"Some of us don't know how to sleep in," Michael replied, sipping his coffee.
Joel chuckled. "Guess that explains why you always look ready for a damn inspection."
Michael smirked but didn't answer. Joel said it half as a joke, but there was truth to it. Even in jeans and a plain shirt, Michael carried himself like he was still in uniform straight-backed, sharp-eyed, always assessing.
A few minutes later Sarah stepped outside, her backpack slung over her shoulder. She waved at Michael before jogging over to hug her dad. Michael watched the way Joel's entire expression softened around his daughter. It reminded him of the one thing war never gave him: a family of his own. He never admitted it out loud, but seeing Joel and Sarah together filled a quiet part of him with something close to envy.
When Sarah spotted him, she waved again. "Morning, Mr. Reeves!"
Michael gave a small wave back. "Morning, Sarah. Don't be late for school."
Joel laughed. "Don't remind her, she already drags her feet enough."
Sarah rolled her eyes in dramatic fashion and headed off. Michael finished his coffee and leaned against the porch post, listening to the world wake up around them. Birds, a dog barking in the distance, the hum of a car starting down the road. Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds. Yet, beneath all of it, Michael's instincts itched. It wasn't anything concrete just a feeling. He'd learned long ago to trust those feelings. They'd saved his life more times than he could count.
"Fence won't hold forever," Michael said finally.
Joel frowned at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Just saying. Wood rots. Nails loosen. If you want it to last, reinforce it with steel brackets."
Joel wiped the sweat from his brow. "You talk like we're fortifying for a siege."
Michael didn't smile. "Best way to keep your home safe is to act like one might come."
Joel gave him a long look, then shook his head. "Man, you got a funny way of thinking. But… hell, maybe you're right. I'll think about it."
That was enough for now. Michael didn't push. He never pushed. People didn't want to hear about worst-case scenarios, not until they were standing in the middle of one. But planting the thought? That was different. Sometimes all it took was a single idea to change how someone acted when the real test came.
Later that afternoon, Michael made his way into town. He stopped by the hardware store, not because he needed anything specific but because he liked walking the aisles, taking mental notes. What items sold out fastest, which shelves were restocked slowly, what tools could be repurposed in emergencies. It wasn't paranoia it was reconnaissance. He'd done it for years overseas, and now he did it here in Texas. Same skill, different environment.
At the counter, the clerk gave him a friendly nod. "Back again, Mr. Reeves? You building a bunker I don't know about?"
Michael gave the man a small smile. "Just like to be prepared."
He left with a box of nails, a few more batteries, and a set of water filters. Small things. Easily explained. No one ever questioned a man buying supplies for home maintenance.
That evening, Joel came by with a couple of beers. They sat on Michael's porch as the sun dipped low. The conversation was easy, but Michael noticed Joel's eyes drifting to the neat stacks of crates inside his garage when the door swung open. Medical supplies, camping gear, canned food organized and labeled, but never flaunted.
"You always been like this?" Joel asked finally.
Michael took a long sip before answering. "Let's just say I've seen enough to know it's better to prepare when you don't need it than to need it and not have it."
Joel didn't press further. He respected lines, and Michael appreciated that.
When the sky grew dark, and Joel finally left, Michael sat alone, staring at the quiet street. He could hear Sarah laughing faintly from Joel's house, the kind of laughter that made life feel normal, almost untouched. But Michael knew better. The world didn't stay untouched forever. He didn't know when, but he knew something was coming.
And when it did, he would be ready.