18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 462

Her question hit him like a punch to the gut, but Bran answered honestly, "Construction. Hauling bricks."

Stella sized him up, noting the scars on his face and hands-evidence of a hard-fought survival. In the face of natural disasters, everyone was equal, even a tycoon's son.

She didn't pry about his life since they'd parted ways. Even if recounted with a smile, the tales were likely steeped in brutal truths.

"How about we treat you to a meal when you're off?" she offered.

At the mention of food, Bran's eyes lit up. "Barbecue?"

"You wish. After all these years of disasters, and you're still dreaming of a feast?" Despite her words, the joy of reunion was undeniable. "Rosie's been working at the plantation. I'll see if I can scrounge up some spices so you can indulge a bit." Bran perked up. "How are Rosie and your hubby doing?"

She gave him her address. "Doing alright. Swing by when you're free."

Bran lived in Area C and spoke his mind. "Sis, I'm free on the weekend."

Alright then. A weekend it is. They'd have themselves a proper bash.

Bran went back to his bricks. Stella watched him leave lean but still proud. He looked much better than the last time she saw him rummaging through trash. He seemed to have found a solid reason to keep living. He no longer ran away from familiar faces out of shame. There he was, half a month in, already hauling bricks. It seemed the privileged second-generation man had fully

housed over twenty thousand souls, with a hospital, a salt plant, a food factory, water purification, and plantations all operational. Life was still tough, but better than before. Of the two thousand plus from South

interactions. Planning a meal together sounded pretty good. Jasper suggested, "How about

agreed. They'd set it up for the

son and husband's health with regular practice. Monkey, all smiles, appreciated his wife's increasing

push the gathering to the evening. Ten years post-disaster, there was no hope for hot pot seasonings. The submarine had an air extraction system, and Stella had set up an induction cooker and an

some greens, while Monkey, with a sly grin, produced a slab of smoked meat.

smoked meat

but Stella

wasn't

from the plantation where Rosie worked, ensuring they had what

as ever, quipped, "Sis, following you means never going hungry." He was helpful and even pitched in with the prep. Miranda and her son picked the veggies on the side, the boy's eyes frequently darting to the chopping board, his mouth watering

fish cakes. He had long since shed any pretense of dignity, choosing to hustle for brick-hauling work. "Sis, got any barbecue? I've

gaze shifted. That was his sister there.

reduced to labor, his inherent pride persisted. Bran respected only those stronger than him, like Stella and Jasper, who had seen his countless humiliations. In front of them, he could forgo pride, but that didn't mean others could disregard him. Especially not someone like Monkey, a mere trader, even though Austin himself

restrained than in his former high-class neighborhood. Monkey, seasoned in business, treated everyone like a client, always leaving room for face-saving. Unbothered by Bran's

lay it on thick." It had been ages since anyone had praised him. Oh, how he missed his diamond-studded slippers, the

junior chef, with bell peppers stir-fried with smoked meat, steamed salted fish with fermented black beans, and garlic chili sauce. The aroma made Bran's stomach growl uncontrollably. Unable