The Last Queen of the Apocalypse novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82 Ldalofofor Something

Iris nodded to logan, who hit diftch the camp stove lid.

In an instant, the thickishoromadlockedy beat ribs flooded the space melted ellackedro from the ribs clung to golden instant ma and cliccse, paired with ith perfectly marinated cold–cut beef, beet erky, trail mixosanuswasagen, and hard–boiled eggs, creating an rrésistiblebedicgleftf flavors.

‘Wow that sahelisel amazing!”someone exclaimed.

Badiaperpensgoigola large bowl of steaming cheesy beef rib pasta, he wannthepiping into their bones.

lelicibicius! So good!” Derek ate with tears of joy in his eyes.

expectedled, following Iris meant never going hungry. She was crediblable!

The momouthwatering scent reached Louisa’s team, mixing with he souround of cheesy broth being slurped. As they glanced down it theiheir own coarse wheat rolls and bland cabbage stew–barely easonsohed, with just a tiny niege of meat–their mouths watered incononlixollably, T

asteless by comparison, a

angingled mix of

Hollow co

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ning in their chests.

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Louisa’s face twisted with bitterness, her gaze fixed on Iris‘ group as her jaw tightened with resentment.

It’s not fair!

How could that woman feast like royalty while she ate scraps?

What made her worthy of such luxury?

She turned to Damon, an idea striking her. “Captain Flint, since your men won’t eat the base’s rations, take them back! We can’t waste base supplies.”

Damon shot her a cold look. “Captain Barton, supplies are distributed per person. It’s their choice whether to eat them. Any rations your men don’t touch are theirs to dispose of.”

Rage bubbled up in Louisa’s chest—Damon always took the outsiders‘ side!

If his grandfather hadn’t been a former Northern Military Commander, whose power balanced that of her father, she’d make him regret his defiance.

Louisa took a few hasty bites of her roll but soon pushed the bowl away, unable to finish.

Even the extra piece of meat she’d snuck into her meal held no suncal—not when compared to Iris‘ feast.

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“Who is she?” Iris asked, watching the drama unfold as she ate.

Derek and the others, mid–bite, gathered around her.

“Her name’s Louisa Barton. Her father was a high–ranking politician before the apocalypse and now runs Base K1,” Derek whispered.

“Is she a Spatial–type metahuman?” Iris pressed further.

The group nodded.

It was no secret.

Louisa flaunted being Base Ki’s only Spatial–type metahuman, and everyone in the base knew it.

Her father’s position as administrator was solidified thanks to her superpower.

“Then why didn’t you have her store supplies when you were overloaded earlier?”

“Her space is tiny. Only 35 cubic feet of storage capacity,” Brett explained to Iris.

Understanding dawned on Iris.

Spatial–type metahumans were rare and difficult to leupbuy

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“You’re here to find something, aren’t you?” Iris asked, smiling

at them.

“How did you know?” Derek blurted out, realizing too late he’d been tricked.

Iris was far too clever!

Pleased with the successful interrogation, Iris grinned, reaching up to ruffle Derek’s hair. “Good boy. Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll give you more meat.”

Flustered, Derek fell silent.

Was she bribing him like a child?

He shook his head vigorously, and the others clamped their mouths shut, too.

Military discipline came first—even with full bellies from Iris‘ food, classified information stayed classified.

“Fine, I’ll find out eventually.” Iris dropped the subject.

Their refusal to talk actually impressed her. If they’d spilled secrets for a few bites of food, Iris would never trust them.

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