Chapter Two

Veldana

I jolted upright in the dark, my hands flying up to protect my throat and stomach. I could still feel rotten teeth tearing into my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the next bite, for the snarls of the horde on that freezing loading dock.

Nothing touched me.

There was no cold wind and no smell of blood and rot. The air was warm and smelled of jasmine and vanilla.

My fingers clawed at my shoulder. I wore soft silk, not torn, bloody fleece. I pressed hard on the spot where the jaws had closed. There was no wound and no blood.

My hands slid down to my belly, and my breath caught. It was flat. The round curve that had carried my baby girl was gone.

"No," I whimpered, pressing my stomach through my thin nightgown. "No, no. Where is she? Where is my baby?"

Had they rescued me? Had Dr. Alvarez taken her out after all?

Pale morning light came through the tall windows. This was not the gray sickbay of the shelter. It was my bedroom in the Crestview estate, the house my father left me, which Lincoln had talked me into selling to pay for the bunker.

'I'm dead,' I thought, dizzy. 'This is a dream while the infected eat me.'

Cotton rustled beside me. I froze and slowly turned my head.

A little boy lay on the other side of the big bed, curled on his side with his hands under his cheek. Messy chestnut curls fell over his forehead.

"Leo?" It came out smaller than a whisper.

My chest tightened until I thought my ribs would break. Leo was six. In my old life, in the fourth month after the outbreak, he got a fever in the bunker. It was a simple lung infection. We ran out of children's antibiotics because Evelyn had stockpiled heart medicine for herself, and Lincoln refused to send a team to a quarantined pharmacy for "one sick boy." I held my son as his lips turned blue. I prayed until my voice was raw and watched him die in a cold bunk.

Now his cheeks were pink and healthy. His skin was warm.

My arm shook as I reached out. I stopped an inch from his cheek, afraid he would vanish like a soap bubble. When my fingers finally brushed his skin, he was real.

"Leo," I choked, and pulled him into my arms.

I buried my face in his neck and breathed in baby shampoo and clean linen. He stirred and grumbled, and his little arms looped around my neck.

"Mommy?" he mumbled, blinking. "It's still dark. Is it time for school?"

Tears poured down my face into his pajama collar. I held him so tight he wriggled, but I couldn't let go. His heart beat against my chest.

"No, baby," I whispered, kissing his curls. "No school yet. You're okay. Mommy's got you."

"You're squishing me, Mom," he giggled, patting my arm.

"I know. I'm sorry, sweetie. Go back to sleep," I said, and pulled the blanket to his chin. "Mommy is right here."

Within seconds he was asleep.

I sat back on my heels. If Leo was alive and my body had no scars, what was happening?

A sleek new phone sat on the nightstand charger. I picked it up with a shaking hand, and the screen lit.

'Wednesday, October 14. 06:14 AM.'

The year was two years before the first outbreak report. Two years before the sirens. Two years before Evelyn threw me to the monsters and Jenny smirked at me through the glass, wearing my clothes.

I had come back.

It did not feel like relief. Memories hit me like cold water: the pain in my pelvis, the blood on my thighs, Evelyn's laugh in the steel corridors, and Lincoln's smooth voice over the speakers. 'Looking at her now makes my skin crawl. The second this apocalypse started, I wished I'd married you instead.'

Fury rose in my chest, so sharp my jaw ached. I thought of every dollar of my father's money I had poured into Lincoln's failing startups. I had spent three years making myself small to feed his ego. I had been a fool, a rich fool with an open checkbook.

A door clicked in the dressing room, and every muscle in my body locked.

Lincoln Gibson walked in, wearing charcoal slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt, his hair damp from the shower. He was twenty-nine and handsome, without the hollow eyes and stubble he'd had in the bunker. Seeing him alive made me want to be sick.

"You're up early, Vel," he said smoothly, fixing his silver cufflinks. "I thought you'd sleep in after the charity gala."

He leaned down, smelling of sandalwood and mint, the scent that used to comfort me, and bent to kiss my forehead.

Everything in me screamed to tear his throat out. My fingers dug into the mattress, and a shudder went through me.

Lincoln stopped and frowned. "What's wrong with you? You're shaking like a wet leaf."

I lifted my chin. All the business sense and pride my father had taught me hardened into a mask. If I broke now, I would lose the only gift fate had given me: time.

"Just a nightmare," I said, my voice steady. "A bad one."

He chuckled and straightened. "Shake it off. Anyway, Mother said she spoke to you about the spring foundation budget. She feels you've been tight-fisted with the family accounts lately. The quarterly transfer from your father's trust hasn't reached the Gibson Holdings ledger. The down payment on the new logistics deal is due Friday, and Mother needs to book the coastal villa retreat."

In my past life, this conversation had happened. I had apologized, felt guilty for upsetting Evelyn, and sent five million dollars to his company before noon. He used it to buy Jenny Hall a penthouse overseas.

"The trust accounts are under an internal audit," I said evenly, and I stood.

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. "Since when? You manage the payments yourself. Just override the hold. It takes two minutes on your tablet."

"I won't." My heart pounded, but I held his eyes. "The money stays where it is. The Gibson accounts have had enough this quarter."

His charm vanished, and his mouth went tight. He wasn't used to hearing no from me.

"Excuse me?" He stepped closer, using the patronizing tone he saved for putting me in my place. "Veldana, this isn't play money. It's for our future. And Mother's retreat is a social obligation. You know how much appearances matter."

"Then the Gibson family can pay for it with Gibson money," I said, colder than ice. "My father's trust is closed to outside transfers."

He stared at me as if I'd spoken another language. Real anger darkened his eyes.

"What has gotten into you?" he snapped, jaw clenched. "You're my wife. Marriage means shared assets and support. I shouldn't have to beg for money that was promised to this household. Mother was right. Your stubbornness is getting out of hand."

"I haven't forgotten anything, Lincoln," I said softly. "Actually, I'm seeing things clearly for the first time."

He glared at me, unsettled by the coldness in my eyes. He was used to tears and apologies. Facing a wall of stone, he had no script.

"I don't have time for this childish tantrum," he sneered. "I have a breakfast meeting at the club. Have that transfer approved before I get to the office. I won't ask twice."

He walked out, and the door shut with a sharp click.

The air rushed back into my lungs. I sank onto the bed, staring at the door. I had seven hundred and thirty days before the sky darkened and the dead walked, and before that family tried to feed me to the horde. They thought I was an ATM.

'You won't get one cent,' I vowed. 'Not a dime. Not a shelter. Not a scrap of bread.'

A crisp chime rang out, not in the room but inside my head. A glowing sapphire screen appeared in the air before me.

[SYSTEM INITIALIZED]

[DNA CONFIRMED: VELDANA CROSS]

[TEMPORAL REGRESSION SYNCHRONIZATION: 100%]

Apocalypse Gem System successfully activated.

Host, would you like to begin your first survival mission?