CHAPTER 4

By two-thirty that afternoon, Betony walked out of her third financial institution, her handbag considerably heavier.

Using her spotless credit rating, clean editorial employment record, and rapid liquid conversion, she had maxed out her high-limit credit cards, secured two emergency personal loans, and drained her modest retirement fund.

Her mobile banking screen displayed her new reality: $138,450 in liquid capital.

In four weeks, the global banking grid would collapse into dead servers and useless digital numbers. Today, those numbers bought her absolute freedom.

She rushed back to her low-elevation studio apartment, arriving just as the clock struck three. Spreading her notebook across the small kitchen table, she began drafting a detailed, multi-category inventory: bulk grains, medical supplies, solar battery stations, water purification units, and long-term canned protein.

Betony paused, her pen hovering over the paper as her gaze swept across her cramped studio.

This room is a death trap.

Her current apartment was on the second floor of a brick building near the river basin. When Phase One of the climate collapse hit, the tidal surges and flash urban floods would submerge this entire street within hours. Furthermore, storing all her supplies inside her spatial ring wasn't enough—she needed a physical high-ground fortress as a base of operations, equipped with a modest, visible stash to serve as a decoy so future raiders wouldn't suspect her spatial ability.

She immediately pulled up her phone, searching for high-elevation commercial developments on the city outskirts, and called a luxury real estate broker.

At four o'clock, Betony stood on the twenty-eighth-floor balcony of The Apex Ridge.

Located on the highest natural granite plateau on the city's western edge, the newly constructed luxury high-rise was engineered with reinforced steel-and-concrete columns built to withstand category-five quakes. Because it was situated on the quiet outskirts, less than twenty percent of the units were currently occupied.

"Unit 28B is our flagship corner suite, Miss Betony," the broker said, gesturing toward the expansive floor-to-ceiling double-paned windows. " panoramic views, independent rooftop solar linkages, and private access elevators."

Betony looked down at the city skyline below. At twenty-eight stories above sea level, on top of solid granite bedrock, this apartment would remain bone-dry while the lower city drowned.

"I'll take it," Betony said, turning around. "Six months of rent upfront in cash today. I want the keys and access cards within the hour."

The broker gasped, staring at the thick envelope of stacked hundred-dollar bills Betony pulled from her bag. The lengthy background checks and paperwork vanished instantly.

Before leaving the building, Betony called a private security contractor. She arranged for an industrial steel door core, dual electronic keypad locks with biometric backups, and one-way thermal insulated window film to be installed first thing the following morning.

Stepping out of the lobby, Betony pulled out her phone to book an Uber, but paused.

Public transport and rideshares are useless when the roads flood.

She canceled the ride and walked two blocks over to Vanguard Automotive, an expansive commercial vehicle dealership specializing in heavy-duty machinery and off-road transports.

A salesman named Greg, wearing a sharp grey suit, approached her with a polished, patronizing smile. "Good afternoon, ma'am! Looking for something sleek for city driving? We just got a beautiful pearl-white luxury crossover on the floor that would look fantastic on you..."

"I need a four-wheel-drive, heavy-duty crew-cab truck," Betony interrupted flatly, walking past the sedan floor toward the commercial utility section. "High ground clearance, elevated air intake snorkel, reinforced steel bumper frame, and a bed payload capacity of at least two tons."

Greg blinked, his smile wavering as he hurried to keep pace with her fast, decisive strides. "A... a heavy commercial transport? Ma'am, those models are built for industrial logging and extreme mountain terrain. They aren't very practical or comfortable for daily urban commutes."

Betony stopped in front of a matte-black, lifted 4x4 turbo-diesel monster truck with armored steel brush guards and heavy-duty all-terrain tires.

"I'll take this one," Betony said, touching the cold steel of the front bumper. "Can you install an enclosed waterproof bed canopy and reinforced skid plates before I drive it off the lot?"

Greg let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Miss, if you don't mind me asking... what on earth do you need an armored mountain rig like this for in the middle of the city?"

Betony glanced at him sideways, her expression unreadable. "The weather is changing. The meteorology alerts are predicting severe coastal surges and infrastructure instability over the next month."

Greg laughed even harder, waving his hand dismissively. "Oh, those weather notifications! Ma'am, the Meteorology Department exaggerates those reports every summer just to secure government funding. It's all hype. You don't need to spend sixty thousand dollars on a battle tank because of a few rain warnings."

"I wasn't asking for a weather forecast, Greg," Betony said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp register. "I asked if you can finalize the paperwork and hand me the keys in twenty minutes, or if I should take my cash to another dealer."

Greg’s laugh cut off instantly. He swallowed hard, eyeing her cold, unbothered posture. "Twenty minutes. Right this way, ma'am."

By six-thirty in the evening, Betony pulled her massive, roaring diesel truck into the narrow alleyway beside her studio apartment. The heavy engine hummed with lethal power, giving her a deep sense of security as she cut the ignition.

Tomorrow morning would be dedicated to massive wholesale food and gear hoarding. Tonight, she needed to finalize her precise calculations.

She grabbed her handbag, stepped down from the high cab of her truck, and walked up the stairs toward her second-floor door.

As she rounded the corner of the dark hallway, she froze.

Standing right outside her door, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, were two people.

Her mother, Eleanor, looking indignant and tight-lipped, and James, wearing a leather jacket, looking uncomfortably around the dimly lit corridor.

Betony stopped ten feet away. Her thumb instinctively grazed the antique silver ring on her finger as her gaze turned ice-cold.