Chapter 2

The next second, a bolt of purple lightning struck the zombie hound square on the head, instantly vaporizing it into ash.

It was Dylan.

I turned around, only to see Greta throwing herself into his arms, sobbing dramatically. "It's all that dud's fault! She kept wandering off and almost got me killed by that zombie hound!"

Dylan stroked her hair and soothed her gently. "I'm right here. You're safe now."

When he looked up at me, the warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by pure ice. "If I hadn't made it in time, Greta would have been hurt. Jessie, I don't ever want to see this happen again."

Just then, my parents, Allen Brewer and Laura Rogers, rushed over, their faces pale with worry.

Mom grabbed Greta's hands and inspected her top to bottom before hastily casting an elemental barrier around her.

Dad silently channeled his healing powers to mend her non-existent injuries.

Only after confirming Greta was completely untouched did they remember I existed—not out of concern but to reprimand me.

Mom took one look at my battered state and snapped angrily, "Since you don't have powers, stay put at the base! Stop coming out here and causing trouble! Greta suffered outside for 20 years. I won't let her get hurt ever again!"

Frowning, Dad sighed. "Jessie, as punishment for your recklessness, I won't be healing your wounds today. Consider it a lesson learned."

I parted my lips, wanting to tell them what really happened.

But I knew better. The moment Greta was brought back home, their bias had been set in stone.

All Greta had to do was cry, and they would apologetically demand that I hand over my room and clothes to her.

I was kicked out to a dilapidated apartment on the far edge of the base, while Greta had the luxury of taking three showers a day in the middle of an apocalypse.

Even this scavenging run was solely to hunt down makeup for her.

Mom and Dad claimed it was to make it up to Greta.

I clenched my fist. The bullet edge dug painfully into my palm.

Greta was the one who had thrown the bullet that had rolled to my feet.

I treated her like family, but she wanted me dead.

Seeing the entire family back her up, Greta was as smug as ever. Her eyes darted slyly as she pointed at my supply pack, demanding arrogantly, "Hand over everything you found. I'm putting it in my spatial storage!"

I froze, the color draining from my face. "I risked my life for those supplies…"

"So what?" Greta sneered, as if I had said the most hilarious thing in the world.

"You lived off the Brewer family for 20 years. You stole my life and snatched my family. What are a few supplies compared to that? You're not handing it over. You're paying back what you owe me! You've been living in my place for far too long. It's time you gave everything back!"

She pressed forward, pure malice spilling from her eyes.

Dylan rubbed his temples and turned to me with a tired sigh. "The mix-up at birth is still a sore spot for Greta. Just let her have the supplies."

With that, he picked up my bag and tossed it to her.

Greta looked down at the emergency rations inside with utter disdain and muttered, "That's it? What a total waste of space."

Dylan patted her head, his voice softening again. "Don't be mad. Come on, I'll take you to find that perfume you wanted."

Watching their departing backs, I stood frozen in place as my heart slowly sank.