Chapter 3

Evelyn Pov 

I woke with a gasp, clawing at my chest as if I were still fighting for air.

My hands struck soft sheets instead of frozen concrete.

I froze.

The room was warm. Sunlight filtered through cream curtains, and the familiar hum of the air conditioner filled the silence. My bedside lamp stood beside a glass of water, while my phone lay on the nightstand, plugged into its charger.

I knew this room.

I had chosen every piece of furniture myself.

Slowly, I lifted my hands.

No frostbite…no blood. No swollen fingers.

I scrambled out of bed and rushed into the bathroom, nearly slipping on the tiled floor. The woman staring back at me in the mirror was younger, healthier, and untouched by the months of hunger that had hollowed out my face.

I touched my cheeks.

Then my neck.

Then the place where the infected had torn through my coat and left me bleeding in the snow.

Nothing.

“No,” I whispered. “No, this isn't possible.”

I stumbled back into the bedroom and snatched up my phone.

The date glowed across the screen.

SEPTEMBER 22.

My knees nearly gave way.

I had died on December 24.

I stared at the date on my phone until the numbers blurred.

September 22.

“No. I died. I know I died.”

My voice sounded strange in the quiet bedroom.

I remembered the snow filling my mouth, the unbearable pain in my fingers, and the way my body had stopped responding to me. I remembered Ethan watching me through the glass as he locked the door. Most of all, I remembered Damien's coat wrapped around my shoulders and his voice telling me he had been looking for me.

I had died on Christmas Eve.

So why was I here?

I rushed to the bathroom and examined my reflection again. The woman staring back at me was twenty-nine, not the exhausted thirty-year-old who had spent months fighting to survive. My face was fuller, my hair was healthy, and the small scar on my chin from a supply run gone wrong had disappeared.

This wasn't a dream.

I had returned to September, three months before the world fell apart.

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“God, you must really hate me,” I whispered. “You let me die, then sent me back to the same man who killed me.”

Except Ethan hadn't physically killed me. He had simply closed a door and left me to freeze.

Somehow, that was worse.

I walked back into the bedroom and picked up my wedding ring. I remembered how proudly I had worn it, how many times I had kissed it when Ethan was away, and how foolish I had felt when I finally understood that I was the only one who believed our marriage meant something.

I dropped it into the drawer. Then I opened my banking application.

My savings were still there.

My house was still standing.

The world was still alive.

And I had ninety-four days until Christmas.

“Evelyn!” Ethan shouted from downstairs. “Are you planning to keep me waiting all morning?”

I closed my eyes.

In my previous life, I would have hurried downstairs, apologized, and prepared his breakfast. I would have spent the morning worrying about whether he was angry with me.

This time, I took my time.

When I entered the kitchen, Ethan was standing beside the counter, checking his watch.

“Finally,” he complained. “I told you I have a meeting. Can you at least make yourself useful around here?”

I looked at the man who had abandoned me to die.

Then I smiled.

“Of course, darling. I'll make you breakfast.”

He relaxed immediately, completely unaware that his wife had just returned from the dead.

I turned toward the refrigerator, hiding my expression.

Enjoy your peace, Ethan. You have no idea what is coming.

My phone vibrated.

An unknown number had sent me a photograph.

I opened it.

The image showed the entrance to the shelter where I had died. Snow covered the ground, and the Christmas lights still glowed above the reinforced door.

A man stood in front of it, dressed in a black coat.

Damien Cross.

My fingers went numb.

Beneath the photograph was a message.

YOU HAVE ONE CHANCE TO CHANGE WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU. THIS TIME, FIND ME BEFORE DECEMBER 24.

I stopped breathing.

The message had been sent just seconds ago.

Then another arrived.

AND EVELYN? DON'T TRUST THE MAN WHO WILL KNOCK ON YOUR DOOR TONIGHT.

I slowly raised my eyes toward the kitchen window.

Across the street, a black SUV sat parked beneath a tree.