NINETY DAYS BEFORE THE STORM

The steel door of Shelter Nine did not open.

Mara Quill pressed both palms against it, hard enough to hurt. Above her head, a camera blinked red. Behind the metal, she could hear a spoon scraping a bowl.

"Julian. It's me. Please."

The intercom crackled. It was Vivian Hale who answered, in the tired voice of a woman declining a dinner invitation.

"Rations were calculated for twelve people, Mara. We are thirteen. And a woman of your size needs so much more than the rest of us."

Your size. Three years of famine, and they still had room for that sentence.

"I paid for this shelter," Mara whispered. "My savings built the generator. I carried the water up the hill every morning for a year."

"And we're grateful."

"Julian." She hit the door with her open hand. "You promised my father at his grave."

Silence. Then, very quietly, her fiancé said, "You always understand, Mara. Please. Just understand this too."

The intercom clicked off.

She slid down the door and sat in the snow. In her pocket, her fingers found a small leather collar with a silent bell.

Ember's. Her Sokoke cat had died holding back a flood so she could live, and she had not even been able to bury him.

What did I do wrong? I was kind. I gave everything.

The cold stopped hurting, which was the worst sign.

Then she heard footsteps, running. A man's voice, cracked down the middle.

"Mara! Mara!"

A tall shape tore through the snow toward her, a black coat, a white face. Hands closed around hers, and they were so hot it almost hurt.

"No. No, look at me. Please."

She knew him. Kane Voss, Julian's older brother, the man nobody in the family dared to speak to. He had never said a word to her in six years.

He gathered her up. He was shaking. Something wet fell on her cheek.

"I came back," he said. "I should have turned around the first time."

She wanted to tell him it was enough. Nobody had ever come back for her before. But the dark was gentle, and she let it take her.

If I could live it again, I would never open my hands to people who only know how to close theirs.

Something was purring.

Mara's eyes flew open. She was sitting on a velvet bench in a coat room, with a string quartet playing somewhere beyond the door.

In her lap, inside her canvas tote, a small striped face with amber eyes looked up at her.

"Ember," she breathed.

He pushed his head into her palm and purred louder.

She grabbed him and held on, shaking, laughing, sobbing into his fur. He was warm. He was alive.

On her left hand sat a heavy diamond ring, and on her body, a satin dress a full size too small, zipped halfway.

She knew this night. It was her engagement party, six months before the world began to end.

Silver letters shimmered into the air in front of her face.

LEDGER OPENED.

DAYS UNTIL THE FIRST STORM: 90.

Every kindness is recorded. Every cruelty is recorded.

Debts may be collected only with proof.

Below the rules, a list began writing itself.

Julian Hale. Ring paid for with the debtor's funds: $12,800.

Tessa Quill. Misappropriated inheritance: $31,400.

Vivian Hale. Cruelty, repeated.

Mara read it twice. Then she stood.

Ninety days. The thought was cold and clear and quite calm. I do not have time to be polite.

The door opened without a knock. Julian stood there in a perfect tuxedo, handsome and impatient.

"There you are. Mother's asking. And please, try to stand straighter. Go easy on the canapés. The photographer is coming."

Six years ago she would have blushed and apologized.

"Of course," Mara said, and followed him into the ballroom.

Two hundred guests stood under the chandeliers. Julian took her hand and raised a glass, and the room hushed.

"Friends, family, I'm delighted to announce—"

Mara slid the diamond off her finger.

It came easily. It had only ever been resting there.

She dropped it into his champagne glass with a quiet plink.

"I'm not marrying you, Julian."

Two hundred people went absolutely still. Vivian Hale's face went white. Julian's smile stayed fixed for one stupid, frozen second before it cracked.

"Mara. What are you doing?"

"Ending it." Her voice was soft, and it carried to the back of the room. "I won't make a scene. I'll explain when I have the receipts.

But I won't be eating your cake, or wearing your mother's dress, or being understanding."

"You will regret this," Vivian hissed.

Mara looked at her gently. "I already did. That's why I'm here."

She turned and walked through the parted crowd, with her cat's head poking out of her tote and her spine straight as a blade.

At the edge of the room, one man stood apart in a black suit. Kane Voss was staring at her as though she were a ghost he had prayed for.

His glass had gone white, knuckled in his hand. When their eyes met, he looked away first.

Odd, she thought. He has never looked at me before.

Silver letters unrolled once more as she stepped out into the cold night air.

DEBT NOTED: ENGAGEMENT BROKEN.

DAYS UNTIL THE FIRST STORM: 90.

Mara breathed in. Out. For the first time in two lifetimes, her lungs filled all the way.

"One," she told the cat. "Let's go collect the rest."