5: Find a way to save everyone.

Daphne's pov

Adrik held my gaze.

For a moment, the noise of the house seemed to fade. I became painfully aware of the space between us, of every question I couldn't answer and every truth I couldn't afford to show.

His expression gave nothing away. "You looked at me like you'd seen a ghost."

A nervous laugh climbed my throat, and I swallowed it. "You were on television, General. Everyone knows your face."

"Is that so?"

"You're the man who told the country to stay calm." I kept my voice light and my hands flat against my skirt. "It would be difficult not to recognize you."

Something shifted in his eyes. It was gone almost before I saw it, replaced by the same composed look he'd worn since he arrived.

"I suppose you're right."

Footsteps sounded in the hall. My father came back from his call, tucking his phone into his pocket, and Adrik turned to him as though nothing had passed between us.

"Mr. Alistair. Thank you for your time."

"Of course, General. My office will be in touch."

I stood there in my wedding gown while the two of them shook hands again. Adrik gave me one last nod, brief and polite, and walked out to the black car waiting in the drive. A soldier opened the door for him. He didn't look back.

I let out a breath. I had answered him. I had given him a reasonable explanation, and he had accepted it.

So why did it feel like he had only set it down to pick it up later?

I went straight upstairs, shut my bedroom door, and leaned against it.

I was still in the gown. The skirt pooled around my feet, and the veil I'd torn from the pew had left a tangle of pins in my hair. My phone buzzed from inside my handbag before I'd even taken off my shoes.

Edward.

*Where are you?*

A second message landed on top of it.

*I've been trying to reach you.*

Then another.

*Daphne, answer your phone.*

I stared at the screen.

In my first life, I would have answered by the first buzz. I would have wondered what I'd done wrong and rehearsed the perfect words to soothe him on the way to the phone.

*Are you ignoring me?*

I turned the phone facedown on the dresser.

Not once had he asked whether I was safe. Not once had he asked how I was. Every message was a hand held out, palm up, waiting for me to put my attention in it.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at my hands.

They were trembling.

I pressed my palms against my knees and took a slow breath. Then another. I thought of the shopping mall, of the tile under my cheek, of the man who had stood over me while I choked.

Slowly, my hands went still.

I could be afraid. I could be angry. But I wouldn't let either one make me careless.

Edward was still out there, believing I was the same woman who trusted him without question.

Let him believe it.

For now, I would play my part.

I stood and fought with the zipper until it gave, and stepped out of the dress. It lay on the floor like something that had finally stopped breathing.

By evening, I had washed the pins out of my hair and changed into something plain, and I could almost pass for a woman who hadn't died that week.

Dinner was quieter than it should have been. Nobody mentioned the wedding. The cake had been sent to a shelter, Gavin informed us, with the grim air of a man who had been robbed.

I tried to follow the conversation, but every sound reached me from a long way off. Viola asked my father about an appointment, and he waved the question away. His schedule was full, he said.

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth.

I wanted to slam my hand on the table and demand he see a cardiologist tonight. I set the fork down and stayed quiet. If I frightened him with an urgency I couldn't explain, he'd only dig in his heels.

Everything looked so ordinary. The familiar table. The polished cutlery. Voices I used to take for granted.

"Are you all right?"

I looked up. Ronald was watching me.

"Yes, Daddy. I'm fine."

"You've barely touched your food."

"I'm not very hungry."

He studied me a moment longer, then went back to his plate. "You need to eat properly. You've had a long day."

"I will." I hesitated. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Of course. Why?"

"You just seemed uncomfortable."

He gave a dismissive wave. "Indigestion, probably."

"Are you sure?"

"Daphne, I'm fine." He smiled at me, the reassuring smile he'd always used when he wanted me to stop worrying. "Don't turn dinner into a medical consultation."

Gavin snorted into his water. Viola's mouth twitched.

I tried to laugh with them, but my face wouldn't cooperate.

Ronald turned to answer something Viola had said, and I watched him. His shoulders were relaxed. His hands were steady. He looked like a man with nothing in the world to fear.

My fingers curled around my fork until the metal bit into my palm.

I'd spent the whole day thinking about Edward, the bunker, and the apocalypse waiting at the end of the year. I'd been so busy trying to stop the world from taking everything that I'd almost forgotten the first person I needed to save.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I lay under the covers for almost an hour, staring at the ceiling while memories crowded in. There were too many dates and names and warnings, and I couldn't afford to lose a single one.

Eventually, I switched on the bedside lamp and dug a notebook out of the desk drawer.

The first page was blank. My pen hovered over it.

Where was I supposed to begin?

At the top, I wrote two words.

*Papa. Heart.*

The rest followed in fragments. The first reports. The dates I could remember. The names of the people involved. The warning signs I'd once dismissed, and the moments when the world had changed too fast for anyone to keep up.

My pen stopped at Gavin's name.

I stared at it until the letters blurred. I could still picture him racing through the house, calling for me, begging for one more game. I hadn't been able to protect him then. My grip on the pen tightened until my fingers ached.

Beneath the names, I wrote one last line.

*Find a way to keep them alive.*

Then I read the pages back, and my stomach dropped. The list was imperfect, but it was detailed enough to make someone ask questions. I imagined Edward finding it, turning the page toward me, asking why I'd written down events that hadn't happened yet.

I carried the notebook into the bathroom.

I set a small metal bowl in the sink, tore the pages into pieces, and lit them.

The flames caught quickly. The ink darkened and the paper curled inward like a closing fist. For a moment, I almost saved one page, something to reach for when my memories blurred.

I didn't. I waited until every scrap had burned, then poured water over the ashes and stirred them with the end of a spoon until nothing recognizable remained.

I kept only the first two words. I didn't need ink for those.

*Papa. Heart.*

The notebook was gone, but I had the list. I would have to trust myself to remember what mattered.

I wouldn't spend the year standing beside his bed.

The first thing I would change was his heart.