Chapter 6

Olivia's POV

Pulling my thoughts back, I dragged the thing out from the space.

It was the English greatsword Rexie had bought that day: over eighty pounds of blade, more than a hundred with the scabbard, a total length of better than six feet, its form descended from the same line as the two-edged headsman's swords the Victorians used, the curve of the edge and the balance point all matching, and it stood a good head taller than she did.

I told her, after the end comes, the virus spreads through the ash rain and infects all of humanity; some people mutate into Echoes, lose their minds, and do nothing but repeat the motions of their living days, attacking anything that comes close with no distinction between one and another; some people only get physically stronger without any real awakening of ability; and some will wake up with powers.

" Before the end comes you have to master this thing. We cannot gamble on the odds of an awakening."

She grinned, hugged the scabbard, and said that from today it would share her surname,Carter.

I did not tell her that in the future she would awaken an extraordinarily powerful gift.

For the next ten days, she practiced at the gate every morning at five.

I'd never seen her so disciplined — an hour each session, palms worn raw and wrapped in tape, still going. A heavy sword isn't agile, but once you wind it up, the kinetic force it carries is terrifying.

Passersby gave it a wide berth, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

The accident came without warning — a single misstep brought a tree as thick as a man's waist crashing down, crushing it into the lawn ,The fine came to six thousand dollars.

I sighed and thought: her control still needs a lot of work.

After that I dragged her into the back yard and sparred with her myself.

I drilled her with the Damascus sword, forcing her to get used to the worst possible matchup, a heavy blade against a fast one. Her injuries were always worse than mine, but her muscles grew leaner and more powerful by the day.

She rubbed her arm and accused me of hitting too hard, and I gave her one line back: "monsters do not give you a second chance. "

She stopped complaining, and the next morning she was up at five as usual.

 It's already mid-September, and the outdoor temperature refuses to let up.

We're planning to head to Whole Foods today to pick up some fruits and vegetables.

I pushed my cart through the produce section, scanning the price tags one by one. The numbers were absurd — the rising temperatures must have been the cause. People around me were grumbling under their breath.

I said nothing. There was no point in telling anyone what was coming — I'd tried two months ago, and all I got was a suggestion to see a psychiatrist.

After checking out, we left the supermarket and headed home, only to find a group of kids clustered around my pink Hummer, picking at the rhinestones on its surface.

Rexie let out a thunderous shout from halfway across the parking lot: "What do you little brats think you're doing!" The kids scattered in an instant. I walked over to inspect the car — not a single rhinestone was missing, stuck on far more securely than I'd expected.

This car was the last birthday gift my parents ever gave me.

After that birthday, their private yacht went down in Bermuda waters — no bodies recovered, not even wreckage.

I got in, turned the ignition, and revved the engine.

"this is the last time I'll drive it. From now on it stays in storage. It's the last thing my parents ever gave me..."

The car had barely turned onto our street when I spotted a man and a woman crouched at our front door.

The one crouching was a white guy in his early twenties, his blond hair pulled back in messy dreadlocks.

His right arm bore a half-finished skull tattoo, the lines crooked and uneven. He'd probably given up halfway through because it hurt too much.

A crowbar was wedged in our lock, and the woman standing there stomped her feet impatiently, urging him on: "Chico, can you do this or not? Hurry up! What if someone sees us!"

Rexie pushed the car door open to get out, but I pressed down on her arm, signaling her to keep quiet. She nodded.

The guy had just coaxed a soft click out of the lock cylinder when a pair of military boots closed in silently from behind.

Rexie lifted her leg and kicked each of them once—their two heads slammed into the security door with a thud. Chico knocked out half a front tooth, and the woman's fake nose immediately went crooked to one side.

The woman clutched her forehead and turned around. Seeing me and Rexie standing behind them, Rexie was casually flexing her wrists, knuckles cracking.

She instinctively backed up, but her back hit the door.

In that split second, old memories surfaced.

Back in high school, she was my best friend, borrowing my designer bags, maxing out my credit card, then turning around and telling everyone behind my back that I was an orphan with no parents.

The fallout happened at a Halloween party, She recorded me drunkenly venting about my family and dropped it in the class group chat.

The next day I poured an entire glass of champagne over her head, then proceeded to stuff every bag and piece of clothing I'd ever given her into the donation box at the dog shelter, one by one, right in front of her.

Later her family went bankrupt, and she vanished from New York. I thought I'd never see her again in this lifetime.

Vera recognized me then, her pupils shrinking to pinpoints: "Ol... Olivia? What are you doing here?"

"This is my rental. Vera Thorn—three years and you're a locksmith now?"

Her face drained of color. Her lips worked at the beginning of several different explanations.

I raised my hand and pointed at the inconspicuous black dot above the door frame—the red light was on.

"The whole break-in was recorded. Leave now and I'll pretend this never happened. One more second and I'm calling the cops."

Vera slumped on the hallway carpet, fingernails picking at the pile, her voice thick with tears: "Olivia, my family went bankrupt. Debt collectors are chasing me every day. I had no choice! Weren't we best friends? Please help me! You're so rich, why won't you help me? Didn't you used to say you treated me like a sister!"

Inside, Rexie was muscling two oversized grocery bags into the refrigerator, reorganizing shelves with the focused efficiency of someone who took food storage personally.

"I told you years ago that woman was no good. She took your money and then trashed you behind your back. What kind of person does that."

She flipped off the door, then turned around and went back to cleaning out the fridge.

I studied Vera's face, far more haggard than it had been three years ago—sunken eyes, rough skin, and that crooked fake nose lending her a sort of absurd, pitiful look.

"Don't go around claiming relatives — the Sterling gene pool certainly couldn't have produced a face that looks this thoroughly engineered by modern technology."

I paused.

"Besides, why should I help you? "

I raised my hand gracefully, as if inviting a guest to leave a banquet hall.

Vera's psychological defenses collapsed completely.

She had thought I was her last lifeline, thought she wouldn't have to entertain her father's creditor — that man in his fifties whose gaze made her skin crawl.

She turned and threw herself into Chico's arms, sobbing so hard her whole body shook, barely able to stand.

Chico held her and roared into the room: "How can you be so cold-blooded and vicious! She's dying, don't you understand! I'm telling you, if you don't help her today, I'll make sure you don't have a single good day from now on!"

Vera lifted her head, looking at him with the raw gratitude of someone who had run out of everything else.

"Chico — you're the only one who actually cares about me. Every other man disappeared the second the money was gone."

The two of them gazed deeply into each other's eyes and said in unison, at almost exactly the same time: "Chico！."

"Vera！"

I watched the performance from inside the room, silently calculating how long until they stormed in.

I didn't have to wait long.

Chico dragged Vera forward and charged into the room.

I reached out to stop them, my voice pitched with perfectly calibrated alarm: "Hey — what are you doing! Don't come in! This is my home! This is trespassing!"

I pretended I couldn't hold them back and slowly retreated.

Cameras were installed both at the door and inside the room — their every move captured in full.

Rexie read my meaning instantly and walked out from the kitchen, closing the door behind her.