Chapter 3: The Final Break

Evelyn POV

I’d been on the phone all night, but my brother’s cell kept going straight to voicemail.

Early the next morning, I headed downstairs with dark circles under my eyes.

Pulling the cooked food I’d purchased yesterday out of my storage space to grab a quick bite, I was stunned to see it remained warm.

So my storage space is a place where time doesn’t pass — or is it frozen in time?

If that’s the case, I wouldn’t have to worry about my food going bad.

A surge of joy washed over me. I could stock up without holding back.

I thought about this and skipped breakfast.

I hurried out the door.

The big-box warehouse store in SoMa had been open forty minutes when I walked into the manager's office and handed over a printed purchase list.

I said to fill as much food and beverages as they could. I didn’t need many daily supplies.

After checkout, my wallet was wiped out. I spent 1.7 million.

From the original two million, only about 200k was left.

I gave the manager the address, stressing delivery to the complex had to happen today.

After the supermarket, I headed straight to an outdoor gear store near Union Square, grabbing flashlights, headlamps, extra batteries, tents, sleeping bags, protective suits, body armor, tactical boots, and a folding combat knife off the shelves one after another.

Paid, loaded the car. I only grabbed a few basic sets of clothes—in the apocalypse nobody cares what you're wearing as long as you make it to tomorrow.

As for medical supplies, I’d already stocked up on some yesterday.

Such as Band-Aids, sterile gauze pads, gauze rolls, medical tape, Ace bandages, tweezers, medical scissors, safety pins, Neosporin, alcohol prep pads, disposable medical gloves, cold packs and heating pads, as well as a digital thermometer.

It’s hard to get self-defense tools these days.

Before long in the apocalypse, a black market would spring up. It would stock all kinds of weapons, cheaply priced. I planned to pick out arms there.

So I only bought a few kitchen knives, spades, baseball bats and other such items for self‑defence.

As I left the gear shop, I passed the jewelry counter on the mall’s first floor, and my footsteps halted involuntarily.

The display case brimmed with diamonds, bracelets and trinkets. Overhead lights poured down, forming a dark green glow.

I stood there, pondering. In my previous life, Derek had a diamond necklace around his neck.

He'd awakened a water ability the day the outbreak started—unusually fast.

At the base, I’ve noticed an unusually high proportion of ability users wearing jewelry. This can hardly be a coincidence.

Nobody had studied it. Nobody talked about it. But my own jade ring had activated a space system after I was reborn, and the ring had come from my grandmother—it wasn't ordinary jewelry.

Perhaps the jewelry truly contains some element linked to ability awakening. Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.

But what did it cost? Two or three thousand dollars apiece for a hedge I could actually afford.

I stood at the counter for roughly two minutes and picked out twelve pieces of jewelry — diamonds, bracelets, rings, and watches of all styles.

Once I’d loaded everything up, I headed to the builders’ merchants again.

I couldn’t go looking for my brother, so I had to survive the ten‑day heavy rain unscathed.

But I had no intention of turning my house into a safe room. By the sixth day of the downpour, the whole place would be completely flooded.

My account balance dropped below twenty thousand. Then I booked a high-floor room at a hotel in downtown Los Angeles, texted Ethan the room number and a backup contact method, told him not to stay on a low floor during the rainstorm.

This time I wouldn't repeat that mistake. High floor, seal the elevators, block the door with something heavy, ride out ten days and walk out alive.

I stood in the middle of that noise, and inside I felt nothing but a cold, flat calm, like a beach after the tide pulls out. Not anger. Something heavier than anger. Anger means you still care. I didn't care anymore.

Four-ten in the evening, and a freight truck pulled up in front of the Pacific Heights house. Five movers started unloading.

Boxes and bags came into the living room one after another for forty solid minutes until there was barely room to stand, just stacks of supplies waist-high everywhere.

I stood at the doorway directing the placement of the last few crates of food supplies, calculating in my head — once I moved all of this into the circular space, the storage capacity ought to jump up another level.

The doorbell rang.

Derek Hall stood on the porch holding a bouquet of red roses, petals still fresh—he'd bought them today.

He looked confused and said, "Evelyn, Why have you bought so much stuff?"

"What are you doing here? "

“I’ve come to apologise. If I’ve done something wrong, you can hit me or shout at me. Just don’t shut me out, please!”

Derek walked into my life when I was in my second year at university. He was gentle and considerate, hard‑working and ambitious.

Apart from classes and sleep, he spent nearly every moment with me, and it made me feel safe and secure.

Yet I overlooked the other person right beside me. Dinners, films, shopping trips…

Kayla was there all the time. I’d thought that constant companionship equalled love.

I never imagined human nature could be so sordid.

I raised my right hand and pressed five fingers flat against his chest, holding him outside the threshold. Not much force, but he didn't get another inch forward.

I leaned in, kept my voice low, every word clear. "Get out.We’ve already split up. Please don’t disturb me from now on!"

“Why? We’ve been together for two years. I love you so much, you can’t…”

Derek’s eyes reddened in an instant, begging pitifully.

“Why? Do I need to spell out everything about you and Kayla?”

He froze, took half a step back without meaning to. Something flickered in his eyes—unease he didn't even recognize himself.

I straightened, looked at him with eyes as flat and still as stagnant water, carrying something that made his spine go cold. He felt it. I could tell.

"And Derek—" I paused for one second. "Pray you don't show up in front of me again."

I closed the door. Didn't look at him again.

The silence outside stretched. Then a soft sound—the roses being set down on the doormat. Footsteps. One after another, fading, until they disappeared at the end of the street.

I stood in the entryway with my back against the door, listening until the footsteps were completely gone, then took a deep breath and turned back toward the living room piled high with supplies.

Tomorrow was the last day. The day after, everything would begin.