Chapter 3

Ellery stared at the seven-figure balance on her laptop screen. There was no joy in her chest. Only a suffocating sense of urgency.

Her stomach suddenly let out a loud, hollow growl. The physical vibration reminded her that this young, healthy body desperately needed fuel.

She pushed her chair back and walked into the cramped kitchen. She yanked the refrigerator door open. The harsh yellow light illuminated a depressing sight: a carton of expired milk and half of a rock-hard, stale bagel wrapped in plastic.

She grabbed the bagel, tore off the plastic, and took a bite. It scraped against the roof of her mouth, but she chewed mechanically, forcing it down her throat. Her brain was already moving a million miles a minute.

She pulled open a drawer, grabbed a yellow legal pad and a thick black Sharpie, and sat back down at the tiny dining table.

At the very top of the page, she pressed the marker down hard and wrote: SHELTER. She underlined it twice, the ink bleeding through the cheap paper.

Her mind violently snapped back to the third year of the apocalypse. The deep freeze. The endless, bone-crushing cold that turned human breath into ice crystals instantly.

She remembered shivering uncontrollably in a filthy corner of the bunker, her lips cracked and bleeding. And she remembered Kendal walking past her, wearing a brand-new, pristine designer puffer jacket that smelled like fresh laundry.

Ellery's eyes narrowed. She remembered exactly what was hanging around Kendal's neck that day. A dull, worn-out gold necklace emitting a faint, almost imperceptible warm glow.

Kendal had flaunted it. She had crouched down, shoving the necklace in Ellery's face, bragging about the magical, infinite space hidden inside the metal. A space that held entire warehouses of food. A space where she could grow fresh strawberries while the rest of the world starved to death.

Ellery's grip on the Sharpie tightened so hard the plastic casing creaked. The tip of the marker pierced the yellow paper, leaving a jagged black hole.

She would never forget that necklace. It wasn't Kendal's. It was hers.

It was the only thing wrapped in her blankets when she was abandoned at the orphanage steps. It was the only physical tether to her real bloodline. But on Kendal's sixteenth birthday, Sharon had ripped it from Ellery's neck, claiming it was too "ugly" for Ellery to wear and gifting it to Kendal as a joke.

Ellery slammed her fist onto the table. The stale bagel bounced off the wood. She hated her past self. She hated how weak she had been, handing over a literal god-tier survival tool just to keep the peace in a house that hated her.

She closed her eyes. She mapped out the exact location of the necklace. It was sitting in Kendal's pink velvet jewelry box on her vanity.

She immediately scrapped the idea of breaking into the house to steal it. Kendal was a hysterical, paranoid brat. If she noticed it missing, she would call the cops. A police investigation three days before the end of the world would completely derail Ellery's hoarding schedule.

She opened her eyes. She grabbed her phone and opened the browser, typing furiously. High-end jewelry replica shops Seattle.

She scrolled past the cheap tourist traps and found exactly what she needed. An underground studio in the arts district that specialized in creating flawless, indistinguishable fakes for wealthy socialites who didn't want to wear their real diamonds in public.

She grabbed her trench coat off the back of the chair, snatched her car keys, and bolted out the door.

She drove her beat-up Honda Civic through the slick, rain-soaked streets of Seattle. The sky was an oppressive, bruised purple.

She parked illegally, shoved open the heavy glass door of the studio, and bypassed the display cases entirely. She walked straight to the back workbench where a jeweler with a jeweler's loupe over his right eye was polishing a ring.

Ellery pulled out her phone and showed him a rough sketch she had drawn of the old gold crest necklace.

The jeweler squinted at it and shook his head. "Custom mold. Ancient engraving. That'll take two weeks minimum."

Ellery didn't argue. She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out two thick stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills she had just withdrawn from the bank, and slammed them onto the workbench.

"Change of plans," Ellery said, her voice flat and commanding. "I don't need a replica. I need the most obnoxious, flashy, massive fake diamond necklace you have in this store. Right now."

The jeweler's eyes widened at the cash. He instantly dropped the ring, turned around, and spun the dial on a hidden wall safe.

He pulled out a black velvet tray. Resting in the center was a thick, gold-plated chain holding a massive, flawlessly cut cubic zirconia pendant. It looked like a chandelier.

Ellery stared at the tacky, blindingly bright piece of junk. A cold smile touched her lips. It was perfect. She knew Kendal's desperate, new-money aesthetic better than anyone.

She shoved the cash toward the jeweler, grabbed the velvet box, and shoved it into her pocket.

She walked back out into the freezing rain. She stood on the wet pavement, pulled out her phone, and dialed Kendal's number. It was time to make a trade.