Chapter 5: Is You!

chloe

The Humvee pulled up beneath the apartment tower. I held out two thousand dollars.“For the ride.”

He didn’t glance back. “No need. I was passing by.”

Since he's not taking money, I'll share some news with him. “The storm core will stall here for nearly two days. Substations and pump houses are guaranteed to flood. Use the grid while it lasts — stock up on water, food, fuel.”

He said nothing. I pushed the door open, clutched my package, and rushed into the building.

Derek leaned against the elevator lobby wall. The matching metal band on his ring finger, paired with Isabella’s, glinted. Isabella wore a white hoodie, smiling like a print ad.

“What took you so long?” Derek’s tone was sharp. “We’ve waited forty minutes.”

The words pricked an old memory from my past life. This man, whom I’d supported for a full year, had watched coldly as I was shoved into an ice pit. Now he used that exact tone, keeping track of my time. I made up my mind. My foolishness back then was my own fault, but I would not let them leech from me or dig for secrets about the watch this time. They would taste every ounce of the despair I once endured.

I hugged the package tighter, my gaze cold and still as frozen water.

“Why didn’t you come to the hurricane party?” Derek pressed.

“Are we close? Why would I go?”

He froze.

At this moment. Isabella stepped forward, voice syrupy. “Chloe —”

“Don’t call me that. I don’t know you.”

She paused and tried again, inviting me over. I gave a hollow laugh. “It’s your party. What’s it to me?”

Derek's face darkened, and he said a few harsh words. I laid it bare. “You wear matching rings with her, yet keep asking me to your place and begging for my access card ‘to check on me’. Are you playing both sides, or hoping to steal things from my apartment?”

Caught red-handed, he shouted angrily. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve never had feelings for you!”

Isabella switched tactics fast. Said：the storm raged outside; roads were blocked. Could she stay the night at my place? “You’re out of your mind,” I replied. Warnings had been out for three days. Everyone knew not to go out tonight.Are you incapable of booking a hotel, or do you simply not intend to spend money on disaster preparedness?

She didn't say anything,her eyes locked onto the watch at my chest. She praised its vintage look, asked where I bought it, if I’d sell it, saying such an old piece didn’t suit me.

I understood. she wanted to take it. That was exactly how she’d operated before, stealing everything people owned while painting herself innocent.

I ignored every question. I pulled the watch from around my neck and glanced down. Bonded to me, its shine had faded to a dull, dark finish. It was nothing more than useless ornament now; the space lived in my mind.

I opened my hand. The watch crashed onto the terrazzo floor with a sharp crack. I stepped down hard. The glass shattered to dust, the movement mechanism destroyed with a dull thud. A tiny gear rolled to rest at Derek’s shoe.

Silence hung for two heartbeats.

My voice stayed flat. “Your praise makes me sick..”

Derek spat threats. I snapped back. “Get out. Don’t show your face around me again.”

They stormed away. As Isabella passed through the revolving door, she glanced back. No sweetness remained in her eyes, only cold calculation.

I locked my door and opened the package. The polar suit was thick and soft, its fleece lining warm to the touch. The mummy-style sleeping bag, stitched from layers of down, was built to withstand minus forty degrees. I drew all them into the space.

Wind rose outside. Within half an hour, the sky turned from gray to leaden. I filled large white plastic buckets with tap water, stashing portions in the space’s restroom and kitchen nook. Once the substations and pumps flooded, this forty-five-story tower would become a dry well hanging high above the ground. I worked quickly, yet that nagging feeling lingered. Most supplies were ready, but one vital item still slipped my mind.

As night fell, I turned on every burner — gas stove and induction cooktop running simultaneously. I boiled pasta, chopped meat and vegetables in assembly-line rhythm. Slow-roasted beef brisket charred on the outside and pulled apart tender; Cajun jambalaya oozed grease from smoked sausage. New England clam chowder thickened until it clung to the spoon, and chili con carne simmered, packed with beans and ground beef. All high-calorie, long-lasting meals. These might be the last meals anyone in the city could cook freely. I packed servings into stainless steel bowls and placed them in the space while still steaming.

I kept cooking until three a.m. The final batch of cornbread, baked mac and cheese, and blueberry muffins drew into the space. I showered, and collapsed onto bed with damp hair.

I was woken up by the repeated sound of an electric drill. I pulled back the curtain. My phone read 9:40 a.m., yet the sky was heavy and dark. Wind and rain tore between buildings.

Social media flooded with posts. At first, people joked: Hurricane Leviathan had arrived, no more work or school. But images and videos quickly followed — uprooted trees, crushed luxury cars, a tornado slicing a metal workshop clean in half. Panic spread. Stores were stripped bare; only unwanted instant soup packets sat on empty shelves.

The drill whirred again. I stiffened.

The Apex Tower’s forty-fifth floor held three apartments served by one elevator. I lived in the middle unit. The other two had sat vacant for years. I remembered clearly from my past life: after floods reached the fourth floor, survivors broke into these empty flats. When food ran out, they tried to break down my door night after night.And I could only use furniture to block the door, to prevent them from coming in and hurting me.

Not this time. I fetched a new fire axe from storage, hefting its weight. If they attacked, I would defend myself.

I peered through the peephole. At the far end of the narrow hallway, the door to 4501 stood wide open. A brand-new stainless steel replacement door leaned against the wall. A man in casual pale clothing drilled into a load-bearing wall, his back to me. Between bursts of drilling, I heard a small, soft voice — a child.

I opened my door. The hinge creaked softly. The man stopped drilling and turned toward me.

Shock rippled through me. “Is you!”