Chapter 1
I was supposed to be dead. That much I was sure of.
The last thing I remembered was slamming my forehead into my desk for the twentieth time that night. I'd been up rereading a stupid webnovel that ended with my favorite character dying—again—because I had no self-control and even less taste.
And now?
Now I was sitting in a horse-drawn carriage wearing lace gloves, staring out at a muddy village with a name I couldn't pronounce, and someone was calling me "Lady Clarisse."
Which was weird, because my name was Hannah Lee, and I was 23, unemployed, and severely allergic to lace.
"Lady Clarisse?" The driver peeked in. "We've arrived at the orphanage."
Oh, right. This part.
The realization hit like a freight train: I'd transmigrated into Ashes of the Last Light, the same cursed apocalyptic novel that had ruined my week. The same novel where the male lead—a poor orphan named Elias—sacrifices himself at the age of nineteen to save humanity.
Now I was in the body of Clarisse Arven, a minor noblewoman who appears for a single chapter in the book. Her one achievement? Adopting Elias when he was five years old… then dying quietly off-screen.
That gave me exactly fourteen years until Elias's scheduled death.
Unless I changed it.
I squared my shoulders and stepped out into the mud.
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The orphanage looked like someone had tried to build a barn and given up halfway. The fence was rotting, the windows were shattered, and the matron met me with a smile that said please leave your money and go away.
I didn't care.
"Where is Elias?" I asked.
The matron blinked. "Pardon?"
"Elias. Small, quiet. Dark hair. Probably gives you the creeps."
She frowned. "He's… not available."
I raised a brow. "Not available?"
"We were planning to send him to a labor camp next week," she said, like it was the weather. "He's difficult. Doesn't speak. The other children are frightened of him."
Of course they were. He was too smart. Too cold. Too broken already.
"I'll take him."
"You what?"
"I'll adopt him," I said, louder this time. "Pack his things."
The matron stared. "He has nothing."
Great. Perfect. Even better.
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I found Elias sitting on the edge of a stairwell, knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to shrink out of existence.
He didn't look up when I approached.
"You're Elias," I said.
No answer.
"I'm Clarisse. Your new mother."
Still no reaction.
"Listen," I said, squatting down to eye level. "I'm not great at this. But I don't plan on dying in the next fourteen years, and I definitely don't plan on letting you die, so you might as well cooperate."
His head lifted slightly. His eyes—pale gray and sharp like shattered glass—narrowed. Studying me.
It wasn't fear. It was calculation.
Like he was measuring how long I'd last.
"Okay," he said.
Just like that.
No emotion. No smile. No tears.
Just quiet agreement from a boy who was already preparing to lose me.
Well.
We'd see about that.
.
.
.
.
.
End of Chapter 1