After the twins finished nursing, Rosalie burped them gently and laid them back into their bassinets.
They stirred, tiny fingers twitching, soft sighs replacing their earlier cries.
Alive.
Safe.
For now.
Rosalie remained sitting upright against the headboard long after their breathing evened out. The room was dim, the red numbers on the clock shifting from 4:52 to 4:53 a.m.
Sleep was impossible.
Her mind was already racing.
Five months.
It sounded like time.
It wasn't.
Not when the end of the world was waiting at the calendar's edge.
Rosalie swung her legs over the side of the bed and pressed her palms into her thighs, grounding herself.
Think.
The apocalypse hadn't been sudden chaos.
It had unfolded in stages.
First, the heat.
Extreme, unnatural heat.
Three months of relentless temperature spikes that shattered infrastructure. Power grids failed. Crops withered. Livestock died. Water sources dried up or became contaminated.
The world had baked.
Thirty-five degrees Celsius in winter had only been the beginning. It climbed higher in the weeks that followed—forty, then forty-three in some regions. Asphalt melted. Air conditioners failed. Hospitals overflowed.
That phase alone had destabilized governments.
Then came the cold.
Without warning, the heat broke.
And the temperature plunged.
Blizzards in regions that had never seen snow. Ice storms. Weeks where the sun barely pierced gray skies.
Five months of extreme cold.
Water froze solid. Survivors who had barely endured the heat now froze in abandoned buildings. Supply chains were long gone by then. Electricity was a myth.
And just when people thought it couldn't get worse—
The green rain fell.
Rosalie's jaw tightened at the memory.
It came down thick and heavy, tinted faintly green under the clouds. Some people thought it was relief—fresh water after months of suffering.
It wasn't.
Everything that survived the heat and cold began to change.
Animals swelled into grotesque, towering beasts with armored hides and too many teeth.
Plants twisted, thickened, grew carnivorous. Vines crushed buildings. Trees split pavement and hunted anything that moved.
Cities were swallowed in weeks.
Law and order disappeared completely.
Humans turned on each other.
Starvation drove people mad. Cannibalism spread quietly at first—then openly. Groups formed, fought, raided.
It became survival of the fittest.
And humanity was losing.
For one entire month, humans were powerless.
Guns barely pierced mutated hides. Fire only slowed the plants. Entire settlements were wiped out overnight by creatures the size of buildings.
Then the second rain came.
Clear.
Shimmering.
It fell differently—lighter, almost luminous.
And this time, something changed in the survivors.
Energy.
It seeped into skin and bone.
People began to awaken abilities.
Not everyone.
But enough.
Rosalie had been one of them.
She had awakened three powers.
Control over the elements—wind, water, fire, earth.
Healing—she could close wounds, purge infection, mend broken bones if she had enough strength.
And her most valuable ability—
A portable space dimension.
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
The space had started small. A storage pocket the size of a closet.
But over time, it expanded. She learned to stabilize it. Cultivate soil inside it. Store water that never spoiled. Preserve food indefinitely.
It became the reason her family survived as long as they did.
It also became the reason she was betrayed.
The base.
Even now, remembering it made her stomach twist.
A fortified compound run by scientists and self-proclaimed "leaders." They promised safety. Protection. Structure.
In exchange for obedience.
And usefulness.
When resources grew scarce, her parents had made the decision.
Her powers made her valuable.
Valuable enough to trade.
The base wanted access to her dimension.
Unlimited storage. Controlled agriculture. A private world they could exploit.
They couldn't force the ability from her.
So they decided to experiment instead.
Rosalie's fingers curled into fists.
She remembered the white lab coats.
The way they spoke about her like she was equipment.
"If we can sever the dimensional link—"
"If we replicate the energy signature—"
She had endured months of testing before her body finally gave out.
And now—
She was back.
Her breathing slowed deliberately.
If the timeline remained the same, she would awaken her powers after the second rain.
But what about her space?
Carefully, cautiously, Rosalie closed her eyes.
She reached inward.
In her past life, the connection had always felt like a thread behind her ribs.
A door only she could touch.
She searched for it now.
For a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
A faint hum.
Subtle.
But there.
Her eyes snapped open.
Her heart pounded.
It was weak.
Dormant.
But present.
Her space dimension had come back with her.
And if that was here…
Her other abilities might awaken earlier too.
A slow, dangerous clarity settled over her.
Five months wasn't long.
Society would collapse.
Heat. Cold. Mutation. Cannibalism. Natural disasters—earthquakes splitting cities apart, floods swallowing entire neighborhoods when infrastructure failed.
The world would not survive unchanged.
But this time—
She would not waste those months protecting people who would stab her in the back.
No more dragging Dean along supply runs.
No more sharing food with Lilith.
No more exhausting herself for parents who would sell her to save themselves.
Her gaze drifted to the bassinets.
Her twins shifted softly in their sleep.
Seven children in total.
Seven lives that depended on her.
Rosalie stood and walked quietly to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to see the quiet street below.
Cars parked neatly.
Streetlights glowing steadily.
The world looked normal.
It wouldn't stay that way.
"Five months," she whispered to herself.
Enough time to prepare.
Enough time to disappear if necessary.
Enough time to become strong enough that when the green rain fell—
No one would ever be able to cage her again.