Nicole never expected the new resident of 1801 to be the same young man who had helped her at the courier station.

He looked mildly surprised, too. He nodded once at her, then went back to work.

Up close, he was striking in a cold, sharp way. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and clean lines under his clothes that hinted at strength ready to explode at any moment.

Nicole felt a prickle at the back of her scalp. She exchanged a brief greeting and quickly retreated into her apartment.

This life was already different.

The typhoon had arrived early. And now, there was a new neighbor. What kind of normal person would install three stainless steel doors in a row?

Peaceful coexistence would be ideal, but caution was nonnegotiable.

Saving someone didn’t mean much once the disasters dragged on. When order collapsed, who could promise anyone would stay the same?

Nicole locked her door, brushed her teeth, washed up, and ate breakfast. The sky outside was a little brighter, but still pressed low and dark.

Standing on the balcony, she watched the screaming typhoon slam into the building. Rain battered the blast-resistant glass nonstop. Just overnight, streets had turned into rivers. Cars were half-submerged. In low-lying areas, entire vehicles were swept away.

Rain blurred everything. The distance was gray and indistinct. The sky sank lower and lower, like invisible hands squeezing the city in a crushing grip.

Nicole raised her binoculars.

From above, the roads were drowned. Clouds hung frighteningly low. A twisting funnel connected sky and ground, spinning fast, sucking in rain, trees, cars, everything in its path.

A tornado.

Nicole’s breath caught as she watched it tear through an elevated roadway. Lightning struck trees and sparked fires, only for the rain to smother them seconds later.

Had there been tornadoes in her last life?

She couldn’t remember.

Too many things were different now, and all of them felt worse.

Her phone kept buzzing. Irritated, she disconnected from the internet and went into the kitchen, washing and chopping without stopping.

She blanched frozen beef brisket and beef shank to clear out the impurities, then pulled out an assortment of spices to start the braise. Cleaning organ meats took time and patience.

After hours in the smoke, her appetite disappeared. For lunch, she made a simple bowl of chicken noodle soup.

As she turned off the exhaust fan, she thought she heard a child crying.

At first, Nicole ignored it. She bagged the trash and stepped outside, but the crying came again, clearer this time. From next door.

She had only studied medicine for a year and had barely scratched the surface. Still, she knew enough to recognize when a child’s cry wasn’t normal.

After a moment of hesitation, she knocked on the door of 1801.

“Poppy?” she called.

The triple-layer stainless steel door was thick. Nicole knocked for a long time with no response. Just as she turned to leave, there was a click.

After a lot of fumbling inside, the door finally opened.

Poppy stood there, eyes swollen and red, tear tracks streaking her face. Dried vomit clung to the corner of her mouth. Her cheeks were flushed in a way that felt wrong.

“Why are you crying?” Nicole asked.

Nicole reached out and touched Poppy’s forehead. It was alarmingly hot. Her nose ran clear and nonstop.

A cold with a high fever.

“Where’s your dad?” Nicole asked.

“My brother, you mean? He’s gone.” Poppy’s voice was hoarse from crying. She rubbed her eyes over and over. “He’s left me, too…”

Too?

So the girl had been left behind before.

Nicole glanced at the fortress of doors behind her, then gently rubbed the girl’s head.