Jacob Daniels. Tall and lean, with sharp, handsome features, his rugged edge softened by the gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. His posture was perfectly correct, his expression unreadable—polite enough, yet undeniably cold, with a glint of clinical assessment lurking behind the lenses.

The name detonated in her skull like a depth charge. Her lips trembled. How was this possible? To encounter him here, at the very beginning of her rebirth?

In another timeline, in another world, Jacob Daniels was a legend—the Grim Reaper of the Haven stronghold, a top-tier evolved human whose very name made hardened survivors flinch. Untouchable. Worshiped from afar by those who scrabbled in the dirt.

But Chloe Gates loathed him with every fiber of her being.

Their paths had crossed three times, and each time it had cost her something more precious than gold. One pack of beef stew MRE. Two packs of chicken and rice MRE. 

Three meals. Three lifelines, ripped away in a world where a single stale cracker could spark a murder.

Memories of her past life began to surface, gripping her throat.

She had gone eight days without food, her evolved body finally failing her, her vision graying at the edges. She crawled across the dusty, gravelly ground, each step excruciating, until her trembling fingers found an unopened bag of beef stew MRE. Overjoyed, she wept tears of relief, she had finally found something to eat.

She had just torn the package open. The smell of dehydrated beef and gravy hit her nostrils, the most beautiful thing she had ever smelled. She never got to taste it.

However, a large-scale battle suddenly broke out here. In the apocalypse, anyone caught up in such a battle will be injured or even killed. She saw this, turned and ran away, and her MRE accidentally fell in a desperate escape.

She hid in the distance, trembling, watching helplessly as the victors appeared—Jacob Daniels' team. His teammates easily snatched her food.

Later, she fainted from hunger and anger, and when she woke up, it felt like a cruel joke.

It happened three times. Three MREs. In the apocalypse, that was three death sentences. Jacob Daniels had never laid a hand on her, never stolen from her directly. But his presence, his battles, his chaos—it had ripped the food from her mouth three separate times. That was the debt he owed.

Chloe clenched her fists, staring at his undeniably handsome, undeniably infuriating face. She swallowed. The control she had built over four years of hell trembled.

Then her stomach seized. A brutal, burning cramp that sent a shudder through her entire body.

My MREs. After the third time, I never found another one. I never ate MRE again.

Jacob, you dog.

The tears came. Every injustice of that dead world, every time she had crouched in the dark with an empty belly and a hollow chest, every ounce of despair she had never been allowed to release—it all came crashing out in a torrent of grief and rage.

"Miss?" Jacob's brow furrowed slightly. His voice held a note of genuine surprise, but his eyes—those cold, analytical eyes—were already cataloging her. Assessing. What was this woman doing? Glaring at him with murderous intent one second, then dissolving into hysterics the next?

He never got the chance to finish the question.

Without warning, the sobbing woman in front of him exploded into motion. It was not a wild, flailing attack. It was a blur of precision violence, honed by years of life-or-death combat in a world without mercy. Straight punch. Hook. Elbow strike.

One second.

Jacob Daniels's gold-rimmed glasses flew from his face. The air was driven from his lungs in a choked grunt. His formidable frame folded, and he crashed onto his knees on the cold marble floor, curled like a shrimp, his analytical mind utterly blank for the first time in his life.

Chloe stood over him, her chest heaving, tears and snot still streaking her face. She looked down at him with the weight of four years of hell behind her eyes.

"This is for what you owe me," she ground out through clenched teeth.

The fire of vengeance cooled, but what rose in its place was not dread—it was a savage, primal satisfaction.

She wiped her tears with her sleeve,ran a hand through her disheveled hair, pulling it back from her face. She feeling lighter than she had in four years. He’d cost her three MREs; she’d only given him a beating. He got off easy. But she was in a hurry to eat, so she would be magnanimous and let him off.

She didn't wait for a response. She strode away, her steps fast and sure, melting into the crowd of gawking patrons. The brief satisfaction was gone, replaced by the screaming, urgent demand of her body. Food. Now.

Jacob slowly pushed himself to his feet. He brushed the dust from the knee of his slacks, his movements deliberate. His eyes, cold and sharp as a hawk's, were locked onto her retreating figure until she disappeared around a corner.

He touched his side, the spot below his ribs already blooming with a deep, throbbing ache. He pulled out a sleek, encrypted smartphone and dialed a number from memory.

"I need eyes on this location," he said, his voice a low command. "Pull all surveillance footage from the public library atrium, last ten minutes. I want an identity on a female, early twenties. "

After hanging up the phone, Jacob picked up his glasses. His murderous intent gradually dissipated.He turned and walked into the crowd.

Chloe walked down the street and pushed through the glass door of a 7-Eleven, the cheerful chime of the bell a jarring contrast to the violence of the last few minutes. The shelves were a kaleidoscope of bright packaging, a symphony of sugar, salt, and fat that made her mouth water uncontrollably.

Her first stop was the refrigerated section. She grabbed two large bottles of soda, twisted the cap off one, and drank deeply, not stopping until half the bottle was gone. The cold, sugary liquid was a shock to her system, a jolt of pure energy that momentarily staved off the dizziness.

Chloe moved through the aisles like a predator, her eyes scanning the shelves. Chips, chocolate bars, beef jerky. She tore open a bag of jerky and began to eat, chewing with a desperate intensity, the salty, tough meat a balm to her frayed nerves.

Chloe reached for a can of soup on a high shelf. As her fingers brushed against the cool metal, a strange warmth bloomed on the inside of her right wrist.

Chloe froze.Slowly, she lowered her arm and looked down. Faintly visible against her skin, like a ghost of a tattoo, was a delicate, silver hexagram.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, hopeful rhythm. It couldn't be.

Chloe closed her eyes, focusing her entire consciousness on the mark. An image exploded in her mind, a vast, silent, gray space stretched out before her.

The Experimental Sub-dimensional Unit. The ESU.

The powerful technology she acquired in her previous life returned with her.

A wave of lightheadedness, this time from pure, unadulterated joy, washed over her. Her hands trembled, not from weakness, but from the sudden, staggering realization of what this meant. Her plan, her ambitious, desperate plan, was no longer just possible. It was inevitable.

Chloe snapped her eyes open. Her gaze swept over the small, cluttered convenience store with a new perspective. This wasn't just a stopgap. This was a treasure trove.

She strode to the front counter, where a bored-looking clerk was scrolling through his phone. She slapped a half-eaten bag of jerky down.

The clerk looked up, annoyed. "Just this?"

Chloe took a deep breath, the air tasting sweet with possibility. "No," she said, her voice steady and clear. She gestured with a sweep of her arm, encompassing the entire store. "I want everything."

The clerk stared at her, then let out a short, derisive laugh. "Yeah, okay. Funny."

Chloe didn't smile. She reached into her backpack, pulled out a bank card, and slapped it on the counter.

Her voice dropping to a cool, business-like tone. "Lock the door. I want every single item in this store boxed up. Now."

The clerk's jaw dropped. His eyes, wide with disbelief. The sneer vanished, replaced by a look of stunned awe. He fumbled to his feet, knocking over his stool in his haste.

"Yes, ma'am," he stammered, his hands shaking as he reached for the 'Sorry, We're Closed' sign. "Right away, ma'am."

As he scrambled to find boxes, Chloe watched the shelves begin to empty. A profound sense of power settled over her. This was just the beginning. A mere appetizer.

The real feast was waiting in the industrial parks and wholesale warehouses across the city. She pulled out her phone and opened the Uber app. She had a lot of shopping to do.

The Uber arrived in minutes, a beat-up Prius that smelled of pine air freshener and stale coffee. Chloe climbed into the back seat, gave the driver the address of the industrial district, and watched the library district fade in the rear window.