Alyssa ignored the black muzzles of the bodyguards' guns pointed at her. She reached down, wrapping both hands around her twisted right calf.

She took a deep breath. She clamped her teeth together and violently twisted her hands.

A loud, sharp crack echoed through the yard as the bone snapped back into place.

Cold sweat instantly drenched her forehead. She didn't make a single sound. She just ripped a long strip of fabric from her ruined silk nightgown and tied it tightly around her leg to stabilize the bone.

The grass in Long Island is hard as concrete, Alyssa complained in her head. The pain receptors in this body are as sensitive as a newborn baby's. It's pathetic.

The clear, sarcastic thought bounced off the insides of Katie, Julian, and Tristan's skulls. All three of them took a synchronized step back.

Katie clutched her chest. She turned her pale face to her husband, mouthing the words, Did you hear that?

Julian rubbed his temples so hard his skin turned red.

"It's the stress," Julian muttered, his voice tight. "The stock market fluctuations are giving us collective auditory hallucinations."

Tristan wasn't buying it. He stomped down the stairs and marched onto the grass. He pointed a shaking finger right at Alyssa's face.

"What kind of sick ventriloquist trick are you playing?" Tristan yelled.

Alyssa tilted her head up. She looked at Tristan like he was a brain-dead idiot.

This blond rich boy wouldn't last three seconds in the wasteland, she thought. A crawler would rip his throat out before he even finished crying.

Tristan heard the evaluation loud and clear. His entire body shook with rage. He raised his hand, ready to slap her across the face.

Alyssa's eyes turned lethal. Her muscles coiled, ready to snap his wrist in half.

The screeching tires of a black Maybach interrupted them.

The family's private doctor kicked his door open before the car even stopped. He sprinted toward Alyssa, dragging his heavy medical kit across the grass.

The doctor knelt in the blood. He cut away the silk bandage on her leg. His eyes bulged out of his head.

He stared at the perfectly aligned bone and the torn flesh that was already knitting itself back together at a visible speed.

"Mr. Gallagher," the doctor stuttered, his hands shaking. "Her vitals are... stable. Her cellular regeneration is exceeding human limits. This is impossible."

Julian's stomach dropped. He immediately barked orders at the bodyguards to holster their weapons.

"Nobody speaks a word of this to the press," Julian ordered, his tone lethal. "Or I will ruin you."

A wave of extreme exhaustion hit Alyssa. Her stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl that echoed in the quiet yard.

I need high-calorie food, Alyssa groaned internally. Even a moldy can of beans would do. I'm going to starve to death.

Katie heard the desperate, pathetic plea in her head. A sharp ache pulled at her chest, reminding her of the ten years she had raised this girl.

Julian opened his mouth to order Alyssa to a private psychiatric facility.

"No," Katie interrupted, her voice trembling but firm. "Take her to the guest room at the end of the hall. The one with the en-suite bathroom. Lock her in."

The bodyguards brought a stretcher. They lifted Alyssa's blood-soaked body with extreme caution, treating her like an active bomb.

Alyssa didn't fight them. She lay flat on the canvas, closing her eyes to focus her remaining apocalyptic energy on healing her ruptured organs.

As the stretcher passed Estelle, Alyssa cracked an eye open. She looked at the real Gallagher daughter.

She really does look like a damn angel, Alyssa thought.

Estelle heard the compliment. The fear in her eyes fractured, replaced by extreme confusion.

The bodyguards carried Alyssa into the guest room and slammed the heavy oak door shut. The lock clicked loudly from the outside.

Alyssa dragged her aching body off the stretcher. She leaned against the headboard, gasping for air under the dim light of a single wall sconce.

Out in the hallway, the Gallagher family stood outside the study. The air was suffocating.

"It's a psychological acoustic weapon," Julian insisted, pacing the floor. "Our corporate rivals are trying to break us."

"It's a warning from God," Katie whispered, gripping her skirt. "We stay quiet. We watch her."

The night wind rattled the windows. Every single member of the family lay awake in their beds, the absurd, terrifying echo of Alyssa's apocalyptic thoughts keeping them from closing their eyes.

Alyssa pressed her ear against the heavy oak door. Silence.

She dragged her heavy legs across the thick carpet and limped into the massive marble bathroom.

She twisted the gold handle of the shower. Scalding hot water blasted out of the showerhead. She stepped under it, letting the heat wash the dried blood and grass from her skin.

She stared at her reflection in the fogged mirror. Pale skin, delicate features, zero muscle mass. She slapped her own cheeks hard, forcing the stinging pain to ground her in this new reality.

As she scrubbed the dirt from her wounds, she rapidly searched her inherited memories. She mapped out the tragic bankruptcy the Gallagher family was destined to face in the original plot.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a thick, oversized bathrobe around her small frame. She walked barefoot toward the French windows.

Her eyes, mutated by the apocalypse, pierced through the darkness. She scanned the security cameras and the patrol routes of the guards outside.

Suddenly, her gaze locked onto a massive balcony on the third floor of the neighboring estate, hundreds of yards away.

A faint blue light glowed in the dark. A man sat perfectly still in a wheelchair.

Iver Lancaster leaned away from his high-powered astronomical telescope. He had been looking at the stars, but the lens had caught the movement in the Gallagher guest room.

Iver adjusted the focus ring. The lens zoomed in. He saw Alyssa staring right back at him. Her eyes seemed to glow with a feral, haunting light in the pitch black.

His chest tightened.

The medical-grade biometric sensor strapped to Iver's wrist suddenly let out a piercing, rapid beep.

His special assistant, Reginald Cole, sprinted out of the bedroom. Reginald stared in horror at the tablet in his hand, watching Iver's heart rate plummet and then violently spike.

Iver raised a pale hand, silencing Reginald. His dark eyes remained glued to the mysterious woman behind the glass.

He suffered from a rare, terminal degenerative nerve disease. His heart rate hadn't shown this much violent, chaotic life in years.

Alyssa felt the weight of his stare. She didn't flinch. She narrowed her eyes and shot him a cold, lethal glare that promised violence if he kept looking.

She grabbed the heavy velvet curtains and yanked them shut, completely severing the visual connection between the two estates.

Iver stared at the darkened window. A cold, fascinated smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"Find out exactly what happened at the Gallagher estate tonight," Iver ordered, his voice raspy.

Meanwhile, in the master bedroom of the Gallagher mansion, the air was thick enough to choke on.

Julian paced across the Persian rug in his pajamas. His knuckles were white as he gripped a crystal glass filled with whiskey.

Katie sat on the edge of the mattress. She pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead, unable to erase the image of Alyssa snapping her own bone back into place.

Julian stopped pacing. "I'm calling the top neurosurgeon in New York. We are all getting brain scans tomorrow morning."

Katie looked up, her eyes bloodshot. "And if the scans are clean? If we aren't sick, Julian, then the whole world is sick."

Downstairs, Estelle hugged a stuffed teddy bear to her chest. She rolled over in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Every time she closed her eyes, she heard Alyssa calling her an angel. The pure hatred she had felt for her fake sister began to crack.

In the home gym, Tristan aggressively bench-pressed heavy iron plates. He grunted with every rep, trying to exhaust his muscles enough to drown out the mechanical voice in his head.

In the guest room, Alyssa threw herself backward onto the massive, soft mattress. A loud sigh of pure pleasure escaped her lips.

Capitalism is amazing, Alyssa thought, sinking into the pillows. This mattress is ten thousand times better than sleeping on concrete. I'm going to eat until I explode tomorrow.

The unguarded, completely random thought broadcasted perfectly into the minds of the entire family.

The crystal glass slipped from Julian's hand. It shattered against the Persian rug, splashing amber liquid everywhere.

In that exact moment, the last of Julian's rationalizations shattered. They had no choice but to confront the terrifying possibility: they were somehow tuned into a supernatural radio station broadcasting from inside Alyssa's head.