On New Year’s Eve, my fiancee, Delilah Carrington, left me to freeze to death in subzero snow.

As my body went numb, she was wrapped in the military coat I had found for her, curled up in Everett Kingsley’s arms while eating the holiday groceries I had paid for.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back before everything fell apart.

So when she called—cold, demanding, rattling off a shopping list like I owed her—I hung up, blocked her number, and made my move.

I sealed off Blackridge Logistics Hub, the largest logistics hub in the country.

Stockpiling supplies?

Pointless.

Because my coworkers and I had more packages than we could ever open: seafood delicacies, premium cigars, top-shelf liquor, and industrial generators.

Hundreds of millions of shipments meant for the holidays were now all mine.

Inside a warehouse kept at a steady 26°C, I ate wagyu steak and watched the world collapse through surveillance feeds.

I witnessed Delilah’s entire family tear each other apart over half a moldy pack of crackers.

I thought I could live like this forever.

I was wrong.

In the apocalypse, the most dangerous thing isn’t what’s waiting outside. It’s the people who refuse to stop playing the hero.

"Declan Mercer! What kind of garbage cherries did you send over yesterday? I bit into one, and it almost cracked my tooth! Did you do that on purpose?"

Delilah Carrington’s sharp, entitled voice pierced through the phone, grating against my ears.

I stared at the mountain of shipping orders piled in front of me, my irritation rising.

Right before the holidays, the logistics hub was a war zone. As the manager, I wished I could split myself into eight just to keep up.

I rubbed my temples and forced my tone into something gentler. "Sorry, alright? I’ll get you a fresh box today. Top-tier. Guaranteed sweetness."

"That’s more like it." She snorted, then spent another ten minutes complaining about trivial things, like how her dog was in a bad mood today, before finally hanging up.

I leaned back in my chair, exhausted, and casually unlocked my phone to check the weather.

A breaking international headline popped up: "Unprecedented Decline in Solar Activity Triggers Sudden Flash Freezes Across the Globe".

In the video, a fountain in some European town froze solid within seconds, turning into a pillar of ice.

What the hell.

I swiped it away without a second thought.

All I cared about was whether it would affect the flight carrying the batch of Australian lobsters I’d ordered for Delilah.

I got up to do a routine inspection of the warehouse. The moment I stepped into the open loading zone, a strange gust of wind hit me, cold enough to make me shiver.

A few coworkers were pointing up at the sky.

"Boss, look at those birds!"

I glanced up.

A flock of migrating birds flying south suddenly broke formation. Then, one after another, several of them dropped straight out of the sky, hitting the ground with dull thuds not far away.

My heart skipped.

Was that news report actually real?

I was about to send someone to check when Branson Crowe, the long-haul driver, came stumbling in from outside, half-crawling, half-running. His face was coated in frost, his lips tinged purple.

"Boss! Boss! Something’s wrong!

"On the highway! The trucks… They just shut down on their own! The diesel in the tanks has turned into slush! It’s freezing out there. It's unnaturally cold!"

Still shaking, he reached for the metal railing beside him.

The moment his fingers touched it, a thin layer of ice spread instantly from the contact point. The skin on his fingertips turned a dark purplish-black right before my eyes.

I staggered back in shock.

The news was real.

I spun around and bolted for the office. My first instinct was to lock the doors.

Outside the massive warehouse shutters, the screech of car crashes and people screaming overlapped into chaos.

I looked out through the window.

People on the street were running. Then, just like those birds, they dropped stiffly to the ground, their bodies rapidly frosting over.

At that moment, my phone started ringing like crazy.

Delilah.

I answered.

On the other end, she was screaming.

"Declan! Where the hell are you? Mr. Kingsley's villa just lost power. Get our down jackets and a generator over here right now!"

My mind was in complete chaos, but I still rushed out instinctively to grab supplies.

The moment I reached the entrance, they were already there waiting.

Delilah, Everett Kingsley, and her brother, Brock Carrington.

Without a word, they lunged at me, tearing off my jacket and snatching the supplies from my hands.

"You’re built tough. You can handle the cold." Hooking her arm around Everett’s, she kicked me straight out the door.

The biting wind swallowed me whole. Half-naked, I could only watch as the three of them disappeared into the blizzard.

The cold drained my consciousness, little by little. My last thought before everything went dark was that if I could do it over again, I would never have stepped out of that warehouse.

"Declan! Are you even listening? Those cherries are way too sour!"

The exact same voice drilled into my head.

I jolted upright from my desk, gasping for air, my throat still burning with the phantom sting of freezing cold.

I looked around. I was back in the office.

On my phone screen, the call was still ongoing.

It was Delilah.

The calendar read 8:00 a.m. on the morning of the day I died.

Her impatient voice continued from the other end.

I cut her off. "Go to hell."

Then I hung up and blocked her.

I didn’t seal the warehouse immediately because there were still hundreds of employees and drivers in the compound.

I switched on the internal broadcast system.

"Emergency notice! We’ve received a confidential alert from higher authorities. There’s a highly contagious mutated flu outbreak in this area. All non-essential personnel must evacuate within one hour. I repeat, this is not a drill!"

Then I triggered the fire drill alarm recording. The piercing siren tore through the entire compound.

Workers dropped everything and rushed out.

I stood in the surveillance room, watching the crowd with cold detachment. Picking up the radio, I called Rhys Calder, the head of security.

"Lock down the entrance. Let everyone out. No one comes back in. In thirty minutes, I want every gate sealed. I don’t care who’s still inside."

I paused, then added, "Garrick’s on the second floor. Leave him alone."

Rhys and Garrick were both physically strong, single, and obedient. They were the most suitable allies I could pick.

Clang!

With one final thunderous crash, the massive alloy shutters slammed shut. Silence swallowed the warehouse.

I exhaled slowly, the air in my lungs carrying a faint metallic taste.

When I turned back, the backup locks were already in place.

Garrick still stood there, dazed, clearly not fully processing what had just happened.

"Stop standing around." I clapped my hands once, rubbing my temples.

For a moment, I thought things would finally settle.

A fortress.

Three men.

Simple. Controlled.

However, before that thought could fully form, a muffled cry came from the women’s restroom on the second floor, followed by frantic banging on the door.

"Help! Is anyone there? The door won’t budge..."

The three of us froze, then exchanged looks.

Rhys grabbed a baton and kicked the door open.

Inside, Tamsin Larson, a young intern from customer service was slumped on the floor. The moment she saw me, she scrambled forward and clutched my leg.

"Mr. Mercer! I’m sorry! I thought it was just a drill! My boyfriend is still outside waiting for me. Please let him in! He’ll freeze to death!" Her words tumbled out between sobs. "He has food in his car! He can help us!"

I looked down at her.

All I felt was irritation.

A perfect start was ruined in an instant by a lovestruck idiot.

I yanked my leg free from her grip without hesitation. "First, the doors are not opening again. Second, if you want to live, shut up and do as you’re told.

"And third," I added coldly, "don’t touch me again."

I turned and walked away without another glance.

Back in the office, I pointed out the window at the world now buried under frost and the bodies frozen solid like statues.

"Take a good look. The world’s changed. This is our fortress now. If you want to survive, follow my lead."

Rhys nodded immediately. "Got it."

Garrick followed, nodding hard.

I didn’t take them to open packages. Instead, I headed to the break room and dragged out everything edible I could find, laying it all on the table: half a box of instant noodles, a few bottles of water, an opened bag of crackers, and a couple of shriveled apples.

Garrick’s stomach growled. He stared at the meager pile, swallowing hard. "That’s it?"

"That’s everything we have right now." I spread the food out. "From today on, we ration. A pack of noodles and half a bottle of water per person, per day. No exceptions."

My gaze swept across them, finally landing on Tamsin. She looked at the mountain of unopened packages, then at the pitiful amount of food on the table. Her lips moved slightly, but she didn’t dare speak.

"Now’s not the time to stand around." I clapped once. "Move. Rhys, you’re with me—generator and diesel check.

"Garrick, head to the tool room. Grab every axe and pry bar you can find.

"Tamsin, seal every window on the second floor with cardboard and foam. Leave one viewing gap."

Night fell fast.

Once everything was done, I had them move into my office, the smallest space available. One heater was enough to keep it warm.

"Starting tonight, we all stay here. No one goes down to the first floor without my permission."

In the dead silence of the night, the crunch of dry noodles being crushed in Garrick’s hand sounded unnaturally loud.

After hesitating for a long time, he finally spoke in a low voice, "Boss, are there really no survivors out there?"

I didn’t even look up, still checking the fire axe in my hand.

"Thinking about that won’t help you. Figure out how to survive tomorrow."

…

By the third night, the temperature had dropped below -50°C. The faint red glow from the heater looked almost powerless.

The last pack of instant noodles was broken into four pieces and boiled into a thin, watery soup. We shared it.

Even the broth was licked clean.

Garrick rubbed his hands, already raw and red from the cold. The breath leaving his mouth turned instantly visible. He looked at me, his voice hoarse.

"Boss, I can’t take it anymore. At this rate, we won’t starve to death. We’ll freeze first."

Rhys said nothing, only pulling his thin work jacket tighter around himself.

I stood up.

We couldn’t wait any longer.

I looked at all three of them. "Starting now, in order to survive, we use what’s here."

I picked up a brand-new notebook and pen from my desk and handed them to Tamsin. "You’re recording everything. Every item we open: brand, quantity, and recipient information. All of it."

I met her eyes and added, "When this is over, Blackridge will compensate for everything."

That was the line I wouldn’t cross.