Chapter 4

"Daughter, your old man can't beat you anymore!"

Dad gasped for breath, leaning against the wall.

"Then my money wasn't wasted!"

I'd paid a fortune for combat lessons, and the results were clear!

"I'm heading into the bunker. I need to run some electrical wires today."

"What's a girl like you always doing down in that hole?" Dad grumbled, confused.

I checked the time.

"You'll know soon enough!"

Today brought an unexpected bonus: I discovered several secret passages in the bunker, each with an entrance just big enough for one person.

If opened up, the shelter’s area would expand significantly, revealing a hidden world within.

I'd secretly picked up some skills from the workers I hired. Afraid of drawing too much attention, I decided to handle these passages myself.

"Rowan, dinner! Look at you, all filthy!" Mom said, handing me a lunchbox with a doting smile.

"What are you doing with these useless rocks?" She looked at the stones in my basket, puzzled.

"These are treasures! You'll understand later!"

These were special stones; if not actively extinguished, they would burn indefinitely.

In the apocalypse, they were called Ever-burning stones, and after the world ended, thousands would frantically snatch them up.

In the extreme cold, they'd even be exchanged for food or human lives.

And our fallout shelter had plenty of them.

In my previous life, those two idiots, Tiffany and Ryan, ran into some escaped murderers. To save their own skins, they revealed the existence of these stones.

The men broke into the fallout shelter and found me chained by the door, their laughter evil and arrogant.

I fought them for the Ever-burning stones.

The leader, a man named Dexter, came up with a cruel idea: he ordered my hand to be shoved outside the door to freeze.

You have to understand, it was over eighty degrees below zero outside then.

My hand would freeze solid and die within minutes.

Tiffany, wanting to impress them, eagerly carried out this 'punishment.'

That wasn't enough. To please them, she took a hammer and systematically knocked off my already frozen fingers, one by one.

Ryan pried open my eyes, and I watched, helpless, as my fingers separated from my body.

After my parents died, I was dead inside. I didn't cry, didn't fight.

Seeing my lack of reaction, which failed to satisfy their twisted pleasure, they simply threw me out.

I glared, my eyes wide, memorizing every single one of them.

The natural death of the extreme cold wasn't painful, but my hatred burned a thousand times hotter.