The snowmobile pulled up in front of Shore Residence 3, Building B, and Jae-min killed the engine.
The silence of the frozen world rushed in — that absolute, suffocating quiet that had become the soundtrack of every day since the Freeze. No traffic. No voices. No wind. Just the cold, pressing down on everything like a physical weight.
He pulled off his balaclava and sat there for a moment, staring at the building. Fourteen floors of concrete and glass, now just another tomb in a city full of them. The generator was still running — he could feel the faint vibration through the ground, could see the thin wisp of exhaust rising from the vent on the side of the building.
Forty-three people alive in this building because of that generator. Because of him.
He swung his leg over the snowmobile and headed inside.
...
The hallway on the fourteenth floor was dim. Emergency lighting — battery-powered, since the building's electrical system had been dead since the Freeze. The air was warm though, or at least warm by the standards of minus seventy. The generators kept the essential systems running. Barely.
Jae-min knocked on the door of Unit 1418. Three short knocks. The signal.
The door opened.
Uncle stood on the other side.
He was not a large man — he had never been a large man. Small build, compact frame, the kind of unassuming stature that made people underestimate him at their own peril. His hair was silver-white, cropped short in the military style he had maintained for thirty years in the service. His face was weathered and lined, the skin tanned and toughened by decades of combat deployments in Mindanao and Luzon. His eyes, though — dark and sharp and alert — belonged to a man who had seen more violence than most people could imagine and had come out the other side still standing.
"You're back," Uncle said.
"I'm back."
"How was it? What's inside the mansion?"
Jae-min stepped inside. The unit was warm — genuinely warm. The storage room hummed with the low, steady drone of the generator, pumping heat and electricity through the walls. The living room was small but organized, the furniture pushed to the sides to make room for sleeping bags and supply crates.
Yue was sitting on the floor against the wall, her long black hair pulled over one shoulder, cleaning her sword with methodical, almost meditative strokes. Her features were sharp and cool, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim emergency lighting. Her left arm — the one that had been injured — moved without restriction, the flesh whole and healed thanks to Alessia's abilities days ago. No sling. No bandages.
Jennifer was beside her, cross-legged, her long ice-blue hair falling loosely around her shoulders, contrasting sharply against her pale skin. Her icy blue eyes were closed, her fingers pressed to her temples — maintaining the mental link with Jae-min, even now, the way she always did when he was away.
Jae-min looked around.
"Where's Alessia? Where's Ji-yoo?"
"Ji-yoo's room," Uncle said. "She's been sleeping most of the day. Alessia is with her."
Jae-min walked down the narrow hallway. The master bedroom — his and Alessia's — was on the left, door open, empty. The guest room across from it — Uncle's — was also empty. He passed the second guest room, where Jennifer and Yue had been sleeping, and stopped at the regular bedroom at the end of the hall.
Ji-yoo's room. It had been her room long before the apocalypse — she had chosen this unit specifically because the bedroom layout suited her, close enough to the living room for convenience but far enough for privacy. She had been practicing with her band back then, coming home late from gigs, needing a space of her own.
He pushed the door open.
Ji-yoo was lying on the bed. On her back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in the shallow, careful rhythm of someone breathing around broken ribs. Her hair — black, like his, always kept in a ponytail — had come loose during sleep, dark strands spread across the pillow. Her face was pale. Too pale. The bruising along her side was still visible through the thin blanket, dark purple and angry where Alessia's healing had not yet finished its work.
Alessia was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Ji-yoo's forehead. Her long indigo hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail, the deep blue-purple strands catching the dim light. Her blue eyes looked up when Jae-min entered — sharp, intelligent, but shadowed with an exhaustion that went deeper than sleep deprivation.
Her face was tired. The kind of tired that settled into the bones and the spirit and made every movement feel like wading through water. She was slender, almost willowy, with an elegance that reminded Jae-min of the old-world paintings in his mother's house — the ones of saints and martyrs, beautiful and suffering at the same time.
"How is she?" Jae-min asked quietly.
"Alive. Healing. Slower than I would like." Alessia pulled her hand away and stood up. Her legs wobbled slightly before she steadied herself. "I've been pushing my abilities too hard. It's affecting the quality of the healing."
"What about you?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You haven't eaten properly in days. You've been healing everyone — Ji-yoo, Yue, the people in the other units — and you haven't given yourself time to recover."
"I'll recover when there's time to recover."
Jae-min looked at her. Then at Ji-yoo. Then back at Alessia.
"There's time now," he said.
Alessia blinked. "What do you mean?"
"The mansion. I finished surveying it. It's everything we need and more. Three underground levels, a greenhouse, water filtration, backup generators. The whole system runs independently — no grid required. It's warm. It's secure. And it has enough space for all of us."
Alessia stared at him.
"Three underground levels," she repeated.
"And a greenhouse. The original owner built it for self-sustainability. Crops. Water recycling. Power generation. The whole setup."
"You said the mansion was a supply run target. A rich guy's place."
"It was. It is. But it's more than that. It's a fortress. And now it's ours."
Alessia looked at Ji-yoo for a long moment. Then back at Jae-min.
"What happened there?" she asked. Her voice was careful. Precise. The voice of a woman who knew that Jae-min did not volunteer information unless he was asked.
"I'll explain when we're all settled in," he said. "Right now, we need to move. Ji-yoo's condition is the priority. The snowmobile can carry two passengers — you and Ji-yoo go first. I'll come back for Uncle, Yue, and Jennifer."
"Today?"
"The sooner we move, the sooner you can rest properly. The generator in this unit is burning through fuel faster than I can resupply it. The mansion has its own power. We need to be there."
Alessia was quiet for a moment. Something shifted in her expression — not quite hope, because hope was dangerous in the world they lived in, but something close to it.
"Okay," she said. "Let's go."
...
The preparation took less than thirty minutes.
Packing in the apocalypse was simple triage. You took what you needed to survive and left everything else.
Jae-min moved through the unit with efficient, practiced movements. Warm clothing. Multiple layers. Thermal underwear, fleece jackets, wool socks, balaclavas, gloves. Blankets. Sleeping bags. The remaining food — canned goods, dried noodles, protein bars. Water bottles filled from the last clean supply. Medical supplies — bandages, antiseptic, the painkillers Ji-yoo had been taking for her ribs.
Alessia packed for Ji-yoo while Jae-min packed for the group. She moved slowly but deliberately, folding clothes carefully, placing them in a small backpack, and setting it by the bedroom door.
Uncle watched from the living room, his arms crossed. Despite his small frame, there was a weight to his presence that filled the room — the kind of gravitas that came from thirty years of military service and a lifetime of carrying responsibilities that would have broken lesser men.
"You want me to come with you?" he asked.
"Not this trip. You, Yue, and Jennifer stay here. Keep the generator running. I'll be back for you by tonight."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"Nothing will go wrong."
Uncle held his gaze. The older man's weathered face was serious, the way it got when he was about to say something that mattered.
"You've been gone since early morning. It's almost dark. And you're telling me the mansion is everything we need." Uncle paused. "What aren't you telling me?"
Jae-min met his eyes.
"Everything. I'll explain everything when we're all at the mansion. Right now, the priority is Ji-yoo."
Uncle studied him for a long moment. Then nodded.
"Bring her back safe," he said.
"I will."
...
Getting Ji-yoo onto the snowmobile was the hardest part.
She could walk — barely. Alessia had helped her to the bathroom an hour ago, and the round trip of maybe ten meters had left her pale, sweating, and breathing like she had just run a marathon. Her ribs screamed with every step.
Walking to the elevator, down fourteen floors, across the frozen ground to the waiting snowmobile — that was not going to happen.
"Come on," Jae-min said, standing beside the bed.
He bent down and scooped his sister up — one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, lifting her as easily as if she weighed nothing. Ji-yoo gasped at the sudden movement, her face contorting with pain, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket.
"Easy. I've got you."
"Put me down," she muttered through gritted teeth. "I can walk."
"You can't."
"I can—"
"Ji-yoo." His voice was gentle but firm. "You can't. Let me carry you."
She looked up at him. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes bright with the particular frustration that came from being strong your entire life and suddenly finding yourself dependent. She wanted to argue. He could see it in every line of her face.
But she didn't.
"Fine," she said. "But if you drop me, I will haunt you for the rest of my life."
"Noted."
He carried her out of the bedroom, through the hallway, past the living room. Uncle stepped aside to let them through, his small frame shifting with a quickness that belied his age, his dark eyes following Ji-yoo's pale face with quiet concern.
Yue stood up from her spot against the wall. Her long black hair swayed with the movement, and her hand instinctively moved to the sword at her side — a reflex, not a threat.
"She'll be okay," Jae-min said.
Yue nodded. Her sharp, cool features betrayed nothing, but her eyes lingered on Ji-yoo for a moment longer than necessary. She sat back down.
Jennifer opened her eyes as they passed. Her ice-blue hair fell loosely around her pale face, and her icy blue gaze followed Jae-min with the quiet intensity of someone tracking a signal. Her fingers left her temples, and the mental link hummed — a warm, familiar presence at the back of Jae-min's mind.
"Be careful," Jennifer said.
"I will."
...
The elevator was dead. Fourteen flights of stairs.
He carried Ji-yoo down the first flight. Then the second. Then the third. By the fifth floor, his arms were burning — not from her weight, which was light, but from the awkward angle and the need to keep her body still while navigating narrow concrete steps. Ji-yoo's face was buried in his shoulder, her breathing shallow and controlled.
Alessia followed behind them. He could hear her footsteps — uneven, the occasional stumble. She was weak, running on fumes, and fourteen flights of stairs were not helping. But she did not ask to rest. She did not slow down.
They reached the ground floor and stepped out into the cold.
The temperature hit them like a wall. Minus sixty-eight. Close enough to the permanent seventy below that the difference didn't matter. Ji-yoo whimpered against his shoulder. Alessia pulled her coat tighter.
"Hold on," Jae-min said.
He crossed the frozen ground to the snowmobile and carefully positioned Ji-yoo in the modified cargo seat. The harness — rigged from seatbelts taken from an abandoned car — clicked into place around her torso and legs.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
"No."
"Good enough?"
"It'll have to be."
Alessia climbed on behind Jae-min, her arms wrapping around his waist. She pressed her face into the space between his shoulder blades and held on.
"Ready?" Jae-min asked.
"Go," Alessia said.
He started the engine. The snowmobile lurched forward, its tracks biting into the frozen ground, and they were moving — cutting through the snowdrifts and abandoned vehicles of Pasay, heading east toward Makati, toward Forbes Park, toward the mansion that Jae-min had taken from a dead man and claimed for the living.
...
The trip took twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes of frozen wind and engine noise and the steady vibration of the machine beneath them. Ji-yoo sat in the cargo seat with her eyes closed and her jaw clenched, absorbing every jolt and bump without complaint. Alessia held on behind Jae-min, her grip tight enough that he could feel her fingers pressing into his sides even through his jacket.
They turned onto McKinley Road. Then onto Forbes Park.
The mansions loomed on either side — ice-covered monuments to a wealth that no longer meant anything. Jae-min slowed the snowmobile and navigated by memory, counting driveways until he reached the Peacock estate.
He pulled up to the gate. Killed the engine. Pressed his thumb to the lock.
The gate swung open.
"Where are we?" Ji-yoo asked. Her voice was thin, strained.
"A place I secured. It's warm inside. You'll see."
He helped Alessia dismount first. She wobbled when her boots hit the ground, and he caught her elbow.
Then he went to Ji-yoo. Unclipped the harness. Lifted her out of the cargo seat — she was lighter than she should have been, lighter than before the Freeze, and the realization made something tight and angry coil in his chest.
"Soon," he said, before she could protest.
He carried her through the gate and up the front steps of the Peacock mansion.
The front door opened before they reached it.
The younger woman stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the warm light behind her. Her long crimson hair fell in voluminous waves past her shoulders, catching the chandelier's glow and turning it into something that looked almost like fire. She was tall — taller than Jae-min had expected when he had first met her in the snow — with a curvaceous figure that the thick sweater she was wearing could not entirely conceal. Her face was striking, sharp-featured and pale, with the kind of effortless beauty that made people stop and stare.
She was wearing the same hiking boots from yesterday. Her face was alert and watchful.
"Who are they?" she asked.
"Part of my group," Jae-min said. "This is Alessia. And this is Ji-yoo. They need to get inside. Now."
He pushed past her and into the foyer. The warmth of the mansion wrapped around them like a blanket, and Ji-yoo let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief.
"Living room," Jae-min said. "The couch."
He carried Ji-yoo to the leather couch and set her down as gently as he could. She settled into the cushions with extreme care, her face tightening with pain.
Alessia sat beside her immediately, her hand going to Ji-yoo's forehead. Healer's instinct, overriding everything else.
"Your temperature is up," Alessia murmured.
"The cold," Ji-yoo said. "I'll be fine."
The younger woman appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a glass of water, which she offered to Ji-yoo with a small, polite nod.
"Here. Drink this."
Ji-yoo took the glass. Her eyes moved from the younger woman to Jae-min and back again, reading the room with the sharp, analytical gaze she had inherited from their mother.
"Thank you," Ji-yoo said.
The younger woman smiled. A reflexive smile, trained from years of hospitality. It lasted exactly long enough to be polite before it disappeared.
Then she turned to look at Alessia.
And Alessia turned to look at her.
The room went very, very quiet.
Alessia's hand stopped moving on Ji-yoo's forehead. Her entire body went still — not the stillness of exhaustion, but the stillness of someone struck by lightning.
The younger woman's polite smile was gone. In its place was something complicated — surprise, recognition, and a pain that looked old and deeply rooted.
They stared at each other across the living room. Three meters of marble floor between them.
And Jae-min saw it. The resemblance. The bone structure of their faces — the same sharp cheekbones, the same elegant jawline. The shape of their eyes. The way they held their mouths when they were not speaking. How had he not noticed it before?
"You," Alessia said.
Quiet. Controlled. The kind of quiet that came before a storm.
"Cousin," the younger woman replied.
The word landed like a grenade.
Jae-min felt something cold settle in his stomach.
"What did you just call her?" he asked.
"She called me cousin," Alessia said. "Because she is my cousin. First-degree. Her father and my father are brothers."
Jae-min looked at the younger woman. Looked back at Alessia. The indigo ponytail. The crimson waves. The same jawline. The same eyes — no, not the same. Different colors. But the same shape, the same angle, the same way they narrowed when they were angry.
"Oh," he said.
"Oh?" Alessia turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were dark and sharp, with something in them he had never seen directed at him before. Not anger. Something adjacent to it.
"Oh," Alessia repeated. "That's all you have to say? Oh?"
"Alessia—"
"Let me get this straight." She stood up from the couch, ignoring Ji-yoo's weak protest, and pointed at the younger woman. "Hua Santos. My cousin. The one the family disowned because she chose to throw pots and pans instead of getting a doctorate like every other Santos. The embarrassment. The black sheep. The one my mother said I should never associate with."
Hua's jaw tightened. But her voice was steady.
"That's one version of the story."
"It's the only version that matters to your family."
"Your family. Not mine. They made that very clear."
Jae-min stepped forward, raising both hands.
"Okay. Both of you—"
"Did you know?" Alessia turned on him. Her voice had gone up half an octave. A very bad sign. "Did you know she was my cousin when you brought her here?"
"No. I didn't know she was related to you. I met her yesterday. She was starving and alone and she's a chef — she can cook for the group. That's why she's here."
"A chef," Alessia said flatly. "Of course she's a chef."
"A very good chef, actually," Ji-yoo offered from the couch. She was watching with fascinated amusement, pain forgotten. "The food here is incredible."
Alessia ignored her.
"That's not the point. The point is that she is a Santos. And the Santos family does not—"
"The Santos family can go to hell," Hua said.
The room froze.
Hua's voice had changed. The steady tone was gone, replaced by something raw and bitter, buried under years of polite silence.
"The Santos family is a family of scholars. Doctors. Lawyers. Professors. Everyone has a degree. Everyone has a title. Everyone has a wall full of certificates."
She took a step closer to Alessia.
"But I know what it's like to be the one who doesn't fit. The one who wanted to cook instead of study. The one who found more joy in a kitchen than in a library. Do you know what my father said when I told him I was dropping out of my master's program to attend culinary school?"
Alessia said nothing.
"He said I was wasting my Santos blood. That I was an embarrassment." Hua's voice cracked on the last word before she pulled it back. "My own father. My own blood."
The silence that followed was thick.
Alessia's face went through several stages — anger, then guilt, then something harder to name. She opened her mouth. Closed it.
"That's not how I—"
"How you what? Remember it? Because I remember you sitting at that table with your medical degree and your perfect grades, and you didn't say a word. You let them tear me apart because you were too afraid of losing your place in the family."
The words hit Alessia like a physical blow. Jae-min saw the flinch. The way her shoulders pulled back.
"I was twenty-three," Alessia said quietly.
"You were trying to survive in the family. I know. I understood it then and I understand it now. But understanding doesn't make it hurt less."
Ji-yoo broke the silence.
She laughed.
Not a small laugh. A full-body, ribs-be-damned laugh that erupted in waves, despite every movement sending spikes of pain through her healing chest. She pressed a hand against her ribs and laughed harder, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.
"Ji-yoo," Jae-min said sharply. "Your ribs—"
"I don't care about my ribs." She was gasping between laughs, gesturing at Jae-min and Hua. "Are you kidding me right now? He brings your cousin here. Your cousin. And you—" She pointed at Jae-min, then at Hua. "Don't tell me you can't see it. There's something going on between those two."
She pointed at Alessia.
"And you're not mad about the cousin being here. You're mad about the cousin being here with him."
Silence.
The silence of exposure.
Alessia turned to Jae-min. Her blue eyes were very still. Very cold.
"Is that true?" she asked.
Jae-min said nothing.
Which was, of course, an answer in itself.
"Jae-min."
"Alessia—"
"Is. That. True."
He met her gaze. Held it.
"Yes," he said.
The word fell like a stone into still water.
Alessia did not scream. She did not cry. She stood there with her hands at her sides, her face blank, processing with the same clinical detachment she used when diagnosing a patient.
"Right," she said. "My cousin. You slept with my cousin."
The words came out flat. Controlled. But beneath them, Jae-min could hear the fracture — hairline, barely visible, but there.
"I wouldn't say—"
"She lives in the mansion you brought me to. Where you've been alone with her. Today."
The emphasis on "today" was deliberate. Jae-min heard it. And he understood what it meant — Alessia was not accusing him of a long-standing affair. She was accusing him of something that had happened hours ago. Something fresh. Something raw.
"Yes, but—"
"And she's my cousin."
"She's also a chef. A good one. That's why—"
"Oh, she's a good chef. Well, that makes everything perfectly fine, then."
Ji-yoo was laughing again. Quieter this time, her hand pressed hard against her ribs, but laughing. Jae-min shot her a look that could have curdled milk, and she held up her free hand in surrender.
"I'm sorry," she wheezed. "It's just — you have to admit, this is objectively hilarious."
"It is not hilarious," Alessia said.
"It's a little hilarious," Hua said quietly.
Both Jae-min and Alessia turned to look at her.
Hua raised both hands. "From an outside perspective — which I technically am, even though I'm technically also family — the situation has a certain comedic quality."
Alessia closed her eyes. Took a breath. Let it out slowly. The breathing technique she used in high-stress medical situations.
It did not appear to be working.
"Alessia," Jae-min said carefully. "I know this looks bad. But nothing was planned. I met her yesterday. I didn't know she was related to you. What happened between us happened today — before I knew any of this. Before I knew there was a connection."
"And if you had known?" Alessia asked.
The question hung in the air.
Jae-min looked at Hua. Her long crimson hair fell around her shoulders like a curtain of fire, her pale face carefully neutral.
He looked at Alessia. Her indigo ponytail was slightly disheveled — she had been running her hands through it, the way she always did when she was stressed. Beneath the cold in her blue eyes, something vulnerable. Something trying very hard not to be hurt.
"I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't know if I would have done things differently. What I do know is she's useful. She can cook. She has skills this group needs. And whatever is between the three of us, we figure it out later. Right now, survival is the only thing that matters."
The room was quiet.
Then Ji-yoo spoke.
"You know each other," she said.
Not a question. Her sharp eyes moving between them.
Alessia and Hua looked at each other.
"Of course we know each other," they said.
In unison.
The exact same words. The exact same tone. The exact same cadence.
"I know her since we were in diapers," they said.
Again in unison. Perfectly synchronized — the same emphasis on "diapers," the same slight tilt of the head, the same wry twist of the mouth. A ghost of something that had once been normal between them, surfacing for a moment before sinking back beneath years of silence.
Ji-yoo pressed her hand over her mouth.
Alessia and Hua stared at each other. The unison had surprised both of them — a brief flash of recognition that they still shared a childhood, a language, a set of memories.
Alessia was the first to look away.
"We'll discuss this later," she said, her voice tight. "All of it."
She turned and walked back to the couch. Sat down beside Ji-yoo with the deliberate movements of a woman holding herself together with willpower alone.
Hua stood alone by the doorway. She looked at Jae-min.
"I'll be in the kitchen," she said quietly. "I'll make something to eat."
She turned and walked out.
Jae-min stood in the middle of the marble floor. Between Alessia's cold silence on one side and Hua's retreating footsteps on the other.
He looked at the ceiling.
"I'm going to check the underground levels," he said.
Nobody responded.
He walked out of the living room, down the hallway, and found the stairs that led below ground. Behind him, muffled by walls and distance, he heard Ji-yoo's voice — quiet, teasing, deliberately provocative — and Alessia's sharp, irritated response.
He kept walking.