Chapter 1The Scorch: He Gave His Ticket to a Student and Watched His World Burn

The Scorch had arrived. Surface temperatures soared past 150 degrees Fahrenheit, and the first wave of humanity was preparing to evacuate to the Arctic Citadel.

As a leading scientist, my husband, David, was granted a priority ticket that included a spot for his spouse.

Everyone assumed he would take me without a second thought.

But the name he wrote on the application form wasn't mine. It was his graduate student's.

"She's a young girl I've mentored," he'd said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. "She has no family, no one to look after her. I can't just leave her here to burn."

He submitted the form without a single glance my way, his words a shard of ice in my heart.

"June, you're different," he continued, his voice devoid of emotion. "You've always been tough. I have faith you can survive until the second transport wave."

A bitter smile tightened my lips. I said nothing.

That night, as the temperature climbed ever higher on the global feed, I calmly made a phone call.

"You once told me you'd grant me one wish, no questions asked," I said, my voice steady. "Does that offer still stand?"

* * *

There was no hesitation on the other end. "Always."

I took a breath, my voice barely a whisper. "Can you get me two tickets for the Ark? For my mother and me. On the first transport."

A chance at survival. A ticket was a prayer answered.

He couldn't make a firm promise, but his words were a lifeline. "I'll do everything I can."

Just as I hung up, David walked in, his eyes still glued to his phone.

"Who were you calling?" he asked.

I was too tired to even invent a lie. "Someone about tickets," I said, my voice flat.

He didn't even look up. "There are only a few hundred tickets for the first wave. You won't get one. If it were possible, I would have already arranged it for you."

My fingers tightened around my phone.

Of course, he knew how priceless they were. And still, he had cast me aside for his student without a moment's hesitation.

When I didn't respond, he finally lifted his head.

"June, don't worry. I've already put your name down for the second wave. You're not going to die."

I listened to the radio announcer's grim report of the rising heat and let out a silent, scornful laugh. Everyone knew that in the Scorch, every day you waited was another tick down on your chances of survival.

The apocalypse loomed, and perhaps it was the suffocating anxiety, but a desperate sliver of hope made me ask, "David, for the sake of my mother—the woman who sponsored your education for six years—can't you at least take her? She's old, her health is failing. She won't last long here."

A heavy, unbearable silence filled the room.

We hadn't turned on the lights, and in the gloom, I couldn't make out the expression on his face.

We had been married for seven years, but we had known each other for far longer. We grew up on the same street, childhood friends who became inseparable. Then, the summer before high school, David's parents were killed in a car accident. My mother, her heart aching for the lonely boy, took him in. In an era of scarcity, where every grain of rice was counted, she somehow managed to put two of us through college.

The summer after we graduated, David, who had always been a man of few words, made me a promise. He swore that if the world ended, he would die by my side. The summer air back then wasn't nearly as hot as it was now, but the heat of his palm against mine had been enough to set my entire world ablaze.

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting the memory dissolve like smoke.

David was silent for a long time.

Finally, he spoke. "June, Chloe is my most valuable assistant. I need her with me. It's not up for discussion."

He paused, his voice dropping. "And… don't take the things we said as kids so seriously."

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, and I swayed, nearly losing my balance. It was the Scorch, the air thick enough to cook a man alive, yet his words chilled me to the bone.

Soon, the clouds parted, and a sliver of moonlight illuminated his sharp, detached features.

He nudged a file folder toward me. "Here. This is for you."

I opened it.

It was a divorce agreement.