Chapter 1Scorch Protocol: Wife Relocation

In the third year of the Scorch, the ozone layer had vanished, forcing all of humanity into the subterranean Citadel.

As a primary investor in the Citadel, my husband and I lived on the privileged Level Two.

Then one day, he brought a girl back from the Warrens of Level Three, a fragile thing wasting away from sickness.

“Rory,” he said, his voice urgent as he rushed past me, the girl cradled in his arms. “Life on Level Three is brutal. Anya is sick. I couldn’t just leave her to die.”

I watched him go, my gaze dropping to the polished floor. “You haven’t forgotten the population caps, have you?” I reminded him quietly. “Level Two has strict limits. One resident per registered slot.”

He didn’t even spare me a glance, his tone dripping with self-righteousness. “I know. That’s why you’ll have to take Anya’s place in the Warrens for a while. Just until she’s better. Then I’ll bring you back.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stood frozen, rooted to the spot.

Once he had disappeared into the guest room, I stepped out onto our private balcony, my hand trembling as I dialed the secure line to Level One.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said, my voice shaking despite my best efforts. “I want to join the Apocalypse Recovery Project.”

…

* * *

The voice on the other end was electric with excitement. “Aurora, that’s fantastic news! Level One needs talent like yours!”

The Citadel was a three-tiered world.

Level One was the top-secret heart of the Citadel, home to our best scientists and engineers, the core of our entire civilization, completely sealed off from the rest.

Level Two was the residential zone for the Citadel's founders and benefactors.

And Level Three, over the years, had degenerated into the Warrens—the Citadel's dark, lawless underbelly.

I had just hung up when Lucas emerged from the room. He rubbed his temples, a weary look on his face. “Anya’s very ill. She needs medical supplies, urgently.”

“So what are you going to do?” I asked without turning, terrified that if I faced him, the tears would finally fall.

Lucas’s voice was low, determined. “Cure her, of course. Whatever it takes. I’ve already called for a doctor.”

Three years into the Scorch, medical resources were more precious than gold. Each family was allotted only one doctor’s visit per year. A month ago, when my own fever had spiked to 104 degrees, leaving me dizzy and seeing black spots, I’d gritted my teeth and endured it, unwilling to use our one chance.

But now, for a girl he just met, Lucas was squandering it without a second thought.

He was completely oblivious to the storm raging inside me. “Rory,” he said, his tone still maddeningly calm, “I’ve arranged for a transport. They’ll be here in three days to take you to the Warrens to assume Anya’s residency slot.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

When I turned to face him, my fingertips darted to the corner of my eye, swiping away a single, traitorous tear. “Lucas, did you even think about me in all of this?”

His response was just as cold. “Rory, you know I can’t stand by and watch someone suffer. It’s not who I am.”

A bitter, humorless smile twisted my lips. There were thousands of people suffering. Why was it always her?

He must have seen the look on my face, because he pressed on. “I was passing through Level Three the other day, and I saw her. She was like an angel, Rory, singing for the children in the Warrens. How could I let a light like that be extinguished?”

I took a step back, the trembling in my voice impossible to hide now. “So you sacrifice me instead? You trade me away to the Warrens?”

Level Three wasn’t just poor; it was a chaotic hellscape teeming with the desperate and the violent. There was no guarantee I would even survive down there.

Lucas’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Don’t be so dramatic, Aurora. It’s not a sacrifice. It’s a temporary arrangement.”

Just then, a knock echoed at the door. The doctor. Lucas hurried to let him in, leaving me standing there, forgotten once again.

I leaned against the sofa for support, my body suddenly weak. Through the crack in the bedroom door, I could see the girl on the bed, her lips pale, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. A sudden, hacking cough erupted from the room.

Lucas practically dragged the doctor inside, his focus entirely on her.

There was no wind in the Citadel, but a bone-deep chill had settled over me.

It was late, long past midnight, when the doctor finally left. Lucas, in a brief moment of acknowledging my existence, found time to deliver his final command.

“You see how sick she is. She needs absolute quiet to recover. In three days, you have to go. If you’re still here when the Level Two Wardens do their next population check, we’ll all be in trouble.”

I lifted my exhausted eyes to meet his, a bitter taste filling my mouth.

At that exact moment, my phone buzzed with a new message.

[Ms. Shepherd, a liaison will arrive in three days to escort you to Level One. Welcome to the project.]