7:30 AM | Aveline's Bedroom
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Aveline's hand shot out from under the covers, fingers closing around the gun beneath her pillow in one smooth, automatic motion. Muscle memory written into bone. Instinct made flesh.
Eyes snapped open. Alert. Scanning for threats. Still in combat mode even as consciousness was returning.
The alarm blared from her phone. The sound was insistent, demanding.
She exhaled. Released the gun. Set it back in place with the care of someone returning something precious. Silenced the alarm.
Checked the screen.
NO SIGNAL
EMERGENCY ALERT: LEVEL 3 SNOWSTORM - METRO CITY NORTHEAST - SEEK SHELTER - POWER OUTAGES EXPECTED - ROADS IMPASSABLE
Level 3.
She rose from bed, padding barefoot to the window. The floor was cold. She felt it in her feet, in her bones. She pulled back the curtain.
White.
Everything was white.
Snow had buried the grounds in suffocating layers — drifts so deep they looked like they could swallow the house whole. The driveway was completely invisible. Gardens buried under white. Even the gates were barely visible through the blizzard, just dark shapes in an ocean of white. Like the world had decided to erase everything that wasn't essential.
Power lines sagged under ice, looking ready to snap at any moment. The weight of frozen water was too much for them. They bent under the burden.
Her breath misted against the glass.
She stepped back. Processed.
No cell service. No internet. Power compromised but backup functional. Staff trapped elsewhere. Supplies adequate. Security locked down.
Standard survival scenario.
She returned the gun to its place. Left her room.
Time to move.
7:35 AM | Second Floor Hallway
Aveline knocked on Yuki's door. Three sharp raps. No nonsense.
Footsteps inside. Fast. Panicked. The sound of someone still half-asleep trying to orient themselves to emergency.
The door flew open.
Yuki stood there, phone in hand, eyes wide with the particular panic of someone who'd just discovered the world had decided to end. "What the hell is going on? My phone's dead, well, not dead, but no service, and there's this alert, and I looked outside and—"
"Level 3 storm," Aveline said calmly. "We're snowed in."
Yuki stared. The words weren't processing. "For how long?"
"Don't know. Days, maybe. Could be three. Could be more." Aveline's voice was flat. Matter-of-fact. "The roads are gone. Communications are down. We wait."
"But Captain Elias, the case, the testimony—"
"Irrelevant until the roads reopen." Aveline turned toward the stairs. "Weather doesn't care about your schedule."
Before Yuki could respond, footsteps echoed from the stairwell.
Adrian appeared, hair disheveled like he'd slept badly or not at all, shirt wrinkled, fresh bandage stark white on his right cheek. A flag. A surrender.
He looked exhausted. The kind of exhausted that goes deeper than sleep deprivation. The kind where your entire system is running on fumes.
"Is there seriously a Level 3 storm?" His voice was rough, hoarse. Damaged. "Cell service, internet, everything's gone. I can't even call Elias. What are we supposed to do?"
Aveline looked at him. Noted the dark circles. The slight sway. The hand gripping the bannister. The way he was barely holding himself together.
He didn't sleep. Idiot.
"We adapt," she said simply. "Hot water's gone as of this morning. Backup generators are running but they're on limited fuel. No showers. Sink baths only. Quick ones."
Adrian stared at her. "You're giving us hygiene instructions?"
"You're both going to be stuck inside for days. Confined spaces breed sickness. Basic cleanliness prevents that." She started walking toward the stairs, already moving on to the next problem. "Bathroom rotation. I go first. You two figure out the rest."
"That's... actually practical," Yuki said, surprised.
"Most things are, if you think." Aveline didn't look back. "Don't break anything while I'm gone."
Adrian and Yuki exchanged glances.
"She shot you last night," Yuki said quietly.
"Yeah."
"And now she's managing our survival logistics."
"Yeah."
"This is completely insane."
"Yeah."
Silence.
Outside, the wind howled like something alive and angry. Like the world itself was screaming.
8:02 AM | First Floor - Barricading
The mansion felt different in daylight.
Colder. Emptier. The usual hum of staff preparing breakfast — the sounds of clinking dishes, running water, quiet murmurs — all gone. Disappeared like it had never existed.
Just wind. And silence. And the occasional creak of the house settling under snow, groaning like something alive.
Adrian stood in the grand foyer, staring up at the massive windows lining the eastern wall. Snow pressed against the glass like it was trying to break through, like it had a grudge and was determined to settle it. The light coming through was white, diffuse, shadowless. It made everything feel underwater.
"We need to seal the windows," Aveline said, descending the stairs. She'd changed into tactical gear — black pants, fitted sweater that moved with her, boots. Hair pulled back in a tight bun that made her face look carved. All business. All function. "Bulletproof shutters. Levers in the frames. Pull down, they lock. Simple."
She crossed to the nearest window and demonstrated. Pulled a recessed lever hidden in the frame. The motion was smooth. Practiced.
Heavy steel shutters rolled down from hidden compartments above, locking into place with a metallic thunk that echoed through the foyer like a judge's gavel.
The light dimmed instantly. Everything went gray. The world reduced to a smaller space.
"You two take the first floor. I'll handle upstairs. Move efficiently."
Yuki looked at Adrian. "Want to work together?"
"Yeah," he said. Honestly, the idea of being alone right now — alone with his thoughts, alone with the bandage on his cheek, alone with the memory of a gunshot felt worse than anything else. "Yeah, I do."
Aveline nodded once and disappeared back up the stairs, already thinking about the next problem.
8:15 AM | First Floor - East Wing
Adrian and Yuki moved through the mansion systematically. Pull lever. Shutters descend with that heavy thunk that never got less jarring. Move to next window. Repeat.
It should've been simple.
It wasn't.
"Why are these levers so stiff?" Yuki grunted, pulling with both hands. Her face was flushed with effort. The shutter groaned — a sound like something being forced to move against its will and finally descended with a screech of protesting metal.
"Probably haven't been used in months," Adrian muttered, moving to the next one. His cheek throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. "Or years. Rich people don't exactly practice their apocalypse protocols."
They worked in silence for a while. The only sounds: shutters locking, wind howling outside like a wounded animal, their own breathing getting louder as the mansion grew darker. Heavier. More suffocating.
"Can I ask you something?" Yuki said finally.
Adrian pulled another lever. The resistance felt personal. "Sure."
"Does she always... shoot people? Like, is that normal for her?"
He laughed. Bitter. Short. The sound didn't match the darkness around them. "Define normal."
"You know what I mean."
Adrian sighed. Moved to the next window. His movements were slower now, more tired. "She operates on a different frequency than the rest of us. If you're a threat — or if you break her rules — she neutralizes it. Simple as that. No drama. No explanation. Just... handled."
"That's insane."
"Yeah. But it works."
"Does it?" Yuki stopped, looking at him. Really looking. "You look exhausted. You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
The bandage on his cheek, still fresh and white, and the dark circles under his eyes, said enough. They said everything.
They finished the east wing in silence.
At least this time it wasn't a Hello Kitty bandage, Adrian thought bitterly. Small mercies in a world of large problems.
8:47 AM | Second Floor
Aveline moved through the second floor like something that had been optimized for efficiency. Every motion counted. Every movement led somewhere.
Pull lever. Shutter descends. Lock engages with satisfying mechanical precision. Move.
Efficient. Precise. No wasted motion. No unnecessary thought. Just the perfect execution of a simple task repeated until perfection became automatic.
West wing: done in nine minutes.
Central corridor: done in seven.
East wing: done in eight.
She descended the stairs and found Adrian and Yuki still working on the first floor's south wing, struggling with a particularly stubborn lever. It refused to move. It resisted. It made them work for it.
She waited.
Didn't comment. Didn't offer help. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching with that clinical assessment that made everything feel like a performance review. Made them feel like they were being graded.
They finished five minutes later, both slightly out of breath.
"Done," Adrian said.
Aveline looked them over. Appraised them. "Could've been faster. But it's done."
"Did you just... time us?" Adrian asked.
"You move too slow when you're tired. Sloppy technique. You're both going to have to get better at this if we're stuck here." She turned toward the kitchen. The space was already calling to her. "Breakfast. Low blood sugar makes people stupid. I'm preventing stupidity."
"That's not how hunger works," Yuki protested weakly.
"Doesn't matter. Come on."
9:03 AM | Kitchen
The kitchen was massive. Industrial-grade appliances that looked like they belonged in a restaurant rather than a home. Marble countertops that gleamed like ice. A gas range with six burners that suggested someone cooked for armies.
Aveline moved through it like she'd been born inside it. Every motion was muscle memory. Every reach was certain.
Which, technically, made sense.
"What do you eat?" she asked, opening the refrigerator with purpose.
The cold hit her face. The hum of the motor was loud in the silent house.
"Ramen," Yuki said immediately.
"Eggs and toast," Adrian replied.
Aveline paused. Looked at them both like they'd just confessed to a crime.
Aveline began pulling ingredients with systematic precision. Instant ramen packets. Eggs. Garlic. Oil. Seasoning packets that looked suspiciously gourmet for "instant" anything. Avocado. Bread.
"Can we help?" Yuki asked.
Aveline looked at her. Then at Adrian.
Her eyes took them both in. Assessed them. Determined they were useless.
"Either of you know how to cook?"
"...No," Yuki admitted.
"Not really," Adrian said.
Aveline stared at them for a long moment. The silence was heavy. The silence was commentary.
"Sit," she said finally. "Don't touch anything. I'll handle it."
They sat at the kitchen island like scolded children. Watched as Aveline worked. Watched her move through space like it was something she owned.
And tried not to feel completely inadequate.
9:17 AM | Cooking
She moved through the kitchen with surgical precision.
First: the ramen.
Filled a pot with water. The water sounded loud as it hit the metal. Set it on the stove. Gas ignited with a soft whoosh and blue flame — hot, alive, dancing.
While the water heated, she prepared chili oil from scratch. Not because she had to. Because Aveline didn't do anything halfway. Because excellence was the only acceptable output.
Minced garlic with rapid, perfect knife work that would make a professional chef weep. Each piece uniform. Each piece precise. The knife moved like it was part of her — an extension of something deeper than muscle.
"How did you learn to cook like that?" Yuki asked, genuinely curious.
Aveline didn't look up. The knife kept moving. Rock, rock, rock. "Everyone should know how to feed themselves. Self-sufficiency is survival. You rely on other people for something this basic, they have leverage."
"So you learned to cook for..." Adrian started.
"Control," Aveline finished. "I control my food. My water. My weapons. My escape routes. You control your own survival, nobody controls you."
She said it like it was obvious. Like everyone should be thinking this way.
Maybe they should've been.
The water boiled. She dropped the ramen in without breaking it apart, let it soften naturally. Set a timer on her watch. Exactly three minutes. Not three-oh-five. Not two-fifty-eight. Three minutes.
While that cooked, she cracked two eggs into a separate pan with one hand each. No shells. No mess. Just perfect execution. Sunny-side up. Yolks perfectly runny, whites just set, edges slightly crispy.
Timer went off.
She drained the ramen, shaking the colander with exactly the right amount of force to remove excess water without losing noodles. Divided them into two bowls with equal portions. Not eyeballed. Actually equal.
Topped each with an egg, positioned dead center. Drizzled the homemade chili oil over everything in artistic swirls that somehow looked both casual and deliberate.
Then: Adrian's food.
Bread sliced thick, not from a bag, from an actual loaf she pulled from somewhere, probably baked by staff yesterday. Toasted to exact golden-brown, no burned spots, perfect color gradient.
Cracked another egg, whisked it in a small bowl with a fork. The motion was hypnotic, rapid, consistent, like a metronome. Poured it into a hot pan with butter that sizzled on contact. The omelette cooked in under two minutes, fluffy and perfect, folded over itself with a flick of her wrist that looked effortless.
Avocado sliced with the same rapid knife work, each piece uniform, fanned out across the plate in a pattern that belonged in a cookbook.
Everything assembled with the kind of precision that suggested she'd done this a thousand times or had memorized the exact aesthetic presentation.
Total time: fourteen minutes.
She set both dishes in front of them like a chef presenting at a Michelin restaurant. Like this mattered. Like they mattered.
"Eat," she said.
Yuki picked up her chopsticks, skeptical because it was instant ramen, how good could it actually be?
Took a bite.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh my god."
The broth was rich, savory, with that perfect chili oil kick that warmed from the inside. The egg yolk broke when she cut into it, mixing with the broth, creating this creamy, umami bomb that made her want to cry.
Adrian tried his omelette. "Holy shit."
Fluffy. Perfectly seasoned. The avocado added this creamy, fresh contrast. The toast was crispy on the outside, soft inside, buttered perfectly.
"This is incredible," Yuki said, mouth full, not even caring about manners. "Like, actually restaurant-quality. Why don't you cook more often?"
"Inefficient use of time when someone else can handle it." Aveline leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "But you're both useless in a crisis, so here we are."
"Ouch," Adrian said.
"Accurate, not insult." She watched them eat with that blank stare that somehow felt like a quality control inspection. "I'm proving a point about self-sufficiency. Also, you both needed to eat something that won't make you stupider than you already are."
Yuki laughed through her ramen, nearly choking. "You should seriously be a chef. Like, five-star Michelin level. You'd absolutely crush it."
"Michelin restaurants require customer service skills I don't possess. Specifically, the ability to not shoot people who complain about undercooked risotto." She said it so flatly it took a second for the joke to land. "Statistically unlikely I could maintain employment standards long-term."
Adrian nearly spit out his food.
"That's... actually hilarious," Yuki managed.
"It's practical assessment." Aveline glanced toward the windows, or where the windows used to be before they sealed them. "But noted. Appreciated. Filed away."
She gestured for them to keep eating.
"Temperature maintenance is next priority. Finish quickly. We're losing heat fast."
They ate.
And despite everything—the gunshot wound on Adrian's face, the storm raging outside, the complete insanity of being trapped in a billionaire's mansion with a woman who treated cooking and combat with equal mechanical efficiency—the food was perfect.
Small mercies in a cold world.
9:41 AM | The Cold Sets In
At first, the mansion held its warmth.
Residual heat from the night. Insulation. The shutters keeping out wind.
But slowly, inevitably, physics reasserted itself.
The temperature dropped.
Adrian noticed it first. A chill creeping up his arms despite the sweater. Breath starting to mist when he exhaled.
"It's getting cold," Yuki said, rubbing her arms. Goosebumps visible on her skin.
Aveline checked a wall thermostat with clinical detachment. "Backup generators died about an hour ago. We're down to fifty-one degrees. Dropping about two degrees every hour. By nightfall, it'll be in the low forties."
"That's... really cold," Yuki said, teeth starting to chatter slightly.
"Cold is survivable if you're smart about it." Aveline left the room briefly. Returned with armfuls of sweaters, thick wool, heavy knit, the kind that cost more than most people's rent. "Layer. Keep moving. Dead bodies don't generate heat."
She distributed them efficiently. Tossed one to Adrian, handed two to Yuki.
Adrian pulled his on. It helped. Marginally. The cold was seeping in through the walls, through the floor, like the house itself was giving up.
Yuki was shivering visibly now, despite layering.
Aveline, by contrast, had goosebumps on her arms but wasn't trembling. Just standing there, perfectly controlled, like cold was something that happened to other people.
"Fireplace," she said. "Living room. Only practical heat source left."
She led them through the darkened mansion to the living room. The fireplace was enormous, could fit a grown man standing upright inside it, probably had back when this place was built.
Aveline grabbed wood from a storage alcove, arranged it with geometric precision. Smaller kindling at the bottom, larger logs on top, perfect airflow for optimal combustion. Struck a match.
Fire caught immediately, spreading through the kindling with hungry efficiency.
Warmth bloomed outward like a physical force.
They gathered around it like moths, hands extended, desperate for heat.
"Better," Yuki breathed, practically climbing into the fireplace.
Adrian held his hands toward the flames. The heat felt incredible, necessary, like something his body had forgotten existed.
Aveline stood slightly back, observing them with that calculating look.
Then her expression shifted. Minutely. Problem-solving mode activated.
"We have a problem," she said.
Adrian looked at her warily. "What?"
"Sleeping arrangements. Bedrooms are going to be freezing. Sub-forty degrees by morning. You both need to stay near heat or you'll develop hypothermia." She paused. "We sleep here. By the fire."
Yuki groaned. "You're kidding."
"Survival isn't comfortable."
"Fantastic," Adrian muttered, already imagining trying to sleep on a marble floor.
Silence settled over them, broken only by crackling fire.
Then Aveline spoke again, voice carrying that particular tone that meant incoming terrible idea.
"There's another option. You won't like it."
Adrian looked at her warily. "What?"
9:54 AM | Living Room
"Vodka."
Adrian blinked. "What?"
"Vodka. Russian alcohol. Forty percent ABV." Aveline's expression remained neutral, like she was discussing weather patterns. "You drink it, you feel warm. Your body dilates blood vessels. Temperature perception improves for about forty-five minutes. It's why Russians don't freeze to death in Siberia. Not primarily for fun—for survival."
"That sounds like a terrible idea," Adrian said.
"It's a terrible idea with measurable benefits." She leaned against the mantelpiece. "Cold kills you slower than you think. Hypothermia starts with confusion. Then you stop shivering. Then you feel warm even though you're freezing to death. Vodka prevents that particular flavor of stupid."
"That's insane," Adrian repeated.
"Insane would be refusing preventive measures while we're trapped here for God knows how long." Aveline's eyes were sharp. "How long you think this storm lasts? Day? Two days? Four? We've got one fireplace and no heating. You're going to be cold no matter what. Vodka makes that less miserable. Math is simple."
Adrian and Yuki exchanged glances.
"I'm very skeptical," Adrian said slowly.
"Skepticism is reasonable. Passive freezing isn't." She crossed her arms. "You want to sit here shivering in silence? Or you want a practical solution that tastes bad but works?"
Silence.
She was right.
They didn't have a better plan.
"So what," Yuki said finally, voice edged with frustration, "we just drink vodka until we're too drunk to care we're freezing?"
Aveline's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. Almost amusement.
"That's actually not the worst assessment of Russian winter strategy I've heard."
"Wow," Yuki muttered.
More silence.
The fire crackled, sending sparks up the chimney.
Wind howled outside like a wounded animal.
"There's another thing," Aveline said after a moment.
"Of course there is," Adrian muttered under his breath.
"You both suck at survival." She looked between them with that clinical assessment that felt like being x-rayed. "Can't cook. Couldn't seal windows efficiently. Panicking under basic stress. If anything hostile happens while we're snowed in, you're liabilities."
"That's," Yuki started.
"True," Aveline interrupted. "Facts don't care if you like hearing them."
"Did you just quote Ben Shapiro?" Adrian asked, horrified.
"No. I'm stating obvious reality." She turned toward the hallway. "We're stuck here with nothing but time and cold. I'm going to teach you both basic combat. Hand-to-hand. Threat assessment. How to not die if something goes wrong."
Adrian sat up straighter. "Combat?"
"You're an NPU agent. You can handle basic threats. Workable, not great." She looked at Yuki. "You're untrained. That changes today."
Yuki's jaw tightened. "I'm trying to learn."
"Trying is a starting point. Results matter." Aveline moved toward the door. "We have time. No communications. No obligations. Controlled environment. Optimal conditions for actual training, honestly."
"Motivated by not freezing to death," Adrian muttered.
"Motivation source is irrelevant. Results matter." She paused in the doorway. "Gym. Fifteen minutes. Dress appropriately. If you're going to be stuck with me during a blizzard, you'll at least be less useless."
She disappeared into the hallway.
Adrian and Yuki sat there, staring at the fire.
"She shot you in the face last night," Yuki said quietly.
"Yeah."
"And now she's going to teach us how to fight."
"Yeah."
"While we're trapped in her mansion during a blizzard."
"Yeah."
"This is absolutely insane."
"Yeah."
The fire crackled.
Outside, snow kept falling.
And somewhere in this massive, cold mansion, Aveline was probably already in the gym, setting up training equipment with mechanical efficiency, completely unbothered by the apocalyptic weather or the fact that she'd casually shot her partner less than twelve hours ago.
"Well," Adrian said finally, standing up and stretching. "At least we won't be bored."
"That's your takeaway? We won't be bored?"
"Small mercies, Yuki. Small mercies."
They headed toward the gym.
Because what else were they going to do?
Aveline was right about one thing: sitting around like useless chickens wasn't going to help anyone.
And if they were going to survive this storm, and whatever came after, they needed to be less useless.
Even if that meant learning combat techniques from someone who treated shooting people like a reasonable response to being woken up.
Progress came in strange forms.
This was just stranger than most.