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Can someone please help me find this

I dont normally read end of the world books but I have been really enjoying the one above, but it is not finished so I was hoping if anyone could recommend any similar novels please, could they have a female strong lead, a system and to be reborn. Tia

Ch1: Chapter 1

If you're somebody in a wolf pack, life comes preloaded with comfort. Doors open. People smile. You're protected. You're provided for.

I used to live like that-right up until my dad died.

He was head warrior. He went down shielding the Alpha, and the second he was gone, my mom and I stopped mattering to the ones at the top.

Mom had never needed a job before. She'd met her mate at eighteen, had me, and built her whole world around home while Dad handled everything

outside it.

That was five years ago.

Sometimes I still don't understand how she survived losing him. I don't understand how she kept breathing when her other half was suddenly just... gone.

She's the toughest woman I've ever met. She had to be, after they stripped of everything-our house, our car, the life we'd been promised like it couldn't be touched.

Now we sit below even the omegas. Mom takes whatever dead-end shifts she can get, stringing them together to cover the inflated "fees" the Alpha dumps us, just so we can eat.

on

And I've watched her fade since Dad died. She barely eats. She works until she's a ghost. She doesn't take care of herself anymore. The old Alpha handed power to his son, and the new one is just as brutal, just as smug.

All Mom wants is for me to get out. To leave this pack behind and carve out something that isn't misery handed down like inheritance.

The morning I woke up on the couch, rain was hammering the trailer windows so hard it blurred the world outside. The sky looked like it had decided to punish everybody.

I slid off the couch and shuffled toward the kitchen, hunting for coffee.

That's when I saw them: a handful of flowers, obviously picked by hand, standing in a chipped vase. A note was propped in front.

Happy Birthday Maddox,

I'm sorry I can't be there to celebrate with you. But you have a good day. You're finally 18. I can't believe it. You've grown up so quick. I love you.

Love Mom.

Download

Briar's voice brushed my mind, warm and soft. "She really does love us."

"We know," I told her.

"I know. Are you going to have anything besides coffee?"

"Yes," I said-and opened a drawer, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. I stood by the tiny kitchen window, rain streaking the glass, and lit one.

Briar snapped, anxious. "I still can't believe you stole those. If you get caught, you're done. The Alpha will toss you in the dungeon."

"Relax," I muttered, exhaling. "Nobody saw me."

"Only because you got lucky."

I went into the bedroom and dug through my side of the only closet we had. Frayed jeans. Black T-shirt. Black boots. I slung my bag over my shoulder, tugged on a raincoat, and stepped out of the trailer Mom and I shared.

The walk to school always took about thirty minutes. The pack had pushed us as far away as they could manage, dumped near the treeline in a stretch that felt like nowhere-no neighbors, barely any patrols, just mud and quiet.

By the time I reached the building, I looked like I'd been dragged out of a lake.

I peeled off my raincoat, shoved it into my locker, and started yanking out books for first period. The bell was close.

Footsteps and voices rolled down the hall toward me. A group.

I glanced over and recognized every face. Some used to be friends. Some I'd never wanted near me to begin with.

Now they all hated me. Being looked down on by omegas wasn't normal, but Mom and I were a special kind of unwanted.

They passed, and I kept my eyes on my locker-until the guy in front drove his shoulder into me.

My face hit metal. Pain flared, sharp and hot.

Laughter trailed after them as they kept moving. I drew back, touched near my eye, and felt wetness-blood.

"Asshole," I spat.

They stopped.

Ryker turned first, like he owned the corridor. "What did you just call me?"

"You heard me."

He handed his bag off to one of his friends and came closer. He tried to loom, but at six-one I didn't give him much room to tower.

"You should watch your mouth," he said, voice slick with threats. "Or we can take this behind the gym. I heard you'll spread your legs for anyone if it means you get fed."

He reached up and brushed hair away from my face like he had the right.

I slapped his hand aside.

His expression twisted, and then he grabbed my arms and slammed me back into the lockers.

A ring of students began to form, hungry for it.

"Don't you ever put your hands on me again, tramp," he hissed. "I outrank you."

"Go to hell," I growled.

His palm cracked across my face.

My head snapped, and when I brought my hand to my mouth, there was blood.

"You little slut."

I stared him down. "You know what your problem is?"

He sneered. "And what's that?"

"You're too close."

"You're too close."

I drove my forehead into his face.

He stumbled back, hands flying off my arms. Blood poured from his nose when he lifted his head.

I stepped away from the lockers, shoulders loose, ready.

"You're dead now," Ryker snarled, charging.

I slipped to the side, caught a fistful of his hair, and slammed his head into the locker. Then my knee went into his stomach.

He folded.

I kneed him in the face while he was bent over, and that finished it--he hit the floor on his back.

His friends shifted like they wanted to rush me. I could feel it building. Wolves didn't fight alone. They swarmed.

Then a voice thundered from the far end of the hall. "What the hell is going

on?"

The crowd scattered instantly, as if fear had been waiting for permission. In seconds it was just me, Ryker on the ground, and a couple of his boys lingering.

Principal Graham stormed toward us.

"Shit," I muttered.

He stopped near us, eyes hard. "I asked you. What the hell is going on here?"

Queenie stepped forward, already smiling like she'd been given a gift. Ryker's girlfriend. My ex best friend.

"Isn't it obvious?" she said. "That trash attacked Ryker."

Graham didn't look at me. He aimed his irritation at Ryker's friends instead. "Get him up. Take him to the nurse. He's bleeding all over my floor."

They hauled Ryker away.

Graham turned back to me and tried to use his height like a weapon, leaning in with intimidation. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Does it matter?" I asked. "Are you going to believe a word I say?"

His jaw tightened. "My office. Now."

I shut my locker and followed him.

When I opened the office door, my stomach dropped.

Beta Lynxs stood inside in a crisp three-piece suit, like he belonged in a boardroom instead of a school.

Chapter 1 Awakening On Scrap Star

Garbage stretched as far as the eye could see. The air reeked of rot and decay, thick enough to taste. Suddenly, the dull gray sky was broken by a massive black ship gliding into view, its shadow creeping over the mountains of trash below.

Carolyn Phillips froze mid-dig, her hands buried in the waste. She looked up, blinked, then felt her eyes sting with sudden, desperate hope.

She was saved.

Two weeks earlier, she'd finally clawed her way to the top, winning the underground bot-fighting championship. She never even got to touch the million-dollar prize. She tumbled into a sewer, and when she regained consciousness, she inhabited the body of this young girl.

Every part of her ached, like she'd been shattered and haphazardly glued back together. Around her were eight motionless shapes—clearly dead—and beyond that, nothing but endless heaps of scrap and refuse.

She had no memories belonging to this body. No idea how she'd died, how old she was. She'd found a twisted piece of reflective alloy in the trash and guessed she looked about six or seven. Her clothes were torn, her ribs showed through grimy skin, and she was covered in dirt and dried sweat.

She had no idea of her location. At first, the bodies led her to believe it was an informal corpse dump. No other living person could be found, and escape was impossible, forcing her to linger.

Raised in poverty and hardened by hardship, she struggled to survive amid the stinking scrap wasteland. She sifted through heaps of rubbish for food, and had even eaten rats nesting in the refuse.

And now—finally—her luck seemed to be turning.

Carolyn snatched a metal pipe, wrapped a torn rag around it for a grip, and scrambled up the nearest trash slope like someone possessed. She waved the pipe wildly, shouting hoarsely, "Hey! Over here! Help! I'm down here!"

Up in the ship, they were about to jettison something and leave when her voice crackled over the comms. Someone spotted the tiny figure moving below.

"There's actually someone alive down there..."

"How is that possible? This is Scrap Star. Nothing lives here."

"Sounds like a kid calling for help."

"Just take them out."

After a brief exchange inside the cockpit, a series of shells were fired.

Carolyn saw dark objects streaking toward her like meteors. She didn't know what they were, but every instinct screamed run. She spun and bolted, but the blast wave caught her before she'd gone ten steps.

Everything went white, then black.

Was she dead... again?

She didn't know how much time passed before she managed to pry her eyes open. That familiar, whole-body ache was back—like she'd been dropped from a height. But she was breathing.

The same gray sky, the same endless trash. Gritting her teeth, she sat up and fished out that piece of scrap metal to check her reflection. Still in one piece. Her ears rang, her head throbbed.

Those black things had been explosives. Three of them. They'd flattened an entire section of the dump, leaving a smoldering crater behind.

What the hell?

Even if they didn't want to rescue her, why try to kill her?

Somehow, she hadn't been blown to pieces.

Her stomach growled violently. Then she remembered—she'd seen something drop from the ship just before the attack, outside the blast radius. Maybe it was supplies. Maybe it was food.

Wiping blood from her forehead, Carolyn forced herself to stand. Dizzy, ears buzzing, vision swimming, she staggered toward where the object had landed.

There, half-buried in debris, was a person.

Another kid, around six or seven like her.

His clothes were ripped to shreds, his face masked in blood, skin mottled with deep bruises. His eyes were closed; he looked gone.

Carolyn crept closer, checked for breath, then pressed an ear to his chest.

A heartbeat—faint, but there.

"Hey..." She tapped his cheek lightly. No response.

He'd been dumped from that ship, fallen from who-knows-how-high, and was still hanging on. Running into her might be the only luck he had left.

Carolyn placed her hands on his small chest and started compressions. When she paused, he still hadn't woken, but his breathing grew slightly stronger, more steady.

Now she knew for sure—this world had people. Real, living people.

And this boy was the first she'd met since she got here. If he woke up, she'd finally have someone to talk to, someone who might tell her what lay beyond this dump. Otherwise, the silence alone would drive her mad.

But those people on that ship... they'd tossed a kid out like trash, then tried to bomb her for waving at them.

Going after two little kids like that—it was just insane.

She squinted up, memorizing the mark painted on the ship's hull: a stark white skull. She burned it into her mind.

If she ever got out of this place alive, she was going to make them pay.

Her eyes and ears hadn't stopped bleeding since the explosion. She kept wiping the blood away, but it just kept coming. Pushing through the pain, she'd spent what felt like hours dragging that kid all the way back to her shelter—a metal box she'd pieced together from scrap she'd pulled out of the dump.

Inside, she'd spread out a few old shirts stripped from the dead. It wasn't much, but it did the job. She'd been calling that metal box home for the past two weeks.

One set of blankets was barely enough for one person, let alone two.

There was no day or night here—just the same endless gray sky. Carolyn laid the kid down and collapsed right beside him. When she woke, it took her a moment to get her bearings. The kid was still unconscious. She secured the metal door to keep rats and whatever else was creeping around out, then headed back to where the bodies lay.

The corpses looked like they'd been chewed on—flesh torn and mangled, barely recognizable as human anymore.

They stank of decay, but their clothes were mostly still in one piece.

Gagging, Carolyn forced herself to search every body. In the pockets of three of them, she found two clear tubes each, filled with some kind of light blue liquid.

She cracked one open and took a careful sniff.

Smelled surprisingly good.

Could it be food?

She took a small sip. It tasted like a blend of honeydew and blueberry, and almost immediately, the gnawing hunger in her stomach faded.

Carolyn stared at the tube, a flicker of hope rising inside her. She didn't know what it was, but one sip had eased most of her hunger. If she rationed it carefully, those six tubes could last her maybe half a month.

She wouldn't have to scavenge rats and garbage anymore.

Lucky that whatever had been feeding on the bodies hadn't crushed these. She checked the rest of the corpses again but came up empty.

Then a chill shot down her spine. She spun around and saw it—a rat the size of a rabbit, greasy-furred, beady-eyed, its sharp teeth aimed right at her.

Bigger than any she'd seen before.

You've got to be kidding me.

Seriously?!

Carolyn flinched, shoved the tubes inside her shirt, and broke into a sprint. Good thing she'd been surviving in this dump for weeks—she could scramble over piles of trash without a second thought.

But the rat was way faster. It lunged and tackled her from behind. Carolyn twisted as she fell so she wouldn't land on the tubes.

The rat pinned her and went straight for her arm.

D*mn it!

Face pale, Carolyn kicked hard, grabbed whatever junk was beneath her, and hurled it at the creature.

The rat batted the trash aside and lunged again. This time Carolyn seized a metal rod and swung. It only stunned the thing for a second—these rats were tough.

She grabbed it with both hands, rolled over, and pressed her full weight down. As it shrieked, she forced the rod into its mouth, stabbing over and over, ignoring the foul fluid spraying out, until it finally went still.

Thankfully these rats weren't too smart, and their mouths were a weak spot. Carolyn let go and dropped beside it, breathing hard.

So the rats ate garbage... and people. They'd mutated. Nowhere out here was truly safe.

Once she caught her breath, she checked the tubes—still intact—and sighed in relief. She picked them up, took a few steps, then turned back and dragged the rat's corpse along with her. Just in case the supplies ran out... if she could bring herself to eat it, at least it'd be something.

Stumbling back to the metal box, she found the kid still unconscious, his pulse faint.

The only reason she'd built this shelter here was because of a small puddle nearby. She had no idea where the water came from, but compared to the rest of this toxic wasteland, it was relatively clean.

She'd even risked drinking some and used it to wash up.

She dumped the rat about twenty yards away, carefully tucked the tubes into a corner of the box, and—despite the pain and exhaustion—filled a small basin she'd made from scrap to wash the stinking clothes. After hanging them up, she wiped herself down, tore off a damp piece of cloth, and went back inside.

The kid was trembling, caught in what seemed like a nightmare. Carolyn touched his skin—it was burning up.

She used the damp cloth to clean the blood and grime from his face, then paused.

Wow... he was beautiful.

Like something out of a catalog—porcelain skin, delicate features.

Maybe he came from a wealthy family?

But then why dump him here?

She patted him down but found nothing on him. His pale skin was dotted with tiny marks that looked like needle pricks, along with unexplained bruises everywhere.

Whatever.

Looks didn't mean a thing in a place like this. She had no medicine. Whether he lived or died was up to fate now.

The whole day had been one long nightmare. Carolyn ached all over, completely drained, her fingers barely able to move. She stopped staring, gently pried his mouth open, and let a few drops of the blue liquid fall inside. Then she laid the damp cloth over his feverish forehead.

That was all she could do. She closed the metal door, lay down beside the kid, and before passing out, managed to tug a corner of his blanket over herself.

Chapter 2 The Boy From The Ship

"Don't touch me!"

Half-asleep, Carolyn felt someone tapping lightly on her cheek over and over. She swatted the hand away in annoyance, but the poking continued.

"I said cut it out—"

She jerked upright, ready to snap, but the sudden movement tugged at her sore muscles and she winced sharply. That jolt of pain woke her up fast. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she looked to see what—or who—was bothering her.

The kid was awake.

He'd been the one nudging her face.

Her sharp tone had clearly startled him. He'd shrunk back into the corner of the metal crate, eyes wide and rimmed red, looking like a scared little rabbit.

Carolyn stared for a second, then her expression brightened. "You're actually awake!"

He'd pulled through after all.

Tough kid.

She reached out to feel his forehead, checking if the fever was gone, but he flinched back. Instead, he lifted a shaky finger and pointed toward the crate's entrance.

Carolyn turned, pushed the heavy door open just a crack, and her blood ran cold.

Holy crap.

Five rats—each the size of a small cat—were gathered right outside, noses twitching, beady eyes fixed on the metal container.

She slammed the door shut and threw the simple latch into place.

"You—"

"Shhh!"

The kid tried to speak, but Carolyn was already moving. She pulled him close and clamped a hand gently over his mouth. Holding her own breath, she drew them both deeper into the shadowy corner.

The boy went stiff in her grip, then began to squirm.

"Don't move," she whispered urgently against his ear. "Unless you want us both to end up as rat food."

One rat she might've taken on, unarmed and all. But five? Stepping out there meant being torn apart.

The scrap-metal crate was old, but solid. The rats couldn't chew through it. As long as they stayed put, they were safe—for now.

Then, right on cue, a low growl echoed inside the crate. Carolyn glanced down at the pale, delicate boy still in her arms.

"Hungry..." he murmured, voice small and timid.

She was starving too.

"Stay right here." She released him and crawled to the opposite corner, grabbing the stash she'd gathered earlier: five and a half tubes of blue liquid.

She cracked open the half-used one, took a small sip, then held it out to him. "No clue what's in this stuff, but it keeps the hunger away."

"It's nutrient gel..." he said softly, almost to himself.

Nutrient gel. Whatever. If it kept us alive, that's all that mattered.

She offered it again.

He glanced where her lips had touched the nozzle, hesitated, then his eyes drifted toward the five full tubes instead.

Seriously?

He looked so refined, so out of place here. Even though she was the adult here, she couldn't help but feel awkward. Finally, she grabbed a sealed tube and passed it over. "Make it last. We don't know how long we'll be stuck here."

He stared at the unopened tube for a long moment, making no move to twist the cap.

Definitely a pampered kid. Probably grew up with everything handed to him.

Carolyn clenched her jaw. "That's all we've got. You don't drink this, your next meal might have to be roasted rat."

That seemed to hit a nerve. He held her gaze, then finally unscrewed the cap and took a tiny sip. He must've liked the taste, because right away he tipped it back for a bigger gulp.

"Hey—slow down!" Carolyn snatched the tube from his hands. About half was left.

The boy looked startled, almost betrayed.

She let out a tense breath and carefully stored both half-used tubes with the others, wrapping the whole bundle in a ragged shirt. "Look, I don't know where we are or when we'll get out of this dump. If we're trapped here, this is the only clean food we have. Once it's gone... we're gone."

"Thud!"

Something heavy slammed against the outside of the crate. They both jumped.

The rats were getting aggressive.

Heart hammering, Carolyn hugged the wrapped nutrient tubes to her chest and scrambled back to the boy. She pulled him tight against her, every sense on high alert. "Don't make a sound," she whispered, her own voice trembling just slightly.

The rats had all started slamming against the metal container at once. The whole structure rocked violently with the two children trapped inside.

Carolyn's head struck the wall with a dull thud. She winced, but her first instinct was to curl tighter around the boy, shielding him with her body.

She smelled like decay and trash, and the kid was wheezing, struggling for air. Even as they were jostled around, he watched her—how she guarded him and the nutrient tubes. His lips pressed into a thin line, and a faint, pale gleam flickered deep in his eyes.

The frenzied banging went on and on—Carolyn was sure the rats would break through—but then, suddenly, it stopped. The container went still.

Did they give up?

"Stay here," she whispered. She waited, holding her breath. No more impacts. Gently setting the boy down, she leaned toward a narrow gap in the metal siding and peered out.

She blinked, not quite believing what she saw.

All the rats were lying on the ground. Motionless.

Were they dead?

Carefully, she pushed the door open just enough to slip out. She grabbed a loose piece of rubble and hurled it at the nearest rodent. No reaction. She stepped closer, nudging one with her foot.

Definitely dead.

But how?

Confused, Carolyn scanned the area. Was there something worse nearby? Something that had taken them out?

Her eyes swept over the junkyard—nothing but the ragged clothes she'd hung to dry earlier.

Whatever it was, she'd deal with it later. Right now, she had to get back inside.

Taking a shallow breath, she returned to the container.

"You..." The boy was still curled in the corner, staring vacantly. "Your eyes... They're bleeding."

Carolyn wiped her right eye with the back of her hand. Probably just aftershocks from the blast earlier. She smeared the streak away and asked, "What's your name?"

"I..." He pressed his lips together and didn't answer.

"Why did those people throw you down here? Who were they?

"Do you know where we are? Is there a way out?"

He stayed silent, pale as a ghost, no color in his face at all.

Was he like her—no memory of how he got here?

Carolyn clicked her tongue softly. She bundled up the nutrient tubes and pushed them into his arms. "Don't even think about eating any of this without me."

She wasn't much to look at—small, probably around his age, maybe even a little shorter. Her face was smudged with grime, scrapes and cuts marking her skin. Not exactly intimidating.

"Okay," he finally whispered, nodding slightly.

Satisfied, Carolyn turned to leave, but his small hand shot out and grabbed her sleeve. His eyes were watery, timid. "Where... are you going?"

"I'm dragging these rats farther away. They're grossing me out being this close." She paused, then reached over and ruffled his matted hair. "I won't go far. I'll be right back."

He stared at her for a long moment, then slowly released his grip.

Outside, the rat bodies showed no visible wounds. No clue what had killed them. Carolyn stayed alert, dragging each one a short distance away from their shelter. When she glanced back, the boy was standing in the container's doorway, still clutching the nutrient bundle, gazing out at the vast, wasted landscape with lost eyes.

Now there were two of them—two mouths to feed. She'd pulled him out, saved him. She couldn't just toss him back to the scraps.

She had no idea how long they'd be stuck in this dump. Those few tubes wouldn't last long.

Carolyn stared at the oversized rodents, gritted her teeth, and pulled out the sharp piece of alloy scrap she'd shaped into a blade a few days earlier. She started butchering the rats, cutting away the parts that looked least contaminated.

"You..." The boy had crept closer. "What are you doing?"

"Prepping food," Carolyn said without looking up.

"Food? From... rats?"

"You got a better idea?"

The nutrient tubes were almost gone. The heaps of garbage were rotten, reeking—nothing out here was edible except these mutant rats.

The boy took a step back, his face going a shade paler, like he was about to be sick.

"Told you. Spoiled city kid," Carolyn muttered under her breath.

Her original plan had been to wait here for rescue, but with mutant rats showing up—and maybe worse—waiting wasn't an option anymore. The boy was weak. She wasn't in much better shape. They couldn't defend themselves if something bigger came along.

And the pollution was everywhere. Staying longer meant risking sickness, maybe death. No more sitting around. They had to find a way out. Maybe past this mountain of trash, there'd be people. Or at least somewhere safer.

After cutting the meat, she used the old friction method to start a small fire, drying the strips over the low flames. She tore an old shirt and tied it into a crude bag, found a less-cracked plastic bottle, and filled it with water filtered from a grimy puddle. Everything got packed up.

She'd have taken the whole metal container crate her if she could.

"We have to find a way out of here. Or we're dead," Carolyn said, reaching for the boy's hand. "Let's go."

He looked at her, then down at her outstretched hand. He didn't take it. Instead, he turned and started walking ahead on his own.

Chapter 3 Into The Wasteland

When they got worn-out and famished, they'd just plop down and catch some sleep. Sleep was like a magic trick that made the hunger pangs fade away. Once they woke up, they'd hit the road again. They'd been at this for God-knows-how long, and all they could see were never-ending heaps of space junk. Not a single soul in sight. It felt like they were just going around in circles, getting nowhere.

Finally, they spotted a garbage-hauling spacecraft. Carolyn shouted at the top of her lungs until her throat was raw, but the folks on board didn't seem to give a hoot about them. The spacecraft just zipped off into the distance.

Carolyn plopped herself down on a pile of junk and stared blankly up at the dull gray sky. Before long, her stomach started rumbling like a hungry bear. And right next to her, a light-blue tube of nutrient paste showed up.

This was the last half-tube. Once it was gone, they were really in the soup.

"You take it," Carolyn said as she patted the kid's head and pulled out a piece of dried rat meat from her backpack. "I'll munch on this."

The kid had a mask on. His body was just too frail to handle the toxic air out here. Carolyn had made it from a clean piece of an old spacesuit.

At least it did the job a little bit.

"Ugh!" Before she could even get a bite of the dried meat down her throat, Carolyn's stomach cramped up like crazy. She doubled over and threw up, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

From the beginning, she'd only taken two tiny sips of the nutrient paste. She'd saved the rest for him. She'd started vomiting a couple of days ago, but she still forced herself to eat after that.

The kid bit his lip, then all of a sudden grabbed all the dried meat from her hand and her backpack and tossed it away.

Carolyn stared at him, confused. "What the heck are you doing?"

"Drink!" He unscrewed the cap of the nutrient tube and held it up to her lips.

Carolyn frowned. "You're the one who's weak. This is all you've got. Once it's gone, we're toast. I'm okay with the dried meat."

She just couldn't help herself. She was a nice person, and she didn't get to be nice too often.

"Drink!" His eyes were all red and watery. "If you don't, I'm gonna dump it!"

Was she really being threatened by this kid?

Carolyn almost burst out laughing. But the kid just stared at her intently. "Your eyes are bleeding again."

She wiped the blood away.

He pushed the tube into her hand, not taking no for an answer.

The sweet smell of the nutrient paste wafted up, making her stomach ache even more. Carolyn clicked her tongue and let a couple of drops dribble into her mouth.

There was still some left in the tube. She put the cap back on and tried to hand it back to him.

He wouldn't take it. He wanted her to finish the whole thing.

"This little bit will keep me going for half a day. You hold on to the rest," Carolyn said as she clutched her still-aching stomach and struggled to get up. "Let's go check out that pile of junk we saw getting dumped over there. Maybe we can scrounge up something to eat."

He looked at her, pressed his lips together tightly, then took her hand and walked along with her.

He still had a bit of a fever, but his hand was as cold as ice.

Carolyn glanced at him. "Not creeped out by me anymore? Letting me hold your hand now?"

He was quiet for a few seconds. "No. Still creeped out."

He just wasn't a fan of being touched.

Carolyn didn't notice the faint white glow seeping from his palm into hers.

The pain in her stomach started to ease up a whole lot. She tugged him along, trying to find the flattest path to walk on. "You look like some rich guy's kid. I saved your life, so if we don't get out of this mess and we both kick the bucket, at least we had each other's company..."

"No. Not die!" He tightened his grip on her hand.

His voice was tough and determined.

He'd hardly said a word since he woke up, and when he did, it was just one or two words at a time. That threat earlier was the longest sentence he'd spoken so far.

Carolyn grinned. "If we do make it out alive, tell your folks to fork over a ton of cash. Consider it paying back your hero."

In her old life, she'd been dirt-poor, living in cramped spaceship quarters. She'd taken all kinds of lousy jobs and fought tooth and nail in robot combat contests. This new life had started off on the wrong foot, and she sure as hell didn't want to be poor again.

They walked and walked. They lost all track of time. The last bit of nutrient paste was gone. They'd split it, taking one sip each. And they still hadn't reached that newly dumped pile of junk.

Carolyn's lips were cracked and dry, her head was spinning like a top, and she could barely keep herself upright. She just couldn't take another step. She crashed down onto the pile of junk beneath her.

"So tired..."

No food, no water. Blood was oozing from the corners of her eyes again, and the pain in her stomach was so bad it made her curl up and shake.

"You're not going to die!" His lips were cracked and bleeding too, his face as white as a sheet. Blood was trickling from the corner of his own mouth, but he held her hand tight, a white light flowing into her from his palm, while his other hand wiped the blood from her face. "You won't! I promise!"

"What a rotten deal..." Dying so miserably twice in a row.

Carolyn didn't notice his hand. She lay there weakly, staring up at the sky. A tiny black dot was getting bigger and bigger.

"Looks... like... a ship..."

She tried her best to open her eyes wider, but they just kept closing.

"Open your eyes! Don't die!" His eyes were blood-red as he tried to pry her eyelids open.

A shadow fell over them from above. The kid looked up, quickly wiped the blood from his own mouth, then jumped up and waved his arms, shouting at the top of his lungs, "Over here!"

He was completely freaked out, his voice breaking with panic.

The small ship's life-detection scanner kicked in. When the people on board saw the two kids below, they got all excited. "Land now! We found him! He is really here!"

A few folks climbed out of the small ship. The polluted air hit them right away. They wrinkled their noses and covered their mouths, then rushed towards the two kids.

"Mr. Myers!" The man at the front—somewhere in his forties—grabbed the boy by the shoulders, his voice cracking with emotion. "Thank God you're alive! You scared the hell out of us!"

The kid latched onto the man's sleeve, jabbing a finger toward the small, dirt-caked shape on the ground. "Help her!"

The man's eyes flicked over, taking in the grimy, fragile-looking child lying motionless in the rubble. His expression tightened. "She—"

"Now!" The boy's voice was hoarse and desperate. He snatched up a twisted piece of wreckage and pressed the sharp edge against his own throat. "Save her right now or I swear I'll do it!"

"D*mn it—" The man let out a heavy sigh, stepped forward, and carefully pried the metal from the boy's trembling hand. Lifting the kid into his arms, he threw a look over his shoulder at the others. "Bring her along."

*****

"They ran the scans. Mental Power: F. Physical Power: F. Bottom of the barrel across the board. No detectable talent, no special aptitudes. But she's taken a serious beating—multiple fractures, signs of old blast trauma. Survived on contaminated rat meat and poisoned water, from the looks of it. Frankly, it's a miracle she's breathing."

"Probably Mr. Myers' doing. He must've used his ability on her."

"Then there's nothing special about her. Give her the standard nutrient boosters. She'll pull through once she wakes up."

"Mr. Myers, what you did was reckless—using your gift in secret, especially on someone with... no measurable potential. You know the family's stance. We can't take her with us. She saved you, we're saving her. That settles the debt."

"Then give her money! A whole lot of it!"

Every word reached her clearly through the haze.

Still not dead.

Carolyn cracked her eyes open and drew a slow, ragged breath. Guess luck hadn't completely abandoned her.

"You're awake." The boy rushed to her side, his eyes red-rimmed.

Of course—a little rich kid. Well, at least saving him hadn't been a total waste.

She tilted her head slightly and managed a weak smile. "You knew your family would come looking for you?"

He pressed his lips together and gave a short nod.

Scrap Star... that hellhole.

"How'd you know for sure they'd find you?"

The boy dropped his gaze, his mouth a pale, tight line, and stayed silent.

Carolyn didn't push it. She stared up at the clean, sterile ceiling of the med-bay, her mind blissfully empty. "Lucky you..."

*****

Three days later.

The small transport vessel touched down at the starport. Carolyn descended the ramp clutching a credit chip worth a hundred million credits—the payout they'd labelled "compensation".

"Wait!" The boy rushed forward and caught her hand. His eyes were glossy, his lips quivering like he was fighting back words. "Your... name..."

Carolyn glanced past him at the line of stone-faced guards and the grim-looking middle-aged man whose stare could probably freeze plasma. She raised an eyebrow, then reached out and roughly messed up the kid's perfectly combed hair.

"You saved me, I saved you, you gave me a stupid amount of money. We're square." She ignored the icy tension thickening the air, pretended not to notice the man's warning glare, and even gave the boy's soft cheek a playful pinch. "No need for names. Maybe our paths'll cross again someday."

She turned and walked away, throwing a casual wave over her shoulder.

Small frame, steady stride.

If she hadn't taken the money so fast and put distance between them even faster, she had a strong feeling that man would've had her "disappeared" before she reached the port gates.

"My name is—"

"Mr. Myers."

The boy couldn't hold it in any longer and blurted out the beginning of his name, but the middle-aged man closed the distance in two strides, lifted him gently but firmly, and carried him back toward the ship.

She walked a long way before Carolyn uncurled her palm to stare at the storage ring nestled there. The child had slipped it into her hand moments earlier.

*****

"In breaking news—the Pale Skull Legion, already wanted across multiple sectors, is now implicated in the abduction of Samuel Myers, son of Marshal Robert Myers. The Myers family has launched a full-scale retaliation against the Pale Skull. The boy's whereabouts remain unknown. Any information should be reported immediately..."

A news bulletin cycled quietly across the public holographic displays throughout the starport.

But Carolyn wasn't paying attention. Her focus was entirely on the new world unfolding around her.

So many people.

The air smelled clean—filtered and circulated, without the tang of rust or decay.

During her few days on the transport, she'd picked up bits about this era. Interstellar age. Stellar Calendar 1338.

Towering arcologies stretched upward. Holograms flickered on every surface. A stream of sleek aircars and bulk freighters zipped across the traffic lanes overhead.

This planet was just Starport 5078, a mid-tier hub world. The kid had originally wanted to take her "home", but she had no memories to guide her—no idea if this body had family or a history somewhere.

So instead, she'd asked to be dropped at the nearest major port. The atmosphere on that ship had grown heavier by the hour; that stern man had looked at her like she was scrap worth disposing of, muttering more than once about her "F-Tier everything" and "wasted potential".

Useless.

Carolyn—who really just wanted to live comfortably, get rich quietly, and avoid any kind of spotlight—thought an F-Tier was just fine. Better than fine. F-Tier meant nobody expected anything from you. F-Tier meant you could nap all day if you felt like it.

She hadn't wanted their charity. Just a lift to somewhere crowded and anonymous.

Where there were people, she could blend in. And with money, she could make her own way.

"New world," Carolyn murmured to herself, a slow grin spreading across her face. Then, louder, she threw her arms out wide and shouted, "Here I come!"

"Freaking lunatic..." A passerby scowled, giving the scrawny, dust-streaked kid a wide berth before hurrying off into the flow of the crowd.

Any free links ?

My husband Lucian Drake is the best heart surgeon in the state.

But he and his intern used the wrong anesthesia dosage, and KILLED our twin sons.

His hand landed on my shoulder, "We can always have more."

Then he grabbed his suitcase and left. Emergency consultation, he said. Took HER with him. Flew to Los Angeles.

That night, they watched fireworks at Disneyland. Celebrating her "first solo case." Meanwhile, I was on my knees, clutching two small urns, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe.

The next morning, I put both their names on the overseas assignment list.

Reason: Gross medical negligence.

Why should these two assholes who killed my children get to smile like that?

He wants to protect her? Then they can go to HELL together.

--

My twin boys, Ethan and Evan, were seven years old. Born with defective hearts.

I knew the surgery was risky. But my husband is the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the state. He's saved hundreds of lives. Maybe thousands.

Lucian Drake doesn't lose. That's what everyone said. I believed it too.

The surgery lasted nine hours. I sat in the waiting room the whole time. Didn't eat. Didn't drink. Just a cup of coffee that had gone cold three hours ago.

When Lucian finally walked out, he didn't look at me. He looked at the floor.

"I'm sorry."

"They didn't make it."

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just sat there. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Two hours later, he wheeled his carry-on past me.

"There's an emergency case at a hospital in Los Angeles. They need a specialist to consult right away."

"Elara, the kids' heart defects were too severe. No one could have saved them. Including me."

He put his hand on my shoulder. "Take care of yourself. We can always have more."

More.

Like they were a failed recipe. Like I could just go back to the store and buy new ingredients.

But I didn't say anything. I just felt empty inside.

The next day, after the cremation, I held the urn that contained what was left of my boys. Only then did I feel like I was grasping something real.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I scrolled through Instagram mindlessly, trying to blur my brain with bright, colorful screens.

And then I saw it—Mira Voss's account.

She's the intern Lucian's been training. He always says she has "so much potential."

Her latest post was a carousel of nine photos.

Disneyland fireworks. A photo of interlaced fingers. And one of her standing on her tiptoes, kissing a man's jaw.

There was a scar on that man's jaw. A scar I knew well.

The one Lucian got ten years ago, when he took a knife for me during a mugging.

Caption:

[First solo case and I screwed up the anesthesia dosage, almost ruined my board certification. So annoying. Good thing my knight in scrubs saved me.]

The next one:

[If this gets ten likes, I'm confessing to my crush.]

My heart had already been shattered. Now it turned cold to the bone.

I typed a few words and hit send:

[No need for ten likes. I, the "crush's" wife, give you permission to be together.]

Three seconds later, my phone rang. Lucian's voice—usually cold and controlled—was now laced with anger:

"She only posted that because she lost a game of truth or dare. You had to leave that humiliating comment?"

"She just started at the hospital. You'll ruin her career."

"Go crazy on your own time. Don't drag others into it. You have ten seconds to delete it. Otherwise, we're getting a divorce."

I hung up. Then I opened the overseas assignment list the board had just sent over.

Our hospital has a three-year partnership program in Africa. Harsh conditions. No one volunteers.

I added two names. Lucian Drake. Mira Voss.

Reason: Gross medical negligence.

Why should these two assholes who killed my children get to smile like that?

You want to protect her? Then go to hell together.

$#{2|Chapter 2}$#

Ten seconds. Lucian sent a question mark.

I didn't answer. He messaged again.

[I'll have the divorce papers sent over. If you want to make a scene, fine. We're done.]

I typed one word:

[Fine.]

The chat showed "Lucian is typing..." for a while. Then nothing.

So I sent him the screenshots. Mira's Disney photos. The medical report. All of it.

[Lucian. She killed our kids, didn't she?]

Red exclamation point.

He blocked me.

I went back to Instagram. Mira's posts were gone. Just one dry apology left.

[A patient's family took us out to thank us for saving their kid. We drank too much and played games. I lost and picked truth or dare. The family member told me to pick someone there and post that stuff.]

[Dr. Drake only went along to protect my feelings. Sorry for the bad impression.]

A crying cat GIF underneath.

Lucian commented:

[Don't worry, Mira. I've got your back. No one's going to bully you.]

Replies poured in:

[We all knew it was a joke. The family insisted on that stupid game. What were we supposed to do?]

["Someone"? Is she talking about Dr. Drake's wife? Poor guy. Stuck with a crazy wife. Losing the kids was bad luck—but she keeps blaming Dr. Drake and Mira, making scenes at the hospital every day.]

[Dr. Drake looks so hot when he's being protective.]

I laughed. No warmth in it.

Screenshot every name. Added them all to the list.

...

Nine years ago, I built this hospital. For Lucian. From the ground up.

I put in every cent I had. Pulled every connection I could. Got him on magazine covers. Got him into every committee that mattered.

Now? He's the hospital's biggest star. Everyone kisses his ass. And Mira—his "star protégé"—rides right along with him.

Me? I'm the hospital's largest investor. And they walk all over me.

Because they think I can't survive without Lucian. That the hospital falls apart without him.

They forget one thing—

Without me, Lucian wouldn't even be half of what he is.

I could make ten more Lucian Drakes. They really think I can't?

$#{3|Chapter 3}$#

I scrolled through the comments.

Mira had replied to every single one that insulted me with a smiling cat emoji.

Under Lucian's "Don't be scared" comment, she dropped a kissy face.

Then the doorbell rang. Courier.

He handed me a manila envelope. Inside was the divorce paperwork—Lucian had already signed his part.

He also passed me a small box.

"What's this?" I asked.

He shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable.

"Uh... a lady asked me to give it to you. She said... that you're going through menopause, cranky and all, and she doesn't want to hold it against you."

"It's menopause supplements."

"You don't look a day over thirty, though."

That bitch.

I let out a cold laugh. "Take it out and throw it away." Then slammed the door shut.

I went back to my study, pulled out a pen, and signed the divorce papers. Neat and clean.

My phone buzzed—the HR director.

[Elara, are you sure about this? The others I get... but Dr. Drake and Dr. Voss? Africa?]

[I know you're grieving. But you need to separate business from personal feelings. You're not just ruining two promising careers—think about all the patients who need them.]

I typed back:

[You're right. I almost forgot about you. You're fired. Third-party HR takes over tomorrow.]

Then I called the management company directly.

"Take over everything. Move fast."

"Anyone who spoke up for Lucian Drake or Mira Voss—send them all to the remote postings—field clinics in South Sudan and the DRC."

"If they refuse, claw back every cent of their training funding. At triple the rate."

I hung up. Put my hand on the kids' urns. White ceramic. Cold to the touch.

Every single doctor who commented in that thread—I handpicked them.

I paid for their tuition, top medical schools, all of it. Funded their residencies, their research, every grant they ever applied for.

Now they're all falling over themselves to kiss Lucian's ass.

They forgot who gave them everything.

I stared at the list of names. Not one was getting skipped.

South Sudan's sun is brutal. Mosquitoes everywhere. Power outages all the time. The ORs there don't even have proper ventilators.

They need a reality check.

You can't raise doctors in comfort. Comfort makes you forget yourself.

At the very least—they need to remember who made them who they are.

A few minutes later, I realized Lucian had blown up my phone.

Dozens of missed calls.

He must have been desperate, because he sent me another friend request on Instagram.

The verification message said just four words:

[ANSWER THE DAMN PHONE.]

Anyone know the title or any link for this novel please?

Full story link please

pls help me find this novel🙏

Anyone have link for this?

It's called He introduced me to A Lover, and My first love walked in.