After Dr. Chloe finished her makeshift surgeries, she turned to Monica with her hand out.
Clearly, she wasn't working for free.
Monica, understanding the unspoken rules, handed her a single pack of crackers.
It wasn't much, but rationed carefully, it could last two days. Dr. Chloe gave a small nod, satisfied—for now—and packed up to leave.
Once she was gone, the room grew deathly quiet.
The wounds on the three men throbbed with unbearable pain. They lay curled on the couch, wrapped tightly in blankets, barely daring to move.
Peter looked at Claire, who was slumped on the floor, and his eyes filled with heartbreak.
The others? They looked at her with nothing short of murder in their eyes.
Tony Chen's infected arrowheads had left Ethan's handiwork plain to see—and none of them had medicine.
Tony gritted his teeth. "We can't just sit here and die. If we don't get medicine from Ethan, these wounds will fester and kill us horribly."
He turned his gaze to Monica and Natalie, voice hard.
"You both know damn well—without a man protecting you in this hellhole, you're finished."
Their expressions darkened.
As much as they hated to admit it, Tony wasn't wrong. It was why Monica had even allowed them to join the team in the first place.
"But what can we do?" Monica muttered bitterly. "We tried storming Ethan's place. We failed. Lost people. Got injured. What else is there?"
Tony clenched his jaw, pain sharpening his thoughts.
"I do have an idea. It might be our last shot."
Everyone's eyes lit up, turning toward him.
"What is it?"
"If there's even a chance, we have to take it!"
"Yeah! We're dead anyway if we stay like this."
Tony's lips curled into a venomous smile. "Ethan's got a fireplace. That means he's stockpiled fuel. From those videos Claire showed us, he's also swimming in food."
"As of now, we're the only ones who know that."
"But what if we weren't?"
Everyone blinked.
Tony continued, voice as slick as a snake's. "If we leak this intel and let the entire building know what Ethan's hoarding—what happens?"
"Hundreds of starving, freezing people, all going after one guy?"
"Add to that Tony Chen's gang of psychos. You think they'll let a goldmine like that sit untouched?"
"At that point, we just need a few meds and supplies. That's all. We don't even need to get our hands dirty."
As soon as he finished, Jacob—the quietest of the wounded trio—grinned through gritted teeth. "Now that's a plan I can get behind."
Even Peter, still weak from surgery, nodded grimly.
It was cold. It was cruel.
But it might be the only way to survive.
Only Claire looked like she was about to explode.
"You're all disgusting! You'd throw Ethan to the wolves after everything?"
"I'm going to be living with him soon! What happens to me if you all ruin that?!"
SMACK!
Monica slapped her across the face, her palm cracking like a gunshot.
Claire stumbled, her face red and swollen from all the abuse.
Monica grabbed her by the hair and dragged her, screaming, into the bedroom.
Then she shouted to Peter, "Get in here and finish this bitch off!"
Peter was injured, yes—but only his arm. Ethan had deliberately avoided killing blows. He wanted them to suffer.
Peter hesitated.
"Monica… come on. I… I love her. I can't hurt her."
Claire was curled up on the bed, sobbing, eyes wide with terror.
Peter's voice trembled. "Rainy… you said you loved me. You said you'd be mine."
Monica spat. "This bitch got us all nearly killed. Letting her warm your bed is doing her a favor!"
She glared at her cousin. "Don't be stupid, Peter. She's trash. Probably slept with a dozen guys already. You said you wanted her—fine, this is your shot."
But Peter snapped.
"Don't say that about her!"
He shoved Monica away and stepped between her and Claire.
"Rainy's not like that. She's the only one who ever treated me like a person. Even when I had nothing—she was kind."
"I believe in her. I'll protect her no matter what."
Claire looked up, teary-eyed, watching Peter's dopey, loyal smile.
Ugh. She felt both relieved and grossed out.
Letting him sleep with her would've been no big deal—if she hadn't always found him disgusting.
But the room was silent.
Everyone was watching the human trainwreck play out. No one had the energy to argue anymore.
They had more important things to worry about.
Monica turned away. "Fine. Let the dog keep its bone."
Then she picked up her phone.
It was time to go nuclear.
She uploaded Ethan's videos—footage of his warm home, glowing fireplace, and hot meals—to the building's community group chat.
She even added commentary:
Monica:"Dear neighbors, I've just learned something appalling. While we're starving and freezing, someone has been living in paradise.""These videos are from this week. Ethan Cross's apartment—well-lit, cozy, stocked to the brim.""You think that's fair? Should one man hoard everything while the rest of us suffer?""I say we discuss what to do about this."
Normally, the chat was dead. Only Tony Chen ever used it to bark threats.
But today?
It exploded.
Hundreds of people clicked the videos.
What they saw almost made them faint:
"Is he… in pajamas? Indoors?! It's -70 out here!"
"They have electricity at night?!"
"Is this old footage? No way someone's living like that now, right?"
Some tried to deny it.
But the envy—raw and primal—was undeniable.
Hell was cold, and Ethan's home looked like heaven.
And now?
Everyone wanted in.