"Who are you?"
"My name's Ethan!"
A few teammates behind him started hooting and teasing.
Calista looked a little surprised, then smiled openly.
"That works. Calling me Miss Norton feels too formal. Just call me Calista."
The music suddenly changed, switching to a lively, energetic track. Someone had secretly cut off the ballroom music.
Ethan, who had been about to place a hand around Calista's waist for a slow dance, had no choice but to change his stance.
The two of them jumped around to the beat for a while. Soon Calista was slightly out of breath, wisps of hair damp with sweat and her cheeks flushed from the movement.
Ethan could barely look at her, hesitating awkwardly.
Several people who had been watching the whole time frowned.
Damn it… he's not actually thinking about kissing her, is he?!
Calista, however, had no such thoughts. There was only one thing on her mind.
Her makeup was about to smudge.
She and Ethan spoke at the same time.
"Excuse me—"
"Calista—"
Leah suddenly abandoned her conversation with Mike and appeared out of nowhere. Looking at Ethan with clear warning, she said,
"Ethan, Cali isn't of age yet."
The young man's face turned bright red.
"I'm sorry! I—I didn't know…"
Amid the crowd's laughter, he hurried away.
Leah coughed lightly.
"Cali, go inside and put on a jacket."
She couldn't shake the feeling that her little white rabbit was being watched by a pack of wolves.
...
In the dressing room.
Calista adjusted the straps of her dress in front of the full-length mirror.
Twenty-three gift boxes were spread across the carpet. She had prepared them to build closer ties with Leah and the others, and tonight's party was the perfect chance to give them out.
All the boxes contained the same items: a Rolex Submariner watch, a Swiss Army knife, lambskin tactical gloves, and a windproof lighter.
Leah's box had a few additional items—an infant bracelet and several old photographs. Some had been forged by Calista, while others had been obtained at great expense.
"These are things I prepared earlier."
Wearing a mink shawl, Calista pushed a small cart stacked with gifts into the hall.
"I hope you all like them."
No man could refuse gifts like that.
As expected, opening the boxes triggered cheers across the room.
Even Leah couldn't put hers down. Her fingers brushed over the other items before she picked up the photos, examining them carefully one by one.
The men urged Calista to raise a toast. She lifted her glass and only took a small sip before smiling calmly at everyone.
"To every second we're alive."
Seeing their reactions, Calista felt secretly pleased.
Another successful day of winning people over with money and strategy.
If the apocalypse weren't about to arrive, she really wouldn't have spent money like this.
...
The next morning, when sunlight pierced through the sky above Twilight Manor, Calista was curled up in bed, wriggling lazily under the blankets.
Earlier that morning she had called Emily, Margaret's assistant, saying she planned to stay at Twilight Manor for a long-term recovery.
She asked Emily to arrange delivery of a truckload of feminine hygiene products—tampons, along with reusable options like menstrual cups and menstrual discs.
Emily wrote everything down and said she would also gather Calista's usual household supplies and send them along together.
Now all she had to do was wait for the delivery.
Calista was already thinking that when the apocalypse got closer, she could warn Emily in advance—or simply bring her to the manor.
Mrs. Howard brought in a cup of ginger tea, white steam curling above the surface. The radio by the bed was playing soft music, turning the news broadcast from downstairs into a distant murmur.
Everything felt normal.
Seeing that Calista still didn't want to get up, Mrs. Howard placed the ginger tea on the nightstand and said kindly,
"Calista, remember to drink the ginger tea when you get up."
"Is it always this quiet?" Calista asked in surprise. Twilight Manor was rarely this peaceful.
Normally the mercenaries woke early—some doing drills, some going for morning runs, and some taking the estate's hunting dogs out into the forest.
"Those young men drank too much last night," Mrs. Howard said with a laugh, covering her mouth.
"Right now, besides Peter and me, everyone else is still in bed."
Calista rubbed her forehead.
Fine. Might as well stay in bed a little longer.
Looking at the kindly middle-aged woman in front of her, Calista suddenly thought of something.
It would probably be better to have them bring their children here in advance—or at least make arrangements. Otherwise, once the apocalypse began, the Howards would certainly worry and might try to go looking for them.
"Mrs. Howard, what do your children do? If they'd like, you could invite them to stay at Twilight Manor for a few days."
Mrs. Howard's expression changed instantly. The smile on her lips became strained, and her voice trembled slightly.
"He… he died in the Iraq War."
"Oh—I'm so sorry! I didn't know!"
Calista's eyes darted around awkwardly, wishing she could slap herself.
Shut up, you stupid mouth.
Seeing how embarrassed Calista looked, Mrs. Howard quickly recovered and comforted her instead.
"It's alright, dear. It was a long time ago. We… we're proud of him."
After saying that, perhaps unwilling to stay and reopen old wounds, Mrs. Howard found an excuse and left the room.
Calista lay back down again, still feeling a little uncomfortable, and stayed in bed until noon.
Science has shown that when people sleep too much, their brains become sluggish.
And because of that, Calista overlooked something important.
No one had delivered the hygiene supplies.
Normally the mountain road only took two hours to drive.
During lunch, Calista mentioned it casually, but Mrs. Howard's reply made her freeze.
"Things have been a bit unstable lately. Two days ago a sheriff was shot while chasing a criminal and had to be rushed into emergency surgery. And there was also a prison riot in Georgia—some guards were reportedly killed. It's terrifying. There must be unrest in the city."
Calista suddenly looked up.
"When did that happen?"
"It was on the morning news. The day before yesterday, I think."
Under everyone's confused gazes, Calista didn't even finish lunch. She rushed to the television in the hall and replayed the news reports.
Rick Grimes had been shot while pursuing a criminal, but his life was no longer in danger.
A "riot incident" at Georgia State Prison showed blurry footage of prisoners biting guards, though officials labeled it "mass hysteria."
And in several places, outbreaks of a new rabies-like virus were spreading rapidly.
Fuck.
What kind of terrible news delay is this?
The apocalypse has already started.
As the others watched the reports and pieced everything together, they also began to sense something was wrong.
Bossie joked to Wells,
"So a new virus is about to sweep the world? Should we stock up on supplies and hide at home?"
Wells patted his shoulder seriously.
"Man, you're right. Then we'll evolve and gain superpowers."
The men burst into laughter. Only a few people looked uneasy.
Calista couldn't laugh at all.
Bossie had accidentally guessed the truth.
Leah unconsciously tightened her grip on her coffee cup.
She suddenly remembered something Calista had said during that phone call while she was in Afghanistan—the outbreak of a new rabies virus there.
And earlier that morning, when she had called Pope to refuse the mission on behalf of the team, Pope had reacted unusually calmly.
Instead, he had told her something deeply troubling.
All the teams sent out by Sentinel Company—except those assisting clients with intelligence gathering or military training—had lost contact.
Every team sent to suppress the so-called "rabies patients" had disappeared.
This virus might not be simple at all.