Exodus Gamble

The cold tiles burned against Leah's bare feet as she stumbled through her apartment, her pulse a frenzied drumbeat in her ears. Sunlight streamed through the windows—real sunlight—warm and golden, painting everything in a surreal, dreamlike glow. She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, nails digging into the polished surface.

Her reflection in the window caught her eye. She froze.

The woman staring back at her— was her. But not the her that had died on a cold metal floor. This version of Leah was… whole. Her cheeks were full. No sunken hollows, no blood-crusted lips. Her skin was smooth, healthy—no scars, no bruises. Her hair, thick and dark, spilled past her shoulders without a single thread of gray.

Her hand shot to her side—where there should have been a gaping, festering wound. Smooth. Nothing.

A tremor rattled through her chest. She pressed her knuckles to her lips, her breath coming in shallow bursts. "No. No, no, no—"

Her eyes locked on the date again—February 1st, 2179.

Thirty days.

A violent shudder ripped through her, and suddenly she was moving—ripping open drawers, cabinets, closets. She yanked a jacket from a hook and tore through her desk, grabbing her ID card, her bank chip—everything. Her fingers closed around her old comm device. She powered it on, the screen flickering to life.

The news was still lying. She knew it was lying.

Her hands shook, and she hit the call function with a swipe. "Come on," she whispered, her voice raw. "Pick up."

The line buzzed once—twice—

"Leah?" A woman's voice, warm and familiar—Ava.

Leah's knees nearly buckled. "Ava—" Her throat closed, tight and burning. She couldn't—wouldn't—cry.

"Whoa—what's wrong?" Ava's voice sharpened. "You sound—what happened?"

Leah's lips parted, but the words tangled in her chest. How did she say—I died. The world's going to explode. We have a month to live.

She couldn't. Not yet.

"Ava—" Her voice cracked. "I need your help."

The line went deathly still.

"Where are you?" Ava said.

Leah's hand clenched around the comm. Her voice, steady and sharp, cut through the air—

"I'm coming to you."

The city roared around her.

Leah sprinted through the cold, her boots pounding against cracked pavement as towering screens blared ads and news updates overhead. Neon reflections shimmered in rain puddles—hollow promises of a future that wouldn't exist.

Her pulse thundered, her lungs burning as the February air knifed into her chest. She didn't stop. She couldn't. Every instinct screamed to move. To find her.

She rounded the corner into an alley, her body tense, eyes scanning. At the end of the street—there.

A weathered building, paint peeling, windows half-covered with blackout curtains. A battered sign buzzed faintly above the door:

LYN SYSTEMS

No Job Too Illegal

Leah's stomach clenched. A wave of raw, aching relief surged through her, but her hands shook. She worked here co own it with a friend.

But last time, by the time she made it to this door—

Ava was already gone.

Not this time.

Leah bolted across the street, slamming her fist against the doorbell. Her breath was jagged, her heart thundering. "Come on—come on—"

A crackle. The intercom sputtered, and a voice—clipped, sharp—cut through:

"Who the hell—"

Leah's throat tightened. "Ava." Her voice broke, raw and desperate. "It's me. It's—"

The locks clicked open before she finished.

The door yanked wide, and Leah stumbled inside—into the sharp scent of burnt circuits and soldering iron—

And into Ava Lyn.

Ava stood, barefoot in ripped jeans and a tank, her dark hair tied in a careless knot. Her sharp eyes, full of suspicion, locked on Leah. The shock hit first—her lips parting, her brows knotting.

Then—recognition.

"Leah?"

Leah couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Her body—too tight, too full, her chest cracking under the weight of everything she had lost.

Her voice shattered— "Ava—"

And then she was moving. Her knees buckled, and Ava caught her—warm, solid, alive.

Ava's arms closed around her, strong and familiar. "Hey—hey—" Her voice softened, confusion laced with worry. "What's wrong? What—"

Leah clutched her tighter, her body trembling. She felt the hot sting of tears, her throat burning from holding back the scream locked inside her chest.

In her last life—she never got this. She never made it in time. Ava was gone, and she was alone.

But now—

Now she had her.

"I missed you," Leah's voice cracked, her fists clenching Ava's shirt. "God—I missed you."

Ava froze. The tension in her body melted—then she squeezed Leah harder. "I'm here," she said, voice low and certain. "I'm right here."

The sob tore free from Leah's chest, and for a breath—a single, shattering breath—she let herself fall.

Ava pulled back first, her hands framing Leah's face, her dark eyes narrowed and sharp. "Alright," she said, her voice firm and no-nonsense. "What the hell is going on?"

Leah wiped her face roughly, dragging in a shaking breath. "It's—" Her voice rasped, her throat raw. "Ava, I—I don't have time to explain everything, but—"

Ava's eyes flashed. "Then make time."

Leah's stomach twisted. Ava. Brilliant. Sharp. Loyal. She deserved the truth.

But she wouldn't believe it. Who would?

So Leah said the only thing she could:

"You're in danger. The world's in danger." Her voice dropped, low and urgent. "Earth's going to explode. I know it sounds insane, but you have to trust me—"

Ava's eyes flicked, a subtle shift—confusion, calculation—then skepticism. "Explode."

Leah's fists clenched. "Yes." She felt the heat rise under her skin. "I know you don't believe me, but—"

"I didn't say I didn't," Ava interrupted, her voice too calm. Her eyes, though—razor sharp and cutting through Leah like a blade. "I said—how do you know?"

Leah's pulse thundered. Her lips pressed tight—

Because she had died. Because she had lived it.

Her body screamed to say it. But her instincts—honed by betrayal, by survival—shouted louder: Don't.

Not yet.

"I can't explain. Not now." Leah's voice was tight, urgent. "But I can prove it. You just have to trust me. You always did."

Ava's eyes narrowed. The silence between them was thick, charged with something sharp and raw.

Then—Ava's head tilted slightly, and something sly, something Ava—slipped into her voice:

"You look like you've been through hell. And I know you're a lot of things, Leah—" A smirk, thin and crooked— "But you're not a liar."

Leah's chest hitched.

Ava's smirk vanished, her eyes hard. "So—what's the play?"

Leah's throat burned, but her spine straightened. Her voice came out steady.

"The military's been building ten ships—massive Arks—for a decade. An escape but only for the lucky. But they didn't just build ten."

Ava's brow lifted.

"There's a prototype," Leah pressed on, her eyes burning with cold certainty. "A smaller vessel. Holds a thousand people. Independent, faster, and fully equipped for the Mars run. Ark 0."

Ava's eyes flickered, sharp and intrigued. "Never heard of it."

"You wouldn't." Leah's voice was like a blade. "It was a closed project. No lottery. No politics. Private sale only."

Ava's eyes sharpened instantly. "Let me guess—an auction."

Leah's lips curled into something cold and bitter. "In four days. Quiet. Off-record. The military's selling it to the highest bidder who can't secure a spot on the main Arks."

Ava's arms crossed, her voice cutting. "A thousand passengers. Private. That's not an escape ship. That's a luxury bunker."

Leah's chest burned. "Exactly. Survival for the elite—just smaller."

Ava's voice sharpened. "So. What's the plan? Because unless you found a billion credits between heartbeats—"

Leah's voice dropped, cold and lethal.

"We don't buy it. Kael Orion Voss does."

Ava's entire body stiffened.

"Oh," she said, flat. "So you are insane."

Leah's jaw clenched. "No."

Ava's hands flew up. "Voss? Voss? The same Voss who crushed half the agricultural unions last year? The same one who—"

"Yes," Leah bit out.

"He doesn't need a ship," Ava snapped. "He's an Alpha. His body's breaking down. He knows he won't survive a ten-year voyage." Her voice was cold. "And he's the kind of bastard who'd rather burn with the world than save anyone else."

Leah's voice, when it came, was low and cutting.

"Then I'll give him something worth living for."

The air went still.

Ava's eyes narrowed. "...Leah." Her voice dropped, dangerous. "Don't tell me you're thinking—"

"He's Alpha," Leah said, her voice sharp and bitter. "He knows what happens to his body. Knows he's degrading. And there's only one thing that could stop it."

Ava's eyes flashed with fury. "No."

Leah's voice was ice. "An Omega."

Ava moved, her voice a snarl. "So you're going to sell yourself—"

"No." Leah's eyes burned. "I'll let him think he can buy me." Her voice dropped, lethal. "But I don't belong to anyone."

Ava's teeth ground, her fists tight. Then—

She let out a breath, harsh and shaking.

"Fine," she bit out. "But you're not doing this alone."

Her fingers flew over her console, screens lighting up—firewalls cracking, encrypted feeds falling apart under her touch. Kael Voss's profile blazed into view.

"Tomorrow," Ava said tightly, "he's at Phoenix Tower. Board meeting. Private entrance. Tight security." Her eyes flashed. "But nothing we can't handle."

Leah's breath was fire in her chest.

The end had already begun.

The Ark was her gamble.

Kael Voss was the key.

She had thirty days.

And she was going to win.