The difference struck her the moment the cabin door swung open.
In the novel, Wendy's spatial realm had been a sprawling fantasy—towering mountains, wide silver rivers, meadows that rolled on until the eye gave up. This place held none of that grandeur. A plain wooden house stood behind her, and beyond the threshold lay something smaller, quieter, and unmistakably real.
Suzy stepped out.
Soft green grass stretched under a pale sky. Low ridges rose in the distance, sharp enough to cut the horizon. A slender stream cut through the valley, its water so clear it barely seemed to move. The layout mirrored the one she remembered from the book—mountains, flowing water—but everything had been reduced. The entire pocket measured no larger than half a soccer field. At the edges the world simply faded into dense white fog, as if the space itself refused to pretend it was bigger than it was.
A thin waterfall spilled from the nearest slope, feeding the stream that passed only a few meters from the cabin. Suzy followed the current upstream until mist softened the air and a small spring pool appeared, half-hidden among the rocks. The surface lay still and glass-clear; she could see every pebble on the bottom. A faint, clean scent rose from the water.
A spiritual spring.
Exactly the kind Wendy had claimed in the novel. In the coming disasters that water would become priceless—strengthening the body, sealing wounds, driving out illness, restoring exhausted stamina. Much of Wendy's later magnetism, and the fierce devotion of the five male leads, had grown from long exposure to a far larger version of this same resource. Suzy's spring was modest, its output limited.
She knelt, cupped a handful, and drank.
Sweet. Cold. Pure.
The liquid slid down her throat and a cool clarity spread through her limbs. The lingering tightness in her chest eased. Her thoughts sharpened, as if someone had wiped a film from the inside of her skull.
She finished the rest without pause, then withdrew from the space.
The gold bracelet was gone. In its place a small crimson mark glowed faintly against the skin of her inner wrist.
The dimension was real. The dream had been real. She carried the memory of a future that had already happened once.
Suzy closed her fingers into a fist.
That future would not be allowed to play out again.
A quiet flood of knowledge rose unbidden in her mind. Once a space accepted its owner, no one else could take it. She could remain inside for only one hour each day; any longer and the realm would force her out. The place could grow stronger—upgrades would extend the time limit and unlock new functions—but those details could wait.
Her gaze fell on the open jewelry case still sitting on the vanity. One focused thought, and every necklace, ring, and earring vanished. She called them back, sent them away, repeated the motion until it felt as natural as breathing.
Only then did the truth settle fully: this pocket belonged to her alone.
Sleep was impossible. Adrenaline still hummed under her skin. With storage no longer a problem she finally held a real advantage against what was coming.
She emptied the walk-in closet of every valuable piece, then sat at her desk with phone and notepad and began to plan.
Food placed inside would not spoil. Living creatures, however, could not yet survive there—the space remained too weak.
Three months remained before the first disaster.
She still had time.
Suzy wrote three clear headings across the top of the page:
**Stockpile Supplies**
**Secure Shelter**
**Upgrade the Space**
Those were the immediate priorities.
She forced herself to recall the opening catastrophe from the dream: two solid months of killing heat, followed by endless floods, then a cold that froze the world solid. Cooling units, heavy winter gear, emergency medicine, independent power sources—everything would be required. A proper safe house would cost a fortune, but money, at least, she already possessed.
She unlocked her phone to check balances. Several unread messages lit the screen at once.
[Suzy, be here first thing tomorrow. Don't forget the printed property transfer papers.]
[Bring the gold bracelet Wendy asked for. Her birthday is almost here—show a little sisterly goodwill.]
[Have you locked in that sports car Tommy wanted? The allocation list is almost full. Move fast.]