The first thing Jules heard when she came downstairs was her father arguing with a delivery company.
"No," Kaelen said into his phone. "I understand what your policy says. What I'm asking is whether the policy applies when the customer has already paid for expedited shipping."
Jules stopped on the third step.
Her father stood in the kitchen wearing yesterday's dress pants, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the expression he usually reserved for people who tried to waste his time.
A cup of coffee sat untouched beside him.
"That isn't what your representative told us yesterday," he continued.
At the kitchen island, Daric was eating cereal straight from the box.
Jorin sat beside him with a laptop open, occasionally reaching into the same box without looking away from the screen.
Neither seemed particularly concerned that their father was threatening to become someone's least favorite customer.
Jules checked the clock.
7:12 a.m.
She had slept for four hours.
Possibly five, if she counted the twenty minutes she'd spent staring at the ceiling before giving up.
"Good morning," she said.
Daric looked up. "Depends."
"On what?"
"Whether Dad wins."
Kaelen raised one finger without turning around.
Daric lowered his voice. "He's been at it for seventeen minutes."
"Twenty-three," Jorin corrected.
Jules walked into the kitchen.
"What happened?"
"Shipping company changed the delivery date," Jorin said. "Something about customs inspection."
Her stomach tightened.
"Which shipment?"
Jorin turned the laptop toward her.
The tracking number was familiar.
Too familiar.
It belonged to one of the orders she'd placed from Tavora.
The treated timber.
Not all of it. Only the first shipment, but it was the one containing the structural lumber, reinforced panels, and waterproof building materials she'd specifically requested for emergency construction.
She had paid extra to have it delivered ahead of the remaining orders.
Now the estimated arrival date had changed.
Four days.
Jules stared at the screen.
Four days wasn't disastrous.
They still had time.
Eighty-something days, if her calculations were correct.
But she'd learned something across eight lives.
Delays rarely arrived alone.
One shipment became two. A customs inspection became a port closure. A truck broke down. A supplier discovered that half the inventory they'd promised had already been sold.
And eventually, the world ended.
"Jules."
She blinked.
Jorin was watching her.
"It's just four days."
"I know."
"You're doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"Looking like you're about to personally drive to the port and fight somebody."
Daric nodded. "You'd lose."
"I would not."
"You absolutely would."
"I'm older than you."
"That's not a fighting qualification."
"Children," Kaelen said sharply.
All three looked at him.
He was still on the phone.
"Not you," he told the representative.
Daric pressed his lips together.
Jules turned away before she laughed.
It was such a normal morning.
Her brothers arguing over cereal. Her father negotiating with someone who probably regretted answering the phone. Sunlight slipping across the kitchen floor.
For one terrible second, she remembered another morning.
A different kitchen.
An empty cereal box.
Jorin sitting on the floor because he no longer had the strength to stand.
She pushed the memory away.
Not now.
"Where's Mom?" she asked.
"At the hospital," Daric answered. "She left early."
"Did she eat?"
Jorin gave her a look.
"What?"
"Mom's a grown woman."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"She took breakfast," he said. "And three containers."
"Three?"
"One for herself. Two for the people she works with."
Jules nodded.
Of course she had.
Serina could barely leave the house without feeding someone.
"Selina?"
"Upstairs," Daric said. "Apparently she's making a presentation."
Jules froze.
"A presentation?"
"That's what she said."
"For who?"
"Us."
Jules closed her eyes.
Wonderful.
Her fifteen-year-old sister had discovered PowerPoint.
Again.
By eight o'clock, the entire dining table had disappeared beneath paperwork.
Not actual paperwork, mostly.
Jorin had two laptops open. Daric had printed a warehouse inventory list and was using a yellow highlighter with the enthusiasm of someone who had never been allowed near office supplies before.
Kaelen had taken over the head of the table.
His coffee was still untouched.
Jules sat across from him, watching him work through the orders she'd placed.
She'd expected another lecture.
Instead, he'd spent the last hour asking questions.
Specific ones.
"Why three industrial generators?"
"Backup power."
"I understand that. Why three of this model?"
"Because they use the same replacement parts."
He looked up.
She continued.
"If one breaks, we can repair it using parts from another. And we don't have to stock different filters, belts, and maintenance supplies."
Kaelen studied the specification sheet.
"That's sensible."
Jules almost fell out of her chair.
Daric looked over.
"Did Dad just compliment her?"
"No," Kaelen said.
"You said sensible."
"I said the purchase was sensible."
"That's a compliment."
"Would you like to return to the warehouse inventory?"
Daric immediately looked down.
Jules smiled into her water.
Kaelen moved to the next document.
"Portable solar panels."
"Yes."
"Battery storage."
"Yes."
"Water filtration units."
"Yes."
"Six commercial refrigerators?"
"Those are for the warehouses."
He paused.
"Why?"
"Food preparation."
"How much food are you planning to prepare?"
Jules hesitated.
She'd been thinking about that for weeks.
The dimension gave her storage without the usual concerns about space. Food she stored there remained preserved, and she intended to take advantage of that as much as possible.
But buying ingredients was only half the problem.
Someone still had to cook them.
And if she wanted meals ready for months—or years—she needed a system.
A real one.
Not the one inside her head.
"I want to prepare meals in bulk," she said. "Rice, stews, soups, cooked meats, vegetables. Things that can be stored and used later."
"How much?"
"As much as possible."
Kaelen set down his pen.
"Jules."
She sighed.
"I haven't calculated the final amount."
"Then we need to calculate it."
"We?"
"Yes. We."
She stared at him.
He returned the look.
"You wanted help."
"I did."
"Then stop looking surprised every time someone offers it."
Jorin made a quiet choking noise.
Jules kicked him under the table.
He kicked her back.
Kaelen pretended not to notice.
"Start with nine people," he said. "Three meals a day. Ninety days."
Jorin began typing.
"Two thousand four hundred thirty meals."
Daric stopped highlighting.
"That's a lot of meals."
"And that's only three months," Jules said.
Kaelen nodded.
"Which is why we're not cooking everything ourselves. We'll purchase shelf-stable food, ingredients, and prepared supplies. Your storage ability gives us flexibility, but it doesn't eliminate the work involved."
Jules looked down at the numbers.
Two thousand four hundred thirty.
That was just her family.
Nine people.
In her eighth life, she'd helped manage food distribution for a survivor camp.
She remembered the lines.
The arguments.
The children who pretended they weren't hungry so their younger siblings could eat.
Nine people was manageable.
Nine people was a blessing.
But nine people would never be the final number.
Not if she could help it.
"Dad?"
"Hmm?"
"I don't want to prepare only for us."
His pen stopped.
Daric looked up.
Jorin's typing slowed.
Jules kept her eyes on the table.
"I know we're supposed to focus on the family first. I know that. But if we have enough supplies, I want to help other people too."
Kaelen didn't answer immediately.
She waited for him to tell her she was being unrealistic.
Instead, he asked, "How many?"
"I don't know yet."
"That seems to be a recurring answer."
She winced.
He noticed.
His expression softened slightly.
"I'm not saying no, Jules. I'm asking you to think about what you're committing to."
She looked up.
"Food isn't the only thing people need," he continued. "They need clean water. Shelter. Medicine. Security. If we invite people into a place we control, we're accepting responsibility for what happens to them."
"I know."
"Do you?"
She thought of a woman begging outside a locked gate.
A little boy coughing into his mother's coat.
A guard asking whether they had enough food to admit two more people.
She remembered giving the order to open the gate.
And what happened three nights later.
"Yes," she said quietly.
Kaelen watched her.
For a moment, she worried she'd said too much.
Then he nodded.
"Then we'll make a separate plan for additional residents. But we don't promise anyone something we can't provide."
Jules swallowed.
"Okay."
"And we're not feeding an imaginary population until we've secured a building."
Daric raised his hand.
Kaelen looked at him.
"What?"
"Can we put that on a shirt?"
Jules threw a folded inventory sheet at his head.
Selina's presentation began at 9:36 a.m.
She insisted everyone sit in the living room.
Tavian arrived carrying a bowl of grapes.
Amira brought her stuffed rabbit.
Kaelith came in holding one shoe.
Nobody knew where the other shoe was.
Selina stood in front of the television wearing a blazer over her pajamas.
Jules stared.
"Why are you dressed like that?"
"Professionalism."
"You're wearing slippers."
"Comfortable professionalism."
Tavian leaned toward Jules.
"She practiced her introduction in the bathroom."
"I heard that."
"You were loud."
Selina clicked the remote.
A title appeared on the television.
PROJECT: DON'T DIE
Underneath it, in smaller letters:
An Emergency Preparedness Proposal by Selina Valen.
Jules covered her mouth.
Daric made a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.
Kaelen rubbed his forehead.
"Selina," he began.
"Please hold all questions until the end."
He leaned back.
"Go ahead."
Selina smiled.
"Thank you."
She clicked to the next slide.
"After conducting extensive research, I've identified several problems with our current emergency preparedness strategy."
Jules slowly turned toward Jorin.
He was already grinning.
"Problem number one," Selina announced, "communication."
The slide changed.
A picture of a broken cell phone appeared beside an enormous red X.
"If phone networks go down, we're going to need another way to contact each other."
Kaelen nodded.
"Agreed."
"Which is why I recommend handheld radios, backup batteries, charging stations, and a designated communication schedule."
She clicked again.
"Problem number two: identification."
Tavian frowned.
"Identification?"
"Yes. If people are moving between buildings or working in different areas, we need to know who's supposed to be there."
Jules's smile faded slightly.
That was a good point.
A very good point.
In her eighth life, people had stolen uniforms to get through checkpoints.
They'd forged passes.
They'd claimed to be relatives of residents.
A base couldn't function on trust alone.
Selina continued.
"I recommend numbered identification cards, color-coded access levels, and a check-in process."
Kaelen leaned forward.
"Where did you get that idea?"
"Emergency management forums. Also, I watched a documentary about a prison."
Tavian stared at her.
"You watched a prison documentary to plan our family evacuation?"
"Research is research."
Jules laughed.
For the first time that morning, it came easily.
Selina clicked again.
"Problem number three: hygiene."
A picture of a toilet appeared.
Daric lost it.
"Why is there a toilet?"
"Because people need toilets, Daric."
"I know that."
"Then stop interrupting."
Jules leaned back into the couch.
Selina went through sanitation supplies, portable washing stations, water storage, first-aid kits, and emergency clothing.
Some suggestions were impractical.
Some were expensive.
A few were things Jules had completely overlooked.
She watched her sister move confidently through the slides, pointing at charts she'd made herself.
In the first life, Selina had spent the final weeks curled beneath a blanket, too weak to argue.
Now she was lecturing their father about waste management.
Jules blinked quickly.
"Jules?"
She looked up.
Selina was watching her.
"What?"
"Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Then what did I just say?"
Jules hesitated.
Tavian whispered, "Toilet paper."
"I'm not talking about toilet paper anymore!"
"Then I can't help you."
Amira giggled.
Selina sighed dramatically.
"Anyway. My final recommendation is that we assign everyone an emergency responsibility."
She clicked to the last slide.
A chart appeared.
Kaelen — Leadership and Finance.
Serina — Medical.
Jules — Logistics and Supplies.
Daric and Jorin — Equipment and Warehouse Operations.
Selina — Communications and Records.
Tavian — Transportation and Security Assistance.
Amira — Junior Supply Assistant.
Kaelith — Morale.
There was a picture of a smiling cartoon dinosaur beside his name.
Kaelith pointed at the television.
"Dino!"
"Yes," Selina said. "You're the dinosaur."
He clapped.
Kaelen studied the chart.
Then he looked at his daughter.
"That's a good start."
Selina blinked.
"Really?"
"Yes. We'll need to adjust a few things, but you've clearly put thought into it."
Her shoulders straightened.
"Thank you."
"And," Kaelen added, "we should include your mother before finalizing assignments."
"Obviously."
Tavian raised his hand.
Selina sighed.
"Yes?"
"Can I change my job title?"
"To what?"
"Director of Looking Cool During Emergencies."
"No."
"Assistant Director?"
"No."
"Intern?"
"Absolutely not."