Evelyn had scoured four different salvage yards, and just as she was on the verge of giving up, she spotted it. The iron rod lay resting against the leg of an elderly gatekeeper, who was perched on a stool at the entrance.

From the looks of it, the old man was using the legendary bar as nothing more than a poker for shifting scrap.

To keep up appearances, Evelyn began sorting through stacks of old books and newspapers. In this era, newsprint was a versatile commodity—good for insulating drafty walls or starting a hearth fire. As for the books, she knew that in two years, the national college entrance exams would be reinstated. She intended to be ready.

"Sir," Evelyn said, gesturing toward the metal rod at his feet. "I need to do a bit more digging. Do you mind if I borrow that to move some of the heavier piles?"

The old man glanced at the slight girl and the modest pile of books she’d already gathered. "Go ahead, take it."

The moment Evelyn’s hand closed around the rod, her heart skipped. The weight was significant—far heavier than mere iron. She tried to pick at the blackened, crusty exterior with her fingernail, but the grime was stubborn.

She couldn't be one hundred percent certain, but it matched the descriptions from her past life perfectly.

She spent the next hour poked through the heaps of refuse. Whenever she found a "forbidden" book—volumes that were dangerous to own but precious for the knowledge they held—she waited for the old man to look away and slipped them into her spatial dimension. The rest of the yard was picked clean; in these lean times, anything of value was usually snatched up by the yard workers or eagle-eyed neighbors long before a stranger could find it.

"I'm all set, sir," Evelyn announced, carrying a small stack of books and two heavy bundles of newspaper.

As the man began weighing her haul, she added casually, "How much for the iron rod? It feels sturdy in my hand. It’d make me feel a lot safer walking home after a late shift."

It was a sensible excuse. The old man didn't give it a second thought. "Sure, why not?"

The total for the books, papers, and the "iron" came to eighty cents. As she paid, she left an extra five-dollar bill on the table as a silent gesture of gratitude. Once she found a secluded alleyway, she vanished the items into her space.

Evelyn had plenty of cash, but she was desperately short on ration coupons. Every scrap of allowance she’d ever earned at the factory had been handed over to her parents. To get what she needed for the North, she’d have to brave the black market. Prices there were steep to begin with; without coupons, they were extortionate. But she had no choice.

The district officials had been blunt: Make your quilts as thick as humanly possible. The northern winters weren't just cold; they were lethal.

By the time she emerged from the black market, she took a winding route through the city's backstreets, doubling back several times to ensure she wasn't being followed before stowing her new supplies.

That night, she stayed behind locked doors. Using a coarse stone she’d scavenged, she began to grind away at the black crust of the rod. Slowly, the grime gave way, revealing a dull, heavy sheen beneath.

It wasn't the bright, glittering yellow of 24-karat jewelry, but it was unmistakably gold alloy.

Evelyn exhaled a long, shaky breath, her eyes bright with triumph. Her efforts hadn't been in vain. She had "stolen" from that ill-fated family, perhaps, but in doing so, she had stripped away the very curse that would have led to their massacre.

While Evelyn worked in secret, the atmosphere at the Ward house was reaching a boiling point.

Caleb had spent the entire day pounding the pavement, his shoes worn thin and his patience thinner. "She sold her job and vanished. You don't think she’s actually run off with all that money, do you?"

Ward’s face was a mask of thunderous resentment. "I checked with the factory and the district office. She hasn't applied for a travel permit or a letter of introduction."

Without those papers, she was a ghost. She couldn't leave the city, and she couldn't even check into a state-run hostel.

"Maybe she’s got a man on the side," Caleb speculated with a nasty grin. "Why else would she stay out two nights in a row?"

Ward lit a cigarette, his fingers trembling slightly. "Are you sure she isn't at Seraphina’s?"

"She’s not there," Mrs. Ward snapped, her voice like a whip. "The little wretch has probably crawled into some hole to hide. Just wait until she shows her face. I’ll break her legs."

Caleb leaned in, his eyes gleaming. "Dad, why don't we just call the police? Report her for stealing family funds. Let the cops hunt her down."

Ward shook his head. "The moment the police are involved, it becomes a public scandal. The Julians won't stand for that kind of embarrassment."

Mrs. Ward let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "Do you honestly think that after she swindled five thousand dollars out of them, she’s still going to marry into that family?"

Ward took a long, deep drag of his cigarette. Arthur and his wife certainly wanted her gone—but based on Julian’s behavior, the boy was still hooked.

Evelyn waited four days. She knew exactly where her father’s breaking point was. If she stayed away any longer, his pride would give way to desperation and he would involve the authorities. She didn't want to drag others into her mess.

She used her key to enter the house while it was empty. The place was a wreck. Dust gathered on the tables, the floor was unswept, and a mountain of laundry sat rotting in the corner. For over a decade, Evelyn had been the invisible engine that kept the household running. In her absence, the gears had ground to a halt.

Mrs. Ward had enjoyed a life of leisure for too long to start playing the dutiful housewife now.

Word of the "prodigal daughter’s" return traveled fast through the neighborhood grapevine. Within the hour, the entire family had stormed through the door.

"So, you finally decided to come home!"

The three of them glared at her with a unified, predatory intensity.

"I was in a bad headspace," Evelyn replied coolly, offering a practiced shrug. "I went to stay with a classmate in the suburbs for a few days."

Ward frowned. It made sense; they had searched every inch of the city, but they hadn't thought to check the rural outskirts.

Mrs. Ward’s eyes immediately began raking over Evelyn like a buzzard looking for a scrap of meat. "Where is the money?"

Evelyn was sitting on a small fortune, and Mrs. Ward’s "motherly concern" was driven entirely by the thought of those eight thousand dollars. Even Caleb’s eyes lit up at the mention of the sum.

"The money is mine," Evelyn said firmly. "And I’ve hidden it where you'll never find it."

Fury bubbled beneath Mrs. Ward’s skin. That her daughter had successfully squeezed money out of the Julians was one thing; that she intended to keep it was an act of war.

"Lock her in her room," Ward commanded, his voice cold with disappointment. "A few days of reflection will do her good."

In the Ward household, "reflection" was code for starvation. Whenever Evelyn had been "disobedient" as a child, Mrs. Ward would lock her away without food. She remembered being so hungry once—at an age too young to truly understand—that she felt her soul was shriveling up.

Back then, Julian had been her only savior. Whenever he came over to play, the Wards were forced to let her out. He would always bring treats in his pockets, and to the starving little girl, Julian hadn't just been a friend—he had been an angel. He was the literal embodiment of hope and a full stomach. That was how her devotion to him had been forged—not in love, but in the desperation of survival.

That night, the scent of braised pork belly wafted through the house. Mrs. Ward was cooking a feast specifically to torment her.

Inside her room, however, Evelyn was eating a warm, delicious meal of her own. Inside the ring, time stood still; the food she had bought at the black market remained as fresh and hot as the moment it was cooked. They wanted to starve her? Let them try.

Across town, Julian was pacing his floor. He had heard from Seraphina that Evelyn was back, and his first instinct was to rush over.

But he held back. He was still nursing his pride. From Seraphina’s biased accounts, he’d heard that Evelyn hadn't just "extorted" his parents, but had held her own parents at knifepoint to force a two-thousand-dollar dowry out of them.

The image of a knife-wielding, money-hungry Evelyn didn't fit the girl he thought he knew. He felt a profound sense of disillusionment. Was she really this selfish? This cold?

He couldn't help but wonder: had she only ever wanted to marry him because he was the son of the factory director?