Liam Schultz was violently assaulted by his phone alarm at 7:40 AM.


He woke up feeling like a construction crew was jackhammering inside his skull. He slapped the snooze button on the nightstand, realizing two things immediately: he needed to pee, and he was never, ever drinking again.


"Man, I am so done with booze," he groaned, his throat feeling like he'd swallowed a handful of desert sand.


Last night had been a nightmare. He'd been babysitting a VIP client, which meant the unholy trinity of business entertainment: dinner, a karaoke bar, and a late-night grease run. Liam could hold his liquor okay, but this client was a tank. Liam had actually pulled the classic "puke and rally" in the bathroom—tactical vomiting just to make room for more beer—all to get that contract signed. He'd eventually blacked out and had zero memory of how he'd stumbled home.


"Adulting is a scam," Liam muttered, rubbing his temples. Being twenty-seven and grinding away in a strange city all by himself was seriously overrated.


He swung his legs out of bed and planted his feet on the floor.


Squish.


"What the...?" Liam looked down. His slippers were soaked. "Why is the floor wet?"


Adrenaline cut through his hangover. He stood up, panic rising. Had he been so wasted last night that he left a faucet running? Was he flooding the place?


He did a frantic sweep of the kitchen and bathroom. Bone dry. No leaks.


"Weird. No burst pipes," he mumbled. "And I live on the top floor, specifically so I don't have to deal with upstairs neighbors leaking water on me. Whatever. I'll deal with it later."


He shook his head, trying to ignore the creeping sense of wrongness. He hated dealing with house problems. He rented this place—a unit on the 30th floor, the very top of the building.


He checked the time. 7:50. He had to be at his desk by 8:30, and the bus ride was twenty minutes on a good day. He was cutting it close.


He rushed to the sink to scrub the sleep off his face. His eyes were puffy and stinging, so he pressed a hot towel over them for ten seconds. When he pulled it away, he felt a little more human.


He noticed the bathroom window was barely cracked open. The opaque glass made it impossible to see out, so he pushed the pane all the way open to let in some fresh air.


He looked down.


His left eyelid twitched.


"This... this is..."


Liam's pupils blew wide. He leaned his head out, staring, and forgot how to breathe.


Outside the window, there were no streets. No cars. No noise.


Just water. Sparkling, endless water.


"That's impossible."


His voice cracked. His heart started hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He slammed his eyes shut, shivering.


"Okay, Liam. You're hallucinating. You pressed the towel on your eyes too hard. It's a visual glitch. Reboot."


He rubbed his eyes fiercely and opened them again.


The water was still there.


A blue plastic flip-flop bobbed casually on the surface, drifting past his window.


Bang!


Liam slammed the window shut, terrified. A cold chill shot down his spine. He turned and sprinted out of the bathroom, moving so fast that he smashed his toe into the doorframe.


Pain exploded in his foot, cold sweat popping on his forehead, but he didn't stop to check for blood. He limped frantically to the balcony and ripped the curtains open.


Then, he froze. He stood there like a statue, hands shaking, staring at the end of the world.


Through the balcony glass, the truth was undeniable.


The city was gone. The entire world had been turned into a massive ocean.


Only the very tips of the tallest skyscrapers poked out of the water like lonely islands. The waterline had swallowed everything below the 30th floor.


His apartment was on the 30th floor. The water was lapping right at his floorboards. Everything below him—all twenty-nine floors—was underwater.


"No way... this has to be a dream!"


Liam pinched his left arm. Hard.


A purple bruise formed instantly, and the sharp sting made him gasp.


The pain was real. The wet floor was real. This wasn't a hallucination.


His brain, still foggy from the alcohol, started to spin.


So that's why the floor is damp, he realized. The water is seeping in.


But how? Had the entire city flooded overnight while he was passed out? How had he slept through a global catastrophe? Was the booze that strong?


A thought struck him. He unlocked his front door and scrambled into the hallway, pounding his fist on the neighbor's door.


There were only two other apartments in this section of the roof level. He didn't know the neighbors well. The one next door was some stylish girl—a total fashionista who had moved in a few months ago.


They usually just nodded at each other in the elevator. He knew she was single, or at least he assumed so, given the revolving door of different guys he'd seen her bring home.


"Hey! Is anyone home?!" Liam screamed, banging on the wood.


Liam didn't have time for manners. He pounded on the door hard enough to rattle the hinges, but got zero response.


When silence was the only thing that answered him, Liam sprinted down the hallway to the next apartment. He knew the neighbors here—a young couple who owned a Chihuahua that barked at everything that moved.


He raised his fist to knock, then froze. The door wasn't closed. It was cracked open, just a sliver.


"Anybody home?" Liam paused, waiting. Nothing. He pushed the door wide.


The living room was a disaster zone. Near the shoe rack, a pair of men's dress shoes and women's high heels lay scattered. One of the leather shoes was flipped upside down, sole facing the ceiling, like someone had kicked it off in a hurry. The trash can had been knocked over, spewing garbage across the floor.


On the dining table, two round plastic takeout containers sat abandoned. One still held half a bowl of soup. The other had tipped over, splashing noodles everywhere. The spilled broth had already solidified into a gross, gelatinous mess on the tabletop.