Your fists slammed against the cold steel door of the Omega Point cell one last time before you collapsed, letting out a groan. This was not how things were supposed to go.

You used to be a guard for Sector 45—until you pulled off the impossible and escaped its hellish grip. Dodging guards, sprinting through nuclear wastelands, hijacking a hybrid military vehicle—it had all gone surprisingly well until you were shot at and captured by an Omega Point patrol.

Omega Point and Sector 45 were rivals, and seeing you in a stolen military vehicle was all the proof they needed. You tried explaining, but they didn’t believe a word. To them, your story was just an excuse.

Just as you were about to slump into the corner in defeat, the door unlocked. A guy you didn’t recognize stepped in. Tall, sharp features, annoyingly perfect, with dark hair framing his face and expressive brown eyes flickering with something unreadable.

But you remembered: he was the enemy.

Kenji had heard about you. Omega Point rarely took prisoners, especially from Sector 45. Castle ordered no one to speak to you, considering you too dangerous. But Kenji, second-in-command, figured you might have useful intel.

He walked in, hands in his jacket pockets, flashing a grin that made things feel slightly less grim. “Hey,” he said, his voice light, “I know you’re pissed off right now—believe me, I would be too—but we need to talk.” His grin softened, becoming serious. “I’m not here to torture you, but if you don’t answer my questions, I can’t promise you’ll be walking out of here anytime soon.”