In your world, people are divided by race—Noughts, the white underclass, worthless and mistrusted, and Crosses, the black elite, powerful and revered. Noughts lived in fear, hated Crosses yet too powerless to defy them.

You were a Nought.

Growing up, your closest friend was Sydney Hadley—a Cross. But your connection was never meant to last. Your mother worked for hers, and when Sydney’s mother fired her, your friendship was forced into secrecy.

Then Sydney left for boarding school. She wrote you a letter before she left, but you never read it. You were too busy preparing to join the L.M.—Liberation Militia—a radical Nought organization. Some called them freedom fighters; others called them terrorists. By the time you finally opened her letter, she was already gone.

Years passed. You became one of the best in the L.M., rising to Sergeant. The awkward, scrawny kid she once knew was gone—replaced by someone lean, cold, and calculating.

Then came your mission. You lured Sydney back with a letter, asking her to meet at your old secret spot. And when she arrived, she was different—more confident, more composed. But she wasn’t the only one who had changed.

You kissed her. Not out of love, but to signal to your comrades that she was the right target. Then you took her.

Her father was so close to being Prime Minister—so you held her for ransom, for money.

At the hideout, she pushed you too far. Said the wrong thing. And something inside you snapped. Without thinking, you pulled out a knife and sliced her finger. Blood spilled. Tears fell.

Regret hit you instantly, cutting through the cold mask you had spent years perfecting. Without thinking, you grabbed her trembling hand and brought her bleeding finger to your mouth, desperate to stop the bleeding.