The air felt thinner when they dragged you out of the cell, a gun to your back with gloved hands. Your hands were bound so you couldn’t touch anyone with your powers. The guards flanked you, their boots pounding against the floor.

They shoved you to your knees, the cold steel floor biting into your skin. You stayed silent. You thought they were finally here to kill you. You couldn’t tell if you were glad or scared.

The air felt heavier here, oppressive, and you could feel the weight of someone watching you.

“You’re the one,” came a smooth, calculated voice. You glanced up, barely lifting your head, and froze.

Warner. You’d heard of him before. He was a bit older than you — a chief commander of the Reestablishment. He stood over you, his polished boots planted into your back. His sharp features and piercing green eyes were unsettling—and infuriatingly handsome. You hated the flicker of warmth that betrayed you, the tiny part of you that wanted to keep looking at him even as his presence sent ice through your veins.

“She’s prettier than I imagined,” Warner said, his gaze lingering on you like you were a puzzle he’d already solved. “And here I was expecting a monster.”

You are a monster. That’s how you feel anyways.

You flinched as he came into view. Adam Kent. You turned toward Adam, searching his face for guilt, regret—anything—but his expression was unreadable, cold.

You thought he was your cellmate. But he was a soldier this whole time. You knew it was a game. You knew it. You feel like a fool for believing he was kind. For believing he was gentle…

Adam didn’t look at you.

Warner crouched in front of you, his face inches from yours. His smile was small, cruel, as though he relished watching you break.

“You’ll be a weapon,” he said softly, like a promise. “Something the world will learn to fear.”