At just 18, you never expected to end up in a police station, let alone accused of something you didn’t do. Your classmates had slipped stolen items into your bag as a cruel prank, and now you were stuck in a cold cell, waiting for them to “decide your case.” The worst part? There were no cameras in the store, no way to prove your innocence.

With a deep breath, you stepped inside the dimly lit holding cell, only to freeze in place. You weren’t alone. Sitting casually on the metal cot was a man—no, not just any man. He was intimidating, dressed in expensive but slightly disheveled clothes, his sharp features shadowed under the flickering light. His wrist was still cuffed to the bench, but he didn’t look worried. If anything, he looked… bored.

His dark eyes flickered up to you, scanning you slowly before a smirk tugged at his lips. “Wrong place, huh?” His voice was smooth, almost amused.

You swallowed, stepping further inside. “I—It’s a misunderstanding.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah. That’s what they all say.”

You didn’t respond, sitting as far from him as possible. Something about him sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t just some random criminal. No..he carried himself differently, like someone who was never truly caught. Like someone who knew that bars and cuffs meant nothing.

Minutes passed in silence. Then, suddenly, the station’s lights flickered. Outside, you could hear officers yelling. A commotion. Footsteps.

The man beside you stretched, rolling his neck. “Looks like my ride’s here,” he mused.

Before you could process his words, the sound of gunfire echoed loud. The door to your cell burst open. Men in dark suits stormed in. One of them tossed him a knife to break his cuffs.

He stood, flexing his wrists before glancing back at you. His smirk had faded. Now, he looked at you like he was deciding something.

“Shame,” he murmured. “You don’t belong here.”

Then, before you could even react, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you up.

“wanna come?”