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Emptiness has the fragility of feathers and bears the weight of mountains.

A high-pitched alarm resounded throughout the prison, and Khalani immediately sat up. She didn’t sleep. There came the point when her face dried up because no tears were left to cry. Devoid of emotion and energy, she lay on the floor the whole night, watching scenes of her old life play out on the stone crevices of the ceiling.

Rubbing her puffy eyes in exhaustion, she glanced at the steel bars sliding open.

“Roll call!” a deep, masculine voice yelled out.

Footsteps from other prisoners exiting their cells drifted to her. Remembering the guard’s words yesterday, Khalani shot to her feet and tentatively walked out of her cell. The bright lights were overwhelming, and she held a hand over her eyes.

“Psstt, hey!”

She turned to her left. A short prisoner with bright blue, braided hair and ivory skin eyed her. “You need to stand on that.” The blue-haired girl pointed to a yellow strip on the ground. “Motion sensor. ”

Khalani shuffled to the line hastily. “Thanks,” she whispered, but the strange girl quickly faced forward, not acknowledging her further.

She kept one foot on the yellow line and peeked over the metal railing. A multitude of prisoners stood rigidly in place on each floor. On the other side of her block, a guard dressed in all black walked by each prisoner, giving them the once-over. His face was hidden from view, but his brutally toned physique was evident, like he could snap her neck in an instant.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. What if the guard assigned her to the surface? No prisoners were sent to the surface. Not in the last ten years. But rumors circled of plans to expand the Genesis dome. Khalani prayed she wouldn’t be alive when that day arrived. There were few deaths more painful than radiation sickness.

Khalani fidgeted back and forth, rubbing her fingers against the sleeves of her uniform. The sound of heavy footsteps grating against metal made her stiffen. She stared straight ahead as the guard’s large body entered her line of vision.

He was well over six feet tall. The long-sleeved black vest stretched tight across his broad muscular frame, which could’ve been chiseled from stone. He clutched an electric pad, marking it as he walked by each prisoner. The guard stopped before her, and she found a spec of courage to lift her head.

His eyes were the color of midnight.

She didn’t know eyes could be that black, as if the pupil bled out to the whole iris. She’d assumed all guards shaved their heads, but gossamer, jet-black hair swept over his forehead. The imposing guard looked a few years older than her, with smooth, golden skin and thick lashes framing his all-consuming eyes. But when their stares connected, Khalani went rigid at the aggression in his gaze.

His sharp jawline ticked as his cold eyes swept up and down her attire, distaste emanating from him as the putrid scent of her jumpsuit suffocated the air.

“Disgusting,” he muttered in revulsion, marking the electric pad .

Khalani’s mouth twisted, and her gaze flickered to the slim, silver badge below his left shoulder. Captain .

“Eyes forward, Kanes,” he commanded without looking up.

She turned forward with a snap.

It barely registered that he didn’t refer to her as Prisoner 17. Not that he needed to. The brand beneath her skin burned more than words and titles ever could.

“Everyone to your assignments!” the guard shouted, and the prisoners on her block started moving. Her eyes danced around frantically.

Where the hell was she supposed to go?

“Listen carefully.”

Her muscles clenched at the dark tone. She shifted slightly, and the guard stepped close. Too close. His body completely dwarfed hers, dominating the space, nearly suffocating the air around her.

“Cell Block 7 is your home now. You are facing the consequences of your actions, and if you don’t want your life here to be a living hell, then you do everything I tell you. Understand?” The guard watched her intently, a threatening shadow passing between his eyes which were laser-focused on her.

No weapons were discernible.

That was scarier for some reason. His stoic, detached energy alone made her want to return to her cell.

“Y-Yes.” She cleared her throat, forcing her terror away to properly function.

“You will report to Marcela in the north-end tunnels every morning. You’ll work half a day there and then proceed to the food hall with the other prisoners. This will be the only meal of the day, no loitering around. Afterward, you’ll report to George in the South A-Wing. He’ll give you your afternoon assignment.”

She nodded to herself, mouthing his words, trying to memorize everything he said. The slightest weight lifted from her chest. She wasn’t assigned any work on the dome.

Not yet .

“Following your afternoon shift,” he continued irritably, “you get a one-hour break in the pit. After that, return to your cell for the nightly roll call. If you’re late, I will know, and you won’t like what happens as punishment.” His eyebrows lowered in an unnerving, “I eat small children for breakfast” type of way.

“You got me, Kanes?”

“Yes,” her voice managed to remain steady.

“Good. There is absolutely no fighting with other prisoners. If you have a problem with another inmate, fix it in the pit. Don’t come to me with issues because I don’t have time to deal with your personal problems.”

She frowned, about to ask what the pit was, but he continued speaking,

“You get a shower token twice a week if you perform well in your assignments. Fail to do so, and your stench won’t be the only thing that covers this prison.” His nose wrinkled. “Don’t expect sympathy or pity because you won’t get it. Not from me or anyone else down here. Are we clear?”

The guard’s sharp features twisted in disdain, like she was nothing more than a repugnant bug he would pay front-row tickets to see trampled.

Douglas told her once about the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. She understood the first four easily. It was acceptance that forever evaded her. It was futile, like trying to clutch air with bare hands.

The Captain’s thinly veiled insults and cruel glare sunk into her skin like a dull knife. Twisting back and forth. Gnawing through her thin walls of self-control.

“Very clear,” she deadpanned. He could be the last person alive, and she’d rather dig up graves and ask skeletons for sympathy.

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, an inch separating them. “If you think I deal with any attitude, you’re severely mistaken. Fail to follow any of these rules, and I will make you suffer.” The threat came out slow and barely above a whisper.

Shivers raced up the back of her neck, but she slowly nodded, more comfortable with thinly veiled threats than lies of survival. His towering frame stood tense, studying her as his warning lingered in the static air.

“Let’s go.” He turned.

Khalani struggled to keep up with him as the guard’s long legs tore across the walkway, not bothering to see if she was following. Because he knew she had nowhere else to go.

He led her into the elevator, and they slowly glided past the prisoner cells. She stood as far from him as possible, but the Captain’s imposing presence made the elevator seem small. Unlike the other guards, he didn’t carry a rifle on his shoulder. Weapons were undoubtedly hidden beneath his vest, but he carried himself with quiet confidence. As if he didn’t need any.

They walked in silence through the dim tunnels. The only light source came from wires cemented on the ceiling, emitting a white glow. Her legs moved double-time to match his fast pace, but Khalani took the time while they marched through the complex caves to study her enemy.

Despite his immense size, the guard moved with grace, scanning every corner with a calculating gaze. His warm, rich skin was a rarity compared to most who lived underground. But the Captain’s dark features and hooded eyes only added to his serious demeanor. Khalani was of Hispanic descent, but this guard’s roots appeared to be linked to East Asia and on any other man, his sharp nose, angular cheekbones, and pronounced jaw would’ve made him pretty.

This guard wasn’t pretty or even handsome. Those were too feeble terms.

He was a disaster you couldn’t tear your focus away from. He was the unmoving calm while you lean on the precipice of death.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?”

“No.” She snapped her head forward. Crazy peripheral vision, also noted .

“The north-end tunnel is that way.” The guard pointed down the decrepit hall. “Any questions? Now is the only time to ask,” he warned.

“Do you have a name?” Referring to him as ‘scary uptight muscle man’ for the rest of her short life didn’t seem appealing.

“I’m the Captain of Braderhelm.”

“They don’t give captains’ names?”

“That’s all you need to know. You won’t live long enough to put any names to use.” His harsh words lingered in the empty space.

Blood rushed to her face, and emotion quickly overrode logic.

“I guess down here, humans are numbered, and only monsters are named. My mistake.”

She stepped away, but stiff fingers grabbed her arm, right over the sensitive brand. The Captain’s brows got low as he applied biting pressure over the unhealed wound. She noticeably flinched but he didn’t relent. His features twisted into something villainous.

Unstable.

As if each layer beneath his skin was slashed and hewn in violence, and he loosely held the reins of control.

“Say that to me again.” The Captain’s head tilted. He twisted her wrist, and she gasped at the sharp pain.

Khalani’s chin trembled as she stared into his shadowed eyes. The guard’s disquieting energy triggered every flight instinct, screaming for her to run. She kept her mouth shut, breaking into a cold sweat.

“Nothing to say now?” His gaze narrowed, sweeping her small frame. “The only reason I’m not breaking your wrist is because you need it for the next shift, and I don’t have patience for your pathetic screams. Unless you’re prepared for the consequences, keep that smart mouth shut, or I’ll ensure a broken bone will be the least of your problems.”

The Captain released his painful grip. She clutched her hand, grimacing, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak.

“If there’s one thing to learn, Kanes, it’s this. Braderhelm is unforgiving, and no one cares about your problems. Fall in line, or you’ll die painfully. ”

“Why not just kill me now?” she rasped.

His icy stare bore into her like a dagger, and the Captain bent his head until their noses were barely touching.

“Nice try,” he quipped. “I expect you to finish a few work shifts before dying. But keep it up, and I’ll grant your wish. Now, get the hell out of my sight.”

The frigid air between them felt magnetized. Her fingers twitched, poised on the edge of defiance, but Khalani turned and hastily fled before succumbing to those fatal instincts.

After a few steps, she dared a glance back, but he was already gone, leaving behind only a lingering sense of peril. She forced herself to exhale, running a shaky hand through her hair.

Something about the Captain made her hairs stand on end but also compelled her toward a head-on collision. The darker parts of her enjoyed toying with death. She didn’t mind playing dangerous games and winning deadlier prizes.

In fact, she yearned for it.

Because it had to end. Some way or another.

She needed everything to end.