The cold bit through everything that night — through rubber, steel, skin.
The Obsidian Veil cut across the South Pacific like a blade dragged through black glass, her hull groaning against swells that had been building since sundown. Twelve men on deck. Forty-three containers below. And enough cargo to fund a small war.
Captain Dren stood at the helm, one hand braced against the console, the other wrapped around a cigarette that the wind kept trying to steal. He was a broad man — the kind built by years of bad weather and worse decisions — and tonight, every one of those years sat heavy on his face.
"Wind's picking up," his first mate muttered beside him, eyes fixed on the radar.
Dren said nothing. He already knew.
The rain had started two hours ago — light at first, almost polite. Now it came sideways, needles of ice driving into exposed skin, drumming against the containers with a sound like distant gunfire. The deck tilted. Righted itself. Tilted again.
Below, in the belly of the ship, Rael moved through the corridors like he belonged to the dark.
He was new to this crew — three weeks, maybe four. Quiet enough that people stopped noticing him. Efficient enough that nobody asked questions. He had a forgettable face, the kind that slipped from memory the moment he left a room, and he had spent years perfecting that particular talent.
He stopped in front of container seven.
His fingers found the lock without a flashlight. swet dripping from the corner of his forhead. He had memorized its position the first night aboard, the way a man memorizes an exit before he ever needs one. He knew what he is doing but stills his hands were cold as ice. The lock clicked open. He imidiatly slipped inside and pulled the door shut behind him, in the darkness, he pressed a single button on the device strapped to his forearm.
A quiet beep. A countdown has started. Seventy-two seconds.
he turned and rushed out, He was back in his bunker in sixty seconds.
On deck, it started as a sound.
Not an explosion — not yet. Something lower. A groan from deep inside the ship's skeleton, like the vessel itself was swallowing something it couldn't digest. One of the younger crew members paused, his head tilted, he had just ring a bell in his head.
Then the fire found oxygen.
The blast tore through container seven with a force that buckled the deck plating, sending a column of white-orange flame screaming into the winter sky. The rain hit it and hissed. Hit it again. The fire didn't care. It had already found container eight. Container nine was next.
Everyone scattered here and there, they started shouting coordinates into a radio. the younger one just froze there, with no idea what to do.
Dren gripped the helm with both hands as the ship lurched violently to starboard. By this time, he already knew that they got attacked but this time it was so silent. Alarms shrieked through every corridor. On the radar screen, their position blinked once — then the power flickered and died.
In the chaos, nobody noticed Rael calmly pull on a life vest.
Nobody noticed him move to the port side railing.
Nobody noticed the small inflatable already waiting in the water below, tethered by a single cord he'd secured three days ago.
He looked back once — at the fire eating through forty-three containers, at twelve men running in directions that wouldn't save them, at millions dissolving into winter smoke above the South Pacific.
His expression didn't change.
He cut the cord. Dropped. And tvanished in the black water
His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling, the cigarette in the middle of his finger starts burning, a knife crimson at the blade beside him..."hah...thats why i dont kill anyone", he crushes the cigarette in the ash tray and sit properly, "now i am feeling guilty" he said voice cold as ice, he stood up walked to the window near that body, "you really created a mess in my room" the clock was already ticking 3:47 am, "and now i have to sleep with you tonight, what a shame", he kicked the man's lifeless corpse, stared at that man...he doesnt have even a brink of emotions in his eyes, his face pale like a grim reaper, suddenly his phone rang.
He turned and picked his phone from the side table. the name "dren", was shining at the screen, The call came at 3:47 AM.
One ring. Two.
he answerd the call and put the phone on the ear
He didn't speak, simply listened, his jaw tightening with each word that reached him through the receiver. Outside his window, Tokyo glittered indifferently — a city that had never once paused for anyone's catastrophe.
When the voice on the other end finished, the silence that followed was the kind that precedes something irreversible. "Find me whoever did this. Postpone everything — one week. I want him in front of me in four days." he didnt said it...he commanded
He set the phone down with a gentleness that was somehow more frightening than if he'd thrown it.
The party was postponed. One week.
_________________________________________________________________________...
Sam had fallen into a deep sleep. The room was steeped in half-darkness, and he lay there with innocent vulnerability beneath the soft blanket. He'd grown so frail lately. Then, something cold brushed the lobe of his ear—a delicate feather-like touch sliding slowly downward. It was nothing other than the blade of Nao's knife, now tracing the edge of Sam's neck.
Even in sleep, Sam was alert. The sensation jolted him awake. With eyes heavy from slumber, he lunged at the figure standing before him, seizing their hand. He gripped it with all his might.
The figure ahead smirked. He seized Sam's hand in return, twisted it sharply in a sudden motion, and pinned him down—straddling his chest, slamming his arms against the bedframe. Sam's eyes flew wide. "What, did the spell of sleep break?" the man murmured with a sly grin.
"Get off me," Sam spat, his voice laced with fury and a shiver of fear.
"Oh, so you'll give me orders now? When did you pick up that skill?" Nao's smirk vanished, replaced by raw anger. But before striking, he leaned in close—agonizingly slow. His face hovered inches from Sam's, their breaths mingling in the dim air. Nao's dark eyes bored into Sam's, tracing the curve of his jaw, the rapid pulse at his throat. Time stretched; the knife still gleamed faintly near Sam's skin, a whisper of threat. Sam's chest heaved under Nao's weight, their faces so near that the heat of Nao's exhale ghosted across Sam's lips, but nao's eyes were cold, and there wasn't any spark, stirring something unspoken—fear twisted with an electric pull that neither acknowledged.
Then, snapping the moment, Nao's hand shot to Sam's throat. He squeezed hard, pressing down. "Remember where you are," he said coldly.
Sam clawed at Nao's hand with both of his, desperate to pry it free. He was trapped in a living hell. That's when Nao's gaze fell on Sam's arms—covered in bruises. "tch" he bothred, His grip slackened. He released Sam and slid off. "I hate to see this chick face of yours, you are just a coward" he said with a disgusted face.
Sam bolted upright, coughing harshly. Nao pocketed his blade. "You've got ten minutes. Meet us on the rooftop," he said, his wasn't cold this time. As he turned to leave, his eyes caught the medicine packet on the table—the one he'd left earlier—beside a half-empty glass of water. His lips curved faintly. slipping a hand into his pocket, and walked out.
________________________________________
The bottles she'd pushed to the side of the nightstand the previous night still sat there, untouched. She'd meant to open them. Hadn't.
Her eyes opened slowly to a room suspended between night and morning — curtains drawn, a thin blade of pale light pressing through the gap where the fabric didn't quite meet. She pushed herself upright, blanket pooling around her waist, and just sat there. Still. The way you sit when your body has woken up but your mind never really slept.
It was still running. Had been running since midnight.
Alexa's face. The way the color had drained out of it.
Sara pressed both palms flat against her face, fingers pushing into her hairline, and exhaled — long and slow, the kind of breath that doesn't release anything. She'd been turning it over since the balcony. The way Alexa had said I love you with her whole chest, and then folded that love away so quietly when Sara said no. No argument. No scene. Just — okay. The way Alexa always made things easy for everyone else, even when it cost her.
And the voice. The one that had laughed.
Sara's jaw tightened. She didn't want to think about that.
She gathered her hair — loose and tangled from hours of restless turning — and pushed it back from her face. Her lower back ached from lying too long in one position. The tiredness in her wasn't the kind that sleep fixed. It sat deeper than that, in the bones, in the spaces between thoughts.
She stayed like that a moment longer. Then, finally, she moved.
Crossing to the window, she pulled the curtains apart.
Light poured in all at once — clean, indifferent, merciless morning light — and she squinted against it, blinking until the world outside came into focus. The city was already moving below. It never waited.
Her phone alarm went off.
8:00 AM.
She silenced it, wrapped her hair into something that vaguely resembled a bun, and walked toward the bathroom. Whatever today required of her, she'd figure it out when she got there. She always did.
_____________________________________
The professor's voice moved through the classroom at a steady, measured pace — the kind that made note-taking feel almost meditative. Almost.
Beside Hazel, Max had abandoned all pretense of listening somewhere around the fifteen-minute mark and was now deeply absorbed in a sketch, his pen moving in careful, focused strokes across the open pages of his diary. He was drawing someone's profile — patient, unhurried, completely unbothered by the lecture happening three feet away.
Hazel wasn't drawing. Wasn't writing either.
She was watching the black sedan parked across the street.
It hadn't moved in forty minutes. It wouldn't. She knew that by now — the way you absorb certain truths without anyone formally stating them.
Since Citadel. Since everything that came attached to that word. There would always be a car. There would always be someone on the other end of a radio. And if she happened to glance out of any window at any given moment, there would be eyes already glancing back.
No late nights past ten. No unplanned detours. No parties — which, practically speaking, meant no parties at all. Permission required for anything that deviated. Guards for anywhere worth going.
She hadn't told anyone outside. Couldn't.
Her notebook lay open in front of her. Blank page. Not a single word.
The bell rang.
The room shifted — the soft, familiar chaos of zippers and chairs and everyone suddenly remembering they existed outside this room. Hazel looked down at her notebook. Still blank.
_________________________
"Hey...." Max leaned over, his sketch apparently complete, diary already tucked under his arm. His eyes dropped to her empty page and stayed there. "You didn't take any notes today?"
"Hmm?" She looked up.
He raised an eyebrow. She shook her head faintly and reached for her book.
He kept looking at her. That was the thing about Max ... he didn't glance and move on the way most people did. He waited. Quietly. Until the silence answered for her.
"Hazel." His voice was easy, no pressure in it. "You okay? Something bothering you?"
She smiled ..... small, automatic. "No, I'm just tired."
She stood, swung her bag onto her shoulder. "Come on, let's go to the cafe."
And she walked out before he could respond.
She heard him behind her anyway , the quick rustle of his bag, footsteps picking up pace....and then he was beside her in the corridor, matching her stride without apparent effort.
She walked faster.
He walked faster.
she turned the corner. He turned the corner.
She didn't look at him. He didn't say anything. But she could feel the grin radiating off him like heat.
"Hazel :)."
"No!!"
"I didn't say anything:)"
"You were about to!"
"I just said your name ...:|"
"Max, I swear !!!...."
"Hazel, I am deeply offended that you would assume :)"
She walked faster. He jogged to catch up, falling into step beside her again with entirely too much enthusiasm for someone who had just been accused of something.
"Is it the notes?" he asked. "Because honestly, my sketch was very detailed. Historically significant, even. I could share —"
"I don't want your sketch."
"It's really good though —"
"Max." this time she was dead serious
"Okay, okay." max said almost taking defeat, but after a beat, "Hazel:)"
She stopped walking. Turned to look at him with an expression that could have melted steel.
He blinked back at her, the picture of innocence.
She turned back around and kept walking.
He followed, now whistling quietly under his breath. She pressed her eyes shut for two full seconds, reopened them, and kept her gaze fixed straight ahead.
"You know," he said conversationally, hands in his pockets, "usually when something's bothering you, you've told me about it by now. Just saying."
"Nothing is bothering me!!" her voice was firm
"You didn't eat at breakfast."
"I wasn't hungry." still bothered she said
"You're always hungry."
"Max !!!"
"I'm just concerned, Haze. As your older brother. Your wiser, more emotionally attuned..."
"Oh my God " hazel said in almost sarcastic way
".... deeply handsome :)" he finished his sentence
"Max!!"
He grinned. She had stopped walking again, and she was looking at him with the specific expression she reserved exclusively for him , somewhere between fury and the effort not to laugh, which she would never, under any circumstances, do right now.
"Tell me what's wrong," he said simply, dropping the act for just a second, his voice quieter. "Or I'm going to keep this up all the way to the cafe, in the cafe, and then on the way back from the cafe. You know I will."
"You are so ....."she stopped for a second to think the right word.
"Persistent? Caring? An excellent brother?"
"Annoying!" she finally said it.
"Synonyms," he said cheerfully, and resumed walking.
She stood there for half a second, fists at her sides, then hiked her bag up and followed. "I hate you."
"You love me." max was never gonna stop just because of some scolding
"I am actively reconsidering."
"Mm-hmm."
They walked in simmering silence for another thirty seconds , which for Hazel was impressive, and for Max was simply a different kind of winning.
Then: "Fine," she snapped, stopping outside the cafe entrance and spinning to face him. "Fine. You want to know? Then buy me lunch first, because I am not having this conversation on an empty stomach."
Max's face split into a grin so wide it was almost architectural. "Yes," he said under his breath, punching the air once , quietly, so she wouldn't see.
She saw.
"Don't," she said.
"I didn't do anything." max lied with straght face
"You were celebrating."
"I would never"
"Max." she was so done by now
"After you," he said, pulling the cafe door open with a sweep of his arm and the most gracious expression he could manage.
She walked through without looking at him. He followed, still grinning.
A few minutes later they were both seated, lunch between them, the cafe buzzing softly around them.
"So," Max said, dragging a french fry through ketchup and pointing it at her. "Talk."
Hazel took a sip of her juice. Looked at the table. Then, like a dam finally giving way, it all came out in one breath — no pauses, no stuttering, just the whole thing at once.
"It's the security. The twenty-four seven surveillance, the curfew, no late nights, no parties, nowhere to go without filing a request and taking three guards along — it feels like we're not living, Max, we're just... existing inside a very expensive cage. No freedom. No privacy. Nothing."
**Silence.**
Max stared at her. Then , "Okay that's actually massive."
"Right?!" hazel almost shouted..she was happy that she is not the only one who felt like that.
"No I mean , yeah. I feel that too, genuinely."
"Thank you!" Hazel threw her hand up like he'd just confirmed something she'd been arguing in court for months.
Max nodded slowly, chewing his fry, his expression shifting into that particular look she recognized — the one where he'd stopped talking and started thinking. She didn't always trust that look. But right now, having said it all out loud, she felt lighter. Noticeably, physically lighter. She pulled her plate toward her and started eating again.
Max stared at the table. hazel has already finished her lunch and now she has eyes on max's lunch..finally listneing to all her intrusive thoughts, hazel stole one of his fries.
Max stared at the table....
"Hazel. Hazel!!" he shouted
She looked up, startled by the volume. "What ??? I'm right here "
"What if," he said, leaning forward, mischievous smile already spreading, eyes lit up like he'd just solved something genuinely brilliant, "we go on an adventure?"
She looked at him flatly. "What kind of adventure."
"We will ditch the guards and enjoy our full day, just us, no schedule, no permission, no nothing , just so much fun."
Hazel blinked. "And the guards are just going to .... what, wave us off? They're not exactly humpty dumpty, Max."
"Okay first of all ....." he pointed the fry at her again "Mr. Li is literally on a mission right now. he is not here so who's going to scold us? Who?"
She opened her mouth.
"And before you say Grandma," he cut her off, "I know how to handle Grandma. That's my department. Don't worry about Grandma."
She closed her mouth.
"And the trackers?" she tried.
"Lockers. We leave the phones in the college lockers, pick them up on the way back. Clean. Simple. Untraceable."
Hazel stared at him. He was smiling wider now, clearly very pleased with himself for closing every loophole before she could find it. She looked down at her food. Thought about it for a real moment actually considered it, which meant she was already halfway there.
"...Nothing will actually go wrong. right?" she asked, looking back up.
"Hazel. my dear sister. I promise on everything. My personal guarantee."
Another pause. A shorter one this time.
She pushed her chair back and stood up. "Okay. Next class is starting soon, come on, let's bunk."
Max's jaw dropped slightly. "Bunk?"
"You literally just suggested that, a class worm"
hazel raised her eyebrow "what do you mean by the class worm"
"i mean a book worm is someone who is always lost in book..but" max was actually explaining it "a classworm is someone who is always in class or loves class" he smiled asking for a praise for explainaing something he thinks really hard.
"max!..i just don't know what should i do with you, you know..mr li always did right to you , you deserver it" hazel scolded him. she turned and started walking
"No, no, I know, I just " he grinned "Hazel.!!" he catch up with hazel
"Fine, let's just go "
"Yes!" He was already on his feet, bag over his shoulder, victory claimed. "Adventure. Let's go. Right now. Come on."
She shook her head but she was moving, and smiling , just slightly, enough , and that was the whole point. That had always been the whole point. He couldn't fix the Citadel or the guards or any of it. But he could fix this , the look on her face, the weight she carried when she thought nobody was watching.
She was his little sister. He wasn't going to let her drown in it quietly.