ARRDE
I stood at the edge of the private hangar, the wind cutting sharp across my face like a warning I couldn’t quite decipher. It tugged at my coat, at my thoughts, at the last remnants of certainty I had left. The sun hung too high, too bold, spilling harsh light over a moment that felt anything but warm. Everything about this scene felt wrong—too exposed, too quiet, like the world had paused to watch me make a mistake I couldn’t undo.
The plane waited ahead like a jewel—gleaming, pristine, exuding the kind of luxury meant to impress, to distract, to bind. It was promised. Arranged. A symbol of safety under Alpha Sinclair’s so-called protection. But even as it sat there like an offer too perfect to question, something inside me recoiled.
That protection was never armor. It was a cage
