Owned by Blackwood

"Next!" Andrew's legs shook as he stumbled out of the interview room. The hallway spun. He leaned against the wall, her words in his head. We'll call you. He'd heard that lie five times this month. Outside, the rain was cold and heavy. He hurried to the alley where he'd hidden his bag. His hands trembled as he felt around the wet ground. Nothing. It was gone. All he had left—forty-three dollars—was gone. "No. No, no, no." The rain soaked through his shirt. He slid down the cold brick wall of Blackwood Industries and put his head in his hands. He wasn't just shaking from the cold. "Hey!" a guard yelled. "You can't stay here. Get moving!" Andrew didn't move. He couldn't. "I said get up," the guard said, his footsteps coming closer. "This isn't a place for people like you." Andrew forced himself to stand. His legs felt weak. He took a few steps, then his knees gave way. The hard ground rushed up to meet his face. Nearby, workers were leaving the building. "That's him. The one who almost passed out in the interview." "Seriously? What a mess." "Look at his clothes. He probably hasn't eaten in days." Their laughter was sharp and sudden. It hurt more than a punch. They were right. He was weak. He wasn't good enough. His father had told him so. His brother had shown him by leaving with all their money. Now even strangers could see it. "Keep moving, kid." The guard was back, nudging Andrew's side with his boot. "Or I call the cops." Andrew pulled himself up. His vision was blurry. He couldn't tell if it was the rain or his tears. He stumbled away from the building and the laughing voices. His phone was dead. It didn't matter. No one was going to call. The shelter was ten blocks away, but his legs felt like stone. He couldn't make it. He looked up at the giant building. BLACKWOOD INDUSTRIES. Everyone knew that name. Remus Blackwood built it from nothing. He was hard. He was strong. Everything Andrew was not. Hot air blew from a vent in the wall. Drawn by the warmth, Andrew moved toward it like a moth to a flame. He knew he should leave. But the heat felt so good. He decided to stay for five more minutes. His body had other plans. His legs buckled, and this time, he didn't try to get up. He lay on the rough, wet ground and closed his eyes. Maybe this was it. Maybe if he just stopped fighting, the pain would finally end. He heard footsteps. He kept his eyes shut. Maybe the guard would just take him away. He didn't care anymore. But the footsteps stopped right beside him. Silence. Then a voice, low and calm. Completely different from the guard's. "Get up." It was an order. Andrew opened his eyes. He saw polished black shoes and a perfect suit. He looked up slowly. A tall man stood over him. His face was sharp. His eyes were cold. He looked at Andrew like he was a piece of trash. "I said, get up. You're on my property." Andrew tried to move, but his body wouldn't listen. The man tilted his head. The rain fell on his expensive coat, but he ignored it. "What's your name?" "Andrew," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Andrew Hayes." The man was silent for a moment, just watching him. His expression changed slightly, but Andrew didn't understand why. "You interviewed here today." It wasn't a question. Andrew nodded. The man bent down. His dark eyes seemed to look right through him. "I am Remus Blackwood," he said. "Now. Get up."