Kai
My hair refuses to cooperate. No matter how much I adjust it, the strands stick out at odd angles, mocking my efforts. I glance at my reflection in the elevator mirror, run a hand through the mess, and sigh. For a four-story office, this elevator takes way too long to reach the top floor.
Three hours. That's how long it took me to get home last night—dragging myself through the rain, soaked to the bone. Guess I can skip the gym today. Another hour and a half to clean up, get dressed, and haul myself here. All that effort for what? Another day at this low-paying, soul-crushing job. At this rate, I'll be fired soon anyway. Five times late in one month doesn't exactly scream "Employee of the Month."
I catch my reflection again. Tired eyes rimmed with dark circles stare back at me. I look like someone who got into a fistfight with life and lost. Even after all that effort, I still resemble a guy who just rolled out of bed and gave up halfway through fixing himself.
The elevator dings softly as it climbs, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering just enough to irritate me further. Great. Another thing to add to my growing list of reasons this day already sucks.
"Work starts at 8 a.m., Silvan. Let me guess—your alarm didn't go off again?" Daniel's voice cuts through the morning haze, loud and annoyingly chipper. He doesn't stop there, of course. "Let me give you a quick piece of advice—one even you could understand. For an alarm to work, you actually have to set it." His tone drips with sarcasm, and I can practically hear the smug grin on his face.
I glance over at him, lounging in his chair like he owns the place. Sarcasm must be his only weapon. Can't really blame him—being 5'7" and balding at twenty-five can't be easy.
Considering he's four years older than me but looks like we're decades apart, I almost feel bad for him. Almost.
"No, your mother just didn't want to let me go," I shoot back with a grin, turning my chair to face him. "She was all like, 'One more time, please.'"
The office erupts into a chorus of oohs and snickers, a mix of amusement and disbelief at my middle-school-level comeback. Daniel glares at me, flips me off, and turns away, muttering something about being "surrounded by children."
At least he knows when to mind his own business.
Damn it. Maybe I should pay someone to follow me around and keep me out of trouble.
…Not that a broke office worker like me could ever afford that.
Ugh. My head's killing me.
"Kai! What's wrong with your hands? Were you in a fight?" Emma's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. It's soft, but there's an edge of concern underneath.
She grabs my hands gently, turning them over to inspect the swelling. Her touch lingers a second too long.
Emma's one of the few people here I don't find completely unbearable. Maybe it's because she's… well, easy on the eyes. Her bright gaze, soft features, and the way she notices things about me that no one else does—it's hard not to pay attention to her. Not that I'd ever let it show.
Her brows knit together as she looks up at me, worry etched on her face. "Were you in a fight?" she asks again, her voice softer this time.
Thank God I washed my hands before coming in. The blood's gone, leaving only the swelling behind. Incriminating, sure, but not enough to raise alarms.
I clear my throat, brushing it off. "Nothing serious. Just hit something harder than I thought."
Around us, the office buzzes faintly with whispers. I can feel the weight of their stares and hear the muffled gossip.
"Damn! Who was the unlucky bastard that got introduced to Thor's hammers?" Daniel chimes in from across the room, grinning like he's just cracked the joke of the century. "Or don't tell me you tried to take down a drowner."
Emma's lips twitch into the faintest smile, but she doesn't laugh. Her eyes stay fixed on mine, still full of concern.
I turn my focus back to Daniel. "No one important. Just some ass—"
"Mr. Silvan, come to my office!"
The booming voice cuts through the office chatter, and everyone goes silent.
The chief director's glare hits me like a brick the second I step into his office. "This is the third time you've been late this month," he says sharply, his voice full of irritation. "It's unacceptable."
I brace myself for the worst, but then he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, you're a valuable asset to this company. You handle the tasks no one else wants to deal with, and you do them well. So I'll let you off with a warning this time. But it's the last time, Silvan. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir!" I straighten up like a soldier reporting for duty.
As I leave his office, my body protests every movement. My knee feels like hell, my headache's only getting worse, and my entire being screams for sleep. Just another Monday.
Slumping back into my desk chair, I glance over at Daniel. He's staring at his computer screen with an expression I don't see often—actual worry.
"What's troubling you, shorty?" I ask, leaning back and trying not to sound too interested.
"Oh, dude, check this out." He gestures for me to come closer, his tone uncharacteristically serious.
Curious, I walk over and lean over his shoulder. Squinting at the screen, I read the headline he's pulled up.
"Two drowners were spotted last night near your area," Daniel says grimly. "Both DL Seven. The blues handled them before anyone else got hurt."
My heart thuds in my chest.
Daniel glances at me, his usual smirk replaced with something close to genuine concern. "If you want, I can give you a ride home later. The bus stop's a hike from your place, right?"
The guy actually cares.
For a second, I want to accept. I want to thank him and let him drive me home, just so I don't have to be alone. But I can't. Not when everyone who gets close to me ends up dead.
"Nah, I'm good. But thanks, shorty."
Daniel raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he lets it drop. "Alright. But if you die, I'm not coming to your funeral."
As I settle back into my chair and open my computer, bracing for seven and a half hours of misery, a voice from the elevator cuts through the monotony.
"Kai! Someone's here to see you. If I were you, I wouldn't want to make her wait," one of my coworkers says, his sly grin practically oozing smugness.
The way he says it, with that knowing smirk, makes it clear I'll be the gossip of the day. Again.
Sighing, I grab my stuff and take the stairs. Honestly, the stairs are faster than that damn elevator.
Curiosity and dread gnaw at me in equal measure. Who the hell would come here for me? It can't be family—I don't have any. Not anymore.
As I reach the lobby, I spot her by the doorway—a young woman standing stiff and deliberate, exuding a quiet authority that sets her apart from everyone else in the room. Her sharp eyes lock onto mine before I even have a chance to fully approach, and I feel their weight as they flick down to my hands.
Shit. My hands.
I shove them into my pockets quickly, hoping she didn't notice too much. The faint bruises and swelling are hard to miss, but I pray they're subtle enough to avoid raising any questions.
Straightening my back, I force a neutral expression as I step closer.
Now that I'm nearer, I get a clear look at her. She stands tall and composed, her long, golden hair cascading over her shoulders like sunlight spilling through a cracked window. It's wild yet deliberate, framing a face that's both striking and severe—high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and piercing eyes that seem to strip away any illusion of composure I might have.
Her crisp white blouse contrasts sharply against the black leather harness strapped across her chest and shoulders. Practical, utilitarian, yet somehow elegant in the way it hugs her frame.
Her entire demeanor screams confidence—the kind that demands attention, the kind that makes you want to stand a little straighter without even realizing it.
For a moment, I forget to speak.
Finally, I manage, "Good morning, ma'am. How can I help you?" My voice is steady, but my throat feels uncomfortably tight.
She doesn't waste time with pleasantries. Instead, she steps forward, holding up a badge with a precise flick of her wrist.
"Defence Force Against Drowners. I'd like to ask you some questions," she says, her tone clipped and professional.
The badge glints under the dim lobby lights, but her sharp eyes remain fixed on mine. They're searching, probing, as if she already knows exactly what she's looking for.
Fuck my life.