Noah's breath came in sharp bursts.
His chest heaved, heart hammering like war drums echoing through his ribs. Around him, the world blurred—walls stretching and folding like paper caught in a storm.
He stood frozen, fingers clenched around cold steel.
A knife.
Blood dripped from its tip in slow, rhythmic pulses. Each drop splattered onto the floor like a ticking clock. The metallic scent clawed at his throat.
There, in front of him, lay a body.
Too still.
Too red.
The world seemed to freeze, holding its breath.
Noah didn't want to look. But he did. He had to.
It was Renzo.
The knife slipped from his trembling hands and clattered against the tile, slicing through the silence like a sharp scream.
He stumbled back, legs weak.
"No… no, this isn't real…"
But the dream didn't care about his denial.
Then, an unnatural wind howled through the room—cold, unnerving, like it came from somewhere beyond the living.
The body twitched.
Noah's breath caught.
Renzo's head turned slowly, impossibly.
A pair of glassy eyes locked onto him.
And then came the voice—broken, hollow, barely anything more than air.
"Why?"
That single word shattered something inside Noah.
He woke up gasping, sweat soaking into the sheets.
Heart pounding. Pulse roaring. Hands shaking.
For a second, the nightmare clung to him—thick, smothering, like a veil of smoke you can't escape.
Reality took time to settle in.
White ceiling. Clean sheets. Cold light filtering through narrow blinds.
It was a dream.
Not real.
But the weight stayed.
Just a dream. Just a dream.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples, pushing broken his glasses back into place.
"I'm fine," he whispered to himself.
So why do I feel like I just killed someone?
Before he could spiral too deep into his thoughts, a sharp buzz rang out.
Alarm.
First official day.
Falcon Corps.
Tadashi.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, moving like a machine. His limbs were stiff, his thoughts heavier.
Will this be different? Or is this just another version of Westridge High? Another place I survive alone?
He stepped into the bathroom, half expecting to see blood on his hands.
Instead, there was only a tired face staring back at him from the mirror.
Plain shirt. Dark pants. Clean sneakers.
Breakfast.
Team meeting.
New life.
Or not.
A knock at the door.
Of course.
Tadashi.
"Noah," came the calm, steady voice. "Come downstairs. You need breakfast."
He opened the door without a word.
Tadashi didn't ask if he was okay.
Maybe he already knew.
They stepped into the lift. It was sleeker than any Noah had seen before—polished metal, soft lighting, buttons numbered up to 30.
Noah blinked.
"This building has thirty floors?"
Tadashi pressed the button for Floor 24.
"More," he said simply. "Thirty's what the public sees."
Noah frowned but didn't push.
What exactly am I stepping into?
The doors slid open to reveal a dining hall that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel—not a military-industrial complex.
Glass walls framed views of the city skyline. Tables stretched in perfect symmetry. People moved with eerie efficiency—some in suits, some in uniforms, others with badges and earpieces glowing softly.
It wasn't a cafeteria.
It was a command center disguised as a five-star restaurant.
Noah got in line, eyes scanning everything.
Eggs, meats, rice dishes, pastries…
He grabbed an omelet, some bread, fruit.
Anything more would feel... wrong.
I used to skip lunch to save money. Now here I'm eating like royalty.
He found a seat.
Tadashi appeared beside him again like clockwork.
"You'll meet the team now," he said.
No small talk.
No warning.
Just walking forward.
Back in the lift.
This time, Tadashi pressed two buttons: 3 and 6.
Noah stared. "Why both?"
Tadashi didn't look at him. "This lift goes above thirty. Confidential levels. You're not cleared for those."
The numbers ticked upward: 30… 32… 35…
Noah's eyes widened.
"Wait, this place has forty floors?"
Tadashi gave the smallest smirk. "You've seen the foyer. That's about it."
The lift chimed. Doors slid open.
This floor felt different.
Air was heavier. Colder—not from temperature, but from the presence.
Ahead, a bold sign stretched across the archway in black and silver letters:
JET – Junior Elite Team
Tadashi stepped forward.
Noah followed.
The moment he crossed the threshold, something shifted.
Four heads turned.
Eyes locked onto him like rifles locking onto a target.
He froze.
These aren't kids. These are wolves in human skin.
The first one stood by the far wall—blonde hair slicked back, a single gold earring catching the light. Didn't speak—but his stare made Noah feel like a pawn on a chessboard.
Second was a girl. Pink hair pulled into a high ponytail, bangs framing her face. Sleeveless jacket, dark jeans. She barely looked up, fingers tapping her phone like she had already decided he wasn't worth the attention.
Third sat on a beanbag, white hair falling messily over his eyes, face glued to a handheld console. Not a word. Not a glance. Just focused on the game like the rest of the world didn't exist.
Then the fourth.
The air changed again.
Red hair. Buzz cut. Built like a soldier. Broad shoulders. Dark-skinned. Quiet.
Powerful.
The moment their eyes met, Noah felt pressure—not physical, but something deeper.
Presence.
This guy didn't need to talk.
He was the room.
Noah had no idea who he was.
But his instincts whispered something he couldn't ignore.
He's not just another member.
He's the one everyone else listens to.
And Noah?
Noah was the outsider.
Elsewhere…
Officer Reeves stood outside the director's office, fists clenched tight at his sides.
Two days.
It had taken him two full days to get this meeting.
Two days of pushing, goading, insisting on an explanation for why there wasn't a search team looking into Noah's disappearance.
Now he was finally here, ready to demand answers. Ready to tear someone's head off if he had to.
The director looked up slowly. Late fifties. Crisp suit. Cold eyes.
Reeves didn't wait.
"He's a minor. He's missing. If this leaks, the media will eat us alive."
The director didn't flinch.
He folded his hands.
"Forget the case."
Reeves stared. "Excuse me?"
"Noah is under Falcon Corps' protection," the director said, tone calm, like he was talking about a parking violation.
"We can't touch them."
The room went still.
Reeves felt the bottom of his stomach drop at the words.
Falcon Corps? That's where he went?
He knew what that meant.
Secrecy. Power. Control.
But he also knew one thing the director didn't.
"I'm not giving up. Not until I know he's safe."
The director sighed, tired.
"If you dig too deep… you'll find things that don't let go. Just be sure you're ready to lose everything—because you'll be delving into the hidden world."
Reeves nodded.
He was already gone.
He knew where to start.
Renzo Cruz.
Noah's foster father.
If the boy was worth disappearing… then maybe the man who raised him had secrets no one ever dared to look at.
And Officer Reeves?
He was ready to look and find the secrets.