Julie woke to pale morning light filtering through sheer curtains. For a second she didn't know where she was — then the silver necklace on the nightstand snapped everything back into place.
The ache behind her eyes told her she had cried herself to sleep… twice.
She slid out of bed slowly, bare feet touching cold floorboards, and hugged her arms around herself. The house was silent again, almost reverent.
She cracked the door open and listened. No footsteps. No voices.
For a heartbeat she considered running.
Then she remembered the high fence, the drones, the locked gates… and Roman.
Her throat tightened.
Julie stepped out into the hallway. Sunlight spilled through high windows down the staircase, hitting polished concrete and framed rank insignias on the wall: medals, certificates, deployment commendations, a silver crest from the National Population Security Directorate.
Roman wasn't just a claimant.
He was high-ranking enforcement.
Of course he was.
Roman stood at the kitchen counter in uniform pants and a black undershirt, scrolling through briefing reports on a data pad. His hair was damp, freshly washed, tattoos vanishing beneath cloth and holster straps.
Julie hesitated in the doorway until he noticed her.
"You're awake," he said.
Julie nodded, staring down at her hands. Roman set the pad down and approached slowly, the way you might approach a scared animal.
"You didn't eat last night," he said. "Sit."
His voice wasn't gentle, but it wasn't a threat either. It was an order disguised as hospitality.
Julie sat at the kitchen island.
Roman placed a plate in front of her — soft eggs, toast, slices of fruit. Real fruit. Not ration fruit.
Julie's eyebrows lifted despite herself. "You… have strawberries."
Roman didn't seem to register the strangeness. "My status gives me access to supply chains. Eat."
Status.
Not job.
Not title.
Status.
The word hung there, too heavy.
Julie picked up a slice of toast with shaky fingers and chewed quietly, eyes on the counter. Roman leaned against the counter across from her, arms crossed.
"You have ten days until the bond evaluation," he said. "After that, we begin the program."
Julie swallowed hard. "The six-month mandate."
Roman nodded once. "Yes."
Julie's hands trembled around her fork. "What if… what if I fail?"
Roman's eyes darkened. "You won't."
Not reassuring. Not comforting. Just certain.
Julie stared at the strawberries instead of his face.
Dean was in the garage connecting charger cables to the security car, pretending to work so he didn't have to walk into the kitchen and watch Roman talk to Julie.
He kept his jaw clenched as he rerouted the power cables.
He'd seen her through the glass wall earlier — sitting small at the island, hair falling into her face, staring at fruit like she was afraid to touch it.
Dean inhaled through his teeth and looked away.
He had seen that girl before. Not here. Not like this.
Back at the Civic Clinic.
Pink necklace.
Kind smile.
Tired eyes.
He remembered thinking she was the type of girl people protected in stories — not claimed off sidewalks and processed like assets.
But none of that mattered now.
Because not only was she claimed… she was claimed by Roman Vale — one of the highest-ranking officers in the entire Population Security Directorate, answerable to the national board and exempt from dozens of regulations ordinary claimants had to follow.
Dean tightened the bolt until his wrist ached.
No point wishing. No point confessing. Roman didn't tolerate betrayal, and Dean wasn't suicidal.
He shut the hood and wiped his hands on a rag, mask sliding back into place.
Quiet. Polite. Efficient.
Just like the Directorate trained him.
Julie finished eating slowly, mechanically. Roman didn't move until she put the fork down.
Then he set something on the table.
A thin silver cuff with a biometric band.
Julie stared at it like it might bite her. "What's that?"
Roman didn't sugarcoat it:
"A compliance monitor. Until your status updates and the evaluation is complete."
Julie's heart stuttered. "I need to wear that?"
Roman nodded. "It tracks vitals, hormone levels, and location."
Julie's eyes flooded with humiliation. Tracking location. Monitoring her body. Like she wasn't a person — like she was inventory.
Roman saw the look but didn't soften.
"It keeps the Directorate from interfering," he said. "They won't surprise inspect you if your readings are on record."
Julie swallowed. "If I don't wear it?"
Roman held her gaze.
"Then they take you."
Julie's fingers shook as she slid the cuff onto her wrist.
It clicked shut automatically.
Roman tapped his data pad once, linking it to his profile. Julie felt something like static run along her skin — then nothing.
"You're under my jurisdiction now," he said. "No one else touches you."
Julie was silent for a long time before whispering:
"That isn't comforting."
Roman's expression cracked for half a second — surprise, maybe regret — before sealing again.
"No," he agreed quietly. "I suppose it isn't."