I was starting to realize something about President Evelyn Cross.
She was the kind of person who could look you in the eyes, tell you your world was ending, and somehow make you feel like it was your fault.
And maybe it was.
But that didn't mean I liked the way she stared at me, sharp-eyed and assessing, as if she was still deciding whether I was worth the trouble.
We sat across from each other in what I assumed was her private office. It wasn't grand or flashy—no fancy carpets, no giant windows with a view of the city. Just a cold, gray room with a steel desk, two chairs, and a single monitor embedded into the wall.
Evelyn leaned forward, clasping her hands together. The dim lighting cast shadows over her sharp features—high cheekbones, striking emerald-green eyes, and dark brown skin. Her black hair was neatly braided back, not a strand out of place, like she couldn't afford to be anything less than perfectly controlled at all times.
She wasn't wearing a suit. I thought presidents were supposed to wear suits. Instead, she had on a sleek, military-style jacket with a gold insignia over the right shoulder. It was shaped like a phoenix.
Rising from the ashes.
Fitting.
Because she was the government now. Or at least, what was left of it. The world had changed in the three years I was gone, and from what I gathered, nobody truly ran things anymore. Not the heroes, not the corporations, and definitely not the people.
But Evelyn Cross?
She was holding it together by sheer willpower.
"Get some sleep," she said, breaking the silence.
I stared at her. "You brought me here just to tell me to go to bed?"
Her lips twitched—not in a smile, but in the vague direction of one. "You're leaving for training in a few hours. I'd prefer not to send you off half-dead from exhaustion."
I folded my arms. "I'm fine."
"You look like hell."
"Thanks."
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "Look. I don't expect you to trust me. I don't expect you to like me, either. But we're running out of time, and if you want to survive what's coming, you need to take this seriously."
I didn't respond.
Because if I did, I might say something stupid. Like how I already knew how to take things seriously. Like how I spent three years frozen, screaming inside my own head, with nothing to do but relive my failures over and over again.
Instead, I exhaled through my nose and pushed up from my chair.
"I'll sleep when I'm dead."
Evelyn arched an eyebrow. "That can be arranged."
"…Was that a joke?"
"Go to bed, Kai."
I scowled at her as I left the room.
I was too wired to sleep anyway.
And besides—something told me that, for me, rest was a luxury that didn't exist anymore.
As I walk to my room in the training facility I've been trapped in for months now, I couldn't shake the fact that I felt like I was being used.
Sure they are helping me get stronger, but I can't see my mom, my friends, no one can know I'm alive.
I don't even have my own name anymore.