The Zypherian soldiers barely glanced at me as I filed in with the others.

The scanner blinked red for a fraction of a second before turning green.

CLEARED.

My lungs dragged in a shaky breath, like they weren’t quite sure it was safe to function yet.

The hall was vast, suffocating in its sterile grandeur. The walls gleamed under artificial lights, casting long shadows across the rows of women standing in line.

I stood among them, heart pounding so hard I thought it would give me away.

Draped in the ceremonial white robe they forced upon us, I lowered my gaze, hoping—praying—that no one would notice the switch.

The Zypherians sector leader's sat on their high seats, their cold gazes scanning the selections. The room was filled with tension, anticipation thick in the air.

Then the overseer stepped forward—an imposing figure clad in obsidian plates etched with glowing sigils. He raised a sleek obsidian tablet that flickered to life, displaying names and symbols in an alien script.

"Selections will now commence."

From the walls, iridescent orbs floated free—soft spheres of light, humming as they rose to hover above each row, casting an otherworldly glow that danced like bioluminescent jellyfish.

Each orb projected a swirling hologram above the chosen woman’s head—an emblem of the house they were to bond with, alive with shifting colors and patterns that pulsed to the rhythm of the bands.

I stood frozen, heart hammering so loud it seemed the orbs themselves could hear it.

When the overseer’s voice cut through again, calling my number—“Pitchovas from the house of Xumel, please step forward to lady 11”—I felt the orb above me ignite in brilliant cobalt, the hologram folding open like a blooming flower of glass and light.

I swallowed hard.

11.

My assigned mate approached.

His eyes, a piercing shade of amber, scanned me with unsettling intensity. He was tall almost of kriudra height, his presence overwhelming, and I had to fight the urge to step back as he stopped in front of me.

“Shraddha,” his gaze pinning me in place like a specimen.

His voice was low, reverberating deep in my bones like distant thunder. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, quickly—too quickly. My mouth opened but no sound came. The words felt traitorous, heavy with the lie.

His head tilted slightly, like he was studying a puzzle that refused to click into place. The silence stretched.

Then—his hand moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Clawed fingers brushed my wrist, just where the band clung to my skin. I flinched, barely—but his eyes caught the movement.

"This band," he murmured, not to me, but to himself. “It is not yours.”

My heart stuttered.

The air shifted, thickened. The faint scent of scorched ozone curled in my nose. I couldn’t breathe. Every cell in my body screamed to run. But my feet stayed rooted, my limbs heavy with fear.

Pitchovas leaned in, his glowing eyes boring into mine, and I felt the weight of his anger like a physical force.

"“You are not Shraddha,” he said, the words soft, lethal. A truth carved from steel.

Gasps rippled around us like the first drops of rain before a flood. I heard them, but they felt far away—distant and dreamlike.

"I am," I said, too fast, too thin.

A pause. His expression is unreadable.

Then he turned to a nearby Zypherian guard and barked something in their language—guttural, sharp, the sound like stone breaking under pressure.

I didn’t understand the words.

But I didn’t need to.

The intent vibrated in my bones.

He was furious. He was demanding something. I could feel his anger radiating towards me, a palpable wave of hostility.

Pitchovas’s gaze returned to mine—this time colder. Controlled. Calculating.

“Do not insult me with lies,” he said.

And then—his hand snapped forward, grip closing around my wrist with brutal precision. Pain flared, white-hot and immediate, but I bit it back.

Still, I met his eyes.

Because if I flinched now, if I showed fear, it was over.

“I’m not lying,” I said. My voice came out hoarse, thin. “I’m Shraddha.”

He didn't look convinced.

“I was just nervous,” I tried again, desperate now, heart slamming in my chest like a trapped animal. “Maybe that’s why I hesitated. Wouldn’t you be nervous? You’re… terrifying.”

It was the wrong word.

Something flickered in his expression. Displeasure? Amusement? I couldn’t tell.

He leaned in closer, enough for me to see the faint lines of bioluminescence branching like vines beneath the skin at his temples.

“Terrifying?” he repeated, voice almost a purr. “You flatter poorly, little liar.”

“I’m not lying!” I snapped, and hated the wobble in my voice. ““My name is Shraddha. I was born on Earth. My blood group is AB+—check if you want!”

He didn’t move.

“I know her face. Her voice. Her likes. Her smell. I know the way she speaks when she’s scared, and I know the way she breathes when she lies.”

My heart sank.

What is he talking about?? Who is he ??

He paused. His grip hadn’t lessened. “And you, human, are not her.”

Silence fell like a blade.

I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

There was nothing left to say.

He had known all along.

And still, he’d let me speak. Let me hang myself with the thread of my own fear.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Pitchovas stepped back, his expression unreadable.

“You have committed a grave offense,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “The Companion Program is not a choice. It is a duty. And you have defied it.”

His words didn’t echo—they sank, heavy and final. Like a gavel cracking against bone.

I felt the weight of them press down on me, heavier than chains.

“What is the meaning of this?”

A commanding voice echoed through the hall.The moment he stepped forward, the entire room shifted.

The crowd parted as Admira approached.

His presence wasn’t a storm. It was the stillness before the storm. A quiet so intense it hurt.

Zypherians tensed, straightened. Pitchovas lowered his gaze. Just slightly. The kind of deference given only to something… older than fear.

Admiral stepped forward like a sentence made flesh.

“The human has attempted deception,” Pitchovas announced, gripping my arm and shoving me forward like a ragdoll.

I stumbled, knees buckling—but caught myself. Barely.

My hair tumbled forward, a curtain of black falling across my face, shielding me. Or maybe hiding me. I didn’t know which I wanted more.

“What is your name, human?”

A brittle silence wrapped around me.

I swallowed hard, the metallic taste of fear coating my tongue. I hadn't yet dared to look up, to meet his gaze. My eyes were fixed on the floor, on the intricate patterns of the alien metal, anywhere but on him.

"Answer me, human," he commanded, his voice laced with steel.

The truth was ash on my tongue. But the lie—the lie was a noose.

Still, I whispered, “Shraddha.”

Admiral's voice. Calm. Cold.

“Lift your head.”

I didn’t.

Because I knew what he would see.

Not the stranger I pretended to be.

But the helpless Ruby I was.

So silence was safer. Silence meant maybe they wouldn’t see the truth carved on my face.

But then—rough fingers gripped my jaw. A Zypherian guard, impatient, yanked my face upward.

Up past his armor—etched in marks I don't understand yet recognize and instinctively feared.

Up past the curve of his mouth, set in a hard, unreadable line.

And then—his eyes.

He looked at me. Through me.

And something changed.

His expression froze.

Then came the sound—a low, animal growl that reverberated through the metal floor beneath my feet. My stomach dropped.

It was the sound of displeasure.

No.

Of realization.

The guard froze.

Then stumbled backward like he’d been burned, his hand jerking away from my face as if contact itself had cursed him. He fell to one knee, head bowed, trembling.

“You—” he bit out, barely restrained. “You’re not meant to be here.”

His pupils dilated, a sharp vertical slit widening like he was seeing not just my face—but what I had done.

Pitchovas looked between us, confused. “You… know this human?”

Admiral didn’t answer. His gaze never left mine.

“Why,” he said, voice so low it scraped the inside of my skull.

He stepped closer.

“Answer me.” he said, louder now, more command than question. “Why did you take another human's place? Why Ruby?”

My legs nearly buckled.

He remembers me.

The realization struck like lightning—and just as swiftly, came the terror.

He knows.

And now… I’m going to die.

My lie is peeled bare. My skin, stripped. My soul, pinned.

I tried to speak—God, I tried—but my lips were dry, my voice a broken thing lodged in my throat.

The words wouldn’t come.

I tried again. “She’s my sister.”

“And that gives you the right to lie?” His eyes narrowed. “To defy the order? To walk into a bond that was not yours?”

“I couldn’t let her go,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I had to protect her. She’s all I have.”

His jaw flexed, his fists clenching at his sides.

“You were not chosen,” he said, stepping even closer, the heat of his presence like a furnace. “You were never meant to be his.”

His.

The word burned.

And then—

the doors hissed open.