I pushed myself out of the dining chair with my coffee still in hand, but as the room tilted dangerously, I caught the edge of the table with a soft, involuntary “Oh.” Dylan had already disappeared down the hallway, leaving me to close my eyes and press two fingers tightly against my temple.
The pounding in my skull had been so constant since I woke up that I’d almost forgotten the perfectly reasonable explanation for it: I was very, very hungover, and I hadn’t done a single thing about it.
No painkillers, no water, nothing.
Apparently, replacing a bride and accidentally marrying a terrifying man was enough to make anyone forget basic human survival.
I took another careful sip of my coffee just as Bowman appeared beside me holding a small ceramic bowl.
“Mrs.
Burke.” “What is that?” I asked, staring at it.
“Hangover soup.” I met his unreadable expression.
“That sounds suspiciously like something people feed prisoners.” “It’s ginger, broth, salt, and a few herbs,” he replied smoothly.
“It should settle your stomach.” “Is there anything alive in it?” “No.” “Poison?” “No.” “Magic?” Bowman’s eyebrow rose slightly.
“No.” I picked up the spoon.
“You’re very prepared.” “We had a wedding yesterday.” Fair enough.
I took a cautious spoonful of the warm, salty, and surprisingly good broth, quickly following it with a second and third.
By the fourth spoonful, the pounding behind my eyes had eased enough for me to realize my next problem: I was married to Dylan Burke, and I was apparently going somewhere with him.
Looking toward the empty hallway, I sighed.
“This is going to be a long life.” “I hope so, Mrs.
Burke,” Bowman said, collecting the empty bowl.
“You’re optimistic.” “I’ve been told.” I stood up and headed toward the staircase, remembering my earlier demand for separate rooms halfway up the steps.
At least that boundary had survived the morning.
My room sat at the end of the upstairs corridor—a space I’d stopped thinking of as a guest room the moment I discovered my belongings scattered across it, with clothes half-folded and shoes shoved beneath the dresser.
It wasn’t home, but it was mine for now.
Opening the largest suitcase, I pulled out a faded denim jacket and my sturdy lace-up boots.
If Dylan wanted to drag me into whatever nightmare waited outside, he was going to have to do it while I was comfortable.
I changed quickly, tied my hair into a messy bun, and checked my phone only to find a three-percent battery and no charger in sight.
“Of course,” I muttered, shoving the dying phone into my jacket pocket.
Then, I packed other necessities into one of my handbags.
I headed back downstairs, mapping out another refusal that would be polite, reasonable, firm, and possibly accompanied by a brief speech on personal freedom.
But when I reached the bottom step, I froze.
Dylan was standing near the front entrance, having traded his black shirt for black tactical trousers, a fitted top, and boots while pulling a pair of gloves over his hands.
The guy from earlier stood beside him, alongside Bowman, who carried a thermal flask and a small black case.
“I’m not going,” I announced, stopping on the bottom step.
The guy looked at Dylan, who simply met my gaze.
“I wasn’t asking.” “Yes, well, I wasn’t accepting.” His gaze travelled over my denim jacket and boots.
“Good.” “Good?” I frowned.
“You dressed quickly.” “That’s because I was planning to refuse.” He glanced toward the doors.
“You’re still coming.” I crossed my arms.
“Do you ever listen to yourself?” “Usually.” “That wasn’t a compliment.” “I know.” I opened my mouth to argue further, but the younger guy suddenly cleared his throat.
“Sir.” When Dylan turned, the guy lowered his voice.
“Are you sure about taking her?” “Yes.” “But—” “Collins,” Dylan warned, cutting him off completely.
So his name was Collins.
Interesting.
Collins glanced at me before continuing.
“The western team hasn’t checked in.” Dylan’s face changed—not much, but just enough that the lazy calm he’d worn over breakfast vanished entirely.
“What do we know?” “Not much.” “Then don’t guess.” As Collins nodded, I looked toward the front doors.
“What exactly is happening?” Dylan reached for the black case Bowman held out.
“Something happened at one of my facilities.” “Your house?” “No.” The speed of his answer made me relax slightly, until I remembered that “one of his facilities” sounded infinitely worse.
“Where?” “West.” “That’s very specific.” “You don’t need the location.” “Then why am I going?” He looked straight at me.
“Because you’re coming with me.” “Right,” I sighed.
“Silly question.” When Collins tried very hard not to smile, I caught his eye.
“Don’t.” His face went instantly rigid.
“Didn’t say anything.” “Please, your face said everything.” Bowman opened the front doors, letting the cold morning air rush into the foyer.
Farther down the road sat three dark-tinted glass vehicles, parked in a way that felt entirely unnatural.
“Are those still reporters?” I asked, staring at them.
Dylan’s gaze shifted toward the vehicles.
“No.” “Should I be worried?” “Not yet.” That answer was somehow worse.
One of the vehicles shifted slightly before going still again.
My stomach tightened.
Dylan stepped in front of me.
“Get in the vehicle.” “You’re not going to tell me what that was?” “Not yet.” “Wonderful.” Dylan turned to Collins.
“Change the route.
Take the north road—the east is too exposed.” Collins sprinted toward the vehicle, leaving me to look up at Dylan.
“You’re not even going to pretend that was normal?” “No.” At least he was honest.
I climbed into the armored vehicle, followed by Collins and finally Dylan, before the doors sealed behind us.
The interior looked nothing like a standard car, lined instead with steel benches, wall-mounted monitors, equipment racks, and a terrifying amount of weaponry.
“You really brought an entire hardware store,” I said, staring at the rack before looking back at Dylan.
“These are necessary.” “For what?” He sat opposite me.
“You’ll find out.” I rolled my eyes.
“Of course I will.” The vehicle began to move, and I leaned my head against the wall to close my eyes.
I lasted approximately six seconds before a series of sharp chimes echoed in the air and a bright blue screen manifested right in front of my face.
[DING.
DING.
DING.] Gosh.
I had almost forgotten about this thing.
Almost.
[ MANDATORY QUEST GENERATED!
] [ MISSION 1: SURVIVE TARGET’S FIELD DATE WITHOUT REQUESTING A DIVORCE.
] [ REWARD: 100 SYSTEM POINTS + MAP OVERLAY.
] [ PENALTY: 10 MINUTES OF NON-STOP WHINING PERFORMED DIRECTLY AT TARGET.
] “Field date?” I blurted out.
Collins nearly dropped his tablet, while Dylan slowly turned his head to stare at me.
“What?” The blue screen flickered erratically as the text scrambled.
[ SYSTEM ERROR.
] [ TYPOGRAPHICAL MISUNDERSTANDING.
] [ FIELD TRIP.
] [ SYSTEM APOLOGISES FOR THE CONFUSION.
] “You did that on purpose,” I whispered aggressively.
[ SYSTEM DENIES ALL MALICIOUS INTENT.
] [ HOWEVER, SYSTEM ACKNOWLEDGES THAT USER’S REACTION WAS AMUSING.
] I froze as Dylan continued to watch me.
“Are you all right?” “No.” “Good.” “That wasn’t the answer you were supposed to give.
Normal people follow up with questions like ‘what’s wrong with you?’, ‘how can I help?’.” Dylan turned back toward the monitor as if I hadn’t spoken a word.
“Collins, update.” Collins pulled up a digital map.
“We’ve lost contact with the western perimeter.
It’s been long enough that Command is getting nervous, and two teams aren’t responding.” “What was the last transmission?” Dylan asked, leaning forward.
“Static,” Collins hesitated.
“Before that, one of the teams reported movement, but we don’t know what kind.” Dylan’s jaw tightened.
“Then find out.” “What’s at the western base?” I interjected, but Dylan didn’t answer, and Collins wisely kept his eyes locked on his boss.
I leaned back with a sigh.
“You people are exhausting.” Without warning, the vehicle slowed sharply, prompting Dylan’s head to snap toward the front.
“Stop!” The driver slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a complete halt.
The silence inside became suffocating.
Collins checked his monitor nervously.
“There’s no obstruction.
The road ahead is clear.” “Then why did we stop?” Dylan demanded, standing up.
Collins swallowed hard as he stared at the readout.
“Sir…
the road is clear, but the cameras say it isn’t.” “What does that mean?” I sat up straight.
Nobody answered.
Dylan reached for the weapon secured beside him, the calm man from breakfast entirely replaced by a terrifying, razor-sharp focus.
“Everyone stay inside.” “You just said I’m coming with you,” I argued.
“You are.
Once I know what we’re dealing with.” He looked back at me as he pulled the weapon free.
“Until then, you stay behind me.” Before I could respond, something massive slammed into the roof, rocking the entire vehicle and making me scream.
A second, harder impact hit immediately after, causing the metal above us to groan and buckle inward.
Dylan looked up, and something in his face left no room to argue.
“Stay behind me.” For once, nothing sarcastic came out of my mouth.