Jasmine pursed her lips to the side as the hand holding her old pants slowly dropped. She used to enjoy every status upgrade notification. Should she count this as her first achievement in this world? Suspect. What a promotion.
"Ah." She paused. "That’s unfortunate. Will they arrest me now?"
Her voice stayed calm. No point panicking before she knew the rules.
Oleander sighed, removed his earbuds, and slid them back into the automatic slot on his BeepAir. Maybe the memory loss was a good thing. If this had been the old Jasmine, she would already be cowering and crying at the word suspect.
He stepped closer. "I told you. As long as you’re with me, they won’t dare lay a hand on you."
The words should have been reassuring. Instead, the weight under his tone made them feel more like a burden than relief. Protection always came with a price. She had learned that early.
"Because you’re an S-Rank?"
Oleander’s mouth curved faintly. "No. Because I’m the captain of the Elite Sentinels. I hold Warden authority for law enforcement."
That sounded like trouble. In her old world, higher-ups had always been the least trustworthy people in the room. Rank and authority rarely made anyone safer to stand beside.
Her gaze dropped to the pants in her hand. She lifted them toward him.
"Then this is convenient. Look. One side is torn up, as something sharp ripped through it. And if you look closely, there’s dried blood along the edge. Can this be submitted as additional evidence? Whose blood is this? There’s no wound on my leg or thigh."
Oleander narrowed his eyes. The stain almost disappeared against the black fabric, but he saw enough. He nodded once.
"Yes. We can submit it for further investigation. Put it in the box from earlier."
Jasmine obeyed and slipped the pants into the black box. Then she paused and decided to put the rest of her old clothes in as well. No point carrying dead weight.
"If you’re done, come on. The professors are waiting."
Oleander walked over while she was still arranging the contents. The moment she closed the lid, his hand reached for the box.
Jasmine held on.
Their hands locked over it for a few seconds.
"What are you doing?"
"What are you doing?"
They asked at the same time.
Oleander sighed. "Let me carry it."
"Why?"
"You’re still weak." A convenient lie. The old Jasmine had always acted spoiled and made him carry things for her.
"It’s not that heavy."
"Even if you lost your memory, your body should still feel it. Your core is still recharging. If you had a BeepAir, it would show your mental energy is too low."
Jasmine blinked, turning that over. He wasn’t wrong. She could feel her core stirring again, and her basic strength for walking had mostly returned, but without a BeepAir she had no real measure of her condition. Collapsing halfway would be far more inconvenient than accepting help she didn’t want.
"Are we walking far?"
"Why? Addicted to my teleportation already?"
"Can’t we just use it?"
Oleander’s jaw tightened slightly. "Of course we can. But walking is better. I can brief you on the things you can’t afford to forget."
He pulled the box free and started for the door. Jasmine watched his back for a second.
Right. Even a rare ability like his had limits. No one got to stay untouchable forever.
She twisted her long hair into a quick bun, spotted a pen on his desk, and used it to pin the knot in place. Then she followed him.
Once they left the room—which turned out to be a Sentinel dorm unit—Oleander began a short, efficient explanation of how this world worked.
The federation was called Hesperia. Nine registered districts so far.
There were civilians, officers, and awakened humans. The awakened were split into Sentinels and Guides.
Both roles awakened at fourteen. After that came four years of academy before real missions.
Sentinels fought monsters, cleared polluted districts, and protected the federation from disasters.
Guides stabilized the mental corruption in Sentinels, keeping them from going berserk, losing themselves, or dying.
To do that properly, they needed a contract based on compatibility percentage.
The fact that compatibility almost never rose above ninety percent didn’t interest her much.
Her attention shifted when the elevator stopped at the thirteenth floor after dropping fifteen levels. A girl with a short red bob stepped in—except her feet weren’t touching the ground.
The badge on her chest marked her as an S-Rank Sentinel.
"Whoa... she can fly. That’s cool," Jasmine said to Oleander, but her voice carried. The red-haired girl set her feet down and turned toward her, eyes bright with amusement.
"How did you do it?" she asked.
Jasmine raised a brow. "What?"
"How did you kill your sister? Was it because of the rumor?" She stepped closer. "Did you get it? Are you—"
"Aster. Stop."
Oleander’s arm came between them before the girl could get any nearer.
Aster stopped, but the smirk she gave them both was full of mischief. The elevator chimed and opened.
She lifted off the floor again and drifted backward out of the elevator.
"Well, Ole, if you want me on your team next season, I’ll do it. Since there’s no more annoying Rosalie in the way."
She turned her back on them. Just before the doors closed, Jasmine called out.
"Aster!"
The girl looked over her shoulder.
"Do you know the most common cause of sudden death?" Jasmine paused. Aster’s brow furrowed. "Food poisoning. Be careful what you eat."
The doors slid shut.
Jasmine’s fists tightened at her sides until her nails bit into her palms.
Everyone kept treating her like a murderer for a kill she didn’t even remember. The worst part was the quiet thought underneath—that it might have been easier if she had done it. At least then she could own the title cleanly.
Oleander cleared his throat. "There has not been a food poisoning case in Hesperia for the last hundred years."
Jasmine flinched, just slightly. She caught the way he almost smiled at her baseless warning. Of course. This wasn’t her world. Old habits. Old assumptions. Useless here.
She kept her face calm. "Ah. Nice to hear. I must’ve picked that up from my dream."
A weak cover, but it would do. She was getting too used to blaming dreams for things that didn’t fit.
When the elevator reached the ground floor, they stepped out and crossed the lobby of the eighty-eight-floor titanium dormitory for Sentinels and Guides. Oleander continued the briefing as if the awkward food-poisoning comment had never happened. Jasmine did not mind. She liked that he was practical and efficient.
But then Oleander explained that Sentinels and Guides were paid for their work, and fireworks practically exploded in Jasmine’s head.
In her past life, she had never received any compensation for her hard work. As a test subject who served the government, everything she did was simply expected of her.
I can make money here and spend it however I want?
Alright... Let’s get rich in this life.
Outside, her eyes caught on a massive futuristic building shaped like a giant spaceship parked on dry open ground. Oleander headed straight for it. The Sentinel Bureau, apparently.
She followed, half wondering whether the whole structure could lift off and fly. In a world this strange, she wouldn’t rule it out.
The moment they entered the lobby, a siren alarm tore through the air.
Both of them stopped and looked at each other.
Of course. Nothing in this place stayed quiet for long.