He laughed, a soft, deep sound that made his shoulders shake.

“You just asked right in time, dear,” he said with a grin.

“Okay, sir.”

I turned back to the window, pressing my forehead against the glass as the car rolled down a long driveway lined with trimmed hedges and tall, silver lights. My eyes widened when I caught sight of the building up ahead—it wasn’t a house. It was a mansion.

No, scratch that—anyone could’ve mistaken it for a castle.

“Here we are,” he said proudly, winding down his window. He leaned slightly toward a small speaker on the wall beside the gate. “Code Alpha-Two,” he said calmly.

The speaker beeped, then the huge black gates swung open with a metallic groan.

My jaw dropped.

“This is your new home, Rose.”

Home? I could barely process the word.

The car rolled forward, and I saw kids—teenagers like me—all dressed in matching striped uniforms, black and white. They moved in organized lines across the compound, every step precise, every turn synchronized. It didn’t look like a home at all. It looked like a… facility.

We drove further and stopped at a large garage filled with identical black vehicles. Mr. Thomas came around to open my door and offered his hand to help me down. His grip was firm but polite.

“Thank you, sir,” I murmured, stepping onto the smooth pavement.

As we walked toward the massive entrance, I could feel eyes on me—dozens of them. The kids had paused whatever they were doing and stared, some with curiosity, others with suspicion. It felt like being the new animal brought into a zoo.

Inside, the hall was even grander—white marble floors, gold-edged walls, and an enormous chandelier that probably cost more than my entire orphanage.

“This way, please. Welcome back, sir.”

A man in the same black uniform as Mr. Thomas approached us with a stiff smile before his gaze flicked down to me. His voice was polite, but his eyes—cold and assessing.

“And who’s this little one you’ve brought back with you, sir?” he asked.

“I adopted her on my way back from Europe,” Mr. Thomas replied.

“Ah,” the man said, nodding. “That’s wonderful news. Is she to join the inmates or…?”

The what now? Inmates?

They were talking like I wasn’t even standing there, like I was invisible. I bit my tongue to keep quiet. Best not to run my mouth—at least not yet. I didn’t want to get shipped back to the orphanage, or worse, end up scrubbing toilets here.

“She looks firm enough to join the inmates,” Mr. Thomas said simply. “Healthy too. Don’t you think so?”

The other man hesitated. “With all due respect, sir, we don’t usually allow girls into the inmates’ division. I don’t think she could handle it.”

My stomach tightened. Handle what exactly? What kind of “home” was this place? For a second, a stupid thought crossed my mind—what if I’d just been adopted by vampires or something?

“Do you want to go against my order, John?” Mr. Thomas asked, his tone suddenly colder.

Oh. So that’s his name—John.

John immediately straightened. “No, sir, of course not.” He turned to me and forced a small smile. “Hey, little girl, this way, please.”

Little girl? Seriously? I’m seventeen. Seventeen isn’t exactly “little.”

I looked back toward Mr. Thomas, maybe hoping he’d tell me where I was going, but he’d already disappeared down another hallway. My bag sat there on the floor, all alone, like it was mocking me.

“Guess it’s just you and me again,” I muttered, grabbing the handle. “Let’s go, buddy.”

I followed Mr. John down the opposite side of the hall. The place was quiet—too quiet. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic. My bag kept bumping my leg, and after a few minutes, my arm started to ache.

I stopped for a second to rest, but John didn’t slow down or even look back. Wow. What a gentleman.

“Uh, sir, are we there yet?” I asked after what felt like a small marathon.

No reply. Not even a glance. He just kept walking, straight posture, long strides.

“Cool,” I muttered under my breath. “Guess we’re doing the silent treatment.”

Eventually, we reached a huge steel door—taller than any I’d ever seen. It looked like something out of a fortress. You’d need four grown men to push that thing open.

John tapped twice on the door. There was a loud click, followed by a mechanical hiss. He stepped back slightly, and I followed suit. Slowly, the door swung open.

And that’s when I saw them.

Rows and rows of boys—lined up perfectly, standing in attention, all in the same striped uniform. They looked older than me, maybe between sixteen and twenty. Their faces were emotionless, eyes sharp, bodies rigid like soldiers waiting for orders.

I froze.

“Are… are they saluting you?” I whispered, half-joking but mostly terrified.

John ignored me. He just gave a casual wave, like this was nothing new, then walked straight past them. I hurried after him, clutching my bag tightly.

We turned another corner, finally stopping at a smaller door. He opened it and gestured for me to step inside.

“After you.”

I hesitated, then entered. It was an office—small but neat. A large oak desk, two chairs, a single window covered with blinds. John followed, closing the door behind him.

“Have a seat, dear,” he said.

So he does talk.

I sat obediently. “Thank you, sir.”

He nodded, then opened one of his drawers and pulled out a thin notebook and a piece of paper. He sighed before glancing at me, his expression softer now.

“So, you grew up at the orphanage, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

He started writing something down, his pen scratching quickly across the page. I muttered under my breath, “Yeah, that’s what you get for ignoring me earlier.”

He paused, looked up. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sir,” I said quickly, smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

“Rose, dear,” he said, voice calm but firm. “I’ll ask you a few questions, and I need honest answers, alright? So we can get you settled in—you’ve had a long day.”

“Sure, sir.” I clasped my hands together, trying to keep my nerves in check. The room felt smaller by the second.

“And please look at me when I’m talking to you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He flipped a page in his notebook. “When was the last time you saw your parents?”

“I… never met them, sir.”

He nodded, jotting something down. “Okay. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen, sir.”

He hummed, his pen moving again. I tried to peek at what he was writing, but his handwriting looked like alien code.

“Did Mr. Thomas tell you anything about this place?”

“No, sir. He just told me stories about being a soldier.”

John let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Of course he did. All the inmates here have heard that story already—about him being a retired soldier. He loves telling it.”

He closed the notebook with a quiet snap and leaned back in his chair, studying me carefully. His gaze lingered, sharp yet… cautious.

“I hate to break it to you,” he said after a moment, “but you’re to join the inmates. We don’t usually admit girls, but for some reason, Mr. Thomas insisted.”

My stomach dropped. “Join the inmates?”

He ignored the panic in my voice. “The rules are mostly designed for boys,” he continued, almost apologetically. “But I’ll find a way to make it work for you.”

Jesus. Just when I thought I meant something, I realized I was just another experiment.

“Yes, Mr. John,” I said quietly.

He raised a brow. “That’s sir to you.”

“Yes, sir,” I corrected quickly.

He stood, straightened his uniform, and gestured toward the door. “Get your bag. Let’s get this over with.”

I grabbed the handle and followed him out again. We walked down another long hallway—white walls, grey doors, and numbers painted boldly on each one.

“Every inmate has a number,” John explained without looking at me. “That number becomes their name until they earn something better.”

We stopped at a door marked 342 in bold black ink.

“Here we are.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out an ID card, and handed it to me. The small card was plain white with a single number printed on it.

“What number is written there?” he asked.

I squinted. “Uh… it says here twelve.”

He looked at me sharply. “No, it doesn’t say anything. It’s written twelve. That’s your name from now on.”

I swallowed hard.

He leaned closer slightly, his voice lowering. “Now, I’m going to ask you again, and this time, answer properly. What’s your name, dear?”

My fingers tightened around the card.

“I’m… twelve,” I said softly.

He gave a small nod, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“Good,” he said. “Welcome CODE 12.”