ALPHA

My boots hit the mall parking garage like thunderclaps — fast, hard, relentless.

Buh-boom. Buh-boom. Buh-fucking-boom.

It wasn't just me pounding pavement — it was the weight of this whole city on my back. Sirens howled behind me, echoing off the concrete walls like banshees on speed. My heart raced in sync with the chaos, drumming against my ribs as I weaved between parked cars, trash bins, and panicked pedestrians who couldn't run fast enough out of the way.

The stolen duffel bounced against my back, filled to the zipper with pharmaceutical gold — painkillers, enhancers, neurostims, and whatever else was going for six figures a shipment on the black market. My side bag dug into my hip, loaded with IDs, burner phones, and a stolen protein bar. Priorities.

Sunset streaked through the trees, catching the edge of a rusted skyscraper and painting the sky blood orange. Beautiful. Not that I had time to enjoy it.

Behind me, engines roared. At least six cruisers — no, eight — their tires screaming across the pavement like they had something to prove. Red and blue lights flashed across windshields. I cut right, vaulting over a chain-link fence, my fingers stinging as I caught the edge and flipped midair.

Car alarms erupted one by one as I passed them. My speed did that — triggered sensors like I was a one-woman earthquake. Some guy yelled, "Holy shit, is that—" but I didn't stop to hear the rest.

Time slowed. Like it always did when I ran this fast.

My vision tunneled. Sounds blurred together. I could count the drops of sweat falling from my brow, feel the pulse of every person in a five-block radius. I was moving faster than the world could process.

But they were still gaining. The cops had upgraded. Probably juiced up or using one of those new drones designed to counter meta speed.

Cute.

I blasted through a narrow alleyway, my sneakers hitting cracked pavement as I scanned for elevation. There — a rusted fire escape, barely hanging on. I jumped, grabbing the ladder with one hand while juggling both bags in the other, hoisting myself up with a grunt.

Voices screamed from below. Guns clicked.

"FREEZE!" one shouted like this was still a negotiation.

I looked down. Four officers. All aiming at me like I was a damn villain in a comic book.

Spoiler alert: I wasn't the villain. Not today.

To my left, an overflowing dumpster oozed something green and chunky. A stack of rotting pizza boxes leaned against it. Gross. And perfect.

I took one deep breath and launched — feet kicking off the opposite wall, body propelling itself into the air like gravity was just a suggestion. I ran across empty space like I was walking on a dream, bullets tearing through the air behind me. One clipped the edge of my hoodie. I landed in a roll across the dumpster lid, then sprinted full force past the confused, screaming officers before they could line up another shot.

At the end of the next block, the black Toyota Corolla idled like it wasn't part of a federal crime. Sam leaned back in the driver's seat, chewing gum like this was a music video instead of a felony.

Blond hair. Blue eyes. Black hoodie. And the world's most punchable smirk.

I yanked the door open and threw myself inside, slamming it behind me. The second I was in, I ripped the side bag across my chest and fell back against the seat, lungs burning.

"Did you get the stuff?" Sam asked, cool as hell.

I didn't even look at him. Just unzipped the duffel, pulled out the pouch of pills, and held it up. My hands were still shaking, but I didn't let him see it.

He smiled, teeth sharp. "Very good."

Then the bastard hit the brakes. Hard.

The tires screeched. The entire car jolted. I slammed into the seatbelt and grunted, just as three cruisers rammed into our back bumper.

Guns were drawn immediately — like we were center stage at a SWAT training seminar.

And that's when he turned to me, face blank, voice cold.

"Get out."

My brain stuttered.

"...What?"

He didn't blink. "I said, get the fuck out."

I blinked, stunned. "Are you serious right now?"

He reached for the pistol on the dash. A chrome-plated semi-auto. His hand hovered over it like he thought he was a gangster in a Netflix drama.

"You're gonna pull a gun on me?"

"I don't have a choice," he said.

"Bullshit," I snapped.

But I knew that look. I'd seen it before — the desperation, the twitch in his jaw. He was about to fold.

I exhaled slowly, raised my hands, and slid out of the car. Left the pouch on the console. Let the drugs float to him midair, because of course he was using his telekinesis like a coward.

And then he was gone. Tires screeched. The Corolla vanished into the night.

And I was standing there. Alone. Dozens of guns pointed at me. Again.

"ON YOUR KNEES, JESSIE!"

I didn't even need to look to know that voice.

Andrew.

I could hear the authority in his tone. The guilt underneath it.

My big brother. The good cop. The one that actually gave a shit.

I could've run. I should've run. But I was exhausted. Furious. And done.

I dropped to my knees.

The cuffs snapped around my wrists too tight. Classic Andrew move — all protection and frustration wrapped in steel.

He hauled me to my feet. "Ouch, asshole," I hissed. "Calm down, or you'll break my arms with your little super-strength."

"Not if you cooperate." His voice was flat. Cold. He shoved me toward the cruiser. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Trying to help."

He shoved me harder. "Oh, really? So stealing drugs is helping now?"

"I said I was sorry, Andrew."

He didn't respond. Just opened the back door and buckled me in like I was six years old again. Then he slammed it shut and walked around without another word.

The precinct felt like a morgue. Cold, sterile, full of people pretending not to judge me.

My chip blinked under my skin. The cell door slammed shut behind me. I collapsed onto the bench and closed my eyes.

A shadow hovered behind the glass.

"You should've told me," Andrew said.

I looked up, slowly. "It wasn't your problem."

"I'm your brother, Jessie."

"And you're a cop. Just like Dad. I didn't want you dragged into this."

He gritted his teeth. "It's our job to be dragged into this."

"I can take care of myself."

Silence.

He finally sighed. "Let Jared know if you want to talk."

Jared showed up like a Marvel villain trying to flirt. Tall. Buff. Too smiley for someone watching a girl stew in a jail cell.

He pulled a chair up, leaned back, and started whistling.

I stared at him like he farted in an elevator.

"Could you not?" I groaned.

"Rough night?"

"You think?" I shot him a glare. "You want a medal for stating the obvious?"

He smirked. "Your dad's the Chief, right?"

"Oh my god." I rolled my eyes. "You want an autograph or something?"

"Nope. Just curious."

"Sure. And I'm the Queen of England."

He laughed. I wanted to punch him.

"What's your power?" I snapped, desperate to change the subject.

"Super strength. Speed."

Figures.

"Let me guess," I muttered. "Bench press a car, but can't take a hint."

Just then, the cell doors opened.

Andrew returned — dragging Sam by the collar like a trash bag with legs.

"You're free to go, Jessie."

Sam glared at me like I'd stabbed him. "You bitch!"

I didn't flinch.

Andrew shoved him to the floor and slammed the gate.

I walked over and hugged him. Tight. "Thanks. I love you."

"It wasn't me. It was Dad."

I shrugged. "Still love you."

At the front desk, I slapped my palms down. "My stuff."

Rocky barely looked up. "Nice to see you too, Ms. Chang."

He handed me the bag. I nodded and grabbed it.

Mason smiled at me from the next desk, cheeks pink.

"Don't get in trouble again, okay?"

I leaned in. Locked eyes with him. Whispered into his mind like silk.

"Bye, Mason."

His heartbeat fluttered like a lovesick puppy.

Buh-boom. Buh-boom. Buh-boom.

I walked out of that place like I owned it.

Because even if I didn't?

They all knew I could.