Kayla stared at her reflection in the tiny, fogged-up mirror of their apartment bathroom, blue eyes wide with a cocktail of terror and stubborn resolve.
The short, scruffy brown wig looked ridiculous at first glance, but once she'd pinned every stray strand of her long black hair beneath it and clipped the edges tight, it settled into something almost-believable chaos, the exact kind of bed-head her twin brother wore like a badge of honour.
She'd even bleached the front pieces a cheap drugstore blond so that if any hair did escape, it would look like Kyle's latest failed attempt at highlights.
She was 5'8", tall enough that most men had always assumed she played volleyball or basketball, never that she could pass for a boy. But Kyle was only an inch taller and built narrow like her. With her chest bound so tight she could only take shallow breaths, his oversized hoodie hanging off her shoulders, and a practiced slouch, the mirror finally showed someone who could be Kyle Ramirez, Nexus Innovations badge and all.
She turned, rolled her shoulders, and swaggered down the short hallway the way Kyle did, hands shoved in pockets, chin tilted just enough to look bored.
"Good morning, kind sir," she drawled in a perfect imitation of Kyle's gravelly baritone as she shoved his bedroom door open with her shoulder.
On the bed, buried under a mountain of blankets and crumpled tissues, lay an almost identical face, flushed with fever, eyes glassy but sparkling with reluctant amusement.
"That's so creepy," Kyle croaked, voice wrecked from coughing.
"That means I'm doing it right," Kayla shot back, letting her real voice slip out for a second, soft, melodic, undeniably feminine. The contrast made Kyle wince.
"You sound creepy every day," she added, grinning.
He rolled his bloodshot eyes. She laughed, and the sound filled the cramped room like sunlight neither of them had seen in days.
Then his expression sobered. "Are you sure about this, Kay?"
The laughter died instantly. "We have no choice, and you know it."
Their father's death a year ago had ripped the rug out from under them. The big house, the private schools, the university friends who'd once pretended to like her, all gone. Debts swallowed everything.
They'd moved into this crumbling two-bedroom in the worst part of the city, and the only thing keeping the lights on was Kyle's job at Nexus Innovations, a company so secretive it might as well have been a myth.
Insane pay, iron-clad NDAs, zero tolerance for absences, and, for reasons no one could adequately explain, not a single woman on the payroll.
Now Kyle was burning up with a fever that refused to break, lungs rattling like dry leaves, and tomorrow was payday. If he missed even one shift, the penalties would bury them.
Kayla adjusted the wig one last time.
"ID?"
He kicked a weak foot toward the rickety bedside table.
She crossed the room, picked up the laminated card, and stared at the photo: Kyle smirking at the camera, hair exactly like the wig she now wore.
"That's you until I'm back on my feet," he said quietly.
Kayla pressed two fingers to her lips, then laid them over her heart. Kyle mirrored the gesture, then pointed those same fingers at her.
Their childhood promise: I guard my heart, you guard yours, and I've always got your back. Even when he was too sick to stand, the ritual calmed the storm in her chest.
"Be careful," he rasped. "Everything I told you, don't forget a single step."
She gave him Kyle's lazy two-finger salute, shoved the ID in a pocket of the hoodie, and walked out.
In the kitchen their mother stood at the counter, thin shoulders hunched, eyes red-rimmed.
She took one look at Kayla and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
"You look exactly like him," Mrs. Ramirez whispered.
"How frightening," Kayla deadpanned, then immediately crossed the cracked linoleum to wrap her mother in a hug.
Diane Ramirez clung to her like she was ten again and the world still made sense.
"I'll be fine, Mom," Kayla murmured into grey-streaked hair that used to be as black as hers. "Promise."
Her mother pulled back just far enough to press a paper lunch bag into her hands, the same way she had in high school all those years ago.
"That place isn't normal, mija. Please be careful."
Kayla kissed her cheek, tasting salt from tears that hadn't quite fallen, and left before she lost her nerve.
The commute was a blur of overcrowded buses, exhaust fumes, and early winter cold that slipped under the hoodie no matter how tightly she zipped it.
By the time the mirrored tower of Nexus Innovations rose against the grey sky, her palms were sweating.
She swiped the badge at the outer gate. The scanner beeped green.
The guard didn't even glance up from his coffee. "Morning, Kyle."
Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled.
Inside, everything was glass and white marble and the low electric hum of servers that never slept.
Employees, all men, all wearing the same neutral expression, moved like ghosts.
She kept her head down, shoulders rounded, and followed Kyle's instructions to the letter: elevator to sub-level 4, badge scan, locker room to pull the sterile white overalls over her clothes, then straight to Supervisor Harlan's glass cube.
Harlan was built like a bull and honestly looked like one.
He barely looked at her before shoving a tablet into her hands.
"Ramirez. Pod 47. Vitals, sync logs, don't touch a damn thing you're not supposed to. Go."
She nodded, voice locked in her throat, and escaped.
The hallway to the pod rooms was endless white. Through observation windows she caught glimpses of the main chamber: hundreds of sleek white capsules in perfect rows, each glowing faint blue, each containing a sleeping man.
The sight made the back of her neck prickle.
Pod 47 was different. It had its own sealed room, no observation window, heavy door with a red biohazard stripe.
Inside, the capsule stood alone beneath a single overhead light, obsidian black instead of the usual white.
The transparent lid revealed the occupant in perfect detail.
Kayla stood frozen.
He was beautiful in a way that felt almost unfair, 6'3" or 6'4", lean muscle carved rather than built, black hair falling across a sharp brow, long dark lashes resting against cheekbones that could cut glass.
eyes were hidden, but she could almost feel their gaze.
Tubes ran from his arms to the machines; soft blue light pulsed along the wires like a heartbeat.
She forced herself to the control panel, fingers clumsy on the tablet.
Routine checks only. Simple. Do not panic.
Of course she panicked.
Her thumb slipped, hit the wrong icon, and a red button flashed: EMERGENCY WAKE PROTOCOL.
A soft alarm chimed. The lid hissed. Hydraulic arms lifted it with graceful slowness.
The man's eyes opened.
Not fluttered. Opened. Instantly awake, instantly focused.
Storm-grey irises locked onto her like crosshairs.
No confusion, no grogginess, just pure, unblinking attention.
Kayla's heart slammed against her ribs.
"No-no-no, shit—"
The interface warned: TWO-MINUTE WINDOW.
She stabbed at the screen, hands shaking so badly she almost dropped the tablet.
Behind her the pod began to vent sedative gas, but the man, labelled only 47, never moved.
He lay perfectly still and watched her fumble, scramble, swear under her breath in two languages while she hunted for the override.
At 00:00:47 remaining she finally slammed the correct sequence.
The lid lowered.
The grey eyes tracked it all the way down until thick lashes hid them again.
The pod sealed with a soft click. Vitals flatlined back to perfect sleep.
Kayla slid down the wall until her butt hit the cold floor, chest heaving.
The room smelled faintly of ozone and something metallic she couldn't name.
Her pulse roared in her ears louder than any alarm.
She stayed there until the tablet chimed END OF SHIFT, then somehow made it through clock-out, security scans, and the long bus ride home without throwing up.
When she pushed open the apartment door, Kyle was sitting up in bed for the first time in days, eyes fever-bright.
"How'd it go?" he croaked.
Kayla kicked off her shoes, peeled the wig from her aching scalp, and let her real hair tumble down her back like a dark waterfall.
"Fine," she lied, flashing the bravest smile she could muster. "Totally, completely, one-hundred-percent fine."
Her hands were still shaking.