Page 33 of Inside the Sun

It’s the same guard.

"You’re coming with me," he says flatly.

I could throw a tantrum, dig in my heels, but what’s the point? He’ll just start dragging me, and my body already hurts like hell.

So I get up and follow. His face is blank. Just like Anzo’s. Everyone here wears the same mask, like they’re ashamed of emotions. As if feelings are weakness. And maybe they really believe that.

The guard leads me through dim corridors lined with doors. We descend a floor.

I look around, trying to memorize everything, but there’s not much to remember, just winding hallways.

Eventually, we stop in front of a set of slightly larger doors. Dark wood, with a keypad on the side.

The guard punches in a code, opens the door, and gestures for me to go in. I enter because what the hell else am I supposed to do?

And now I’m standing in a massive office, the kind you’d expect in a corporate tower: huge desk, leather chair, bookshelves perfectly lined with hardcovers. A few armchairsare arranged for meetings or interrogations or whatever the hell they do here.

The windows are tall, like something out of an old mansion. They’re half-covered with thick drapes, yeah, actual curtains, not blinds. The dusty kind you see in vampire castle movies.

Anzo is sitting behind the desk. And just like that, we’re alone.

For a moment, a thought flashes through my mind: what if I lunged at him, snapped his neck? I’m an alpha. He’s a beta. I’m eighteen, sure, but our strength isn’t even comparable. Alphas have the strength of full-grown gorillas. Our testosterone gives us speed, endurance and strength, more fast-twitch muscle fibers that give us explosive power. We also have denser bones.

Betas? They're just average.

But then again… what if he activates the collar again and shocks me senseless? Can I really make a move before that happens? Or will I just end up twitching on the floor again?

I shut the thought down. I need to stop thinking like someone desperate and start thinking like someone strategic. Every move has to be calculated.

So I stand in front of him, about ten feet from the desk, and say nothing. Just stare.

We lock eyes for a good thirty seconds. I hold it.

Fuck, I’m not speaking first. I wait. And eventually, he moves.

He raises his finger and makes a slow, downward gesture.

I have no clue what it means, but I take a guess. I drop to my knees. Just to see if that’s what he wants.

It is. I can feel it, even though his face shows nothing.

I kneel there in silence, waiting. Feeling stupid.

Eventually, Anzo stands. My heart speeds up a little. His doesn’t. His heartbeat is slow, steady.

Then he speaks.

"If you had to choose one member of your family to die first… who would it be?"

What? A chill runs straight down my spine.

"I don’t want anyone in my family to die," I say, forcing my voice to stay even. It takes a lot.

"But you have to choose. Because if it’s not them, then it’s going to be you."

"Then let it be me," I say firmly. "My family doesn’t deserve to suffer for my fuckups. That much is certain."

"How noble of you. But what if you don’t get that choice? What if someone absolutely has to die, and if you don’t pick… it’ll be your dad."

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