Kenzie pushed herself off the bedroom floor, her legs still feeling like lead. She stumbled toward the en-suite bathroom, pushing the frosted glass door open.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink. She turned the faucet on full blast and shoved her hands under the freezing water. She splashed it over her face, letting the shock of the cold ground her.

She looked up.

The woman staring back at her in the mirror was stunning. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, and flawless skin. But her eyes looked cruel. Entitled.

She hated the reflection immediately.

She closed her eyes and dug into the original Kenzie's memories, searching for anything useful. Money. Weapons. Allies.

All she found was an obsession. Kayson French. A Major in the imperial fleet. The original Kenzie had thrown away her dignity and her fortune trying to buy his attention with rare gifts and luxury ships.

She tapped the sleek, metallic terminal wrapped around her left wrist. The biometric scanner flashed green.

She pulled up the banking app.

The numbers floating in the holographic projection were bright, glaring red.

Negative two million credits.

Her stomach dropped. She swiped to the next screen. A dozen overdue notices from elite credit institutions flashed in front of her eyes.

She wasn't just marked for death by her husbands. She was completely bankrupt.

She slammed her fist onto the marble counter. Pain shot up her arm, but she didn't care.

"Stupid bitch," she hissed at the mirror.

"Warning," Sev's voice echoed in her head. "If the minimum payment is not met within thirty days, your privileges as a female will be revoked. You will be exiled to the outer wasteland planets."

Her chest tightened. Exile meant death.

"How do I unlock the subspace?" she asked out loud, her voice tight. "I have supplies in there. I need them."

"The subspace is bound to your biological frequency," Sev replied. "Your current physical vessel is extremely weak. You must reach Level 3 biological enhancement to unlock the first tier."

She pulled up the interstellar encyclopedia on her terminal. Enhancement primarily came from absorbing the energy cores of alien beasts in the hunting zones. But there was a catch. For a female to break through the initial bottleneck and reach Level 3, she required 'Bio-Synergy'—a deep spiritual and physical energy exchange with high-level contract beast-husbands.

She stared at her thin, manicured hands. She couldn't even open a jar of pickles right now, let alone fight a monster.

She needed muscle. She needed her husbands.

She grabbed a plush towel and aggressively dried her face. She needed to fix this. She needed to show them she was useful.

She tossed the towel aside and walked out of the bathroom. She crept out of the bedroom and into the massive, silent hallway of the mansion.

The lights flickered. The place felt dead.

As she neared the top of the grand staircase, a low murmur of voices drifted up from the basement level.

She stopped. She pressed her back against the cold stone of a decorative pillar, holding her breath. She peeked over the edge of the railing.

Josue was leaning heavily against a rusted iron door at the bottom of the stairs. His chest heaved.

Standing next to him was a man with dark, messy hair and eyes like shattered ice. Alfie.

Alfie's hands glowed with a faint, pale blue light as he hovered them over Josue's bleeding chest. He was using a water-healing ability.

"You should have snapped her neck," Alfie said. His voice was quiet, but the hatred in it was thick enough to choke on. "She's a parasite, Josue."

Josue winced as the blue light touched a deep cut. "If I kill her now, the court executes all of us. You know the law."

Alfie clenched his jaw. The muscle ticked violently under his pale skin.

"Two months," Josue rasped. He looked down at his own blood-stained hands. "When the trial period ends and the divorce is finalized, I'm going to rip her organs out while she's still breathing. I'll feed her to the rot-blossoms."

A chill violently ripped down her spine. The hairs on her arms stood up.

They weren't just angry. They were methodically planning her butchery.

Alfie sighed, the blue light fading from his hands. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crushed plastic tube. The liquid inside was a sickly, cloudy yellow.

"Take this," Alfie said, holding it out. "It's the last nutrient pack."

Josue pushed Alfie's hand away. "Give it to Buren. He's starving."

Alfie's eyes darkened. "She hasn't let us eat in a week, Josue. You're bleeding out."

Her heart stopped.

A week. She had starved them for a week.

She backed away from the railing, her steps completely silent. She pressed her hands over her mouth to muffle her breathing.

Apologies wouldn't work. Promises wouldn't work.

She needed food. Now.

She took a step back toward the safety of the hallway, but a massive, bone-rattling thud echoed from the basement. The floorboards beneath her feet vibrated.

She froze. She crept back to the railing and peered down through the narrow gap in the metal spindles.

Josue was on the floor. His body was contorted in an unnatural angle. His muscles spasmed violently, bulging under his skin as if something was trying to claw its way out of him.

His green eyes were gone. They were entirely, terrifyingly red.

"Warning," Sev's voice chimed in her head. "Target is experiencing an ability rampage. This is a fatal backlash caused by severe lack of female spiritual soothing."

Alfie dropped to his knees. Panic shattered his cold exterior. He shoved both hands against Josue's chest, a massive surge of blue water energy erupting from his palms.

Josue roared. It wasn't a human sound. It was the raw, deafening roar of a wild beast.

A shockwave of kinetic energy blasted out from Josue's body. Alfie was thrown backward, slamming hard into the concrete wall. He coughed, sliding to the floor.

Josue's fingernails elongated into thick, black claws. He dragged them across the metal floor, tearing deep grooves into the steel. He was losing his mind. He was looking up toward the stairs. Toward her.

He knew she was up there. The beast inside him wanted to tear her apart to stop the pain.

But Josue didn't lunge for the stairs.

Instead, his eyes locked onto a rusted metal cart left near the cell bars—a tray the original Kenzie had used for her twisted interrogations. He lunged, stretching his arm to the absolute limit, and snatched a serrated thermal-blade from the pile. Without a second of hesitation, he drove the six-inch blade straight into his own leg.

Blood sprayed across the floor, splattering against Alfie's pale face.

She clamped both hands over her mouth, biting down on her own finger to keep from screaming. Her stomach violently heaved.

Josue ripped the blade out. He gasped, his chest heaving as he sucked in oxygen. The extreme physical agony forced the red out of his eyes. The green slowly returned.

He dropped the knife. It clattered loudly against the floor.

Alfie scrambled forward. He grabbed the hem of his own shirt, ripped it off, and tied it tightly around Josue's bleeding thigh.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" Alfie's voice broke. His hands were shaking as he pulled the knot tight.

Josue leaned his head back against the wall, his face completely drained of color. "Because if I don't, I'll go up there and beg that bitch to touch me. I'd rather bleed to death."

Alfie's jaw clenched. Tears of pure frustration pooled in his eyes. "Look what she's done to us. The Douglas brothers sent to the front lines as cannon fodder. Dallin rotting in a maximum-security prison because she framed him. And now this."

Josue grabbed Alfie's wrist. His grip was weak, but his eyes were lethal. "Two months, Alfie. Just survive two months."

Alfie wiped the blood off his face. His expression turned ice-cold. "I already contacted the cleaner in the black market. The second the contract dissolves, she disappears. No traces."

Her blood ran cold. The temperature in the hallway felt like it had dropped twenty degrees.

These men were broken, desperate, and completely lethal.

Josue's head suddenly snapped up. His wolf ears twitched. He stared directly at the spot on the second floor where she was hiding.

She threw herself backward, pressing her body flat against the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut and stopped breathing. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would crack her ribs.

"What is it?" Alfie asked.

A heavy silence stretched.

"Nothing," Josue muttered. "Lost too much blood. Hearing things."

She waited until she heard the heavy iron door of the basement creak open and shut.

She let out a shaky breath, her lungs burning for air. She pushed herself off the wall and sprinted silently down the hall.

She shoved open the door to the master suite's walk-in closet and locked it behind her.

The motion sensors activated. Brilliant, warm light flooded the room.

She slumped against the door, sliding down until she hit the floor.

She looked up. The closet was the size of a small apartment. Floor-to-ceiling glass display cases lined the walls. Hundreds of designer bags, diamond-encrusted heels, and haute couture dresses stared back at her.

It was a sickening display of wealth built on the suffering of the men downstairs.

She wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. She chewed hard on the inside of her cheek.

She needed food. She needed medicine. She needed money.

She pushed herself off the floor. She walked over to a shelf holding a row of exotic leather bags.

In the apocalypse, a diamond ring couldn't buy a sip of dirty water. But here? This was her ticket out of hell.

She grabbed a heavy, platinum-studded handbag off the shelf. It felt ridiculous in her hands.

She tapped her terminal, activating the valuation scanner. A blue laser swept over the bag.

"Estimated Retail Value: 150,000 credits. Current Market Resale Value: 12,000 credits."

She frowned. A ninety percent drop?

"Host reputation penalty applied," Sev supplied helpfully. "Buyers in the elite secondary market refuse to purchase items associated with Kenzie Banks. The social stigma is considered toxic."

She threw the bag onto the plush carpet. "Great. I'm financially radioactive."

She walked out of the closet and over to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the bedroom. She grabbed the heavy velvet curtains and yanked them open.

She expected to see a sprawling, manicured estate. Instead, she saw a graveyard.

The massive swimming pool was drained and cracked. The imported alien grass was dead and brown. There were empty stone pedestals where expensive statues used to sit.

The original Kenzie had sold everything that wasn't nailed down just to maintain the illusion of her wealth in this one room.

She walked back to the vanity mirror. She started opening drawers, looking for anything practical.

Underneath a velvet jewelry tray, she found a stack of thick, physical envelopes. She ripped one open.

It was a final notice from a loan shark syndicate. The interest alone was enough to buy a small warship.

She tossed the paper onto the desk. But beneath the envelopes, her fingers brushed against a sleek, biometric datapad. The screen flickered to life, recognizing her DNA. It was the original Kenzie's private blackmail ledger. She skimmed the encrypted files, her eyes widening. There were surveillance photos of a woman named Adelia—Kayson's fiancée—coordinating illegal spice smuggling drops at the outer spaceports. Even worse, there were detailed notes proving Adelia had planted encrypted military files on Dallin to frame him, terrified he was getting too close to her operation. And Kayson? The great Major? The ledger contained a signed 'loan agreement' where Kayson manipulated Kenzie into lending him the priceless 'Tear of the Stars' handbag so he could gift it to Adelia and pretend he bought it. The sheer toxicity of this woman's obsession was staggering. She had all the proof to clear Dallin, but kept it hidden to blackmail Kayson into spending time with her.

Panic tried to claw its way up her throat, but she forced it down. She didn't have time to panic.

She needed a buyer who didn't care about her name.

She opened the anonymous browsing network on her terminal. She typed in search parameters for black market liquidators.

A few minutes later, she found it. The Dark Zone Virtual Pawn. No questions asked. Instant credit transfers.

She stripped off the silk robe she was wearing. She dug through the back of the closet and found a sleek, black tactical combat suit. It was tight, functional, and completely unlike anything the original Kenzie wore. She pulled her hair back into a tight, high ponytail.

She grabbed a massive black duffel bag and started throwing bags, watches, and necklaces into it. She didn't care if they scratched.

She dragged the heavy bag to the center of the room. She picked up the VR neural-link visor from the nightstand and slipped it over her eyes.

The real world vanished.

Her boots hit a wet, neon-lit pavement. The air smelled like synthetic cigars and ozone. She was standing in a cyberpunk alleyway.

She pushed open the rusted door of the pawnshop. A bell chimed.

Behind a scratched plexiglass counter sat a goblin merchant. He had a mechanical eye that whirred as he looked her up and down. His lip curled in a sneer.

She walked up to the counter and slammed the virtual duffel bag down. It hit the surface with a heavy, satisfying thud.

The goblin unzipped it. He poked at a diamond necklace with a dirty fingernail.

"A hundred thousand," he grunted, not even looking at her. "For the lot."

She leaned forward, planting both hands flat on the counter. She stared right into his mechanical eye.

"Three hundred thousand," she said, her voice flat and hard. "The Birkin alone is worth two. Don't insult me."

He scoffed. "It's hot merchandise, lady. Or you wouldn't be here."

"It's clean," she shot back. "And if you don't want it, the broker across the street will. I hear he pays a premium for vintage Earth-leather."

She reached for the bag, making a show of zipping it up.

The goblin's hand shot out, stopping the zipper. His mechanical eye whirred frantically, calculating the profit margins.

He looked at her face, trying to find a bluff. She gave him nothing. Just cold, dead-eyed patience.

"Two-fifty," he growled.

"Three hundred," she repeated. "Transfer it now, or I walk."

He ground his teeth. He slammed his hand onto a biometric pad on the counter.

Ding.

Her terminal vibrated. "Deposit received: 300,000 credits."

She didn't smile. She didn't say thank you. She just turned around and walked out the door.

She ripped the VR visor off her face. The bright lights of the closet blinded her for a second.

She quickly routed the funds into an untraceable, encrypted sub-account, bypassing the loan sharks' automatic deduction algorithms. She looked at her terminal. The glaring red overdue warnings flashing on her screen were finally gone. She actually had a positive, usable balance.

She let out a long, shaky breath. She had the money. Now, she needed to keep her husbands alive.