The civilian transport ship didn't stand a chance. Within minutes, the pirates had taken over.
"Hands where I can see 'em!"
"Move it, scum!"
"One wrong move, I'll put a hole in your head!"
The crew was tied up like sacks of potatoes in their black uniforms, lined up neatly against the wall.
The passengers weren't spared either. Anyone who hesitated to crawl out of their room got a solid beating, broken bones included, until they learned to comply.
A man in a suit dropped to his knees, sobbing as he shoved credit chips toward the pirates.
"Take my money! Just don't kill me!"
A child wailed loudly, their parents pleading in panic.
A pirate barked back, "Shut that brat up before I do!"
It was chaos, pure and bloody.
And somewhere in that chaos, Vivienne Cross, her hands raised meekly, was silently screaming Mom, come save me!
Goddamn it. She just knew space travel hated her.
Every time she boarded a ship, something went wrong.
And this time?
She could practically hear her savings draining away.
A heavy-set man with dark brown skin and a wicked scar running across his left cheek stomped into the middle of the hall.
His eyes swept over the terrified crowd with arrogant ease — clearly the leader.
"Anyone who keeps whining gets shot," Scarface announced, voice sharp as a whip.
"You're all property of the Polaris now. This ship belongs to the Tianshu."
The crowd's despair deepened.
Vivienne's scalp prickled.
Polaris?!
The infamous pirate crew ranked top three on the Empire's Most Wanted list?
Vivienne resisted the urge to cry.
Scarface barked again:
"All evolvers, move to the left! Normals to the right!"
Her stomach dropped.
The one thing she'd been hoping wouldn't happen… happened.
It didn't matter how fragile she looked.
Didn't matter that she couldn't even summon her Spirit Animal.
She was an evolver — a Sentinel.
And if the pirates found out, she was as good as sold.
In this age of the stars, humanity had split.
Some carried evolved genes, developing superhuman abilities.
They were called Evolvers — divided into two kinds:
Sentinels — stronger, faster, sharper.
Guides — calmer, quieter, able to soothe the chaos in a Sentinel's mind.
Sentinels were walking weapons. But that power came at a price:
Their minds were unstable.
Without a Guide to ground them, they were ticking time bombs.
Guides, on the other hand, had the mental strength but none of the physical enhancements. They existed to soothe, to heal.
And anyone with evolved abilities stood out in a crowd.
There were always ways to tell.
Vivienne sighed and shuffled along with the rest of the crowd, crouched down low, hands raised high in surrender.
For fuck's sake.
Why did her life lately feel like one long string of raising her damn hands?
What did she even do to deserve this?
"Hey! You there!"
Scarface's shout cut through the crowd.
"You — the one with the black hair! Step forward!"
All eyes turned to her.
Vivienne closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
She straightened, stepping out of the mass of terrified passengers.
Scarface's eyes raked over her from head to toe, like a merchant assessing fine goods.
He let out a sharp whistle.
Vivienne's stomach dropped.
"You're a Guide, aren't you?" he asked, voice full of nasty interest.
Vivienne's face didn't change.
Here we go again.
They always thought she was a Guide.
The soft voice. The pretty face. The harmless energy.
No one ever guessed she was a Sentinel.
She shook her head.
"No. I'm not a Guide."
Scarface clearly didn't believe her.
He was a Sentinel himself — he'd seen a hundred Guides.
And women like Vivienne?
Soft, delicate, sweet?
They screamed Guide.
His eyes narrowed.
"You know what happens if you lie to me?"
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him.
Vivienne kept her expression neutral, even as disgust crawled up her spine.
Don't move. Don't react. One wrong move and he'd probably shoot.
Up close, she noticed the scar on his face was deep and ugly — something no one kept in the interstellar age unless they had a death wish, or a screw loose.
Possibly both.
"You're trying to tell me you're a Sentinel with a face like that?" Scarface sneered.
Vivienne smiled sweetly, because it was either that or punch him in the throat and get herself killed.
"I really am," she said. "You can check my ID."
She kept her tone calm, almost apologetic.
No one could've guessed that in her head, she was mentally cursing this bastard into oblivion.
"My name's Vivienne Cross.
Sentinel.
Physical grade: E.
Mental strength: B-minus."
Scarface's brow furrowed.
"E-Class?"
Even among Sentinels, D-Class was scraping the bottom of the barrel.
E-Class was practically a joke.
He gave her an up-and-down look, suspicion still flickering in his eyes.
But she looked harmless enough.
Smart enough not to lie when she had no leverage.
Still, he wasn't convinced.
"Show me your mental tendrils."
Every Sentinel and Guide had them — invisible threads of mental energy.
And they were different.
He'd know if she was lying.
Vivienne's smile froze.
Shit.
Normally, Sentinels didn't expose their tendrils unless they were trying to intimidate each other.
Their energies naturally clashed.
And frankly, hers had a reputation for being particularly nasty.
And this guy?
He looked like the type to hit her for it.
She hesitated a beat too long.
Scarface laughed coldly.
"What's wrong?
Can't fake it anymore?"
Vivienne ground her teeth, smile still plastered on.
"I'm not lying."
She released her mental tendrils, just a sliver — enough to prove her point.
The effect was immediate.
Sentinel to Sentinel, their minds rejected each other like oil and water.
The discomfort hit him hard.
Scarface's face darkened.
He'd been wrong.
And he didn't like it.
At all.
Without warning, he slammed his mental energy back at her — vicious and violent !!