2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Chloe

Some time ago

The scent of burnt coffee clings to my shirt as I sprint through the rain-slicked alleyways of downtown Charleston. I had just finished my shift at the bistro, and normally I wouldn't be in such a hurry, but of course I forgot my bus pass.

My sneakers splash through puddles, sending icy droplets up my already soaked jeans. The steady drumming of raindrops on metal fire escapes and dumpsters provides a frantic soundtrack to my mad dash.

"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter, dodging a startled tabby cat that yowls its displeasure at my intrusion. "Oh, get over it," I snap back, really not in the mood for sass from a freaking alley cat.

My backpack thumps against my spine with each hurried step, a constant reminder of the textbooks I still haven't read for the class I'm already late to.

God, this semester is already turning out to be a disaster.

Working two part-time jobs while pursuing a graphic design degree isn't exactly the glamorous college life I'd envisioned. But here I am, twenty-three years old and still chasing that elusive diploma. Sleep deprivation has become my constant companion, leaving me in a perpetual fog where important details—like my bus pass—slip through the cracks of my overworked brain.

By the time I reach the looming brick edifice of the humanities building, I'm panting and my dark hair is plastered to my forehead. Water drips from my eyelashes as I squint at the classroom door, my heart sinking at the sight of a crumpled piece of paper taped haphazardly to its surface.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groan, leaning in to read the hastily printed message:

Class Canceled -Professor Hendricks

And of course it's written in Comic Sans. Because why wouldn't the universe choose to mock me with the most reviled font in graphic design?

I slump against the wall, letting out a humorless laugh that echoes in the empty hallway. The brief adrenaline rush fades, leaving me feeling hollow and bone-weary. With a sigh, I push myself upright and begin the long, soggy trudge back to my shoebox of an apartment.

The rain has slowed to a light drizzle by the time I reach my street. Neon signs from the corner bodega cast an eerie glow on the wet pavement, their reflections shimmering like oil slicks. I fumble for my keys, my fingers numb from the cold.

And that's when I see it—a flash of brilliant blue light illuminating the entire block for a split second. Before I can even process what's happening, a searing pain lances through my skull as my vision swims, and a darkness creeps in at the edges.

My last coherent thought as consciousness slips away is, C'mon, I really can't afford to get any more behind on my assignments.

The harsh lights of my prison cell burn into my retinas as I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of my life on Earth.

The memory floods my senses: the patter of rain on concrete, the sharp scent of burnt coffee, the bone-deep weariness that comes from juggling two jobs and a full course load. My life wasn't exactly a Hallmark moment, but right now, I'd give anything to be back there, sprinting through puddles and worrying about missed assignments.

Instead, I'm trapped in this sterile alien hellscape, my world reduced to gleaming white walls and the constant hum of machinery. The contrast is so jarring it makes my head spin. One minute I'm a graphic design student in Charleston, the next I'm… what? An alien's trophy? A pawn in some sick intergalactic game?

For a moment I try to convince myself, Oh, no, there's no possible way I've been abducted by aliens. I just got regular-kidnapped. Yeah, and I simply bumped my head.

I rub at my temple, my fingers brushing up against a metal augmentation that was there when I originally woke up in this place.

The augmentation that makes it possible to understand alien languages.

A hysterical laugh threatens to escape my lips. I bite it back, tasting copper as my teeth dig into my lower lip.

Yeah, this is real. This is happening. And I need to keep it together.

I curl into myself on the cold metal bench, wrapping my arms around my knees. The position makes me feel small, vulnerable. My fingers unconsciously trace the scar on my cheek, a habit I've developed when I'm stressed. But the familiar gesture helps me focus, pushing back against the panic clawing at my chest.

"There's no crying in baseball," I mutter, my attempt at humor falling flat in the empty room.

Who am I kidding? If there was ever a time for a full-on ugly cry, it's now. I'm light-years from home, facing God knows what, completely alone…

Well, not completely. There were two others, Natalie and Mia. When we all first woke up here, we'd barely had time to exchange names and terrified glances before we were hauled off as "prizes."

The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Prizes. Like we're some goldfish to win at a cheap carnival game.

I dare to wonder…

Are they okay? Did they find a way out of this nightmare?

For a moment, hope flares in my chest. Maybe they'll come back for me. Maybe—

I crush the thought before it can take root. We were strangers thrown together by circumstance, not the Three Musketeers. If they found a way out, they're long gone. And I can't blame them.

A raw sob bubbles up in my throat. I swallow it down, swiping angrily at the tears threatening to spill.

"Get it together," I hiss, my voice bouncing off the stark walls of my cell. "Crying isn't going to get you out of here."

A cold realization washes over me: My fate now rests in the hands of an alien warrior I've barely glimpsed. My only chance, apparently, is being won by one of three contestants I'd seen earlier, at the opening ceremony, before I was returned here for a later season.

The alien warriors are apparently competing in some ridiculous intergalactic survival game show called Loop Run, with us humans as the grand prize. The thought should terrify me, but instead, I feel a strange mix of fear, curiosity, and… excitement?

I mean, there's definitely more boring ways to die.

Still, if I'm going to survive this cosmic nightmare—if I have any hope of escaping and getting back home—I need to play this smart. And by smart, I mean swallowing my pride and fear, and finding a way to ally myself with whichever warrior ends up getting his alien mitts on me. It's not ideal, but it's my best shot at turning this intergalactic episode of Survivor to my advantage.

I close my eyes, trying to conjure up clearer images of the three aliens in shining armor.

There was some beefy gargoyle-looking dude, all craggy skin and brooding intensity. I bet he's a hit at alien cocktail parties.

Then there was the guy who could've stepped straight out of "The Shape of Water," if the fish man had been even more jacked and radiating regal authority. Note to self: invest in waterproof mascara if that guy ends up being the one.

And then there was him. "Vornas," the Host had called him.

Vornas the Saberkai Jungle King.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter.

What a title.

I can still picture him from that surreal opening ceremony, his lithe form radiating an aura of control and confidence. His amber eyes had swept across the room, predatory and calculating, before locking with mine and pinning me, right where I was.

Sleek fur covered his muscular frame, marked with dark stripes that reminded me of a tiger. His feline features were strangely alluring: a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and pointed ears that twitched at every sound. A long, sinuous tail swayed behind him, its movements hypnotic. Despite his alien appearance, there was something undeniably regal about him, from the way he carried himself to the intelligence gleaming in those piercing eyes.

For a heartbeat, electricity crackled between us, and I forgot how to breathe. His gaze lingered on my face, and for once, I didn't feel the urge to turn away or hide my scar. Then his lips curled back, revealing sharp canines in a snarl that sent a confusing shiver down my spine—equal parts terror and… something else I couldn't quite understand.

Then, as if to shatter the moment, I caught him muttering what could only be alien trash talk to the gargoyle-looking contestant. His smooth voice carried hints of a growl, dripping with sarcasm and bravado.

The memory makes me suppress a groan as I flop back onto the cold metal bench.

See, this is why I prefer dogs. They just want to be everybody's friend. Cats, on the other hand, with their holier-than-thou attitude…

Even so, I can't shake how something about Vornas had intrigued me, drew me to him despite his arrogance. Maybe it was the way Vornas carried himself, a confident, predatory grace that spoke of years of survival in the wild.

Or maybe it was how hot this guy was.

"Come on, Chloe!" I mutter, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. This isn't the time to be thirsting over some alien cat-man. No, this is about survival.

And if cozying up to a smoking hot alien jungle king is the way I get out of here alive, then so be it. I've definitely had worse gigs.

A sudden whirring sound shakes me out of my thoughts as a sleek, egg-shaped drone appears in my cell, its metallic surface gleaming under the harsh lights. A robotic voice emanates from it. "Attention, Prize. The Loop Run begins now. Prepare for deployment."

My heart leaps into my throat.

This is it. The game is on, and I'm about to be thrown into the deep end.

God, I hope Vornas is as good at this survival stuff as his fancy title suggests. Otherwise, we're both screwed.