Julie didn't notice the black sedan at first.
She was too busy keeping her eyes on the sidewalk, avoiding the glances men her age always threw toward her throat. The pink necklace resting there felt heavier than usual today—like a warning label instead of jewelry.
Mara walked beside her, talking about nothing important—coffee flavors, hair dye, weekend plans. The kind of noise they used to drown out the thing they both knew could happen at any time.
Up ahead, the pedestrian light blinked red. The two girls stopped at the curb.
Julie breathed in slow, steady.
She'd been taught since age six how to breathe like that.
Population anxiety management, they called it.
Mara nudged her shoulder. "You okay?"
Julie nodded once, lying by omission. "Just warm."
What she didn't say was:
I'm pink and alone in public. Someone could take me.
Because every woman understood that already.
The crosswalk switched, and they stepped forward. Julie's hair—dark brown with copper-threaded strands that caught the noon light—kept blowing into her eyes. She pushed it back, unaware that the gesture made her necklace glint brighter.
That was the moment the sedan slowed.
Inside, Roman Vale saw her.
His wristband gave a low pulse against his skin—nothing dramatic, just a subtle vibration paired with digital text across the screen:
ELIGIBLE FEMALE IDENTIFIED
Age: 22
Status: Unclaimed
Necklace: Pink
Roman glanced up from the display, eyes locking onto Julie through the tinted glass. Something tightened in his stomach—an instinct, a snap, a recognition that didn't belong to biology or to choice, but to the last twenty years of education and conditioning.
In the driver's seat sat Dean—lean, blue-eyed, hair slicked back, hands steady on the wheel. He saw the reflection of Roman's wristband alert and felt his stomach sink.
He knew that look on Roman's face.
He knew what came next.
"Roman," Dean muttered, low and warning, "think for a second—"
Roman heard his high school instructor's voice echo in his mind:
"If population survival lands in your hands, you do not hesitate. You claim, you protect, you contribute."
Roman had always been good at following orders.
He tapped the dash once. "Stop."
Dean clenched his jaw but obeyed, pulling the sedan into a clean, controlled halt beside the curb.
Julie kept walking—one, two, three steps—before she heard the door slam.
Mara grabbed her wrist. "Don't look. Don't—"
Too late.
Julie turned.
He was tall. Solid. Broad shoulders under a fitted jacket. Tattoos peeked from his collar to his wrists. Dark brows drawn intense over deep brown eyes that locked onto Julie's face like she was the only thing on the street that mattered.
Roman walked with purpose—not reckless, not aggressive, just certain. The exact kind of certainty girls were warned about in school assemblies.
Julie's voice caught in her throat. "Mara…"
Mara squeezed her wrist hard enough to hurt. "If he says it, you have to run. Don't freeze."
But Julie wasn't a runner. She was a student of the Act. She had sat through twelve years of lectures explaining what came next.
Roman stopped in front of her, chest rising with quiet adrenaline. His eyes dropped to the pink necklace.
Eligible.
Unclaimed.
Legal.
Julie's stomach dropped like a stone.
Roman's voice was low, steady, terrifying not because it was loud but because it was calm:
"I am initiating claim."
The words hit exactly the way the textbooks said they would.
Cars slowed. People stared. No one interfered. Why would they? This was civic duty. It was how the world worked now.
Mara lunged toward him, furious. "Back off! She—"
"Don't," Julie hissed, grabbing her friend's arm.
If Mara touched him, she could be fined for claim obstruction.
Julie heard every teacher, every counselor, every broadcast boiling up in her brain:
Eligible females must comply with initial assessment.
Resisting a claim can lead to state custody.
Never escalate. Never provoke. Never fight alone.
Roman watched the panic flicker in her hazel eyes, green-gold in the sunlight. He didn't look triumphant. He looked focused.
Dean got out of the sedan and approached quietly, scanning the sidewalk for officers, for other claimants, for variables—because if nothing else, he understood consequences.
"Roman," Dean said under his breath, tense, "just slow down—"
Roman didn't look away from Julie.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to rewind her whole life to the moment her pink necklace was issued.
Her voice trembled. "Why me?"
Roman blinked once—the only sign he wasn't made of pure law.
"You were there," he said simply.
The world seemed to tilt.
Mara's grip tightened. "Julie—run!"
Julie turned to bolt but fear froze her legs for a fraction of a second.
A fraction was all Roman needed.
He lunged, one arm wrapping around Julie's waist, lifting her off her feet.
Julie screamed—sharp, panicked, broken halfway through.
"NO! NO—LET GO! PLEASE—LET GO!"
Her legs kicked wildly, shoes slipping off as she clawed at his arm. Tears sprang instantly from panic.
"Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!"
Her voice cracked on the last word, raw and terrified.
Mara launched herself at Roman. "Let her go! Let her go, you can't—!"
Dean intercepted, grabbing Mara around the waist before she collided with him.
"Stop!" Dean shouted. "You'll get charged—stop!"
Roman didn't slow. Julie's fists pounded against his shoulder, her cries drawing attention—most people looked away; a few watched; no one helped.
Taught behavior.
Taught helplessness.
Julie's screams dissolved into sobbing pleas.
"Please—please—don't take me! I didn't do anything—I don't want this—!"
Her words turned into sobs as Roman shifted her over his shoulder. She collapsed against him, face buried in his jacket, shaking.
"Julie!" Mara screamed, reaching out until Dean held her back.
Julie lifted her head just enough to see Mara's face blurring through tears. "MARA! HELP ME—PLEASE!"
Roman shoved open the sedan door with one hand and hauled Julie inside, depositing her onto the backseat as gently as force allowed.
Julie scrambled for the opposite handle, but Roman caught her wrist.
"Don't," he warned. Quiet. Final.
Julie froze—chest heaving—eyes huge and wet.
Dean slammed the passenger door, slid into the driver's seat, voice shaking.
"Roman—Jesus—you terrified her."
Roman kept one knee on the seat, blocking Julie's escape while he buckled her seatbelt. Julie didn't fight—just sobbed, hiccuping, whispering pleas into trembling hands.
"Please—please don't take me—please—"
Mara slammed her hands against the window outside, tears streaming. "Julie! JULIE!"
Julie lunged toward the glass. "Mara!"
Roman lifted her back into the seat—strong but controlled—as Dean hit the gas and the sedan lurched forward.
Through the rear window, Julie watched Mara get smaller and smaller until she vanished behind traffic.
Julie choked on a sob so visceral Dean flinched in the front seat.
She curled into herself, shaking violently, hot tears streaking down her cheeks.
"I'm—I'm scared—please—I'm so scared—"
Roman sat beside her, breathing hard—not from exertion, but adrenaline.
"You're not hurt," he said quietly.
Julie stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language.
"I'M BEING TAKEN!" she sobbed. "I—I didn't even do anything—why—why me—?!"
Dean's voice was strained, guilt lacing every word. "Julie… the Act doesn't care about what you did."
Roman didn't argue. He just watched her, jaw tight, eyes cold and calculating—not cruel, but clinical.
Julie hugged her knees, pink necklace rattling against her collarbone as her breath hitched over and over.
Eventually her cries faded into shaky whimpers—terror giving way to exhaustion, as it often did in girls raised under the Act.
When she finally quieted, she stared at the seat in front of her, cheeks wet, shoulders hunched, body small.
Roman fastened her seatbelt fully, satisfied she wasn't going to try to jump out at 40 mph.
Dean glanced at her in the mirror—eyes filled with something she couldn't name.
Roman leaned back, calm returning, voice low:
"She'll acclimate."
Dean whispered, without looking up:
"She's not cargo, Roman."
Julie didn't hear either of them.
She slid down the seat, hair hiding her face, breathing in tiny shaking gasps—the picture of a captured girl who never thought the day she'd feared since childhood would actually come.