Silver Hair

"I'm outside?"

"No."

A rough male voice answered from the right, behind the door—hoarse, as if the speaker hadn't used it in a long time. It was the first human voice I'd heard since arriving here.

"No, you're not."

I took another step forward and found myself looking into a large common room. It stretched over two floors, with more doors on this and the opposite side, separated by a railing. Since I was on the upper level, I leaned over and glanced down. A dozen tables and chairs stood in the center—not a single one empty.

Suddenly, it all made sense: the room I came from wasn't just a cell—it was one of many. Behind each door lay another form of captivity.

Snap.

A tall boy, barely older than me, was casually leaning against the wall to my right. He had spiky silver hair and a striking, almost cold face—like it had been carved from stone. 'What's someone like him doing in a place like this?' He scanned me from head to toe, like he was trying to read me.

"You even speak? Or do you have a stick jammed down your throat, Blackhair?"

That was probably meant for me. The nickname "Blackhair" fit, sure, but I didn't like it. I was tempted to throw back something like "What're you staring at, Silverhair?" But I held my tongue. If it was true that everyone here was an Anomaly, this guy could probably kill me in seconds.

"Oh—sorry. I was just lost in thought..."

I ran my hand through my dark hair without thinking, forcing a faint, fake smile. Best to act clueless for now—before I revealed too much. One thing was clear: I didn't belong here.

Silverhair gave me a suspicious look. "Why are you here?"

His voice had dropped, deeper than before. As if my next words could mean life or death. I'd heard it often enough—prison was all about alliances. He was probably trying to gauge the nature of my powers... and my intentions.

I had neither—but he didn't need to know that. To survive here, I had to play a role. Something people feared. Something no one would question—something that would protect me.

How hard could it be? I was skinny, with dark rings under my eyes. Almost any disorder could fit me. I just had to choose one—and hope he didn't ask for proof.

"I'm a serial killer. My power allows me to manipulate blood. I won't tell you the drawbacks—and no, I won't be joining your group. I'll look around first and then decide who I want to stick with. That's all you wanted to know, right?"

People tend to lose interest if you give them enough information. I had to put everything on the line—to seem dangerous.

"You sure talk a lot, Blackhair. And you're supposed to be a killer? Looks like you've got something to prove."

'SHIT. What's that supposed to mean? He doesn't believe me?'

His eyes pierced into mine, but I dodged his gaze like my life depended on it.

"That's good. I don't give everything away either."

His expression softened slightly.

"And about the group thing... I'm new here too. Don't know anyone yet. What do you say—wanna figure this place out together?"

His tone shifted suddenly. Even his voice lost that sharp edge. Apparently, he didn't mind the lie. Maybe he knew there was an unspoken agreement forming between us: if he didn't ask about my past—I wouldn't ask about his. 'What are you hiding, Silverhair?'

The fact that he hadn't bonded with anyone yet worked in my favor. I could make him an ally—and maybe find a group in the process. He seemed like exactly the kind of person you'd rather have on your side.

For me, the decision was clear.

"Yeah, I'll come with you."

***

In just a few minutes, we got a rough sense of who we were dealing with. Silverhair managed to come up with a derogatory nickname for almost every group we passed.

"...the Fanatics."

"...the Silent Ones."

"...the Corrupted."

Harsh as it may sound—I agreed with him. Everyone in this hall was marked by some kind of disorder. Whatever had landed them here remained hidden for most. Some might have lived lives just like mine before they were dragged into 'therapy'...

But others—one look was enough to know their abilities were dangerous.

The most unsettling person, however, stood right next to me. Silverhair showed no reaction. No sign of fear—not even a trace of unease. Honestly, I wasn't sure he felt anything at all. Unlike me, who felt fear like a cold weight inside me. It slowed my gaze, my movements—my breath.

If I had to make a guess, there were three alphas in this hall. Each surrounded by a crowd—like kings holding court. Their clothes stood out, probably the ones they'd worn on the outside.

'They clearly had the respect of the guards. If I could join one of their groups... maybe there'd be a way out.' Luckily, I managed to catch two of their names in passing.

'Kuro sat on a table like it was a throne, legs crossed casually. His white straitjacket hung from his shoulders like a cape. His ash-pale skin and pitch-black eyes with crimson pupils made him look like a shadow. At first glance, he seemed calm—almost bored. But everyone in the room avoided his gaze.'

'Vale leaned quietly in a corner, but it felt like he saw everything. He wore a long black coat with golden seams and a hood—beneath it, only shadows. Probably no one had ever truly seen his eyes. He wore a thin black mask etched with faint, shifting symbols. His presence was silent—but so commanding that every conversation stopped the moment he moved.'

But the third person... her gaze hadn't left us since we entered. And now, she was moving—straight toward us.

Her steps were calm but deliberate. Every motion was controlled, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like someone used to people stepping aside.

Silverhair said nothing. He watched her with crossed arms, as if testing whether she really meant to come to us—or if it was just coincidence.

I could feel my heart pounding.

Who was she?

And why us?