Tyler's POV
The metal slammed shut behind me. It was so loud, it shook something in my bones. That finality. That clang. That reminder that freedom was no longer mine.
My wrists were scraped raw from the cuffs. My mouth still tasted like blood and dirt. My shirt was half torn, my belt gone, and my shoes felt loose—like they were ready to fall off the moment I ran. Not that running would help now. Not anymore.
"Tyler Lockwood," the agent said flatly. "Age twenty-seven. Alias ZeroString. Hacker, data miner, cybercriminal, fugitive."
I didn't respond.
He raised a brow, as if waiting for me to argue. I didn't bother. What was there to say?
"You don't look so clever without your keyboard," he muttered.
They pulled me through a series of sterile corridors. Concrete walls, dim lights, and cameras mounted like vultures in the corners. This wasn't just a police station. This was government-grade. Underground. Secret. Off-the-books. The kind of place they take you to disappear.
