The Air Siren

Valerie’s POV

The sky turned the color of bruised plums before the first siren went off.

I stood on the glass balcony of the central city penthouse, watching the horizon. A thick, dark crimson cloud crawled over the distant skyscrapers. It did not look like a storm. It looked like blood filling a glass of water.

Down on the streets below, cars were locked bumper to bumper. People abandoned their vehicles, running toward the underground transit stations. The city was screaming, but up on the thirtieth floor, the sound only reached me as a faint, buzzing vibration.

"Close the glass door, Valerie. You are letting the heat out."

Cynthia sat on the velvet sofa, entirely untouched by the panic outside. She swiped through her tablet, her manicured fingers moving with complete calm. She wore a silk dress that cost more than I made in three months at the clinic. She always looked perfect. Even when the emergency broadcasts started looping on every television network an hour ago, she barely blinked.

I stepped inside and pulled the glass door shut.

"The cellular networks are completely dead now. We need to leave. The government alerts said the red mist is highly toxic. If it breaches the lower levels, we will be trapped here."

Cynthia looked up, her wide eyes reflecting the dim light of the room. She gave me that soft, helpless smile that usually made everyone in our family rush to her defense.

"Leave? And go where? Into the streets with the common crowd? Don't be ridiculous. Father said his associates would handle our evacuation. We stay right here."

"Father is on the other side of the country, Cynthia. He cannot save us from a biological collapse."

I walked over to the kitchen island, grabbing my backpack. I had packed it with water bottles, basic medical supplies, and standard rations from my clinic locker.

"The evacuation point is at the central district wall. It closes at midnight. If we do not move now, we die in this penthouse."

Cynthia set her tablet down with a sharp click. Her sweet expression vanished, replaced by the familiar coldness she reserved only for me.

"You always panic. You always make things so dramatic. If you want to run out there like a stray dog, go ahead. But you are not leaving me. You know what happens if I get stressed. My heart cannot handle it."

She always used her medical condition as a weapon. For twenty-three years, our parents forced me to give up my rooms, my clothes, and my choices because Cynthia was fragile. She was the golden child. I was just the shadow meant to keep her comfortable.

A heavy, rhythmic thud echoed from the corridor outside. It sounded like boots striking the concrete floor.

I grabbed the handle of my backpack, my fingers tightening around it.

The electronic lock on the penthouse main door beeped twice. The red light flashed green, and the metal door swung open.

Three men in dark armor stepped into the room. They carried assault rifles, their faces covered by black ballistic masks. The man leading them walked with a slow, deliberate authority that commanded the entire room.

He pulled off his helmet, revealing sharp, angular features and short, dark hair. His gray eyes swept over the living room, ignoring the luxury furniture and stopping directly on me.

Garrison Vance.

My chest tightened.

He was the head of the security forces for the central district sanctuary. He was also the man who had looked at me with absolute fury six months ago when my father broke off our engagement to promise Cynthia to him. My father didn't think I deserved someone of that status, a higher-ranking politician. Garrison had been nothing but a rising captain when the family alliance was first arranged. Now, with the world falling apart, he held the keys to the underground bunker.

"You have five minutes," Garrison said. His voice was rough, devoid of any warmth. "The lower levels are already compromised. The red fog is moving faster than the models predicted."

Cynthia immediately stood up from the sofa. Her eyes brightened, and she smoothed her silk dress down her hips. She took three delicate steps toward him, her voice suddenly turning soft and breathy.

"Garrison. I knew you would come for me. Father promised you would find a way to get us into the elite sector."

Garrison did not even look at her. His gaze remained locked on me.

He walked past Cynthia as if she were a piece of furniture, stopping less than a foot away from me. I could smell the scent of gunpowder on him.

"Why aren't you wearing your mask?"

Garrison reached out, his large, gloved hand grabbing my chin. He lifted my face slightly, forcing me to look directly into his gray eyes.

"I sent a courier to your clinic hours ago with a filter mask."

"I never got it," I said, my voice steady despite the proximity. "The roads were blocked by noon. I had to walk three miles to get back here for my things."

His thumb brushed against my lower lip, a brief, intense pressure that made my breath hitch. The anger in his eyes was palpable, a dark fire that had nothing to do with the apocalypse outside. Six months ago, we had shared one night of absolute, unbridled passion before my father tore us apart. Neither of us had forgotten it.

"Stupid," Garrison muttered, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second before he dropped his hand. "If you die out there, Valerie, I will never forgive you."

Cynthia cleared her throat loudly, stepping between us. Her face was flushed with anger, her perfect mask slipping.

"Garrison! I am the one you are contracted to protect. My father paid for our passage. You are supposed to take care of me. Valerie can carry the bags."

Garrison slowly turned his head to look at my sister. The coldness in his expression could turn water to ice.

"Your father paid for two seats in the sanctuary, Miss Kane. Who gets those seats is entirely up to me. If you speak to me in that tone again, I will leave you here to see what that red fog does to your lungs."