When Julie finally went quiet, Roman felt the tension in his shoulders shift—not ease, not exactly, but settle into something he understood better.
Fear he could handle.
Tears he could handle.
Silence he could work with.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her slump against the door, lashes still wet, breathing small and uneven. Even asleep, she looked like she expected punishment for existing. He'd seen that look before—on girls coming through state custody, on women who'd run out of options.
He hated that the world made them look that way.
He hated that he was part of the machinery that maintained it.
But hate didn't change the numbers.
It didn't change the projections.
It didn't change the Ministry's reports on population decline.
Roman closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. The scent of her shampoo—something soft and floral—lingered in the air. When he opened his eyes again, she had curled into herself, knees tucked, hands clasped around her necklace as if it could shield her.
Dean cleared his throat up front. "She's asleep."
"I know," Roman said.
He reached across the seat, gently straightening the belt so it stopped digging into her shoulder. She didn't stir.
They drove in silence for several minutes, Julie's soft breathing filling the space between them. The sedan hummed along the highway toward Roman's district—a wealthy residential zone near the old botanical reserve.
Dean glanced at the rearview mirror again. "You scared her."
Roman didn't respond.
"She's gonna remember that first part forever," Dean pressed, voice low. "Being grabbed. Screaming. Begging. You know she will."
"She's alive," Roman said simply.
"That's not the metric, Roman."
Roman shifted slightly, eyes still on Julie. "The Act doesn't leave room for romanticism."
"It leaves room for basic humanity," Dean shot back.
Roman's jaw flexed. "Basic humanity is how we dropped below sustainable birth rates."
Dean's hands tightened on the wheel. "No. Exploitation and control are how we got here. Basic humanity is how we get out."
Roman's eyes flicked up to the mirror, meeting Dean's reflection—blue eyes sharp with anger. "You sound like a reformist."
"And you sound like your mother," Dean snapped before he could stop himself.
Silence fractured through the cabin.
Dean's shoulders tensed immediately—too late to take it back.
Roman looked away first. "Watch your mouth."
Dean swallowed hard. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did."
The road curved beneath them, streetlights streaking gold across Roman's face. He kept his expression neutral, but his voice was quieter when he spoke again.
"You think I don't know she was scared? I did what I was trained to do."
"You're not eighteen anymore," Dean muttered. "Training shouldn't be your entire personality."
Roman didn't rise to it. He just leaned back, watching Julie sleep. "If I hadn't taken her today, someone else would have. Maybe State Procurement. Maybe a man who doesn't care if she cries."
Dean couldn't argue that. Not here. Not with the Act hanging between them.
After a moment, he blew out a slow breath through his nose. "I just… wish it didn't have to be like this."
Roman didn't answer.
Instead, he reached over and brushed a strand of hair away from Julie's cheek—not touching her skin, just moving it out of her eyes. The motion was small and almost careful.
Dean gripped the wheel harder. "Why her, Roman? Talk to me."
Roman tracked the rise and fall of Julie's breath.
"Because I couldn't look away."
Dean exhaled through his teeth. "That's not normal."
Roman finally met his eyes in the mirror.
"No. It isn't."
Dean waited, expecting more. A reason. An explanation. A justification.
But that was all Roman offered.
The city shifted around them as they crossed into Roman's district—streets cleaner, lights brighter, security drones perched along the rail lines.
Julie stayed asleep, curled small against the door, necklace glinting faintly in the passing light.
Dean slowed at the checkpoint, handed over both wristbands for scanning. The guard glanced at the back seat, saw Julie, and nodded once—no surprise, no comment, no judgment. Just another claimed girl in a claimed world.
Roman removed his ID from the guard's scanner without a word.
As they pulled forward, Dean murmured, barely audible:
"You better know what you're doing."
Roman didn't look away from Julie.
"I do," he said.
But he didn't sound as certain as he wanted to.