Dust was everywhere, smearing over the sky until the whole world looked like it had been covered by a thin veil. The inn stood on a deserted, abandoned street, and the orange-yellow lights spilling from inside gave off a rare bit of warmth.

Vivian Ashford hung up the “OPEN” sign, then nervously nudged her plain glass frames up the bridge of her nose.

The blue work uniform hugged her slim figure. In her heels, she stepped back behind the front desk, turned around, and put on a polished business smile.

This was her first day.

The bell by the door rang once, crisp and clear.

Vivian opened the register, straightened her back, and looked at the first customer of the day, doing her best to seem practiced and natural.

“Welcome. What can I help you with?”

The man was dressed weirdly.

He wore a gas mask, and through it, only a pair of gray eyes could be seen—sharp and lone, like a wolf out on the grasslands.

He had on a black, close-fitting military uniform, and his cloak was coated in dust. Leather gloves and knee-high military boots covered every inch of skin.

One hand pressed against his abdomen. It looked like there was a split there, with dark red stains seeping through.

Vivian pulled back her curious gaze and didn’t stare any longer.

She had already braced herself for the special kind of work this place involved.

“I need a room.” The man’s voice came out low and rough from behind the gas mask.

Vivian pointed at the price board.

Queen Room: 30 gold coins

Twin Room: 40 gold coins

Keeping her face blank, Vivian followed the wording in the Employee Handbook and addressed him in a flat, businesslike tone. “Please show your ID. At the moment, the inn only has queen rooms and standard twins. Payment first, room after. No tabs, no bargaining.”

The moment he heard she wanted identification, the man’s whole body tensed. He shot Vivian an unhappy look.

A place opened in the wasteland, and they were still checking IDs?

"Sir, please show your ID."

Vivian Ashford repeated herself, voice soft and polite, but with that quiet firmness that made it clear she wasn't asking for fun.

The man moved at a sluggish pace.

He tapped the screen strapped to his arm. Under Vivian's steady gaze, he hesitated for a second, then finally placed it onto the scanner on the front desk.

A crisp beep sounded.

The computer immediately pulled up his personal file.

Name: Chester Shawcroft

Gender: Male

Address: District 9

Status: Yellow

Vivian paused when she saw that single word: "Yellow."

She honestly had no clue what that meant.

She had only speed-read the Employee Handbook in a panic, memorizing the basic work rules. Anything that wasn't written in there? Yeah, she was pretty much blank.

Meanwhile, Chester Shawcroft had already braced himself for her to freak out, start yelling, then jack up the price on the spot.

If this had been in the Underground City, any local who saw a non-green status would act like the sky was falling and call the guards immediately.

But Vivian just stared at the status bar.

Silent.

Not a word.

Chester stepped closer to the counter. His broad palm came down on the desktop, and his voice came out low and rough. "Miss, I need a king room."

"As long as you let me check in, I'll pay double the room rate."

After saying that, he shifted his hand slightly, revealing several gleaming gold coins underneath.

Vivian was almost blinded by the flash of gold.

This guy was clearly loaded, so why on earth was he staying in a run-down motel like this?

To her, staying silent was just staying silent.

But in Chester Shawcroft’s eyes, that silence made her look unreadable, the kind of person you couldn’t see through no matter how hard you tried.

His gaze darkened a little, a shadow settling under his eyes as he went on, "This is all the gold I have on me.

If it’s not enough, once I get back to District Nine, I can bring the rest and pay you then."

Money was just money.

To Chester Shawcroft, the only thing that mattered right now was getting into a shelter before night fell and the radiation storm rolled in.

Vivian Ashford stood there in nothing but a thin white shirt, no respirator, no protective gear, with her wrists, neck, and calves all bare to the air.

To Chester, that didn’t read as normal.

That read as someone hiding her real depth.

Everyone knew what the world had become.

A hundred years ago, nuclear war broke out. Since then, yellow sand had swallowed the sky, and the whole world had turned into wasteland.

Anyone still alive in this world, as long as they stepped out of the underground cities, had to wear protective clothing and a respirator.

No exceptions.

If any part of the body was exposed to radiation, infection followed.

Best-case scenario, you got injured.

Worst-case, you mutated.

And once a person was infected, they lost the right to return to the underground city.

Their ending was usually the same:

wait to die in the polluted zone, where supplies were scarce and nobody cared.

When Chester Shawcroft had left the underground city on a mission, greed got the better of him.

He stabbed his teammate in the back for profit, only for that same desperate teammate to strike back.

His protective gear had been torn open, he had been exposed and infected, and the oxygen in his tank was almost gone too.

With nowhere else to go, when things were basically game over, a strange old woman pointed him toward a road.

That was how he found this inn, standing alone in the polluted zone.

Two words were written on its sign:

Oasis.

He had come in with a try-your-luck mindset, hoping to find supplies and maybe some medical equipment.

Vivian Ashford pressed her lips together, all business, then slid the room card toward him and pushed back the extra gold without taking it.

"One king room is thirty gold. Here’s your keycard."

Chester lifted a brow. "You’re really letting me stay? And you’re not jacking up the price?"

"Yep." Vivian turned to look at him, her eyes curving with a light smile. "If you’re open for business, how can you shove customers out the door? Prices here are clear and upfront. I won’t overcharge a guest by even one gold coin."

Chester gave a low hum.

A flicker of scrutiny flashed through his eyes and was gone just as fast.

Could this place be one of those kill-and-rob inns?

Out in the wasteland, places that dared to do business usually loved ripping people off.

And "ripping people off" here wasn’t some figure of speech. It meant killing the customer, chopping up the body, and selling the meat.

Still, Chester Shawcroft quickly changed his mind. Even if it was a trap, so what? If anyone wanted to play dirty, he was even better at beating wolves at their own game.

Vivian Ashford led Chester toward the elevator.

As they walked, she kept feeling his gaze on her back, like he was sizing her up the whole time.

That look made a chill crawl down her spine.

Had this guest been here before?

Vivian couldn’t help feeling a little guilty.

The reason was dead simple.

She was a fake.

Vivian had come here in place of her missing twin sister.

Before Aria Ashford vanished, she had been working at this weird hotel.

She almost never talked about what the job actually involved, but one thing was obvious: it made money fast. Enough for the two of them to live way above their station, the kind of life other people could only stare at and envy.

The trouble started not long ago. Aria had asked her friend Serena Brookshire to pass Vivian the work phone... and after that, she disappeared without a trace.

After Aria went missing, the company became a target. Its cash flow snapped. The people who had always hated the sisters all came swarming out, eager to stomp on them while they were down.

At the thought, Vivian’s eyes dimmed. Her long lashes cast a shadow beneath them, hiding the storm inside.

She had no parents. The two sisters had only ever had each other. Now that her sister had vanished for no reason, she was going to find her, no matter what.

Vivian lifted her eyes and shoved all those memories back into the deepest corner of her heart.

Chester Shawcroft was staying in Room 302.

She opened the door.

The inn room was big and bright. Soft light spilled down from the ceiling, gentle as water. In the middle sat a wide bed, with snow-white sheets and fluffy pillows. The whole place looked cozy, neat, and weirdly clean for a spot in the wasteland.

Chester Shawcroft took a step back.

Why was there no decontamination chamber in this room?

"Sir, what’s wrong?" Vivian Ashford asked, clearly confused.

She was worried he might lose his balance, so she reached out and lightly steadied his arm.

On Chester Shawcroft’s wrist was a leather bracer.

Vivian Ashford’s fingers came away with a layer of dust.

Almost instantly, Chester Shawcroft grabbed her wrist. He turned her hand over and checked it back and forth, like he was making sure something horrifying hadn’t happened. After confirming there was nothing wrong, he muttered under his breath, "How is that even possible...?"

Then, like he had finally locked onto some answer, he lifted his head and stared straight at her. His eyes lit up just a little.

"You really are different."