“Is this for real?”
“The Queen has returned!”
She opened her old profile, deleted the line that read Retired. Gone for good,and replaced it with just two words:
I’m back.
That alone was enough to set the entire underground ablaze.
Queen had returned.
Hackers everywhere were losing their minds.
In their world, she was untouchable – the hacker who’d cracked Motrar’s “unbreakable” firewall.
The code had been flawless, or so the experts thought. But Queen had found its weakness, exploited it, and brought the entire system down. The breach was so catastrophic, the country had to rebuild its cybersecurity from scratch.
That single job had made her a legend.
If Queen couldn’t find it – it didn’t exist.
A month ago, she’d shocked everyone by announcing her retirement, deactivating her account overnight.
Rumors flew – had she been caught? Killed? Recruited?
Now, the mystery was over.
Queen was back.
Her phone buzzed again.
“Queen, I got something for you,” Andy said, breathless. “Need a terrorist group’s firewall taken down. Five mil. Instant payment.”
“Done.”
She had her own code for work:
Rule One – Never take a job that threatens national security.
Rule Two – Never cross the line of basic human decency.
Rule Three – Never turn on the innocent.
Because of those rules, she’d turned down plenty of high-paying offers.
Most of the clients on the dark web were knee-deep in filth.
But this? This one she could take.
Her fingers moved like lightning, lines of code cascading down the screen in a blur – symbols, numbers, commands flowing like a waterfall.
To anyone else, it would’ve looked like gibberish.
To her, it was music.
The terrorist group’s firewall crumbled under her attack like tissue paper.
“All done,” she said.
“Perfect. I’ll wire the payment – same account?”
“Yeah. Andy, your cut’s a million – “
“Forget it,” he interrupted. “Call it a welcome-back gift. You gave up everything when you left. I’m guessing you’ve got a lot going on right now. Take it. Trust me – you’re gonna need the money.”
“Thanks.”
A small smile tugged at her lips.
This – this rush – was what she’d missed.
The control. The power. The freedom.
She’d been given a second chance, and she wasn’t about to waste it pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
No more swallowing her instincts for the sake of a family that never wanted her.
Andy hesitated before asking quietly, “Queen… didn’t you find your real family? Wasn’t that why you quit? To keep them safe? You even gave away everything you’d earned.”
“I don’t have a family,” Tilda said flatly. “Not anymore. From now on, I belong to no one. I live for myself.”
Her voice was steady – sharp enough to cut glass. No hesitation. No doubt.
Andy said nothing for a long moment. He knew her story. He’d always been the only one who did.
No one would’ve guessed that the legendary Queen – the hacker who’d once brought governments to their knees – was just a nineteen-year-old girl who’d grown up alone.
She’d finally found her birth family… only to lose everything all over again.
Andy’s chest tightened. He knew how much she’d craved love.
But the deeper you love, the deeper you bleed when it’s gone.
“Don’t worry, Queen,” he said softly. “I’ve got your back. If anything happens, I’ll be there. Even if the whole world turns on you – I won’t.”
Tilda’s voice softened. “Thanks, Andy. You’re my best friend. Always.”
There was a pause. Then Andy’s tone changed.
“One more thing,” he said carefully. “Someone with your same blood type reached out to me.”
Tilda’s heart skipped a beat.
Her blood type wasn’t just rare – it was almost mythical.
Doctors called it “Golden Blood,” officially the Omega type. It was so uncommon it could be given to anyone, but she could only receive blood from someone with the exact same type. Anything else, and her body would reject it on the spot.
No one could explain how she’d ended up with it. Russell and Blair both had normal blood types. The doctors had shrugged and called it a genetic mutation.
That “mutation” was what got her adopted out of the orphanage by her mentor – a brilliant, enigmatic figure who’d taught her everything she knew. He once told her her uncanny instincts and the way she learned like lightning might all be connected to her blood.
Years ago, when she was critically injured, the hospital hadn’t had a single unit of Omega blood in the entire country. Desperate, she’d called Andy. He’d scoured the dark web and, after spending a fortune, finally found one matching donor.
That incident had been a wake-up call.
Ever since, she’d kept a personal supply of her own blood in storage – and asked Andy to quietly search for anyone else with the same type, just in case.
Because when you lived in her world, you learned early: you always needed backup plans.
But in her previous life, when she’d cut ties with Andy and walked away from the dark web, those safety nets had vanished. She’d been terrified that keeping any connection to that world would bring trouble to the Jensons.
“What did he say, exactly?” she asked.
Andy hesitated. “You’re gonna think I’m nuts, but… he wants to sign a contract with you.”
Tilda frowned. “A contract?”
“To sleep beside him.”
She blinked. “Come again?”
“Yeah. Says because of the side effects from his blood type, he hasn’t been able to sleep for years – it’s only gotten worse. But apparently, the scent of someone with the same blood helps him fall asleep. He’s offering serious money, Queen.”
“…Got it.”
When the call ended, Tilda stepped out onto the tiny motel balcony. Her phone buzzed – a transfer notification. Payment received. More than enough to keep her afloat for a while.
“Omega blood side effects, huh?” she muttered, rubbing her temples.
Truth was, she had them too.
Not insomnia. Nightmares.
When she was little, they came once or twice a week. As she got older, they came almost every night – darker, heavier, more suffocating.
By the time she’d died in her last life, she’d been haunted six nights out of seven.
They always showed her what she feared most.
Back then, that fear had a name: family.
The accusations. The betrayal. The way they’d cut her off like she was nothing.
In her dreams, Kyla laughed, wrapped in warm family hugs, while Tilda was trapped behind glass – banging, screaming, unheard. Sand would start to fall, filling the glass bubble, burying her alive as Kyla smiled in the light.
“I wonder if I’ll get another nightmare tonight,” she said with a dry little laugh.
If the Jensons tried to hurt her again, she doubted she’d even feel it.
Sometimes, unspoken pain weighed more than despair itself.
…
The Next Morning
Tilda groaned and rubbed her forehead. Another nightmare.
Not about the Jensons this time – but just as bad. The fire again. The heat. The choking smoke. The agony that made her want to claw her way out of her own skin.
At this point, nightmares were practically routine.
All she wanted was one decent night’s sleep. Just one night of peace.
Was it because of her blood type? Could sleeping beside someone like her really help?
She reached for her phone. Sixteen missed calls.
Not one from the Jensons.
Every single one from her best friend – Una Colon.
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