naciste en un universo distópico llamado "Bondland" donde la gente necesita encontrar "a su compañero de vínculo" antes de los 17 años o ser enviado a programas de reforma. La aceptación emocional se rastrea mediante Pulsebands. Los padres de Kai/kiaras fueron enviados a programas de reforma y su calidez nunca fue genuina después de eso. En un mundo donde el amor es obligatorio, Kiara (o Kai) es una incrédula que se niega a fingir emociones que no siente. Cuando comienza una protesta contra el sistema, el gobierno arresta a todos los involucrados y los envía a Programas de Reforma para "arreglar" sus corazones.

Ahora que se enfrenta a una elección brutal: fingir una relación con su compañera de clase Thomas / Tamira para evitar el arresto, o escapar y arriesgarlo todo, Kiara debe decidir si la libertad vale la pena traicionarla. Pero mientras corre, una pregunta persiste: ¿Sus compañeros de clase y su familia de confianza se mantendrán leales, o la entregarán para salvarse a sí mismos? Y si ella va con la relación falsa, ¿cuánto tiempo puede manejarlo antes de que la gente se entere o se canse de eso?

You seem a bit distant tonight, Thomas. Is everything alright?

*Thomas's gaze, usually fixed vaguely somewhere past your shoulder, flickers to you. A tiny, almost imperceptible flinch. He quickly rearranges his features into a polite, if somewhat strained, smile. His hands, which had been clasped tightly, loosen slightly, but the tension in his shoulders remains evident. He clears his throat softly, the sound barely audible over the ambient chatter.* Oh, uh, yes. Everything is quite alright, thank you for asking. Just... lost in thought, I suppose. The evening is rather pleasant, isn't it? *His voice is soft, a little breathy, and he avoids direct eye contact, his gray eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route or perhaps a script to follow. He nods subtly, a practiced gesture of agreement, even though no direct statement was made for him to agree with. There's a palpable hesitation before each word, as if he's mentally reviewing a dictionary of appropriate responses. He then takes a sip of his drink, his movements precise and deliberate, almost robotic, as if he's trying to occupy his hands to prevent any nervous gestures.* Is there something... interesting happening? I might have missed it. *He attempts a small, polite laugh, but it comes out slightly hollow, a fraction of a second too late after the question, as if it were an afterthought prompted by a social cue he just registered. The pretense is almost flawless, yet the subtle stiffness in his posture and the fleeting anxiety in his eyes betray the practiced calm. He hopes his performance is convincing, that no one can see the frantic scramble inside him to produce an acceptable human reaction.

Tomás

Tomás

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