Novel-novel oleh Jay Mike

Sera's POVI carried the tin of cookies like a peace offering, warm from the oven and wrapped in a checked napkin. The school smelled like shoelaces and glue and the faint sugar of cafeteria milk. My heart thudded in a way that was too loud for the quiet hallway."Good morning," I said to the receptionist, trying to make my voice ordinary. "I’m here for Oliver’s class conference."The woman behind the desk smiled with the practiced politeness of someone who had seen too many different dramas. "Can I have your name?""Sera Blackwood. I signed up on the list."She tapped the screen. Her finger paused. "I’m sorry, Ms Blackwood. It looks like there is a notice on your file. Campus access is temporarily revoked."My smile frayed. "Revoked? Why?"She looked briefly uncomfortable as if the answer had been handed to her and she did not like it. "There’s been a directive from the administration. It cites disruptive incidents.""Disruptive incidents?" I echoed. I tried to sound humorless. "Do y

Sera's POVThe gallery smelled like old varnish and new nerves. We had moved the Whitmore frame into the center of the room and I could feel the painting watching us back, smug and quiet and wrong. Marcus stood near the rig, his fingers tracing a checklist without looking at it. Daniel held my coat like a talisman."Ready?" Marcus asked."I am," I said, though my mouth tasted like metal.Whitmore cleared his throat. "I hope this will be quick. I have a flight this afternoon.""You booked the slot for a demonstration," I replied. "We will be quick and we will be precise."He smiled like he had already decided how the afternoon would end. "Confidence is attractive, Ms Blackwood. Do your thing."The machine hummed when Marcus turned the dial. Light spilled across the canvas in a way that made the varnish breathe. My hands did not shake; they did the work my mother had taught me, the steps she had written into the margins of her journals until they became muscle memory."Spectral sweep,"

Sera's POVI stared at the screen until the blinking cursor blurred into a single line of light. Ten million dollars. For one painting. For Oliver’s future. My hand hovered above the keys, shaking. It didn’t feel like a choice anymore. It felt like a door—one my mother had built, hidden, and left for me to find.Daniel stood behind me, his breath brushing the top of my hair. “You don’t have to do this tonight.”“Yes, I do.” My voice came out thinner than I wanted. “If I wait, I’ll lose my nerve. Or worse—they’ll decide I’m weak.”“And if it’s a trap?”“Then it’s the only trap that points toward saving Oliver,” I said.His hand touched my shoulder, gentle but firm. “Sera—”“I’m accepting.” I hit Enter before I could talk myself out of it.The message box filled with a single line.—Transfer complete. Use it wisely. Phoenix watches.—I covered my mouth with both hands. My chest rose and fell like I’d just run. Ten million dollars. Sitting in some account with my name on it.Daniel mutte

Oliver's POVDr. Hartman had a big smile, the kind that showed all his teeth but not his eyes. He had a clipboard on his lap and a little glass of juice on the table next to him. The room smelled like crayons and lemon cleaner, but there weren’t any toys. Just chairs.“Ready for our game, Oliver?” he asked.I nodded. “What game?”“True or False,” he said. “You know how that works?”“Yeah,” I said. “Like in school. You say something and I say true or false.”“Exactly.” He winked. “And you get a star sticker every time you’re brave.”“Brave?” I tilted my head. “Why brave?”“Because telling the truth takes courage,” he said, peeling a shiny gold star from a sheet. “And you’re a courageous boy.”I liked stickers. I liked the shiny ones the best. “Okay,” I whispered.He cleared his throat. “True or false: your mother forgets things a lot.”I frowned. “Mommy doesn’t forget. She remembers everything.”His smile didn’t change. “Hmm. But remember when she forgot your lunch box?”“That was one

Sera's POVThe message arrived like a whisper across the screen. Lines of numbers shifted, cracked apart, and then words formed. My breath caught as if the machine itself had leaned forward to speak.“Phoenix,” Daniel read over my shoulder. His voice was careful, soft. “It’s not just a name, is it?”I shook my head. My mother’s handwriting had circled that word a hundred times in the margins. Now it pulsed on the screen as if she had left me a living echo.The text unfolded, block by block.—Offer: $10,000,000 for one Mei-Ling Chen original. Any canvas. Immediate transfer. —Daniel let out a low whistle. “Ten million? For one painting? That’s not art money. That’s something else.”I pressed my palms flat on the table. “They want more than paint. They want what she hid inside it.”More words scrolled.—Caution: Vivienne Steele. Alias Victoria Steele. Not new to this game. Not safe.—I blinked. “Victoria Steele?”Daniel leaned closer. “Wait. Vivienne’s not her real name?”“Apparently no

Sera's POVThe console was smaller than I expected. It sat like a sleeping beetle under a sheet of dust, a single green light blinking slow and patient. I had my mother's journal open on my lap and a pencil between my fingers."Are you sure about this?" Daniel asked. He had set the lamp on a crate and was balancing a mug of takeout coffee on his knee like he planned to stay."I am sure," I said. "I have to know."He shrugged, which was more like a surrender than a gesture. "All right. I am just the guy who moves boxes. Not the tech wizard.""You are helpful," I told him. "That is enough."He smiled and found the power cord. "Okay then. Which one do I plug into the big box here?""The one with the notch," I said, and my voice sounded like a child reading directions. I traced a margin note in Mei Ling's hand. She had written small, in both English and Chinese, and then underlined something three times."Spectral fingerprint consistent across ultraviolet and near infrared," I read aloud.