MISSION: STEP OUTSIDE

28:14... 28:13...

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sloane yelled at the glowing screen, wildly tapping on the display. “You can’t just take my money! That’s illegal!”

The countdown timer paid zero attention to her legal counsel. It just kept ticking downward in bright, menacing red numbers.

Sloane stared at the phone, her heart hammering against her ribs. Four dollars and twelve cents was pathetic, yes, but it was her pathetic four dollars. It was the absolute last line of defense between her and literal destitution.

“Fine!” she snapped at the air, scrambling toward her walk-in closet.

She yanked off her silk robe, kicked away her fuzzy slippers, and grabbed the first pair of oversized designer sunglasses she could find. She threw on a pair of black yoga pants and a cashmere sweater, not even bothering to brush her hair. Just twisting it into a messy topknot.

22:05... 22:04...

Sloane snatched her keys and her phone, practically sprinting down the hallway of her high-rise apartment building. She bypassed the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time, her mind racing faster than her feet.

Pay for my coffee? How am I supposed to just get some guy to pay for my coffee? I’ve never asked a man for anything in my life! They usually just offer!

By the time she pushed through the glass front doors of her building, the humid morning air hit her like a wall. Two blocks down sat Café Lumière, the ultra-chic artisanal coffee shop where she usually spent twelve dollars every morning without even looking at the receipt.

She checked the timer again. 14:50.

“Okay, Sloane. Focus,” she muttered to herself, adjusting her sunglasses as she pushed open the heavy brass doors of the café.

The rich aroma of roasted espresso beans and fresh croissants filled the air. The usual morning rush was in full swing, busy professionals in tailored suits, hipsters on laptops, and local socialites tapping away on their phones.

Sloane slid into the back of the line, her eyes darting around the room like a predator hunting prey. Or, more accurately, like a terrified amateur trying to remember how human social interactions worked.

Directly in front of her stood a guy in a sharp grey suit, checking an expensive gold watch. High net worth, or at least trying to look like it. Perfect.

Sloane cleared her throat, stepping up close behind him and batting her eyelashes behind her dark lenses. “Excuse me,” she purred, trying to channel every femme fatale she’d ever seen in movies. “I seem to have left my house in quite a rush today...”

The man turned around, glancing down at her. He didn't look charmed; he looked like he was afraid she was going to ask him for spare change. “Can I help you?”

“Well,” Sloane continued, offering him her best, dazzled smile. “I was wondering if an attractive, generous gentleman like yourself might chivalrously cover my oat milk latte this morning?”

The man’s brows knit together in deep, profound confusion. He took a subtle step backward, clutching his leather briefcase a little tighter to his side. “Uh... no? Get a job, lady.”

He turned around and immediately took two steps forward to put space between them.

Sloane’s jaw dropped behind her sunglasses. Get a job?! She felt a hot blush creep up her neck.

10:12... 10:11...

Panic kicked back in. She pivoted toward a guy at a high-top table wearing a Patagonia vest, currently scrolling on his phone. She glided over, leaning lightly against the table.

“Hi there,” she whispered, offering a breathy laugh. “So, funny story. My bank app is totally glitching, and I desperately need an espresso. Care to do a good deed?”

The guy pulled down his AirPods, gave her a long, slow look up and down, and sighed. “Look, miss, whatever scam you’re running, I’m not interested. The line starts back there.”

Sloane stared at him, utterly mortified. “Scam?! I wear $400 sunglasses!”

“Good for you. Leave me alone,” he said, putting his AirPods back in and turning away.

Sloane stood frozen in the middle of the café, her cheeks burning with pure humiliation. Men used to buy her entire bottles of champagne at clubs just to stand in her presence, and now she was getting rejected by a guy in a fleece vest.

03:45... 03:44...

“This is impossible,” she whimpered, staring at the flashing red timer on her phone screen. “I’m going to lose my four dollars.”

“Sloane?”

A smooth, familiar voice broke through her panic.

Sloane spun around to see Julian standing behind the counter. He was twenty-four, ridiculously handsome with tousled brown hair, warm hazel eyes, and an easygoing smile that drew half the female clientele in the neighborhood to this specific café. He was wearing his fitted black apron over a white t-shirt, resting his elbows on the counter.

“Hey,” Julian said, offering her a soft, amused smile. “You okay? You’re pacing around like you’re trying to rob the place.”

Sloane let out a pathetic, dramatic sigh, slumping against the counter. “Julian. My life is over.”

Julian chuckled, reaching for an empty cup and a marker. “Rough night? The usual iced oat milk latte with two pumps of vanilla?”

“Yes, but... I can’t pay for it,” Sloane admitted, dropping her voice to an embarrassed whisper. She leaned in closer so the people in line wouldn't hear. “I, um... I left my wallet at home. And my phone’s mobile pay is completely locked up. I don't have a single cent on me.”

Julian looked at her for a beat, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn't scoff. He didn't tell her to get a job. Instead, he gave her a casual, devastatingly charming wink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Julian said, sliding the cup under the espresso machine. “It’s on me today.”

Sloane blinked. “Wait... really? Thank you!”

“Consider it a reward for being my favorite customer,” Julian said lightly. He pulled the espresso shots, poured the oat milk over ice, popped a lid on top, and tapped his own staff discount card against the register reader.

The register chimed softly: TOTAL: $8.34.

“Here you go,” Julian smiled, sliding the sweat-beaded plastic cup across the marble counter toward her. “Enjoy.”

Sloane took the cup, her fingers brushing against his. “Julian... you are literally an angel.”

CHA-CHING!

A loud, metallic chime echoed right from her pocket. Sloane flinched, pulling her phone out in a hurry. The sleek, gold-and-black LUS interface had completely taken over her screen, pulsing with golden light.

[ TUTORIAL MISSION: COMPLETE! ]

Target: Male (Julian - Barista)

Asset Received: Iced Oat Milk Latte ($8.34 value)

Conversion Rate: 50%

Payout Processing: $4.17

[ CONGRATULATIONS! $4.17 HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED TO YOUR PRIMARY BANK ACCOUNT. ]

New Liquid Balance: $8.29

Sloane stared at the screen, her breath hitching in her throat. “Yeah, right,” she muttered under her breath, taking a slow sip of her iced coffee. “That was way too easy.”

She grabbed her coffee, threw a quick “Thank you!” over her shoulder to a waving Julian, and hurried back out the door, practically marching up the street toward her apartment building.

The moment she stepped into her living room, she dropped her coffee onto the coffee table, kicked off her shoes, and opened her actual banking app. Not the LUS app. Her real, FDIC-insured primary checking account.

She held her breath as the screen loaded.

Good morning, Sloane!

Primary Checking: $8.29

Recent Transactions:

+ $4.17 — HOT GIRLS PROTOCOL DEPOSIT (Pending)

Sloane’s mouth fell open.

She looked at her bank account. She looked at the LUS app on her phone. Then she looked down at the $8.34 iced latte sitting on her glass coffee table.

Four dollars and seventeen cents had actually popped out of thin air just because a cute barista felt sorry for her.

A slow, wicked smile spread across Sloane’s lips as she took another long sip of her free coffee.

“Well, well, well,” she whispered to the empty room, her eyes gleaming with sudden, terrifying ambition. “ Dad... you might have cut me off, but I think I just found a whole new line of credit.”