Mag-log inVeridia University. The Main Library.Thursday. 3:00 PM.Leo Smith sat three tables away from the target, twirling a stick of charcoal between his fingers.Sarah Kensington. Junior. Vice President of The Gilded. Major in Art History (which she was failing, according to Lyra’s hack).She was sitting in a pool of sunlight, looking tragic and bored. She was wearing a cashmere sweater that cost more than Leo’s entire fake budget for the semester. She flipped the page of a textbook with a sigh that was clearly meant to be heard.Showtime, Leo thought.He flipped his sketchbook open. He wasn't actually an artist—his stick figures were embarrassing—but he had inherited his mother’s eye for detail and his father’s steady hand.He didn't draw her face. He drew her posture. The arch of her neck. The boredom radiating off her. He sketched quickly, aggressively, smudging the charcoal with his thumb to create shadows.He stood up. He walked over.He didn't approach from the front. He approached fr
Veridia University. The Commons (Cafeteria).Noon.Leo stared at the tray in front of him.On it sat a scoop of something grey, a carton of milk that expired tomorrow, and an apple that looked like it had survived a war."What is this?" Leo whispered, horrified. "Is it... biomass?""It’s meatloaf," Lyra said, poking her own grey mound with a plastic fork. She adjusted her glasses—fake frames she wore to look more 'studious' and less 'heiress'. "Spectrometer analysis suggests it is 15% protein, 40% soy filler, and 45% regret.""I miss Oryn," Leo moaned, pushing the tray away. "I miss medium-rare steak. I miss plates that don't bend.""Focus, Leo," Lyra murmured, not looking up from her fork. "Observe the ecosystem. We need to identify the hierarchy."Leo sighed and scanned the massive, noisy cafeteria.It was a jungle.Freshmen clustered near the doors, terrified. Engineering students huddled in the corners, fusing wires to their sandwiches. And in the center, raised on a slightly elev
The Hale Private Jet (G-7000 "The Kestrel").30,000 Feet Above Neo-Veridia.A salted peanut flew across the cabin in a perfect arc.It bounced off the forehead of Leo Hale."Missed the mouth," Lyra Hale critiqued, not looking up from her holographic tablet. "Your trajectory was off by three degrees. Amateur."Leo caught the peanut on the rebound and popped it into his mouth. He grinned. He was twenty years old, with his father’s dark hair and a smile that had already broken a dozen hearts in the debutante circuit."I wasn't aiming for your mouth, Lyra. I was testing your reflexes. You flinched.""I did not flinch," Lyra countered, swiping away a complex 3D model of a fusion engine. She had her mother’s mismatched eyes—one blue, one green—and a resting expression that suggested she was calculating the structural integrity of everyone in the room. "I optimized my position to minimize impact.""You flinched," Leo insisted. He reclined in the white leather seat, putting his feet up on the
The Hale Fortress. The West Patio.Sunday. 11:00 AM."Physics doesn't care about your feelings, Leo," Lyra Hale announced, stabbing a fork into a waffle."It’s not about feelings," Leo shot back, adjusting his glasses. He was sixteen, with messy dark hair and Vespera’s sharp nose. "It’s about theoretical application. If we use a quantum stabilizer, the drone can fly through a hurricane.""If you use a quantum stabilizer," Lyra countered, rolling her eyes, "the battery life will be four seconds. It’ll be a very impressive, very expensive brick."Vespera Hale sat at the head of the outdoor table, drinking tea. She watched her youngest children argue with a serene expression."Do they ever stop?" Cyprian asked, leaning back in his chair. He was reading a physical newspaper—an old habit he refused to break."They are Hales," Vespera said simply. "Argument is their love language."The gravel on the driveway crunched.The arguing stopped.Leo and Lyra looked up. Cyprian folded his newspaper
Hale Corp Headquarters. The Helipad.Midnight.The wind at ninety-five stories up was cold, but it felt clean. It didn't smell like ozone or server coolant. It smelled like the ocean and exhaust—the scent of the city surviving another night.Altair Hale stood at the edge of the roof, his hands resting on the safety railing.The city of Neo-Veridia sprawled out below him like a motherboard of light. Traffic streams flowed like data packets; skyscrapers stood like capacitors. It was his machine to run.But for the first time in six months, the weight of it didn't feel like it was crushing his spine.Behind him, the heavy steel door creaked open."You know," a voice called out, "most CEOs celebrate not being fired with champagne. You're celebrating with... brooding?"Altair didn't turn around. A small smile touched his lips."I'm not brooding, Nova. I'm surveying."Nova walked up beside him. She was still wearing his charcoal suit jacket over her cargo pants. It swamped her frame, the sl
Hale Corp Headquarters. The Grand Boardroom.10:00 AM.The air in the boardroom was conditioned to a precise 68 degrees, but Marcus Sterling was sweating.He stood at the head of the massive mahogany table. Behind him, the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the city he believed he now owned.Twelve board members sat in silence. These were men and women who controlled the GDP of small nations. They looked nervous."I did not call this emergency session lightly," Sterling said, his voice grave, practiced. "You all knew Cyprian Hale. You respected him. I served him for twenty years."He placed both hands on the table, leaning forward."But his son... Altair is not Cyprian. He is young. He is impulsive. And now, tragically, he is compromised."A murmur went through the room."Compromised?" Mrs. Lee, the senior shareholder, asked."Sexual espionage," Sterling said, dropping the phrase like a bomb. "The girl, Nova Vance. She is a Sector 4 operative. She seduced the Chairman, gained







