Library Geneva Novels & Stories

The library felt like the inside of a vacuum, the air sucked out by the presence of the man standing by the fire. He was older than he had been in the grainy Geneva surveillance stills—his hair was a sharp, military silver, and the lines around his mouth were deeper—but the eyes were the same. They were the eyes of a man who viewed human beings as variables in a long-form equation. Julian Vane. The Chief Governance Officer of the Geneva Trust, and the man who had been the silent executor of the Blackwood "cleaning" projects for three decades.

She pushed past her anger, her mind shifting into the cold, analytical gear that had kept her alive in the Spire. "If she has my DNA, she can access the Geneva Vault without Sterling," Elena realized. "She’s not working for my mother. She’s not working for Sterling. She’s going to bankrupt them both and leave us with nothing but a floating pile of glass in the North Sea." "We have to go to Geneva," Alexander said, his voice regaining its professional steel. "If we hit the Vault before the memorial, we can trap her inside. The vault’s 'Blood-Sync' only works once every twenty-four hours. If she’s in, we lock the air-scrubbers."

Geneva contemplated this for a moment looking at the sky, wondering how she will start with her answer. "Well, I just want to talk to you and get to know you better. I saw you fighting in the arena and I was really impressed by your skills. All those dashes and lifesteal it looked like you were merely waltzing with your enemies in an enchanting dance macabre. I also noticed that you are quite pretty however you don't seem to like showing your face so I came to see you. I quite fancy seeing beautiful blooming flowers like you." Geneva answered with an embarrassed smile, blushing a little as she answered.

"The paper is gone. But I remember the ink on my fingers." "It is in the file now." Marvin leaned his head back against the wall. "Then let them burn." Lina rested her finger on the Enter key. She waited three seconds. Then she hit it. The keyboard clacked. A circle spun on the screen. "Come on," Sophia said. A green checkmark appeared. 05:16:04. "It is gone," Marvin said. "Did the proxies catch?" Marvin tapped his tablet. "The traffic is moving. Geneva is hosting. Tokyo is mirroring. It duplicates every ten seconds."

A detached one. Geneva chuckled. "I actually came here with my girls. They're here in search of my mates." "How about you?" Alex asked. Geneva smiled sadly. You could see it in her eyes that she was fighting a lot of emotions. "He rejected me." Alex, Ciara and Daniel looked at her. They didn't know what to say. Daniel glared at Ciara who mouthed that she had no idea but Alex could handle this properly. "I'm sorry about that, Geneva. Must be really heartbreaking," Alex said in a low tone.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚

The "City of Stone" breathed in "High-Frequency" pulses of data and "Gilded" electricity. To the "Sovereign," New Geneva was a "Total Sector Harmony" of surveillance and "Social Influence." But to Ethan Hawke, standing in the "Analog" dampness of a subterranean transformer vault, the city was a "Labyrinth" of vulnerabilities waiting for a "System-Collapse."

Joe started to laugh. “What?” I asked him. Through laughs, he said, “Geneva?” He looked at Harlow. She raised her eyebrows. “Geneva.” She smiled at him. “What’s Geneva?” I asked, looking at Harlow, then at Joe. Before Joe could answer, Harlow spoke up. “I got this, Joe, you relax.” She laughed. “Geneva was this pain in the ass assignment where we were after this big wig sex trafficker, Igor Bolshevik. We were there for about a month, but every time we would bust an operation, we only got Bolshevik’s minions.

Geneva gives a tiny nod. “How about we let Geneva speak for herself?” I say, my voice steady as I meet my father’s blazing gaze. "Go ahead then," he snaps. "Speak." “Watch your tone,” Andrea growls, his protective instincts flaring. His deadly glare locks onto my father, his jaw tight. No one disrespects his wife. “Amore,” Geneva soothes, placing a gentle hand on Andrea’s arm. He exhales sharply, muscles relaxing beneath her touch. Geneva draws in a steadying breath. "My name is not Clara Gemstone. My name is Geneva Esposito. And my home is in Italy."

The window is open from the inside. After Geneva.