Isaiah dreamed of the stars, dotting the black field that was the night sky. He saw figures in his dream that he could not ascertain. Their eyes watched him with something close to reverence.He stirred and woke up. "It's all a dream," he scoffed, tired. The room was dark, lit only by the thin blue line of artificial starlight leaking in from the station’s viewport.The quarters the UBM had assigned him were clean, sparse, and deliberately impersonal—as though comfort might weaken whatever they thought he was. He kept thinking about everything that he had gone through in the last few months.That was when he felt it. The weight of attention. His head snapped as she turned around.Someone stood at the door.Not inside the room—just beyond the threshold, half-shadowed, unmoving. The door had not made a sound. The station’s hum continued as if nothing were wrong.Isaiah sat up slowly, every muscle tightening. He knew who it was. “Elena,” he said. "Do you mind telling me why you've been s

Julia Bradley did not sleep.Sleep was a luxury for people without her kind of history, commoners who lived days without threading on others—without bodies buried beneath immaculate floors and sealed accounts. She sat alone in her private study, the deepest room in the estate, where no windows existed and no sound from the outside world could intrude. Normally she would come here with Anthony to escape from their supposed children, back then when the love still felt real, and young, and warm, and not the cold she was feeling stuck between her chest like a large lump of ice that she could not swallow wholly, yet could not throw upThey would make love here, with their shadows shot against the wall by the light from the single lamp that burned on the desk.The walls were lined with dark wood and old books she had never read, their spines chosen for aesthetic, not knowledge.Her phone rested in her hand. For a long time, she simply stared at it. Then she dialed. The call connected after

The knocking started soft—polite, almost hesitant—then turned insistent, knuckles rapping hard against the thin dorm door like someone was trying to break through more than wood. The sound of it became deafening quick.Jenny jolted awake on Luke’s narrow bed, heart slamming against her ribs before her eyes even focused. The room was still dark except for the faint blue glow of Jackson’s laptop charger on the desk. She sat up, blanket pooling around her waist, hair tangled from restless sleep.Luke was already on his feet, shirtless, muscles tense. Jackson rubbed his eyes and rolled off the floor mat he’d insisted on taking, muttering curses under his breath as he stumbled toward the door.“Who the hell is knocking at—” Jackson checked his phone “—three in the morning?”He yanked the door open, ready to snarl.Nathan stood there.Not the polished, controlled Nathan Jenny and everyone else had always known. This version looked like he’d been dragged through hell and back. Dark circles c

The observatory sat on the eastern part of the school like a forgotten sentinel, its white dome cracked and peeling under years of neglect. It was a very old observatory put there at the early days of the school. There was a new one at the western side of the school now. Inside, the old telescope platform had been cleared of dust and replaced with folding tables, laptops, and a single overhead bulb that buzzed like an angry insect. The air smelled of stale coffee and ozone from old wiring.Professor Strathmore stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms crossed. It was beyond obvious that he was trying to keep the perception that he had things under control. James leaned against a rusted console, arms folded, expression unreadable. Walter paced near the window, hands in his pockets, glancing every few seconds at the dark campus below.Nathan arrived last.He pushed through the side door without knocking, coat still smeared with dried blood at the cuff, eyes sha

The observation deck overlooked the detention yard like a judge’s bench above a courtroom. Reinforced glass walls curved outward, giving a clear, unobstructed view of the sprawl below: hundreds of figures in gray prisoner jumpsuits milling under harsh floodlights, some pacing, some sitting against the walls, some staring upward as though they could already feel the golden fleet pressing against the sky.Isaiah stood at the railing, hands loose at his sides. To his left, Ragnar stood rigid, arms folded, disapproval radiating off him in waves. Elena lounged against the console to his right, one hip cocked, expression amused and faintly predatory. Nero leaned beside her, chewing on a stim-stick, boots propped on the lower rail. High General Noirman occupied the center, posture impeccable, hands clasped behind his back—the only one who looked like he belonged in a command position.Below, the prisoners had been herded into the open yard at Isaiah’s request. No chains. No guards in the yar