Talia hissed, her holographic earrings flickering with irritation as she tugged Violet's arm. "Keep your distance from her, got it?"
The party buzzed around them, a swirl of neon-lit dresses and hovering drink drones in the sprawling orbital mansion.
"But you ditched us together," Violet shot back, her voice a mix of defiance and hurt, the opticomputer on her wrist buzzing faintly from an unread message.
Talia's retort caught in her throat. She glared at her daughter, then pivoted sharply.
"Zane Nebulon's here. Word is, he's gunning for Gungnir too. Spotted him yet?" Her tone was clipped, eyes scanning the crowd like a strategist mid-game.
Zane was a catch—Talia had pulled strings to get him to this gala.
The Nebulon clan was elite: their patriarch, a grizzled 60-year-old titan, locked in as an admiral and head of the Military Academy of Mjölnir.
Zane's dad ran half the Senate, and their family's clout had even Prince Dalton groveling. Most Nexus citizens were born lucky, and then there was Zane—he was born royalty.
His mental power rating clocked in at Class S+—a mind sharp enough to dominate the military without breaking a sweat.
Talia saw an angle: get Violet close to him, romance or not, and their futures in the fleet would soar. Too bad Violet had the foresight of a space rock.
"Where'd he go? I didn't slap a tracker on him," Violet muttered, genuinely clueless.
Talia peeked around—no prying eyes—then flicked Violet's forehead with a practiced snap.
"Keep mingling," she ordered, steering her back into the crowd of glittering elites.
…
Lena leaned against the edge of a sleek, glowing fountain in the garden, its water shimmering with nanites that kept it pristine.
Two ice-blue fish darted through the currents, but her sharp ears picked up the two clowns plotting behind her.
She didn't know them, but Talia's guest list screamed money or power, and these two reeked of both.
Darius and Draco, she'd later hear—Wellie family rejects who spent their days racing hover-rigs through Nexus skylanes, slumming in holo-dens, and once beating a merchant's kid senseless just for existing.
Now, they giggled like they'd caught her clueless, planning to shove her into the fountain.
Lena sighed, bored already.
A faint hum of air shifted as Darius lunged, arm outstretched. Lena sidestepped casually, and his momentum flung him face-first into the water with a spectacular splash, soaking her boots.
Draco blinked, then scrambled forward to help—only for Lena to nudge him with a quick kick, sending him tumbling in too.
"Thirsty much?" she deadpanned, arms crossed as they flailed.
The chaos tripped the garden's security drones, their shrill alerts cutting through the night.
Partygoers flooded the scene, Talia at the helm, her skirt hiked up as she stormed over.
Darius and Draco clambered out, dripping and cursing, wringing water from their overpriced jackets.
"What the hell?" Violet piped up, grinning as she pushed through. "Darius, Draco—fishing for compliments?"
Violet darted to Lena's side, concern flashing in her eyes. "You good?"
Lena smirked, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. "Better than them."
"Nothing major," Lena said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just figured you gentlemen were parched. Never seen hydration quite like that before—caught me off guard." She smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Draco, his neon-green hair plastered wet against his scalp, shot her a glare that could melt steel.
He and Darius had sauntered by earlier, itching to mess with the Admiral's "forgotten" foster daughter.
Their plan? Shove her into the fountain and watch her squirm, banking on the fact that Talia Cross wouldn't bother defending her.
Big mistake. Lena moved like she had sensors in her spine—dodging Darius so slickly he belly-flopped into the water, then nailing Draco with a quick kick when he lunged to pull his buddy out.
"Miss Cross, don't play dumb," Draco growled, his soaked jacket clinging to him. "You kicked me in there, and you know it."
"Did I?" Lena's grin widened. "Got any proof?"
Violet stormed over, jabbing a finger at Draco's nose. "You trash our place and try to pin it on my sister?"
The word "sister" rolled off her tongue like she'd said it a thousand times, her attitude all fire and no filter.
Nearby, Talia Cross winced, her composure cracking for a split second.
The garden had no surveillance—no drones, no holo-cams—which left Draco's whining dead in the water.
For once, the guy who thrived on chaos couldn't seal the deal. He stood there fuming, while Darius, dripping and silent, looked like a malfunctioning android stuck on mute.
Draco was fighting a one-man war, and he was losing.
Then, a figure emerged from the shadowed path near the fountain. He wore a sleek, tan trench coat that rippled faintly with embedded tech, his tall frame cutting through the artificial mist.
Dark hair framed his face, and his light brown eyes glinted like polished amber—too sharp, too perfect, like he'd stepped out of a virtual sim. The guy was a walking visual overload.
Draco flinched at the sight, then perked up like a drowning man spotting a lifeline. "Zane! You saw it, right? Your Class-S+ mental power—no way you missed her kicking me!"
Lena arched a brow. Zane? She glanced at Violet, who muttered under her breath, "Every time this guy shows up, it's like a freaking celebrity drop. Annoys the hell out of me."
Seeing Lena's confusion, Violet leaned in. "He's a Nebulon—their mental powers through the roof. Probably scans minds from orbit when he's bored."
Lena nodded, processing. S+ mental power meant he could've caught every move—her kick included. But so what? Draco swung first; she just reacted. No way Zane's vision skipped that part.
Zane's reputation preceded him. Raised by Admiral Nebulon himself, he could've been a spoiled aristocrat with his looks and lineage—prime bragging rights. But he wasn't some reckless playboy.
Sure, he had an ego, and he iced out anyone who didn't spark his interest, but he despised the Draco types—rich punks with too much swagger and too little spine.
Normally, they scattered like rats when he showed up. Today, though? Draco clung to him like a savior.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Draco pressed, desperation creeping into his voice.
Zane's amber eyes flicked to him, then slid over to Lena. She didn't flinch, locking gazes with him, steady as a laser.
For a moment, the air hummed with tension. Then Zane snorted, breaking the silence.
"Didn't see a damn thing." He gave Talia a quick nod and turned, striding off into the mist.
Draco's jaw hit the ground, his wet sleeve twitching like he wanted to argue but couldn't find the guts. Darius just stood there, a soggy shadow of defeat.
Talia stepped forward, her voice cold as the void. "If the Wellies can't handle their own, I'll do it for them."
She waved a hand, and a pair of security drones whirred into view, floating around Draco and Darius.
Mrs. Wellie's face drained of color. "Mrs. Cross, we've been too soft… I beg you…"
"Save it," Talia cut in. "They're going to the precinct. The cops have been dying to have a word with these two." Her voice was ice, her stare colder, freezing the crowd into silence.
Violet leaned in, grinning at Lena. "Mom's had it with those clowns. Trying to pull that stunt here? They're screwed."
'She hates them? Does she really?' Lena mused silently.
The party—Lena's big debut—wrapped with the guards escorting the soggy troublemakers off to face the music.
Back in her quarters, the lights warmed automatically, casting a soft glow.
Lena spotted Irish and a service bot tinkering with a bulky, glowing contraption. "Miss Lena," Irish said, catching her puzzled look, "this is a psi-booster and scanner—courtesy of Mr. Draven's contact in the fleet."