The Cross' was a tech geek's dream—walls that pulsed with soft colors synced to Lena's mood, a personal AI assistant that dimmed the lights or cranked the heat before she even asked.
For two solid days, Lena had been cooped up in the Cross Residence, barely venturing beyond her room's sleek, sliding doors.
Still, it felt more like a shiny prison than a home. She'd been hoping to catch Admiral Cross for a face-to-face, but word came down the line that he'd blasted off to the Sentinel Outpost.
Apparently, a grimy pack of space pirates had been jacking supply drones again, and His Majesty had tapped Cross to squash them.
Lena wasn't buying it—she figured he was just dodging the family soap opera waiting back here.
Irish, the residence's sharp-eyed aide, had pinged a medic from the Imperial Nexus to give Lena a once-over.
The doctor rolled in with a handheld gadget that hummed and glowed, scanning Lena from head to toe in seconds.
"Chronic rundown," the woman said, her brow creasing. "The Starhold Outpost's cruddy conditions didn't help. You're looking at regular nano-therapy sessions and some low-grav workouts to get your system back online. Those meds they gave you out there? Junk. Finish the stash and don't bother restocking."
Lena let out a quiet huff. No instant fix—just patience and a pile of fancy tech. Figured.
Lena sat in front of a slick, mirrored panel that doubled as a holo-screen, watching Irish work her magic.
The aide's hands moved like a bot's, precise and steady, taming Lena's tangled hair with a comb that hummed faintly—probably laced with nanites.
Makeup here wasn't too far out; no laser sculpting or gene-tinted skin yet. Irish swiped a shimmering gloss across Lena's lips, and just like that, the sickly pallor faded, her face finally looking less like a ghost's.
"Slip out if it gets heavy," Irish said under her breath, barely glancing up. "These shindigs can drag."
Lena gave a small nod, psyching herself up for the party Talia had strong-armed her into attending.
With the Admiral off chasing pirates halfway across the galaxy, Irish had stepped up to play stylist—Talia sure as hell wasn't about to bother.
The Cross Residence's back courtyard was a full-on spectacle by the time Lena stepped in.
Imperial Nexus bigwigs strutted around, their outfits flickering with embedded light-threads that shifted colors as they moved.
Floating orbs bobbed overhead, spilling warm light across the crowd, while servo-bots zipped between guests with trays of bubbling drinks. It was like walking onto the set of some blockbuster holo-flick—all flash and whispers.
Lena hovered at the edge, half-tempted to bolt back to her room, when Talia's laser-focused stare cut through the chatter.
"There's our Miss Lena Cross," she announced, her smile as smooth as polished steel. She waved Lena over, and every head turned, their hushed gossip ramping up.
"That's Cross's new charity case?"
"No way she's just adopted—look at her."
"Talia's a saint for putting up with this."
"Next to Violet? Kid doesn't stand a chance."
Lena tuned out the noise, drifting over to Talia's side and stealing a glance at Violet—her quote-and-quote sister.
The girl was a knockout: golden hair like her mom's, but with sharp features that screamed cool detachment. Her dress shimmered like liquid starlight, making her look less human, more like some ethereal avatar pulled from a sim-game.
Talia's grin widened as she sized up the pair, clearly pleased. Lena was the perfect drab foil to Violet's glow—mission accomplished.
With a smug pat on Violet's shoulder, Talia peeled off to schmooze with a countess, leaving the two girls to stare each other down.
Violet broke the ice, her tone chilly. "So, you're signing up for Gungnir too?"
"Yeah," Lena said, keeping it vague. "Draven hooked me up."
Violet's head tilted, her eyes narrowing like Lena was a puzzle with missing pieces. "I'm going because I'm obsessed with Admiral Odin. What's your deal?"
'Odin? Like the old Earth myth guy?' Lena's brain sparked with curiosity, but she played it cool. "Same. Huge Odin fan."
Violet's frown deepened, like Lena had just said something totally off-the-wall. "Seriously?"
Violet cocked her head, eyeing Lena with a mix of doubt and curiosity, like she was scanning a glitchy holo-feed.
Lena didn't flinch, her lie sliding out smooth as a polished deck plate.
"Guess fangirling over Admiral Odin's pretty standard," Violet mumbled, convincing herself more than anyone else. She edged closer, dropping her voice to a hush. "Heard you're aiming for Command Track. We could team up for Gungnir's boot camp."
Lena's interest flickered—too bad Violet didn't dish more about this Odin legend. She'd have to pry later.
"Boot camp?" Lena said, feigning cluelessness. "What's that all about?"
Violet's face lit up like she'd just unlocked a rare skin in a sim-game. "Oh, it's insane! Six weeks on some nowhere planet in the Tri-System. Jungle treks, survival gigs—I'm already gearing up to snipe my way to canopy royalty."
She bounced on her heels, like trudging through alien muck was a weekend thrill ride.
Lena's gut twisted. Her body was a wreck—cross-country hauls might just flatline her. 'Awesome. I'll be the corpse lagging two steps in.'
"Mom mentioned you're not exactly prime spec," Violet said, slinging an arm around Lena's shoulders out of nowhere. "But don't sweat it—Command Track's more headspace than muscle. If you crash out, I've got you covered."
She was all eager vibes, a human golden retriever who'd cuddle a stranger after five minutes. Lena blinked, thrown by the sudden buddy-up.
"Thanks," she said, easing out of the grip before Violet accidentally crushed her frail frame.
"No problem!" Violet beamed, but her smile wobbled as a razor-sharp "Violet!" cut through the party buzz.
Talia, Violet's mom, had been lurking nearby, her stare locked on them like a targeting laser. Now her face was pure thunder, and Violet shrank like a kicked pup.
"Sorry," she mouthed, sticking out her tongue before shuffling off.
Lena caught Talia's death glare and nearly snorted. This is peak entertainment. She tossed Violet a quick nod, then ditched the crowd for the conservatory.
The place was a glowing oasis—bioluminescent vines snaked around hovering light-orbs, casting an eerie shimmer. Alien blooms swayed, petals glinting like molten chrome.
Lena strolled through the hush, soaking in the calm. No chatter, just the low hum of shuttles in orbit and the trickle of a fountain.
She grinned to herself. Talia's seething rage was hilarious, and Violet's guilty puppy routine? Pure gold.
Lena stretched her shaky legs, figuring the walk was as good as a workout for her junkyard body.