A loud crack broke the quiet in EvoTech Tower's 112th floor. Albert Jr. Faustin jerked around, his gray eyes narrowing. A thin fracture spread across the huge window—a window made to stop quantum blasts. His stomach tightened, a quick shiver of worry running through him. Outside, New Haven City stretched wide under a fading sun. Tall glass towers gleamed like sharp blades in the golden light. This was the quantum age, a time when people twisted tiny rules of nature to build wonders. But that crack—it didn't belong here, not in his father's perfect tower.
Albert stood still, hands tight at his sides. His lean body felt stiff under a dark blue jacket with silver threads. The jacket hung heavy, showing off wealth he didn't care about. His face was too sharp, too cold, like it belonged to someone older than sixteen. Black hair brushed his forehead, sticking to skin wet with sweat he hadn't noticed. The air buzzed, a deep hum from quantum machines in the walls. It sank into his bones, a sound he couldn't escape. He touched the window, its cool surface hard under his fingers, and whispered, "Another day gone."
He didn't know if he meant the city or his life. At sixteen, Albert Jr. Faustin had everything. His father, Albert Sr., ran EvoTech, a company that turned quantum ideas into power across Terra Nova. The Coherence Bloodline flowed in his veins, a gift that made his family special—strong, smart, born better than most. He got it all without asking. But that was the problem. It didn't feel like his. He dragged a finger along the crack, its rough edge matching the empty ache inside him.
Something flickered on his father's desk—a holo-photo. Albert stepped over, boots sinking into soft carpet. The image cleared: him at nine, standing between his parents. His mother, Elise, smiled bright, her auburn hair shining, her laugh ringing in his ears even now. Then he saw it again—a flash of light, a burning smell, her scream cut off as blood splashed his face. He'd reached for her, hands shaking, too small to stop the killers who wanted his father dead. Albert Sr. stood tall in the photo, cold and stiff, his gray eyes far away. Seven years later, that coldness was a wall between them.
The memory hit hard. Albert's hand jerked, knocking a stylus off the desk. It hit the floor with a sharp clack, loud against the hum. He swore quietly, bending to pick it up, when the door slid open. Liana Vey walked in, her gray uniform neat, her chestnut braid swinging a little. Her hazel eyes found him fast, searching his face like she could see the mess inside.
"Master Albert," she said, her voice steady but warm, "your father's meeting went long. He's not coming home tonight."
Albert stood, brushing his jacket. "Big surprise," he said, his tone flat. He tossed the stylus back on the desk, a little too hard, and it slid to the edge.
Liana frowned but didn't move. She stepped closer, her shoes quiet on the carpet, and stopped near him. "He told me to check on you. Said you've been… quiet lately."
"Quiet?" He gave a small, hard smile and turned back to the window. The crack glared at him, daring him to care. "He'd have to notice me first."
She went still, the air thick between them. Her fingers brushed her sleeve, a habit when she held back words. Then she said, "You've been up here all day. Staring at that window like it's hiding something."
"Maybe it is." His voice turned low, rough. He tapped the crack, the soft tap-tap loud in the silence. "This shouldn't happen. EvoTech's stuff doesn't break. Something's not right."
She moved closer, near enough that he smelled her—fresh, like rain on metal. "Or maybe you just want something to push against."
He looked at her fast, their eyes meeting. Liana didn't back off, her stare firm but soft in a way that got under his skin. She'd been with him forever—cleaning blood off him that day, sitting through his dark moods, keeping him steady when he fell apart. Now she was his attendant, always there, but sometimes her look… it stirred things he didn't want to feel.
"Don't have to look hard for that," he said, dodging her point with a half-smile. "Trouble's never far."
She didn't smile back, just tilted her head. "You don't need to handle it by yourself."
"I know." His words came out gentle, surprising him, and he turned away quick. "But I'm not pulling you into this."
Her hand hovered near the desk, like she didn't want to let go, then dropped. "Just don't smash anything up here, okay?"
"No promises," he said, and this time, her mouth twitched—a tiny smile.
Later, in his room, Albert sat on his bed's edge, the city's glow sneaking through the blinds. The air hummed with quantum power, a sharp whine that prickled his skin. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the Coherence Bloodline buzz inside—wild, waiting. He'd tried it once, years back, tying a pen to his desk until his head spun. Now he tried again, staring at a glass across the room. His heart beat fast, the air shimmered, and the glass slid an inch—then stopped. He gasped, sweat burning his eyes, the power slipping away.
"Still weak," he muttered, falling back on the bed. The ceiling looked empty, mocking him. He could do better—he felt it—but why bother? To show he was Albert Sr.'s son? That name got him everything, but it weighed him down like a rope. He didn't hate his father, not deep down. He hated himself—the kid who'd watched his mother die and couldn't move.
The Quantum Academy came to mind, its shape dark against the city lights. His father had signed him up, starting tomorrow, and Albert hadn't cared before. Just another thing he didn't pick. But that crack in the window stuck with him. Something was off—not just inside him, but out there. People in New Haven whispered about glitches, quantum machines acting strange. What if the academy knew why—not to follow his father's rules, but to break them?
He sat up, pushing hair off his face. The room smelled sharp, like lightning before a storm, full of the city's energy. Beyond the towers, stars peeked through the haze—small, far, pulling at him. Albert didn't know how little Terra Nova mattered, how big the universe really was. But as he stood, a quiet fire lit in his chest. He'd been given a life he didn't ask for. Maybe it was time to grab something his own way.