LOCATION: CROSSTECH PENTHOUSE – MORNING AFTER
The sunlight didn't warm the room. It just exposed it.
Clean lines. Curated minimalism. The kind of luxury that suffocated under its own silence.
Raven sat at the edge of the bed, spine straight, her reflection ghosting against the blackened glass of the window. A fresh suit hung beside her—charcoal, custom-cut. Cold armor.
She was halfway into the white silk blouse when the door opened.
Soft steps. No knock. Only the scent of dark roast and citrus polish to announce her.
Marielle.
Perfectly pressed in her usual CrossTech gray. Her tray bore a single cup, a folded dossier, and eyes that missed nothing.
"Your schedule for the day," she said quietly, placing the tray on the low table near the vanity.
Raven didn't answer right away.
She was focused on buttoning the cuff. The left wrist trembled slightly. She paused.
The bruise was faint, but fresh—ringed in the memory of the necklace that had once lived there like a leash.
Marielle noticed. Of course she did.
She didn't comment. She just straightened the collar of the suit, careful fingers brushing over Raven's shoulder with something close to… care. Or calculation.
"Shall I inform Mr. Cross you're awake?"
Raven didn't look up.
"He already knows."
A pause.
Then—Marielle's voice, just a degree softer.
"Yes. I imagine he does."
Silence settled between them like another piece of furniture.
Raven met Marielle's eyes in the mirror. There was something there—a flicker. A question unasked. A warning unspoken.
But the moment passed.
Marielle stepped back, folded hands, posture sharp.
"If you require anything else…"
"I'll scream," Raven said mildly.
That earned the faintest smile. Not joy. Not mockery. Just recognition.
Marielle nodded once and turned, the soft click of her heels vanishing down the hall like secrets that obeyed their leash.
Raven reached for the coffee.
It tasted like power.
And ashes.
---
LOCATION: CROSSTECH EXECUTIVE FLOOR – AIDEN'S OFFICE
The executive floor always felt colder.
Not in temperature. In tone. The air up here was filtered through money and fear—every inch too clean, too quiet. Like even sound required clearance.
Raven stepped out of the elevator, heels sharp against the marble. Her face wore the expression she'd perfected: poised, pleasant, empty of rebellion.
Marielle had already buzzed her in.
The door hissed open without ceremony.
Aiden stood by the window, back turned, skyline glittering like a war map beneath him. His reflection wavered in the glass—tall, composed, surgical. One hand held a tumbler of water. Or vodka. With him, it could go either way.
"You're early," he said without looking back.
"Am I allowed to be?"
That earned a flicker of amusement.
He turned, finally—suit immaculate, tie sharp, smile nowhere in sight.
"There's a press conference in forty-eight hours. You'll speak for CrossTech."
She nodded once.
He approached, each step quiet, deliberate.
"You'll defend Project MOTHER," he continued. "Frame it as adaptive executive support. Biometric alignment. Cognitive-load balancing. The usual jargon. You know the words."
"I do."
"And you'll believe them."
Another nod. "Of course."
His eyes scanned her face, reading every controlled breath.
"You'll stand there," he said softly, "in front of the world, and remind them why we lead. Why we innovate. Why Sophia Blake was always the right choice."
"I'll remind them," Raven said, smiling gently. "Loud and clear."
A beat.
Then—he stepped closer. Not menacing. Just close enough to claim space that used to be hers.
"Good girl," he murmured.
Raven's smile didn't falter.
"I aim to please."
She turned and walked out before he could add anything else.
And Aiden?
He watched her go.
He knew she was pretending.
But she was still his.
At least… for now.
---
LOCATION: UNKNOWN HOLDING FACILITY – EARLY MORNING
The door unlocked with a hiss.
No guards. No escort. Just a hallway that hadn't been lit in hours.
Theo blinked against the sterile lights. Blood crusted at his temple, ribs aching like old lies. He expected a camera. A collar. A warning.
But there was… nothing.
No one.
His datapad—returned. Unscratched. Still encrypted.
Cut to: DOWNTOWN – A CROWDED STREET
He limped out of a black car that didn't wait for thanks. The city swallowed him whole. Neon. Horns. The smell of oil and ambition.
Alive.
Free.
His fingers trembled as he pulled up Raven's signal.
> ENCRYPTED MESSAGE SENT:
"I'm out. Why?"
He hit send.
Stared at the screen.
And waited for an answer that wouldn't explain anything.
---
LOCATION: ABANDONED GREENHOUSE – ROOFTOPS, OUTER CORE SECTOR — 1:04 A.M.
The glass above was cracked but clear, moonlight pouring in like a confession. The air smelled of dust, wilted leaves, and things that had once been alive.
Raven stood near a broken fountain, arms crossed, jacket hanging like armor too thin to help. When Theo arrived—limping, still healing—she didn't move to greet him.
She just… waited.
He stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning the ruins. Then her.
"Why did he let me go?" Theo said softly.
She didn't look at him.
"Because I asked him to."
A pause. Theo froze.
"You asked."
She finally turned, just enough for the moonlight to catch the bruise that hadn't been there before.
"And he listened."
Silence. Not gentle. Just empty.
"Let's stop all this."
The words landed like a brick through stained glass.
Theo blinked. "You can't be serious."
She didn't argue. Didn't cry. Just started walking past him—shoulder brushing his as if they were strangers on a train, not conspirators in a war.
"Raven, he's breaking you."
She stopped without looking back
"Maybe that's the only way he knows how to love."
She walked into the shadows.
Leaving him standing there in the greenhouse—surrounded by the haunting silence.
---
LOCATION: CROSSTECH PENTHOUSE — KITCHEN, NIGHT
Marielle stands alone.
Her heels don't click. They don't need to.
She lifts Raven's coffee cup. Turns it slowly. Lipstick smudge, still fresh. Pulse tracker still active.
She checks the temperature.
Too warm for someone being watched.
She dials a number and speaks quietly. Private line. No hesitation.
"She's lying."
(pause)
"But not to him."
She hangs up. Puts the cup down like a warning.
Then she walks away—like someone who already picked a side.