EVE POV
I stared at the Old Man like he had finally, officially, lost his mind. We were halfway to the coast—a place currently vibrating with the kind of violet Rift energy that makes my teeth ache—and he was pulling the car over to the side of the road.
"Change of plans," Kwame said, his voice unusually light. He was tapping away at his tablet, his eyes fixed on a coordinate map that had nothing to do with sea-shelves or resonance spikes. "I've called for a hotel chauffeur. He'll be here in five minutes to pick the two of you up."
"What?" I leaned forward, my slate-gray coat rustling. "Father, you said the coast was a priority. You said the 'scouts' were moving in. You can't investigate that alone with a bad back and a scanner that's held together by spit and prayers."
"I can, and I will," Kwame said, turning around to look at us. His expression was softer than I'd seen it in years. "The two of you have spent the last thirty-six years—or thirty days, depending on how you count the clock—living in a vacuum. You've fought gods, you've stabilized realities, and you've saved a city. But you haven't lived."
He looked at Adam, who was still clutching that neon-pink note like it was a holy relic.
"Go to the city," Kwame commanded. "Buy phones. Real ones, not the encrypted burners we usually use. Buy clothes that don't look like they were designed for a funeral. Have a burger. Go to a park. Do the things that the 'mice' do."
"Father—" Adam started, his gold eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a sudden, desperate hope.
"That's an order, Adam," Kwame interrupted. "Investigate the human condition for an afternoon. Consider it a reconnaissance mission into what we're actually trying to save. I'll meet you back at the hotel at sundown."
A black SUV pulled up behind us, the Ritz-Valerius logo gleaming on the door. A driver in a crisp suit stepped out, holding the door open with a polite nod.
"Well," I said, a slow, wicked grin spreading across my face as I kicked the car door open. "Who am I to disobey a direct order?"
I practically leaped into the back of the SUV, the leather seats smelling like expensive cologne and new money. Adam followed more slowly, moving like a man in a dream. He climbed in beside me, still dazed, his fingers nervously tracing the edge of the pink note in his pocket.
"The Diamond District, please," I told the driver. "And don't spare the horses. Or the engine. Whatever makes this thing move."
As the SUV pulled away, I watched the Old Man's sedan shrink in the distance, heading toward the dark, misty coast. He was going to face the abyss alone so we could go shopping. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of affection for the old fossil. He really was trying.
"Adam," I said, poking his shoulder. "Stop staring at the upholstery. We have a mission."
"I... I don't know the protocol for purchasing a mobile device," Adam admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "What if they ask for a social security resonance? What if the salesperson senses my Impulse?"
"They won't sense anything because you're going to dial it down to a one, Goldie. You're going to be a normal, boring, handsome teenager with too much money. It's the easiest role in the world. I've been practicing my 'spoiled brat' face for decades."
The Diamond District was a blur of glass and neon. We stepped out of the SUV, and for the first time, we weren't hunting. We weren't looking for threats. We were just two kids walking into a tech flagship store that looked like it had been carved out of a single diamond.
The air inside was cool and smelled of ozone and new plastic. A salesperson—a guy with way too much hair gel and a name tag that said 'Caleb'—approached us, his eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of my coat and Adam's posture.
"Welcome to Apex Tech! Looking for the new Titan-12? It has a dual-core neural link—"
"We'll take two," I said, cutting him off. "The best ones you have. The ones that can survive being dropped into a gravity well. And we need them activated. Now."
"Of course! And for the data plan?"
"Unlimited everything," I said, waving a black credit card that the Old Man had given us for 'emergencies.' "And throw in some of those wireless ear-thingies. The ones that look like little white beans."
While Caleb scurried away to fetch the goods, I turned to Adam. He was standing near a display of smart-watches, looking utterly lost. He was staring at a screen showing a weather app.
"Adam. Focus. You're about to get the most powerful weapon in the world: a direct line to June Miller."
He swallowed hard. "I... I should prepare a script. A greeting that acknowledges her bravery while maintaining a polite distance to ensure her psychological safety."
"If you say 'psychological safety' to that girl, I will throw myself into the Gray Sea," I groaned. "You're going to call her. She's going to answer. You're going to say, 'Hey, it's Adam. I have your popcorn.' That's it. That's the whole script."
Caleb returned with two sleek, obsidian-black phones. I grabbed mine, instantly syncing it to a burner cloud and downloading every social media app I'd been banned from in my head. Adam took his as if he were being handed a live grenade.
"It is... very light," Adam noted, turning the phone over in his hands.
"It's a phone, not a broadsword. Now, type in the number."
We walked out of the store and toward a small, sun-drenched plaza with a fountain. The city felt different today. The 'wool' was still there in the distance, but here, under the afternoon sun, the people were just living. They were eating ice cream, complaining about the heat, and laughing.
Adam sat on the edge of the fountain, the spray of water catching the gold in his eyes. He pulled the pink note out of his pocket and began to type the numbers into the keypad. His fingers, which could steady a collapsing reality, were shaking.
"I am pressing the green icon now," he announced.
"Just do it already!" I sat cross-legged next to him, unashamedly eavesdropping.
He pressed it. He held the phone to his ear, his back going rigid. I could hear the faint, rhythmic ring-ring from the speaker.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
"Maybe she's busy," Adam said, his face falling. "Maybe the car finally exploded. Maybe—"
"Hello?"
The voice was tiny, distorted by the speaker, but it was unmistakably her. June. She sounded breathless, like she'd been running.
Adam froze. He looked at me, his eyes wide with pure, unadulterated panic.
"Say something!" I hissed, kicking his shin.
"Hello," Adam said, his voice dropping an octave into that 'Prince' register he didn't even know he had. "This is... Adam. From the highway. I am calling to discuss the outstanding debt regarding the puffed corn."
I buried my face in my hands. He was hopeless. He was a literal god and he was talking like a debt collector.
There was a silence on the other end of the line. A long, agonizing pause. I was about to snatch the phone and save him when I heard a sound—a high-pitched, bubbly squeal that could only be described as 'pure joy.'
"YOU CALLED! I told Brandt you'd call! I mean, I hoped you'd call, but I didn't think you'd do it so fast! Are you okay? Is your sister okay? Is the Old Man still being... old?"
Adam's entire body relaxed. A smile, slow and genuine, spread across his face—the kind of smile that made him look eighteen instead of ancient.
"We are well, June," he said, his voice softening. "And my sister is... as she always is. Noisy. We have a few hours of... 'fun' allocated to our schedule. I was wondering if you were still in possession of that popcorn."
I looked away, a strange, lump forming in my throat. Watching Adam talk to her, watching him stand there in the sunlight like a normal boy, made me realize how much we'd actually lost in those jars. We were masterpieces, sure. We were the pinnacle of evolution. But as I watched a bird splash in the fountain and heard June's laughter through the phone, I realized that being a masterpiece was nothing compared to being a friend.
"Yeah, go get 'em, Goldie," I whispered, pulling out my own phone and starting to look for the nearest place that sold expensive boots.
If we were going to be human for an afternoon, I was going to do it in style.