The silence in the penthouse was a physical presence, thick and heavy as velvet. It was a stark contrast to the panoramic view of Neo Arcadia City sprawling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows—a dazzling tapestry of crystalline spires, floating Aether-transports, and the ever-pulsing heart of the Aether Spire, painting the dawn in hues of gold and cerulean.
Grady Corals stood at the window, but he didn't see the beauty. He saw angles of approach, potential sniper nests, and the dizzying drop that was both a barrier and a threat. His reflection in the glass showed a young man of fifteen, his light brown complexion a shade paler from lack of true sunlight, his short blonde hair meticulously styled in a Brushed Back Faded Undercut. His pink eyes, usually sharp and analytical, were dulled with a familiar, weary tension.
The cross-shaped black huggie earrings on his ears felt less like jewelry and more like weights.
Behind him, the soft clink of fine porcelain broke the silence. April, his wife, was seated at a dining table longer than his first apartment had been wide. She ate with a refined, precise grace that was as natural to her as breathing. Her silver-white hair was tied in its signature bun, a purple ribbon the only splash of color against the monochrome luxury of the penthouse. Her purple eyes were fixed on her plate, refusing to acknowledge him.
"The car will be here in twenty minutes," Grady said, his voice flat, cutting through the quiet. It wasn't an offer of conversation; it was a logistical update.
April's fork stilled for a fraction of a second. "I'm aware," she replied, her tone as cold and sharp as a shard of ice. "Unlike some, I can tell time."
Grady's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He turned from the window, his gaze sweeping over the opulent, sterile room. It was a gilded cage, every piece of furniture worth more than a year of his old salary, yet it felt emptier than the back alleys he'd once called home. His eyes lingered on the closed door of the second bedroom—Lily's room. The only room in this entire place that felt real.
He walked toward the table, his movements economical and quiet. He picked up a plain apple from a crystal fruit bowl. This was his breakfast. He didn't touch the elaborate spread laid out for April.
"Your father expects a report this evening," he stated, taking a bite of the apple. The crunch was obnoxiously loud in the hushed space.
April finally looked up, her purple eyes flashing with venom. "We will give him a report," she corrected, her voice dripping with condescension. "And it will be the same as last week's. And the week before that. Nothing. Because you can't even manage to do the one simple thing you were acquired for."
The word 'acquired' hung in the air between them, ugly and true. Grady didn't flinch. He was used to her barbs. They were part of the prison's architecture.
"It takes two, April," he said, his tone brutally pragmatic. "And last I checked, my job was to marry you. Your father's… breeding project… is a separate clause I never agreed to."
Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. "Don't be crude. You agreed to it the moment you valued your pathetic life over your pride." She stood up, her chair scraping against the polished floor. "You live in my world, eat my food, breathe my air. The least you could do is stop being a functional failure."
She strode past him, her posture rigid. As she passed, he caught the faint, familiar scent of saltwater and ozone that always clung to her—the signature of her Spark. The Leviathan's Daughter.
He finished the apple and tossed the core into a bio-compactor. "I'll be downstairs. Don't be late. Your shoot at the Aether-Vista Tower is high-profile. The security detail is double. Your father's orders."
He didn't wait for a reply. He walked out of the penthouse and into the private elevator, the doors sliding shut on the suffocating silence.
The elevator descended, the numbers flashing. 100… 80… 50… With each floor, the mask of the stoic husband and bodyguard settled more firmly into place. He was Grady Corals, the street rat who had married a princess of the underworld. A boy who had killed his father. A brother who had failed to protect his sister from a far more dangerous monster.
He pulled out a simple, non-Aether linked communicator. A single message was on the screen, sent an hour ago from an encrypted frequency.
Lily: Dreamt of pink lightning. You okay? Don't do anything stupid. Remember our compass. <3
A ghost of a smile, the first genuine expression all morning, touched his lips. It vanished as quickly as it came. Our compass. The electromagnetic link her Raiton: Tenraiken Spark had forged between them. It was their lifeline, the only thing that proved Lily was still alive and safe-ish, held in a different, softer cage by Silas's people. His little sister, always the perceptive one, always knowing when the storm inside him was stirring.
The elevator doors opened into the sub-level garage. His team was already there—four professional, grim-faced men and women in dark suits, their Sparks registered and licensed for corporate security. They nodded at him. They didn't like him—he was the kid who had married the boss's daughter, an unknown variable—but they respected his competence. In the year since his "marriage," Grady had proven to be unnervingly good at threat assessment and security logistics.
"Corals," their leader, a woman named Anya, greeted him. "The route is prepped. Two decoy vehicles. The model's vanity is the biggest security risk—she'll want the windows down for the paparazzi."
"She'll do what I tell her to do when she's in my vehicle," Grady said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He slid into the driver's seat of the armored limousine, his lean hands resting on the wheel. The tattoos that adorned his arms and chest, a story of a life lived long before this one, were hidden beneath his tailored suit.
He waited. Precisely seven minutes later, April emerged from the private elevator. She was a vision, dressed in a designer outfit that probably cost more than one of his part-time jobs had paid in a year. She ignored Anya and the others, sliding into the back seat of the limousine without a word, the very picture of diva-ish displeasure.
Grady met her eyes in the rearview mirror. Her gaze was a challenge, a promise of continued cold war.
He looked away, starting the engine. The vehicle hummed to life, a beast of polished steel and armored glass.
"Seatbelt," he said, his tone flat.
She glared at him but clicked it into place.
As he navigated the limousine out of the garage and into the dazzling, chaotic flow of Neo Arcadia's morning traffic, Grady's mind was already working, analyzing routes, potential ambush points, and the behavioral patterns of the drivers around them. This was a job. A role. One of the six he was currently playing.
Husband. Bodyguard. Brother. Prisoner. Student. Killer.
And beneath it all, a storm was brewing—a silent, pink lightning waiting for its moment to crack the sky open once more. The cage was strong, made of silk and steel and threats against a little girl with pink eyes. But Grady knew, with a cold certainty, that no cage could hold a god of thunder forever.