Tuesday – Markov Estate, West Wing Study Room
The room was dim. Windowless. Lit only by a ring of antique lamps.
I'd been summoned again.
Not to a council. Not to a training ground.
To a room I hadn't entered since I was twelve.
The floor was polished obsidian. The bookshelves were filled with strategy ledgers and red-tagged files.
Vincent stood beside a long mahogany desk.
He didn't speak.
He just pointed to the chair across from him.
I sat.
He opened a slim manila envelope and laid three photos in front of me.
People. Adults I didn't know.
One man in uniform. One woman in finance. One in media.
"Which one," Vincent asked, "is the risk?"
I stared at the photos.
"Risk to what?"
"To us."
"…I don't know any of them."
He nodded. "Then make your best guess."
I studied their eyes.
Then pointed to the woman in finance.
"She's not facing the camera. Which means she knows it's there."
Vincent said nothing. Then flipped the photo.
Correct.
The rest of the session went like that.
Ten more choices.
Ethics scenarios. Political traps. Blackmail simulations.
When it was done, he sat back.
"You did better than expected."
I exhaled.
"You should've told me it was a test."
"And you still think you're not being groomed."
He handed me a glass of water. It was cold and sharp.
"We don't need you to be obedient. We need you to be aware."
"I didn't ask to be anything."
"And yet, you are."
That evening, I was given time off.
No training. No files.
I wandered to the south wing—the old art hall.
Past the portraits of past Markovs, each painted in oil and shadow. Each one darker than the last.
But one door I hadn't seen before was cracked open.
A faint blue light spilled through.
I stepped in.
Inside: a surveillance room.
Dozens of screens, each labelled by city district.
Feeds from news, schools, government offices.
One was paused on an image of me—in school uniform—walking with Amaya.
I reached for the mouse.
The file name was: MARKOV_HEIR_PERSONAL_SURVEILLANCE_LOG_01
"That room is off-limits."
I froze.
Turned.
Mikhail stood behind me, arms crossed.
"You're not a student anymore, Jay. You're a variable. They monitor all variables."
"…How long have they been watching?"
"Since you stepped outside the gate."
Later that night, I was invited to an informal dinner.
No Reginald.
Just Clara, Aunt Adelheid, and two cousins I barely remembered.
Clara raised her glass.
"To our future. May it be ruled by those who understand power."
Everyone drank.
I took a slow sip, watching her.
"Still pretending to toast unity?" I asked.
"Still pretending you can avoid your birthright?" she replied, smiling.
Adelheid leaned in.
"You've made an impression. Even the other families are whispering."
"Let them," I said. "Whispering's safer than shouting."
Nightfall Reflection
I sat in bed.
Pulled out a notebook—one I kept hidden behind a loose board.
This time, I didn't tear the page.
Just wrote.
"The deeper I go, the clearer the game becomes.
It's not about who wins.
It's about who's left standing once everyone else folds."
I closed it.
And for the first time since I arrived…
I locked the door.