The sirens came late.
Not because no one noticed what happened inside Luminex Tower, but because someone very high up decided they didn't need to come fast.
Red and blue lights painted the building in pulsing color as uniformed officers moved through the scene with clipped efficiency. No questions. No press. No lingering curiosity. The bodies were counted, photographed, tagged, and covered.
A call came through halfway into the sweep.
The tone of the officer who answered changed immediately.
"Yes, sir… understood… we'll handle it."
When he hung up, he turned to the rest of the team. "Orders are to clear the scene and collect the bodies. No statements. No investigation beyond standard documentation."
Someone asked the obvious question. "That's it?"
The officer didn't look back. "That's it."
Aldric watched from the edge of the room as the machinery of silence moved into place. This wasn't damage control—it was containment. Someone had decided this incident ended here.
Ms. Vos noticed it too.
"They're burying it," she said quietly.
"They always do," Aldric replied.
She met his eyes once, a sharp, knowing look. "Go home. Stay visible. Normal."
"And you?"
"I go to work."
They parted without ceremony.
Aldric didn't go home immediately.
He stopped for food first.
Nothing fancy—just enough. He'd learned early that danger didn't care about your responsibilities, but family did. When he stepped through the door, the smell of warm rice and vegetables greeted him. His parents looked up in mild surprise.
"You're early," his mother said.
"Just checking in."
He made sure his little sister and brother ate, watched them argue over something small and stupid, something normal. He let that normality anchor him. Only when he was sure everything was fine did he leave again.
Next Morning -
The law school loomed like a cathedral of discipline and ambition.
Aldric entered quietly and took a seat high in the stands—far from Ms. Vos, deliberately so. Appearances mattered. Patterns mattered more.
Today wasn't supposed to be special.
That's what made it dangerous.
Leora had just finished skimming case briefs when the message came in.
COURTROOM B — IMMEDIATE ASSIGNMENT
No warning. No preparation window.
She frowned, heart rate ticking up—but only for a second.
Alright, she told herself. Then we adapt.
She didn't know it yet, but this wasn't a class exercise.
It was a test disguised as routine.
As she entered the courtroom, the atmosphere shifted. The room was full. Not crowded—but attentive. Faculty. Students. Observers. A judge already reviewing documents.
And a defendant she had never seen before.
She was handed the file as she took her seat.
Defendant: Reth Marquain
Origin: Eastern Continent — Sovereign Trade Region
Charges: Cross-continental trade violations, illicit asset shielding, breach of intercontinental civil jurisdiction, and indirect complicity in financial manipulation tied to restricted organizations.
Leora's fingers tightened slightly around the folder.
Another continent, she thought. So they're testing jurisdictional reach.
Good.
She scanned quickly, isolating facts from narrative, intent from accusation. Her breathing slowed—not consciously at first, then deliberately.
High above, Aldric noticed it.
The shoulders relaxing. The inhale held for just a fraction too long. The controlled exhale.
She listened, he thought. She actually listened.
The judge entered. Everyone rose.
The opposing counsel followed—older, composed, confident in the way only someone backed by multiple legal systems could be. His insignia marked him as licensed under Tri-Continental Commercial Law.
That complicated things.
Aldric leaned forward slightly.
So that's the angle.
The judge seated himself. "This court will now hear the case of Reth Marquain versus the Continental Authority. Counsel, you may proceed."
The opposing counsel stood first.
He smiled—pleasant, assured.
"Your Honor, this case is not about guilt. It is about jurisdiction. My client is a citizen of a sovereign trade state, operating under legally protected frameworks recognized by the Intercontinental Accords of Meridian Law. This court has no authority to—"
Leora listened without interrupting.
Without rushing.
Without panicking.
When he finished, the judge turned to her.
"Counsel for the defense," he said. "Your response."
Leora stood.
For just a second, she closed her eyes.
Then she opened them—steady, focused, unshaken.
Aldric felt something click into place.
This isn't just a test, he realized. This is someone else's move.
And somewhere, far from the courtroom, a screen flickered to life.
A secure line activated.
A voice—distorted, amused—spoke softly.
"Let's see how far they've learned to look."
Leora took her first breath to speak.
And the room went quiet.