Late afternoon drifted across Virelux like a slow exhale, the golden light sliding down glass towers and pooling in the streets until the city seemed dipped in molten amber. The air carried that restless hum Virelux always seemed to have — part anticipation, part indulgence — as though the city never truly slept, only shifted moods between breaths.
Oscar and Stephanie stepped out of their hotel into that glow with careful restraint, both dressed with deliberate simplicity meant to blur them into the crowd rather than draw attention.
Stephanie had tucked her golden hair beneath a black cap, the brim shadowing her green eyes while a dark jacket hung loosely over a plain shirt and fitted pants. Comfortable shoes replaced anything remotely regal, and slung over her shoulder rested the bag of holding Oscar had gifted her, its rune-stitched seams faintly shimmering only if someone knew exactly what to look for.
Oscar mirrored the caution. Sunglasses hid his distinctive yellow eyes, while a hood softened the sharp silhouette of his ears. His own black bag of holding rested against his back, its weight more symbolic than physical but still carrying the gravity of their situation.
They looked less like fugitives and more like two young adults out for an ordinary evening, which was exactly the illusion they intended.
The tram arrived with a soft pneumatic sigh, doors sliding open as muted chatter and faint music spilled out. They boarded without speaking much, choosing seats near the middle where anonymity lived comfortably. Outside, Virelux rolled past in a cascade of districts — affluent terraces giving way to lively commercial corridors, then into zones where neon began asserting dominance over daylight.
Stephanie kept her gaze on the window.
"Still nervous?" Oscar asked quietly.
"A little," she admitted, voice low enough to blend with the tram's hum. "Not about the black market itself… more about who might already be looking for us."
Oscar leaned back slightly.
"That's exactly why we're going now. Waiting only gives people time to close in."
Stephanie nodded, though unease lingered like static in her chest. Still, beneath that anxiety pulsed excitement — the intoxicating sensation of autonomy she had chased when she first ran from palace walls.
Freedom, she was learning, rarely came without risk.
****
Across the city, Arthur and Rowen continued their search with a very different energy.
Royalty Times Square spread before them like a spectacle engineered specifically to overwhelm the senses. Towering lacrima screens stretched skyward, displaying advertisements, news cycles, magical entertainment reels, and cascading illusions that blurred reality with spectacle. Light refracted across polished pavement until the entire plaza seemed alive, shimmering like a dream caught between fantasy and technology.
Crowds flowed constantly — tourists craning their necks upward, commuters weaving through with practiced efficiency, vendors calling out from glowing stalls.
Arthur moved through it all with focused determination, photograph in hand, his expression tight with urgency. Every face he scanned became another silent question, another flicker of hope quickly extinguished.
Rowen, by contrast, walked with a looser stride. He questioned people politely enough, yet there remained an ease to him that Arthur increasingly found infuriating.
Eventually, after another round of fruitless inquiries, they stepped aside near a towering holographic fountain display. Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.
Rowen broke first.
"Arthur… you're still upset about yesterday, aren't you? I apologized already."
Arthur exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to snap.
"This isn't about yesterday. This is about the mission."
Rowen frowned slightly.
"I am taking it seriously."
Arthur turned toward him fully, frustration flickering through his composure.
"You don't have my father breathing down your neck threatening to cut you off if you fail. You don't have an entire house's reputation tied to finding her."
Rowen's expression softened.
"I know you feel pressure. That doesn't mean I'm not committed."
The tension lingered another moment before Arthur sighed, the fight draining out of him.
"Let's not waste energy arguing. We cover more ground if we split up."
Rowen nodded after a beat.
"Fine. I'll head further downtown. You finish here and move uptown."
They clasped forearms briefly, a silent acknowledgment of shared purpose despite clashing temperaments, then separated into the crowd.
Virelux was vast, but patience often outlasted geography.
****
Meanwhile, inside Neon Reverie, the atmosphere carried a quieter rhythm than the previous night. Music still pulsed from the dance floor below, yet the frenzy had mellowed into something smoother, more indulgent than chaotic.
In his upstairs office, Jasparion J. Valencrest Jorthayne leaned back in a black leather chair, whiskey glass in hand, letting the amber liquid catch light from the city beyond his window.
His thoughts kept circling back to her — the girl with the defiant smile, the uncanny resemblance to the runaway princess he had long fantasized about. The memory lingered like a melody refusing to fade.
If it truly had been her…
The possibility thrilled him in ways he struggled to articulate even internally.
A soft pulse interrupted his reverie.
The lacrima keyboard on his desk glowed brighter, its crystal core emitting a low hum. Jasparion set down his drink and pressed a key. A holographic screen blossomed upward in blue light.
The Director's message appeared concise and unmistakably authoritative:
Remain alert for anyone attempting to sell terpene formulas on the black market. Subjects possibly include the suspected princess and an unidentified accomplice. Report immediately.
A moment later, Jasparion accessed the security lacrima pulling up, stills from the club surfaced on the display. Images of Stephanie and Oscar — grainy but recognizable.
Jasparion's lips curled into a thoughtful smile.
"Well now… this just got interesting."
He forwarded the information to his Jackal Crew with brief instructions to keep their ears open. Nothing aggressive yet — merely observation.
Still, anticipation stirred within him.
Some encounters felt like fate nudging events forward.
The tram finally slowed again, announcing arrival at Royalty Times Square.
Oscar and Stephanie stepped off into the vibrant chaos Arthur had left earlier, though from their perspective the plaza carried an entirely different significance.
Stephanie paused immediately, gaze sweeping upward as lacrima screens flooded her vision with color and motion. The sheer scale dazzled her — advertisements morphing into magical performances, news anchors speaking beside illusions, crowds bathed in ever-shifting hues.
"It's… incredible," she murmured.
Oscar chuckled softly.
"Yeah. First time I saw it, I almost forgot why I came."
She glanced at him, curiosity sparking.
"And why did you come?"
Oscar adjusted his hood slightly, smile faint but knowing.
"For the same reason we're here now."
He gestured subtly around them.
"Everyone sees tourism, entertainment, luxury. What they don't see is how perfectly this chaos hides everything else."
Stephanie frowned, confusion creasing her brow.
"What do you mean?"
Oscar leaned closer so his voice wouldn't carry.
"This place isn't just a plaza. It's the gateway. Deals start here. Contacts get made here. If you know how to look, this entire district feeds the black market."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"So… we're already inside it?"
Oscar's grin deepened.
"Welcome to the heart of it."
Stephanie blinked, momentarily speechless as realization settled. The dazzling spectacle around them suddenly seemed layered with hidden intent — every passerby a potential broker, every glowing sign possibly masking coded communication.
Excitement mixed with apprehension again, but this time the thrill outweighed the fear.
Adventure rarely announced itself politely.
Oscar nudged her gently.
"Come on. Let's see what opportunities tonight decides to hand us."
Together they stepped forward into the neon tide, unaware of the watchers already beginning to align their paths.
And somewhere above the city, unseen players adjusted their pieces accordingly.