Cool air hit him first. It was filtered and faintly citrus-scented. The lighting inside was a soft, indirect glow that made everyone's skin look good and nobody's nerves feel out of place. Music pulsed from somewhere deeper in, the kind of ambient rhythm that encouraged small talk but discouraged dancing.
Kez kept walking like he belonged, like he had been here before and maybe even hated it. That was the trick. Confidence without eagerness. Eagerness was for people still waiting to be invited.
A server floated past on a near-silent mag disc, offering a tray of drinks that looked like polished gemstones. Kez took one. He swirled it once but didn't sip. He wasn't really a drinker.
The crowd had spread across three tiers. He could see them through the transparent floors: networking clumps, radiant smiles, and quiet recalculations happening behind half-lowered eyes. It wasn't a party. It was an audition with better music.
And somewhere and sometimes later in this building, the main story will begin. Kez needed to find the main characters before that happened.
He slipped to the edge of the room, letting his gaze drift while pretending to check his messages. A girl brushed past him, eyes shadowed black, silver streaks running through her hair, and a laugh that cut through a dozen conversations. Not her.
Two men were arguing softly near the drink station, one of them gesturing with three fingers and a tight frown. Still not the crowd.
Then someone bumped into him.
"Sorry," said a voice, and Kez looked up to see a guy about his age. Slightly taller, dressed in a velvet jacket that shimmered a little too brightly under the lights. His hair was slicked back with so much product it looked waterproof, and his smile was already locked in place before Kez even responded.
"I try to make an impression," the guy said, like it was both a philosophy and a public service. "Life's short. Might as well arrive with style."
Kez gave a polite nod. "No worries."
"I'm Ley," the guy added, extending a hand. "Ley Quinston. Not as fancy as it sounds. Or maybe exactly as fancy."
Kez laughed lightly and shook his hand with an easy, open gesture. "Dex."
'Who the fuck is this guy?'
"Dex," Ley repeated, tilting his head like he was already thinking about how the name would look on a security badge. "Short. Mysterious. I can work with that."
Kez gave a slight smile. "And Quinston. That one sounds... old money."
Ley gave an exaggerated wince, like Kez had caught him doing something mildly embarrassing. "Yeah, unfortunately. I didn't choose it. But hey, they might be right, so who am I to correct them? Hahaha."
'Wow. This bastard is more shameless than me.'
Ley's grin didn't waver. "So, what's your angle? You looking to be impressed or to take notes?"
Kez took a small sip of his drink before answering. "Depends on who's worth noting."
Ley gave a little laugh, like that answer confirmed something he already suspected. "Good. I can't stand the ones who show up wide-eyed, like they're on a school trip. You've got presence."
Kez tilted his head slightly. "You seem comfortable here."
Ley raised his glass a little. "I should be. I've been in rooms like this since I could walk. Defense summits, banquets, fundraisers... If there were name tags and quiet power struggles, I was there."
"Sounds formative," Kez said.
Ley smiled. "It was. You pick up things. How people move. Who they orbit. What silence really means."
Kez nodded, letting him talk.
And then the room changed.
It wasn't a sound, exactly. More like a thinning of air, a subtle drop in volume that passed through the crowd like someone had dialed down the background buzz by instinct. Conversations softened. Bodies shifted. Glasses paused mid-air.
Kez glanced toward the far side of the hall, past the slow arc of the floating drink trays and the tiers of glass flooring.
They had arrived.
A small group — no more than four — had stepped through a security-sealed panel that hadn't even been visible moments before. The kind of entrance that wasn't meant for show but still demanded attention. Two walked in front, older, not ancient, but with the kind of postural gravity that said they hadn't needed to introduce themselves in a decade. Behind them, flanking slightly apart, were two younger figures — one laughing at something the other said, but already scanning the room like they owned it.
Ley turned, caught it too, and adjusted his collar out of pure reflex.
"Well," he muttered, "looks like the main characters just arrived."
Kez didn't move. Just watched. Ley wasn't wrong. These people actually were the main characters.
They stepped deeper into the room, cutting through the center like the party had always been theirs and everyone else was temporary.
There were four of them, and even without context, the symmetry was obvious. They didn't walk like a group. They moved like a set piece — each one distinct, perfectly placed.
Cael Sorein was in front. Tall, razor-thin, with skin like old ivory and silver implants faintly etched along the line of his jaw and the curve behind his ear — not decorative, but surgical. He had a nasty smile on his face. His coat, deep crimson with a muted sheen, trailed behind him like something ceremonial, though there were no insignias, no titles. He didn't really look at anyone. His gaze was fixed forward, and yet it felt like he saw through the entire room.
'This guy looks exactly how I imagined him to be.'
Next to him was Eva Sol, laughing softly at something only she seemed to find amusing. Her hair shimmered in metallic copper waves, styled to flow but never stray. Her eyes glowed faintly with mod-glam overlays, catching every stray glint of light like they were designed to. Her dress, layered in programmable mesh, shifted through gradients of gold and champagne, never settling, never repeating. She moved like every step was a stage cue — graceful, knowing, effortless.
Kez had always thought she was overdescribed in the original text. Seeing her now, he understood why the author had tried and failed to make her sound real.
Behind them, walking a few steps apart, was Dren Talvek. His suit was precise, unbranded, pressed like it had never known a wrinkle. His face gave nothing away. No interest, no amusement. Just calm, controlled stillness. The kind that said he noticed everything and planned to say nothing about it. Not yet.
And then there was Yla Ferren.
Kez didn't remember her name right away, but the description was still burned into his memory. An unparalleled talent with a blade — silent, perfect, terrifying. Yla walked with no ornament, no flash. Just a long black coat, high-collared and lined in understated gold. Her black hair was pulled back tight, her posture loose and casual, but everything about her balance said she could kill someone before they realized she'd moved.
She didn't glow. She didn't glide. She didn't need to. Her beauty was sharp, exact, symmetrical in a way that felt dangerous. She didn't look at anyone, not out of arrogance, but because she didn't have to.
People looked at her.
Ley, beside him, looked at them with a complicated expression. Unbeknownst to him, Kez was currently displaying a very similar expression.
The four didn't speak. They didn't need to.
They stopped near the central platform — a shallow, elevated disc circled by glass pillars and soft lighting. No one had been standing there before. Now it was clear why.
Cael's gaze moved once, to the far end of the room, and the cluster of guests in that direction subtly repositioned themselves. Not out of fear. Not quite. Just reflex. A space opened around the group like the air itself had been told to make room.
Eva exchanged a few soft words with Yla, whose response was a barely perceptible nod. Dren stayed quiet, hands folded loosely in front of him, as if bored or waiting for the next directive. None of them were holding drinks. That would have implied they came here to mingle.
They didn't.
Kez watched the small interactions. The way Cael tilted his head at something someone said across the room. The slight narrowing of Eva's eyes when she spotted someone she didn't like. The way Yla's fingers flexed once before falling still again. Dren blinked maybe once every two minutes. The whole group stood like they were waiting for the next scene in a play only they had the script for.
Kez knew exactly what was happening. This was the moment the book described. The first public appearance of the Core Four. The future of TROP. The ones everyone else in the novel either wanted to impress, manipulate, or destroy.
And then, as if summoned by narrative itself, someone entered from the opposite side of the room.
Not with silence. Not with swagger. Just a perfectly timed pause between conversations, the kind of arrival you didn't notice until you realized the lighting shifted slightly and half the room had turned their head.
Jack.
He didn't walk like a politician or a soldier. He walked like gravity answered to him a little differently. No programmable threads, no styled glow — just a dark jacket that caught no light, a clean shirt, and boots worn just enough to say he hadn't been bred in orbit. His hair was slightly unkempt. Not charmingly tousled — just real.
But the moment he entered, the air changed.
Not all at once. Not loudly. Just inevitably.
Conversations faltered. Not from awe, but confusion. People looked without realizing they had turned. Even the Core Four shifted. Cael's smile thinned. Eva tilted her head, curious. Yla, for the first time, blinked. Dren stared longer than he had at anyone else.
'Maybe I would've been more impressed by him if not for our last encounter.'
Jack didn't acknowledge the shift. He didn't seem to notice it. That, of course, only made it worse. Or better. Depending on where you stood in the story.
He scanned the room once, calm but not detached — as if he were mapping it for a reason that hadn't arrived yet.
And then he kept walking. Not toward the Core Four. Not toward the drinks. Just forward, through the middle, like he had permission no one else had been given.
He moved through the center of the room, unhurried, gaze drifting over the decor, the lighting, the people. It wasn't that he didn't care. It was that none of it seemed to weigh on him.
Like someone who already knew where he stood.
The moment stretched. People stepped back without realizing it. Side conversations paused for just a second too long. Even the servers adjusted their glide paths.
It was subtle. Not orchestrated. But felt.Jack wasn't just impressive — he was ranked.
First.
First in the TROP admission trials. First by a margin no one had predicted. The kind of score that rewrote expectations across every department. It was all anyone had been whispering about for the past month.
And now, there he was.
The Core Four had turned, not all at once, but close enough.
Cael Sorein shifted his stance, one shoulder angling slightly forward, as if preparing for a conversation that might matter more than most. The nasty smile on his face was still there, but stretched thinner, like it had to share space with something sharper underneath.
Eva Sol's expression shifted too. Not surprise. Not awe. Just... interest. Her laughter stopped, and for once she didn't immediately resume it. She watched Jack like she was already thinking three steps ahead.
Dren Talvek didn't move. Didn't blink. But his posture tightened almost imperceptibly, like his internal systems had just flagged a variable worth tracking.
And Yla Ferren tilted her head just enough to break her perfectly balanced stillness. Her eyes followed Jack for exactly three seconds. No more. Then they returned to neutral, but her hand settled lightly against the seam of her coat — right where her weapon would be.
Jack didn't greet them. He didn't nod. He just glanced their way, held it for a half-second, and kept walking.
That, somehow, was worse.
The room slowly exhaled as he passed.
Kez watched it all unfold with quiet focus. This isn't just his story. This is gravity choosing sides.
Beside him, Ley finally spoke, voice low.
"So that's Jack..."
Kez didn't respond because he was watching the first line of the novel unfold — stripped of ink, stripped of context, and undeniably real.