The air inside the penthouse was still—too still for morning. No one rushed. No one yawned. No clinking dishes, no chatter. Every movement was intentional.
The girls were up before dawn, moving like breath through the rooms. Quiet and efficient. They'd done this drill every morning for the last eight weeks, but today it was real.
Regg moved through the hallway, already dressed in the standard grey-and-navy of London Technologies. She didn't speak, but Madi caught the slight tilt of her head—on schedule. In the kitchen, Juliette poured a single shot of espresso, black. No sugar. They weren't feeding nerves. They were feeding control.
The house smelled faintly of sterile lavender. Everything personal had been stripped out. No photos. No signature scents. Only government-approved meal packs and business-issue toiletries lined the cupboards. Even the fridge looked like it belonged to a data analyst—not three infiltrators breaking into the world's most secure tech empire.
Madi triple-checked the internal ID badge attached to her lapel. Her alias: Elena Wray. Birth certificate. Online presence. Academic records. All buried deep in the net, placed months before today.
Juliette pulled on her coat without looking in the mirror. Vanity was a weakness. Precision was currency.
Oma stood by the apartment door, tablet in hand, watching the feed from the underground garage. The Auto-Vanta was approaching. She didn't say a word. Just held the screen up. Regg nodded once and turned to the others.
"This is it," she said, voice even.
Iffy, barefoot in the corner of the living room, braided her hair in tight coils. "Get in. Get out. Don't flirt with fate."
"Don't flirt with anyone," Madi replied dryly. "Especially not Lior Veyne."
Regg didn't smile. But the tension in her jaw softened slightly.
Shoes on. Files tucked. Jackets fastened. One by one, they passed through the scanner by the door—a small custom unit they'd built themselves to ensure they weren't carrying any traceable tags or biochips.
Juliette was the last to step out. She looked over her shoulder, just for a second. Not nostalgia—calibration. We leave no part of ourselves behind.
Outside, the Vanta waited. London Conglomerate fleet class. AI-driven. Clean tags.
The doors shut. The city rolled by, grey and gold and indifferent.
No words.
No nerves.
Only mission.
---
The tower of the London Conglomerate loomed over the city like a monument to control—black glass, no logo, no name. The kind of building you didn't ask about. The kind of building that watched you before you ever saw it.
The Vanta slipped through the private underground gate after a silent biometric scan. A green flash. The gate obeyed.
Inside the Vanta, tension hummed beneath the girls' composed silence. This was no longer the planning stage. This was the front line.
Regg sat upright, hands on her lap, expression unreadable. She wore a power-cut blazer and matte lipstick that said I'm not here to impress you—I'm here to replace you.
Madi was beside her, calm but razor-focused. No nerves, no hesitation. She'd memorized the employee map, the internal structure, even the rumored shifts in management. Every breath was calculated.
Juliette checked her ID badge once. A flick of the wrist. Minimal motion. The name on the tag wasn't hers—but the energy? Pure Juliette. Too sharp to miss.
The elevator from the car park brought them into the heart of London Conglomerate's Intelligence Wing—Floor 17.
No signs. No labels. Just a black-marble hallway lit by discreet lights in the ceiling and lined with cameras pretending not to exist.
Waiting for them, already assessing, was Delilah Cross.
In a pencil skirt and crisp shirt, she was flawless. Her posture, her memory, her control. Her smile said Welcome. Her eyes said I see through you.
"You're early," Delilah noted, her voice not quite warm.
"We move on efficiency," Regg replied. No smile.
Delilah nodded, handed each of them a new clearance card, and turned on her heels. "Come."
They followed, stepping in sync, no chatter, no delay. Floors of data glass reflected them from above, but the hallway held no echo. It was a vacuum of sound.
Madi's eyes subtly traced the lines of hidden surveillance—she caught two wall panels that didn't match, likely cloaked scanners. Juliette noticed the mirrored corner ahead—perfect for blind-spot observation. A test, maybe.
They passed a sealed security door. Delilah keyed in a pattern—swift, habitual. The door hissed open.
Inside: the central work floor of the London Conglomerate's Systems Division—one of the more discreet wings, but quietly essential.
Sleek desks. Transparent data walls. Everyone moved like they knew they were being watched.
And watching them was Miles Ferrow.
Leaning slightly against a desk, dressed like he'd just left a Vogue shoot, he offered a lazy smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You must be the new girls from the analytics pool."
Regg nodded once.
"I'm Miles. PR, employee integration, corporate liaison—basically the guy who explains why this place isn't a haunted house."
Juliette raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it?"
He smiled at her like he'd been waiting for someone to ask that.
Delilah didn't wait for further pleasantries. She passed him a digital clipboard and turned away. She'd done her job. They were his now.
Miles watched her go, then turned back to the girls. "Follow me. Floor 17's where the secrets begin. Try not to breathe too loud."
They walked.
Above them, a camera pivoted softly, and several floors up—in a sealed surveillance room called The Nest—Corin Draed sat watching.
Fingers steepled. Eyes narrowed.
Three clean entries. Perfect digital histories. No red flags.
Still... he frowned.
Too clean.
He zoomed in on Juliette. Then Regg. Then Madi.
His voice was quiet, flat.
"Pull their onboarding comms. Match tone, syntax, micro-tells. And cross-check with red-flag behavioral archives from Triad servers."
The assistant beside him blinked. "Sir, those archives were sealed three years ago."
Corin didn't look away from the screen.
"Unseal them."
And in that moment—somewhere deep in the steel belly of the London Conglomerate—the quiet war began.
---
The 17th floor of the London Conglomerate was unlike the others—polished obsidian floors, glass-panelled walls, and lights that hummed with clinical precision. No laughter. No echoes. Just quiet steps and colder stares.
The elevator gave a soft chime.
Madi stepped out first, posture straight, lanyard swinging. Regg followed, a second behind, subtle confidence wrapped in her stride. Juliette came last, her expression unreadable, composed like fine marble.
Their new identities were buried beneath the Conglomerate's onboarding paperwork, and Delilah Cross herself had cleared them. On file, they were brilliant, quiet, and boring—the perfect kind of unnoticed.
A tall man in rimless glasses greeted them with the tone of someone who'd already read too many files.
"Welcome to the Data Security Sector. I'm Ian. Follow me."
They were led through a corridor that narrowed as it curved, deeper into the heart of the floor. Screens blinked from every wall, and the employees they passed didn't speak—they scanned. Always scanning.
At the center of the 17th was a circular nerve-core: a transparent server vault encased in smart glass, its walls alive with blue light and pulsing energy like a beating heart. Around it, desks formed an arc.
Madi's station was closest to the vault. She sat without hesitation. Her system logged in with a soft chime—her screen opening to internal diagnostics of the Conglomerate's threat-response modules. Her hands moved fast, nails clicking against the keyboard in soft rhythm.
But not too fast.
A real analyst hesitated sometimes. She mimicked it to the detail.
Regg was positioned slightly behind her, facing a double-screen system filled with interface logs—hundreds of lines of timestamped, encrypted communication. Her task: flag anomalies.
The irony made her lip twitch slightly.
Juliette's desk was closest to the observation corridor. Her screen displayed patch code—hundreds of lines, each a potential security key to a firewall deeper than most corporations even knew existed. Her eyes moved methodically, quietly tracing errors with a faint crease in her brow.
No talking.
No signaling.
Their teamwork ran under the skin. Smooth. Unspoken.
They had trained for this.
Yet… they could feel it.
The Eyes.
Not just cameras—awareness. Invisible heat in the air, like static before a storm.
Far above, buried in the blackened surveillance tier known only to the highest clearance, Corin Draed sat watching. Behind him, over a dozen holo-feeds lined the wall—each focused on one of the girls from a different angle.
His hands steepled beneath his chin.
"Pause screen," he said flatly.
The footage froze on Regg's fingers.
He studied the typing pattern—the rhythm, the sequence breaks, the natural flow that wasn't quite natural.
"Military precision," he murmured.
He snapped his fingers. One of his operatives stepped forward.
"Cross-match this cadence with archived training programs. Every agency—focus on special divisions."
"Yes, sir."
Another screen flickered to life beside him. A data stream opened—blacklisted identities. Cleared. Deleted. Forgotten.
He tapped one folder. Blank.
"Overlay this one against her facial structure."
The system worked, lines scanning.
Corin leaned back, one brow raised.
"Let's see if any ghosts still know how to bleed."
---
Back on 17, Madi didn't shift once. Her breath was steady, her posture pristine.
Juliette caught the attention of a man at the far end—a fellow analyst. He was watching too long. Just slightly. Enough to ping her internal radar.
She adjusted her screen subtly, as though confused by a line of code. She leaned back and muttered something to Regg about interface versions—just loud enough.
The man looked away, his attention redirected.
Hooked.
Regg didn't react, didn't thank her. She simply kept working. That was the rule.
They worked in silence for hours.
But the breakroom was another kind of battleground.
Juliette entered first. Stainless steel everything. A large fridge. Coffee machines humming. A woman in sleek heels stirring tea without blinking.
Juliette opened the fridge.
Her hand paused.
Black envelope. No name. No markings.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't grab it.
Just set her bottled water beside it, closed the fridge, and turned.
No reaction. Just silence. A smooth exit.
Only once she reached the hall and slipped it under her tablet case did her lips part slightly.
---
High above, Corin smiled.
He had eyes everywhere. But it was the small reactions that told him everything.
"She saw it," he said quietly.
"And she chose not to react."
He tapped his pen against the edge of the console.
"They're better than I thought."
He stared at the frozen frame of Juliette walking away.
"But not invisible.
---
The surveillance wing of the London Conglomerate was quiet in the way high-security zones often are—buzzing silently with tension beneath pristine surfaces. Holo-displays floated above sleek, matte black desks. Every screen flickered with a stream of live footage: boardrooms, corridors, code grids, biometric heatmaps.
Regg sat poised behind one of them. Her expression was glass—perfectly calm, eyes slightly narrowed in interest. She was positioned beside Madi, who subtly ran diagnostics with the confidence of someone who could dismantle and rebuild the system in her sleep. Juliette walked in a few beats later, a comms folder tucked neatly under her arm, her heels silent against the floor.
Everything about them—hair tucked just right, tone even, body language practiced—spoke of control. They didn't fidget. They didn't make friends. They were three shadows with ID tags, passing through with just enough presence to be remembered—but not questioned.
High above them, Corin watched from the mezzanine—a glass panel balcony that overlooked the entire surveillance bay. His arms folded, face unreadable. The tech grid in front of him filtered real-time employee data.
"They're clean," his assistant noted. "No red flags. Movement matches files."
Corin said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the grid below, on them.
He didn't see cracks.
And that was the crack.
---
Back at the penthouse, the air was calmer—but no less calculated.
Ether stood by the window, fingers toying with a silver lighter, eyes on the street below. Iffy and Tessie were spread out across the living area floor, surrounded by blueprints and digital scans of the London Conglomerate's internal architecture. Pesha scrolled through facial recognition archives on her laptop, tagging anyone new that popped up.
Debby walked in from the kitchen, tossing a protein bar to Vee, who caught it mid-conversation.
"They're in," Vee said. "No alarms, no pings. Corin's watching, though."
"He's always watching," murmured Oma from the hallway. She had a towel wrapped around her head, having just stepped out of a shower, but her voice was crisp—her mind wired in.
Ann sat at the edge of the couch, quiet but tracking everything. Her notebook sat open on her lap, filled with timelines and behavior markers. Patterns. Weak spots.
They weren't just waiting—they were working. While three of their own danced past the jaws of London Conglomerate, the rest were tightening the net from the outside.
Juliette's voice crackled briefly through comms.
"We've entered the Surveillance Main. Cameras are tracking perimeters. We're ghosting."
"Roger," Ether replied, "Penthouse has eyes on the eyes."
Silence fell. Just for a beat.
Tessie whispered, "Do you think they know?"
Ether turned from the window, finally stepping away. Her silver lighter clicked shut as she dropped it into the glass tray on the shelf beside her. She didn't answer Tessie's question—didn't need to. That one cryptic line had already shifted the atmosphere.
Pesha looked up from her laptop, raising a brow. "You're being poetic again," she said, tone dry.
"Or literal," said Debby, now pacing slowly across the floor. Her socks made no sound on the wood, but every movement was deliberate—like a silent metronome that the rest of the room unconsciously followed.
Tessie sat upright, brows furrowed. "We still don't know who planted that audio fragment last week," she said. "The one inside the maintenance logs. It wasn't random."
"It was tagged with a Crescent Mark," Ann muttered from her seat, flipping a page in her spiral notebook. "We've only seen that symbol twice."
"Same symbol embedded in the blackbox thread Juliette sent last night," Iffy added, tapping quickly on her screen. "So it's being recycled, but cloaked differently every time."
Ether had already crossed the room, leaned over Iffy's shoulder now, eyes scanning. "Which means it's an internal system loop. Someone's creating noise inside the Conglomerate on purpose."
"Diversion?" Debby asked.
"Or signal," Oma answered quietly, leaning against the archway with a protein bar in hand, half-eaten. "Depends who it's meant for."
No one responded for a beat. The stillness returned—but not the kind that meant peace. The kind that meant gears were turning. Connections being mapped. Weapons, loaded.
Vee glanced toward the wide glass windows, the ones facing east toward the skyline where the London Conglomerate tower blinked in the distance. "If they're watching, then we're watching right back."
"Better," Ether said. "We're watching smarter."
The comms blinked once—just once—and then went still.
The three ghosts inside the lion's den were still silent.
But out here, the pride was awake.
---
The blue lighting in the Surveillance Division had dimmed by a fraction—subtle, but designed to signal the shift from day ops to night watch. It was nearly time. Most junior staff had begun to file out in quiet waves over the past twenty minutes, giving the floor a slightly emptier feel, though the grid was still humming with soft energy.
Regg didn't glance at the time. She didn't need to. Her mind had cataloged the precise moment they walked in—8:15 AM sharp—and had been tracking the tempo of the day like a conductor. Her fingers tapped slowly on the terminal pad, pretending to close out diagnostics while her real work happened behind a ghosted overlay.
Madi's screen looked busy—pings, scans, logs—but every visible command was meaningless fluff. The real code was running invisible. She was three steps deep into a side loop, trailing a surveillance ghost signature she'd discovered near one of the encrypted vault relays.
Juliette stood by the main interface hub, a data cube in her hand, her badge slotted perfectly into its reader. She looked like she was syncing analytics reports, but her eyes kept flicking to the reflective surface of the console. Watching. Calculating.
No words between them. They didn't need them.
Just one nod—small, sharp—from Regg.
Juliette blinked once, slow.
Madi's fingers didn't stop typing, but her posture shifted by a centimeter. Ready.
6:45 PM.
Fifteen more minutes, and they'd clock out with the rest of the low-level swarm.
Unseen. Unnoticed. Untouched.
High above, behind smoked glass, Corin Draed hadn't moved from his post. He was alone now, no assistants, just him and the grid.
His eyes tracked a flicker of something—an imperceptible sync spike on one of the terminals below.
His jaw tightened.
He said nothing.
But down below, Regg lifted her chin a fraction, her lips curving into the ghost of a smirk.
They were flawless. But not silent.
Not to him.
---
The day inside the Conglomerate had dissolved into its final hour. Keycard logs slowed, the air thinned—offices grew quieter, shadows stretched longer.
The girls didn't rush.
They moved with precision, each step deliberate as they navigated the final corridor toward the glass exit.
Juliette tapped her wristwatch discreetly—encrypted signal logged.
"Exit sequence synced. Penthouse will mirror logs."
Madi gave a nod so slight it barely registered. Regg adjusted the strap on her bag, scanning the perimeter once.
That's when a door beside them clicked open.
It wasn't loud. Just a fraction too careless.
Inside, two men—clearly executive tier—stood over a monitor. The door hadn't shut completely.
Their voices were low, but sharp.
"Kaine wants the Vault flushed. Tonight." "And the Eyes?" "He said if they've missed it, burn them too."
The girls didn't pause. They didn't flinch. But Juliette's right hand subtly tightened over her folder.
As they turned the next bend, a young intern rushed past, arms full of clipped folders. One slipped, skimming across the floor toward Regg. She knelt, caught it fast.
"Thanks!" the intern chirped, all toothy smile and breathless charm.
Regg handed it over without a word. But not before she saw the open sheet inside.
A red line. Bold. Underlined twice.
"They're already inside."
The intern kept walking.
Madi's voice was low. Calm.
"We log this?" "No," Juliette answered, eyes straight ahead. "We remember it."
They didn't speak as they walked. Not in the elevator. Not through the glass corridor that led to the departure tier. Their footsteps were light, controlled. The energy had shifted just slightly—tightened. Like a string pulled one notch sharper.
Outside, the sky had turned a deep cobalt. The London Conglomerate tower behind them glowed like a monolith, cold and humming. The air smelled faintly of ionized fuel and glass.
The Vanta pulled up precisely at the edge of the curb, headlights blinking once in silent recognition. No one else was around. Employees had staggered exits depending on division clearances. This was intentional. Quiet.
Juliette reached the Vanta first, her fingers brushing the sleek silver as the door slid open on cue. Madi stepped in right after her, her eyes doing one last sweep of the mirrored building behind them. Regg hesitated for half a breath, scanning the upper floors with a glance no one would notice—until her gaze locked on the mezzanine.
She didn't see anyone.
But she didn't have to.
She got into the Vanta, smooth and composed. The door sealed shut with a soft pressurized hiss.
Inside, the cabin lighting adjusted to their presence. No welcome voice. No destination confirmation. It already knew.
They sat in silence for the first full minute as the Vanta pulled away from the Conglomerate and glided into the main highway, disappearing into the veins of the city. Quiet streets, pale neon reflections in the windows, soft hum of high-grade machinery beneath their feet.
Only then did Madi finally speak.
"We need to talk about what we saw."
Juliette nodded, slow and certain. "Not here."
Regg didn't move. "Back at the house."
And that was it.
The Vanta kept moving, dark glass hiding them from the world. The city blurred around them as the three left the lion's den behind—with something it hadn't meant to give.
---
The penthouse had shifted into evening rhythm. Warm recessed lighting glowed across polished concrete floors, casting long shadows over the scattered blueprints, tech displays, and cooling mugs of untouched tea. The girls were quieter now—but not idle.
Ann was reclined in the corner, syncing updates from the infiltration team onto a secure node, while Debby stood by the digital board, highlighting a sector flagged earlier in the day. Iffy adjusted a signal boost connected to their internal comms channel, sharp eyes checking for irregularities in outbound data.
Ether sat curled on the arm of the couch, scrolling silently through a directory of Kaine's board members. Her gaze was unreadable. Vee walked past her with a tablet in one hand and a soft "They're ten minutes out," tossed casually over her shoulder.
"They'll be fine," Pesha said, not bothering to look up from her screen.
No one doubted it.
---
The Auto Vanta pulled up at the base of the penthouse high-rise at exactly 7:42 PM, its doors gliding open in smooth, noiseless precision. Regg stepped out first, her jacket draped casually over her shoulder. Madi followed, her hair pulled back into a slick tail, eyes scanning the street as though out of habit. Juliette came last, expression blank, but every inch of her radiating calculation.
The building's security AI already had the door open before they reached it. The glass parted, swallowing them into the quiet hum of the lobby.
Nothing was said.
Until the elevator doors closed around them.
"That clipboard," Regg muttered under her breath. "Did either of you see it?"
Madi gave the faintest nod. "Lower-level clearance... but that name was in red."
Juliette leaned back against the mirrored wall. "And the phrase?"
Regg's tone was clipped. "Written like an internal memo, but disguised. Meant to be glanced at. Not read."
They said nothing else.
Because there was nothing to panic about.
They were already home.
The elevator opened directly into the penthouse's private vestibule. The moment the girls stepped in, the air shifted—warmer, more familiar, like a breath of relief after being on high alert. The rest of the girls were lounging in the main room, and when they heard the elevator, heads lifted, eyes sharp but quickly softening.
Mia shot them a quick, curious glance. "So? How'd it go?"
Regg flopped onto the couch, kicking off her shoes with a quick, exaggerated motion. "The usual," she said, a little too casual. "Quiet. Too quiet. Everything's smooth."
Juliette followed, tossing her bag to the side and making a beeline for the kitchen. "Nothing to freak out about."
Madi, standing at the door, scanned the room for a second. "Except Corin's got an eye on us. That's always fun." She shot a quick, dry look toward the others, then slid her phone from her pocket, scrolling without a word.
Pesha, sprawled on the couch with a laptop open in front of her, flicked her eyes toward Madi. "That's the fun part, huh?" she teased, leaning back like she'd been waiting for something to be said.
"Yeah, if by 'fun' you mean the creepy, I-would-rather-not-have-his-eyes-on-me kind of way," Madi replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm, before tossing her phone on the counter.
There was a beat of silence as everyone relaxed a little more, but the tension stayed simmering in the air, like a low hum of readiness. Mia raised an eyebrow at them. "So… what's next?"
Regg stretched out on the couch, folding her arms behind her head. "Same as always," she said with a shrug. "We keep an eye on everything, wait for them to slip."
Juliette pulled open the fridge, grabbing a drink. "And pray they don't notice we're already inside," she added, cracking the can open. The fizz was a sharp sound in the otherwise quiet room.
The other girls nodded in agreement, their expressions quiet but full of intent. They weren't just waiting around; they were all tuned into the same wavelength, their thoughts already ahead, scanning for the next move.
"You guys ready to get some food?" Regg grinned lazily, her eyes flicking from one girl to the next. "Or should we get to work?"
The question hung in the air like an open invitation.
"You know, I've been thinking it's high time for a break," Mia said, stretching like a cat about to do absolutely nothing useful.
"Finally," Vee groaned, slumping deeper into the couch. "I thought you were gonna suggest we decode satellite feeds for fun."
"I considered it," Mia replied, "but then I remembered I love myself."
"I don't know," Madi said from the armrest, eyeing her tablet. "I kinda want to dissect that route Corin used for his exits."
"Babe," Tessie interrupted, waving her hands dramatically, "we just risked our lives and flawless brows infiltrating hell. Can we not bring up that man while my blood pressure is still above sea level?"
"Seconded," Ether said from the kitchen doorway, one hand nursing a mug, the other rubbing her temple. "My brain's still running analytics in the background like a cursed AI."
Regg chuckled, plopping onto the edge of the coffee table, her voice lighter than usual. "Okay. What do you want then? Food? Wine? Soft lighting? Blood sacrifice?"
"Don't tempt me," Oma muttered, emerging from a corner with her arms full of blankets. "Some of y'all would look good tied to a ritual circle."
"You've been watching too many true crime reels," Iffy said, catching a pillow Oma tossed at her.
"Alright, no sacrifices," Ann chimed in, pushing her glasses up and scanning the room like a teacher with too much love and not enough patience. "But if anyone mentions spreadsheets again, I swear I'll turn off the Wi-Fi."
"You wouldn't," Pesha gasped, clutching her device like it was her firstborn.
"Try me," Ann grinned.
Juliette leaned her head against the back of the couch, eyes half-closed. "This is how we sound after surviving a high-level infiltration?"
"Better this than panic," Debby murmured, already halfway into a snack, feet up like she'd lived there for years.
"Alright, so what's the move?" Regg asked again, raising a brow. "Actual food? Or chaos?"
Tessie sat up with a sparkle in her eyes. "Chaos and food. I say we get dressed and hit that underground lounge Mia mentioned last week. Glitter walls. No cameras. And possibly someone named Enzo."
Mia gasped. "I love that place."
"Of course you do," Ether sighed.
"Ugh, do we have to go out?" Oma whined, burying herself under the blanket now. "Can't we just throw on a moody playlist and binge something where no one dies?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Tessie grinned.
"I agree with the blanket burrito," Iffy said, settling beside Oma.
Ann raised a brow. "So we've got a glitter rave, a hibernation cult, and three snack goblins with commitment issues."
"Don't forget the dumplings," Pesha added. "I ordered extra."
Madi leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Honestly, I could use the night off. Just... this. Here. You all. No plotting. No creeping. Just breathing."
For a beat, no one spoke. It was soft. Real.
Then Debby stood up, lifting her juice like a glass of champagne. "To bad bitches with zero chill and a penthouse full of problems."
"To us," they all echoed, drinks raised, eyes gleaming.
And just like that, the war outside paused.
Juliette pointed at Debby. "Did you just toast with juice?"
"It's pomegranate. That's practically wine's little cousin," Debby shrugged.
"You're delusional," Tessie said, digging through a snack bag like it owed her money. "You know what? Let's do something legendary. Let's prank-call Corin."
Everyone froze.
Then Vee cracked up. "Girl, what?! You tryna get us assassinated before breakfast?"
"Do you even have his number?" Mia asked.
"I can get it," Pesha offered with that dangerous glint in her eye—the one that said she absolutely could and probably had it already.
"Please don't," Ether groaned, flopping onto the couch. "I finally stopped hearing his voice in my trauma dreams."
"I say we hack the company's playlist again," Regg smirked. "Replace every motivational speech with 'Barbie Girl.'"
"Last time you did that, HR had a meeting on 'psychological warfare,'" Madi reminded her.
"Oh yeah. Worth it."
Oma suddenly popped up from under her blanket fortress. "Wait. Did anyone feed the AI plant?"
Dead silence.
Ann blinked. "The what now?"
"The one Juliette programmed to send passive-aggressive reminders," Oma said, already standing. "It insulted me this morning because I forgot to water it."
"I taught it how to mimic your tone," Juliette admitted, sipping from her tea.
"I knew it sounded like me!" Oma snapped. "It told me I was 'a hydration hypocrite.'"
Laughter exploded around the room. Even Madi laughed—like, real laughed—head thrown back.
"You people are deranged," Ann said, grinning despite herself.
Tessie smirks. "Still funny how we got the company's Auto-Vanta working for us without anyone knowing."
Iffy doesn't even look up. "Not funny. Genius."
Juliette, leaning against the doorway with a half-eaten granola bar: "Genius that'll get us burned if anyone finds out."
Ann shrugs. "Only if you tell them."
Regg sits, eyes wide in mock horror. "Never. I treat Vanta better than most people treat their relationships."
Debby chuckles. "As you should. That thing is more loyal than half the board members."
Madi raises a brow. "Only because of the override ghost I slipped into its route logic. If someone updates its firmware, we're toast."
"Noted," Pesha says, sipping water. "So basically, rules of the Vanta?"
Juliette ticks them off on her fingers:
"One, don't say anything you wouldn't say in a confessional booth.
Two, no accessing external networks while inside.
Three, no names—real, fake, or flirty.
Four, treat her like a lady. She's listening."
Oma raises her bottle in a toast. "To our sweet, obedient Auto-Vanta. May she stay stupid in all the right places."
Mia: "And smart in all the right ones."
They clink bottle to granola bar and let the night go quiet again, save for the quiet, comforting beep of Vanta locking itself down outside.
---
Later That Night…
The penthouse slowly dimmed, lights transitioning to that moody gold warmth. The chatter had softened. Bodies stretched out over couches, tangled in throw blankets and oversized tees.
Vee stood in the kitchen, nursing the last of the tea. Mia leaned against the counter beside her, yawning dramatically.
"Think we'll ever be normal?" Mia asked.
"No," Vee said instantly. "And if we ever try, slap me."
"Copy that."
In the hallway, Regg paused to listen—soft music, the sound of distant giggles, someone whispering something about dumplings. She let herself breathe.
One by one, lights went off. Someone put on a lo-fi playlist. Iffy dropped onto her bed like gravity had tripled. Pesha slept with her laptop open—half a spreadsheet, half a romcom. Juliette left a note in their shared thread: Woke up breathing. Mission accomplished.
Ether checked the front locks, even though they'd been locked by Vanta hours ago.
Madi adjusted the blinds before curling into bed. "Still too bright," she whispered.
Tessie tossed a final pillow, yelled "Goodnight, you paranoid icons!" and disappeared into her room.
.
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued....