EVE POV
The cool night air of Jorgen City was a relief after the recycled, butter-scented atmosphere of the theater. The skyline was a jagged crown of neon blue and white, but down on the sidewalk, it was just us—two teenagers walking home under the hum of flickering streetlights.
Adam was still carrying himself with that rigid, "I am definitely not thinking about what just happened" posture. He had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze fixed on the pavement about three feet in front of him. Every few steps, his fingers would twitch, and I knew he was still feeling the phantom weight of that five-dollar bill.
"So," I started, leaning into his space with a grin that I knew was getting under his skin. "You think she's still at the theater, or do you think she's already started the 'I Met a Prince' fan club?"
Adam's jaw tightened. "She was hyperactive, Eve. Her cognitive functions were clearly overridden by a lack of situational awareness. It wasn't a 'meeting.' It was a collision."
"A collision of destiny," I sang, spinning around a lamppost. I stopped in front of him, walking backward so I could watch his face. "Come on, Goldie. You can admit it. You liked it. The way she looked at you like you were the main character of a romance novel? The way she touched your 'silk' shirt?"
"It is silk," he muttered, finally looking up. The flush from the lobby hadn't entirely vanished; it had just settled into a faint, warm glow on his cheekbones. "And I didn't 'like' it. I was unprepared for a non-combative physical engagement. My sensors were... misaligned."
"Your 'sensors' were blushing, Adam. I saw them." I laughed, the sound echoing off the quiet storefronts. "I've seen you take down a training drone in point-four seconds, but one girl in a baggy hoodie and a messy bun turns you into a stuttering mess? It's embarrassing. I'm embarrassed for our entire genetic line."
Adam stepped around me, picking up the pace. "She was highly illogical. She gave me currency for a commodity that was already paid for. From a socio-economic standpoint, her behavior was erratic."
"From a human standpoint, she thought you were hot," I countered, catching up to him and nudging his shoulder with mine. "And honestly, the teal hair was a vibe. She looked like a little blue cloud. A loud, anxious, very blue cloud."
We turned the corner onto the main strip leading toward the hotel. The city was quieter than usual, likely due to those news reports about the disappearances, but for us, it just felt peaceful. No jars, no needles, no Old Man hovering over a monitor. Just the sound of our boots on the concrete and the low hum of the city's power grid.
"We don't even know her name," Adam said after a long silence. His voice was quieter now, less defensive.
"Does it matter? You're 'Mister Prince' and 'Goldie' now. That's your identity. Accept it." I reached out and flicked his ear. "I bet she's telling her friend Becky all about the 'Angel' she tackled. You're going to be a legend in the local high schools."
"I hope not," he sighed, but he didn't sound as annoyed as he wanted to. He pulled the five-dollar bill out of his pocket and looked at it again. The crumpled paper looked ridiculous in his hand—this masterpiece of Divine Light holding a piece of human pocket-change like it was a holy relic.
"Are you going to frame it?" I teased.
"I am going to keep it as a reminder to maintain my peripheral awareness," he said, though he tucked it carefully into his wallet instead of throwing it away.
"Sure, Goldie. Sure."
We reached the entrance of the hotel. The doorman gave us a nod—he'd seen the black card the Old Man used, so he treated us like royalty, which only made the "Prince" jokes in my head funnier. We rode the elevator up in silence, the numbers ticking up toward the penthouse.
When the doors opened, the suite was dark, save for the soft, amber glow of the kitchen's nightlights. The Old Man was nowhere to be seen—probably crashed out in his room after a day of dealing with Jorgen City's digital bureaucracy. It was past 10:00 PM. We were late by twelve minutes.
"We're dead," I whispered, tiptoeing toward the kitchen.
"The Father is likely asleep," Adam whispered back, though he was moving with the stealth of an assassin. "If we don't wake him, the curfew violation might be overlooked."
I made it to the fridge and pulled it open. The light spilled out into the dark kitchen, illuminating three neat containers on the middle shelf. A sticky note was plastered to the top one in the Old Man's messy, hurried handwriting:
YOU'RE LATE. EAT YOUR DINNER AND GO TO BED. WE LEAVE FOR THE COASTAL SURVEY AT DAWN. - KWAME
I pulled out the containers. It was some kind of roasted chicken with vegetables, still smelling faintly of herbs even through the plastic.
"He's not even mad," I said, handing a container to Adam. "He just fed us. I think the city air is making him soft."
Adam took the food, staring at the note. "He isn't soft, Eve. He's preoccupied. The coastal survey isn't just a 'trip.' He's looking for the source of those disappearances."
"Let him look," I said, hopping up onto the kitchen counter and opening my dinner. I picked up a piece of chicken with my fingers, ignoring the fork. "Tonight was about movies and blue-haired girls. Tomorrow can be about mysteries and the Council."
Adam leaned against the counter next to me, finally opening his own container. He looked at the food, then out the window at the city lights. The gold in his eyes was dim now, relaxed.
"She called me an angel," he murmured, so softly I almost didn't hear it.
I snorted, nearly choking on a carrot. "Don't let it go to your head, Goldie. You're still a dork who can't handle a teenager."
"Eat your dinner, Eve."
"Yes, your Highness."
We sat there in the quiet kitchen, two weapons of mass destruction eating leftovers in the dark. For a moment, it didn't feel like we were "Masterpieces" or "Hybrids." It just felt like a Tuesday night. The fear of the Elders, the shadow of the Rift, and the arrogance of Jeremy Klice felt a million miles away.
I leaned my head against Adam's shoulder. He didn't move away. He just kept eating, his presence a steady, warm weight beside me.
"Hey, Adam?"
"Yes?"
"If we see her again... I'm totally telling her your name is Goldie."
"I will leave you at the coast, Eve. I mean it."
"Love you too, brother."
We finished our dinner in a comfortable, bickering silence, the kind only siblings who have spent thirty-six years in jars together can truly appreciate. The dark was still out there, waiting for morning, but for now, the hotel suite was a fortress. And in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder if June Miller—whoever she was—was looking at the moon and wondering where her 'Prince' had gone.
I hoped she was. Because the world was about to get very complicated, and I liked the idea that somewhere in this city, there was someone who just saw us as two pretty people who liked popcorn.