The breeze had quieted. Just a whisper now, nudging the hem of Camille's gold-threaded jacket where it hung from the back of a nearby chair. City lights shimmered below, soft and infinite, like stars that had forgotten how to float.
I leaned on the balcony railing, still holding the burner to my ear.
"Because I…"
I breathed out.
"I think I finally know what I want to do—as World President."
Evelyn didn't speak right away. I heard the hum of her breath, steady and slow, like a gun held just before the trigger.
"Took you long enough," she said. "You've only had the job in your head for how long now?"
"Since I met Anthony."
"So? Enlighten me. What's the grand plan now boss?"
The corner of my mouth twitched. I kept my eyes on the skyline.
"It's not about revenge anymore. I'm not trying to humiliate the elite. I'm not chasing spite. That's what I would have done initially. But I've grown past that."
"You sure? Because you did just torch a pair of careers on live television like it was performance art."
"That was about protecting Camille," I said. "Not vengeance."
A pause. The sound of distant traffic. I could hear Evelyn shifting, perhaps leaning against something.
"Okay," she said slowly. "So what is it about, then?"
I exhaled, slow.
"It's about the borders. Not physical ones. The invisible ones. Ranks. Roles. Class. Hierarchy masquerading as merit. We all know the system's broken—"
"No argument there."
"—but we keep pretending it works because dismantling it sounds worse. Because people are scared. Cynical. Convinced that fixing it is impossible."
"You want to prove them wrong."
"I want to break the illusion. That hierarchy is justice. That status is morality. That power always deserves to rule."
"You realize how insane that sounds."
"It'll take more than sabotage. More than chaos. I've done that already. What we need is legitimacy. A new order built in daylight. Not the shadows."
"So your first decree as World President would be to tackle to issue of rank discrimination?"
"Only the one at the top could destroy the border between ranks."
Evelyn made a soft, strangled noise. "That's great and all, future World President, but riddle me this—why the hell did you blow your cover on live television? Especially since we're still fighting to make you World President!"
I scratched the back of my neck, a little sheepish.
"That part… wasn't exactly planned."
"You think?"
"I saw Camille getting cornered and—I just acted. No mask. No script. It felt right."
She sighed. A long, exasperated exhale.
"God help me, I'm following a golden himbo into global reform."
"You always knew I had dramatic tendencies."
"I knew you were reckless. But this? This is reckless with a marketing budget."
There was warmth behind her sarcasm now. I could hear the old loyalty, the tired affection.
"If you're serious about this," she said, "you'll need more than style and speeches. You'll need structure. Alliances. A foundation that can't be toppled by the next scandal."
"I know. That's why I started here. The interview—it wasn't just an impulse. It was a catalyst. Now that the world's watching, I'm going to make sure they keep watching. Stick around, Evelyn. You're going to be part of history."
I could feel the coldness behind the phone call. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere. Someone has to keep you from bedazzling the constitution."
I smiled. The call ended.
Inside, Camille's penthouse glowed with low, golden light. She was already back in the living room when I walked in, barefoot, curls loosely pinned, draped in something that could've been a robe or a designer shawl. Either way, it shimmered.
"How's our favorite shadow operative?" she asked, settling onto the couch with a mug in hand.
"She basically called me an idiot."
"That's basically love."
I sat beside her. The tension in my spine had loosened, if only a little.
"So," she said, raising an eyebrow, "Rank discrimination, huh?"
I blinked. "You heard that?"
"Thin walls. Also, you project when you're being dramatic."
"Still think I'm overreaching?"
"Absolutely. Though, I do understand how it is impacting individuals."
Before I could respond, something felt off.
My hand moved to my pocket, where my phone buzzed earlier. I pulled it out. Checked the message from Sienna again.
Please be careful.
Nothing after that.
Camille noticed the shift in my expression. "She didn't reply?"
I shook my head. "Three dots appeared. Then vanished."
Camille frowned. "Want me to call her?"
I nodded.
She stood, crossed the room with graceful urgency, and dialed.
No answer.
I didn't like that.
I dialed Alexis. She picked up on the second ring, voice muffled. "Hullo?"
"Alexis. Is Sienna with you?"
"Was. Like fifteen minutes ago? Said she was getting snacks."
"Where exactly?"
"Corner store a block down?"
I stood. Every nerve in my body went still.
"It shouldn't take this long. She should've responded."
Camille caught the change in my posture. She was already moving—phone in hand, typing fast, pulling favors. Her way of helping was sleek, precise, quiet.
My Instinct skill was telling me that something was off, but soon my burner phoner rang.
Only a few people had this number.
I answered.
"Anthony?"
His voice was low, steady, but tight.
"Boss… I think I see Ms. Sienna being transported onto a ship."
My blood ran cold.
I didn't hesitate.
"Tell me everything."