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Bonus chapter
In a building near the center of the capital that looked like it had been forgotten by the renovation budget, Director Nathan Graves sat at his desk with a secure phone pressed to his ear.
The building's exterior was deliberately unremarkable. Cracked facade, dated architecture, the kind of place you'd walk past without a second glance. Which was exactly the point, because inside those unremarkable walls was the headquarters of the Bureau of Internal Affairs, the most powerful investigative body in the Republic of Valoria.
On the other end of the line was Chancellor Roland Thayer.
"What's your assessment of the Voss Industries situation?"
Graves had been expecting the call. He'd spent the past week preparing for it.
"Personally, I believe the technology belongs to Ethan Mercer."
"Don't lead with personal feelings, Director. Give me the reasoning."
Graves straightened in his chair. When the Chancellor corrected you, you adjusted.
"Sir, the Bureau has maintained surveillance on Voss Industries for years. I can state with certainty that the company has never established a research project in the field of nuclear fusion. Not ten years ago. Not five years ago. Not ever."
"The documentation presented at their press conference was fabricated. Our analysts have confirmed it. Backdated filings, shell-company patents, falsified laboratory logs. The entire binder was assembled within a seventy-two-hour window preceding the conference."
He paused to let that land.
"Furthermore, Bureau personnel recorded Adrian Voss traveling to the capital late at night, the same night the reactor transfer permit was signed by Vice Minister Conrad Whitfield. We have the travel records, the timestamps, and the security footage from the compound where the Whitfield family residence is located."
On the other end, the Chancellor was quiet. Graves could almost hear the gears turning.
From the reactor transfer to the fabricated press conference, the trail pointed in one direction: the Whitfield family. The Voss brothers were the hands. Edgar Whitfield was the brain. And Conrad Whitfield's signature on that transfer permit was the thread that connected all of it.
The Chancellor had suspected this for weeks. He just hadn't wanted to confirm it, because confirming it meant acknowledging that one of the most powerful political families in the Republic was actively sabotaging a national asset for personal leverage.
"And Mercer? What's the verification?"
"We've obtained statements from Dr. Hargrove, General Hale, and multiple researchers who were present at the military testing facility. All conclusions are consistent: Ethan Mercer is the inventor. Dr. Hargrove went further. He stated, on the record, that Mercer's knowledge of physics exceeds his own."
A long silence.
"Then the truth of this matter is settled."
"Director Graves."
"Sir."
"I'm placing Mercer's security under your direct authority. If this boy is what Hargrove says he is, his safety is a matter of national interest. Treat it accordingly."
Graves felt the weight of the order settle onto his shoulders.
"Understood, sir. The Bureau will ensure his safety."
After the call ended, Graves set down the phone and exhaled slowly. Conversations with the Chancellor always left his nervous system running about twenty percent higher than normal.
The Voss Industries situation, he'd already decided how to handle. Bureau operatives monitoring Ethan had reported that the kid was locked inside Hargrove's laboratory, building something. What it was, nobody knew. But given Ethan's track record, Graves was willing to bet it wasn't a school science project.
In two and a half months, the verification meeting would take place. If Ethan could prove the Voss plagiarism claim was fraud at that meeting, it would give Graves the public ammunition he needed to move against Voss Industries directly. And through Voss Industries, the thread would lead back to the Whitfield family.
The evidence Graves currently held wasn't quite enough to bring down a dynasty with Edgar Whitfield's connections. He needed something public. Something undeniable. Something that made the Whitfields' involvement so obvious that even their allies in the government couldn't cover for them.
Ethan Mercer's verification meeting could be that something.
Kid, whether we can cut this cancer out of the Republic depends on you.
Two months passed.
Inside the laboratory, Ethan worked. That was the simplest way to describe it, and it was also the most accurate. He ate when his body demanded it. Slept when his hands started shaking from exhaustion. Showered when the smell became a distraction. Every other waking hour was spent at the fabrication station, the testing rigs, or the assembly platform.
The Mark III was taking shape.
Outside the laboratory, the world kept turning.
At Ashford Prep, Thornton and Davenport had found a new way to cope with their professional destruction: doubling down. Thornton spent his days posting on social media, publicly accusing Ethan of shaming the school. Davenport went further, organizing an assembly specifically designed to use Ethan as a cautionary tale. The theme: "Learning from Negative Examples to Build a Better Ashford Prep." He used Ethan's name repeatedly, without shame, and tore into the kid's character like a man with nothing left to lose.
Because he was.
At the Holloway house, Frank and Linda waited. Both knew Ethan was at a critical stage and neither dared to call. Linda channeled her anxiety into cooking, which meant the freezer was packed with enough meals to feed a small army. Frank channeled his into home repairs, which meant the house had never been in better shape.
Natalie came home a few times. Seeing her father unemployed again, she cried, cursed Ethan for being "a failure who drags everyone down," and left. The cycle was becoming predictable.
At the Bureau, Graves's operatives continued building their case against Voss Industries. They also quietly expanded the security perimeter around Hargrove's laboratory, adding personnel and surveillance equipment. If the Voss brothers or the Whitfield family decided to move against Ethan directly, Graves intended to catch them in the act.
In practice, the concern was overblown. Adrian Voss was too smart to order physical action against Ethan while the kid was the only person alive who could replicate the fusion technology. Adrian's researchers had been cycling through the reactor remnants for nearly three months now with zero progress. The science remained incomprehensible. Without Ethan, the technology was a dead end.
Which meant Adrian couldn't destroy the kid. Not yet. Not until he controlled the knowledge. And that control was proving impossible to achieve.
Marcus Hargrove, true to Ethan's request, stayed in the Republic instead of returning to the Northern Sovereignty. But he hadn't stayed out of hope. He'd stayed because he wanted to watch. To witness, firsthand, the moment this arrogant teenager's promises collapsed under the weight of reality, so he could say "I told you so" with the authority of a man who'd been there when it happened.
That was what he told himself, at least. If some small, stubborn part of him was hoping to be proven wrong, he wasn't ready to admit it.
Then, on a crisp October morning, the phone rang.
Ethan was already awake. He'd been awake since before dawn, sitting on the floor of the laboratory with his back against the wall, looking at the shape standing in the center of the room.
"Is it finished?"
Dr. Hargrove's voice carried the forced casualness of a man who already knew the answer and was trying not to sound too eager.
"It's done. And it's a good thing you added that extra twenty million. I burned through three prototypes of the flight stabilization system before the fourth one held."
"Are you confident I won't be disappointed?"
"Let's make a bet." Ethan grinned. "If you're not satisfied, I'll hand you the complete technical specifications for the fusion reactor. Full schematics, theoretical framework, everything."
The line went quiet for three seconds.
The value of that offer was beyond calculation. Controllable fusion technology, fully documented, would be worth more than the treasury of most nations. Governments would empty their coffers. Corporations would mortgage their futures.
And Ethan was offering it as a bet he was certain he wouldn't lose.
"That confident?" Hargrove's voice carried a tremor that wasn't age. "Alright then. This old man will wait and see."
After hanging up, Ethan called Frank.
"Uncle Frank."
"Kid." Frank's voice was gruff, warm, and trying very hard not to sound worried. "Been a while."
"I know. I'm sorry I couldn't call more. It's been... intense."
"Don't apologize. Just tell me one thing: are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
A pause. Then Frank's voice, rougher than before:
"Then go show them what you're made of. Your aunt and I will be watching."
Ethan ended the call, washed his face with cold water, and stepped outside the laboratory for the first time in weeks.
October in the capital. The air was sharp, the sky was clear, and the wind cut down his collar like a blade. He shivered.
But there was no chill in his chest. Only heat. The burning, focused heat of a man who'd spent three months building something impossible, and who was about to walk into a room full of people who thought he couldn't.
Behind him, in the depths of the laboratory, a humanoid silhouette stood motionless on the assembly platform. Red and gold, catching the overhead lights, waiting.
Ethan looked at it over his shoulder.
"Adrian Voss, I really hope you like surprises."
Plz Throw Powerstones.