The following morning, the sky over Freenly City was a bruised sheet of slate and silver, heavy with the promise of a localized storm.
On the private airfield of the Ford Estate, the Deviloy-1 executive jet sat idling, its twin engines emitting a low, predatory whine that vibrated through the asphalt. The aircraft was a masterpiece of aerodynamic engineering—matte black, windowless in the mid-section for maximum privacy, and emblazoned with the silver crest of the Ford dynasty.
Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was pressurized and sterile. Malcolm Ford sat in a swiveling throne of hand-stitched leather, his gaze fixed on a holographic projection of Gwenreen City's industrial district. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that looked like armor, his jaw set in a line of permanent, restless irritation. The silver energy in his blood had settled into a steady, cold thrum, but it had left him with a heightened sensitivity—he could hear the hum of the jet's electronics, feel the minute shifts in the cabin pressure, and smell the faint, lingering scent of Marcus's cologne.
Marcus sat across from him, tapping rhythmically on a tablet. He looked refreshed, a sharp contrast to the grim, haunted expression Malcolm wore.
"The flight time to Gwenreen is exactly forty-two minutes, sir," Marcus said, his voice smooth. "The landing window at the GEM private strip is cleared. Mr. Lukas's secretary confirmed that while the CEO is a busy man, he will grant a ten-minute audience to the owner of Deviloy Technology. Provided, of course, that you remain in the designated location of the facility."
Malcolm didn't look up. "Ten minutes is all I need to see if he's a charlatan or a god. Proceed with the biometric prep."
Marcus nodded, but instead of returning to his work, he leaned back, a strange, wistful smile playing on his lips. "You know, sir... I couldn't stop thinking about yesterday. Amidst all the chaos with your... episode... there was one bright spot."
Malcolm's brow furrowed. "The only 'bright spot' yesterday was that I didn't die on my own office floor, Marcus. What are you talking about?"
"The intern," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a tone that was uncharacteristically personal. "Luca Vane. I walked him to the car last night. Up close... sir, that boy is something else. He's incredibly handsome. More than that—he's pretty. There's a delicacy to his features that I haven't seen in years. His eyes, the way he carries himself... it's out of this world."
Malcolm's fingers paused over the holographic display. He didn't turn his head, but his aura darkened, a flicker of that sharp, jagged Alpha irritation radiating from his shoulders. "Your personal fascinations do not concern me, Marcus. I hire you to manage my life, not to provide a catalog of the staff's aesthetic appeal."
"I know that, sir," Marcus replied, unfazed. He was one of the few people who could navigate Malcolm's moods without flinching. "I'm just saying... I think I might get serious about this one. I think I'll try to win him over. He told me he's straight, of course—they always do at that age—but something inside me tells me he can bend. A boy with a face like that... he's meant to be adored. I'm thinking of taking him to dinner once he's fully recovered from the shock."
Malcolm finally turned his head, his amber eyes cutting through the dim cabin light like a blade. "He is an intern, Marcus. A student. He is here for two weeks probation to secure his internship in my company. He is not a toy for your weekend diversions. If your pursuit of him interferes with his productivity or the security of the 102nd floor, I will terminate his contract and yours."
Marcus raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, though the sparkle in his eyes didn't dim. "It won't interfere, sir. I just thought, since he'll be working so closely with you in the executive suite, you should know my intentions. Transparency is the key to a good working relationship, isn't it?"
Malcolm returned his gaze to the map of Gwenreen. "The boy is a non-entity. His face is irrelevant."
"Is it, though?" Marcus pushed, leaning forward, his curiosity piqued by Malcolm's unyielding coldness. "Be honest, sir. You've met the most beautiful women in the world. You've had Omegas from the highest bloodlines standing naked in your bedroom. Have you ever seen a woman as striking as Luca? Didn't you think, even for a second, that his beauty was... unusual? That he's probably prettier than anyone who has ever tried to catch your eye?"
The cabin temperature seemed to drop five degrees. Malcolm's voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, terrifying rasp—the sound of a predator being poked through the bars of a cage.
"The boy's beauty has nothing to do with me," Malcolm said, each word a stone falling into a deep well. "His face, his gender, his 'prettiness'... it is noise. I am not interested in men whatsoever. I don't care if he's the second coming of a god; to me, he is a walking liability. Do not bring this subject up again."
Marcus went quiet, bowing his head slightly as he returned to his tablet. But as he turned away, he muttered something inaudible, a whisper that barely caught the air.
"It's not like you've ever been interested in anyone anyway" Marcus thought, his thumb scrolling through a photo he had secretly snapped of Luca's ID badge.
Malcolm heard the murmur, or perhaps he just felt the weight of the judgment. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the leather. In the darkness of his mind, he saw a pair of wide, watery eyes behind crooked glasses. And he felt the silver fire in his blood roar in protest at his own words.
"Descending into Gwenreen City," the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Landing in three minutes. Prepare for arrival at the GEM Matrix Hub."
The jet tilted, banking hard over a sea of industrial fog and glowing neon spires. Below them, the sprawling, mysterious kingdom of Dahmer Lukas waited.