17:03 — Northwest Girls' Housing, Room 314
Alia Reivas had barely stepped back into her room before her Vantaire cuff pulsed.
A soft buzz on her skin, followed by a digital chime.
"Schedule Uploaded. Dualist Protocol Active."
Her heart skipped—just once—and then steadied. Like it had always known this was coming.
A blue hologram unfurled above her palm:
Fencing. Logic Warfare. Cipher Linguistics. Applied Charisma.
Dual House Integration: Vantaire/Noctis. Status: Conditional Clearance.
She sat cross-legged on her bed and tapped her wrist comms, dialing the only number she had to call first.
"Dad?"
The familiar voice answered with laughter in the background—he was at a dinner party, probably buying another casino or blackmailing a bishop.
"Alia, darling. To what do I owe the breach of protocol?"
"I got in."
Silence. Then:
"Dual program?"
"Yup."
"I'm proud of you baby. Well, then. Don't die."
Click.
---
Next call: Ajax.
He picked up in exactly one ring, eyes already tired, tie half-loosened.
"Congratulations," he said without preamble.
"You're not surprised?"
"It takes more than cleverness. You had to want it. That's new for you."
"Aw. Sentimental Ajax is showing."
"Hang up before I regret it."
She smiled anyway.
---
Later that evening.
They were eating together on her bed— noodles and overpriced chocolate she'd hacked out of the dorm vending system. The windows glowed faint with the last stretch of sunlight. None of her roommates were back, The housing was unusually quiet.
"Hey, Ajax?"
"Mm?"
"How did Carmen know we're siblings?"
The chopsticks froze.
"Only a few people know," he said slowly. "The Sovereign Table. Some board members."
"That's not a lot."
"No. But it's enough."
She frowned. "Still feels off."
"You're overthinking."
"You're under-thinking."
He looked up. That look—the kind only an older brother could give: serious, steady, and a little too calm to not be hiding something.
"You're safe. I'd tell you if you weren't."
Alia didn't argue.
But when Ajax left and the night grew too still, she tossed her tablet aside and padded out of the room, hoodie-cloaked.
She needed air.
Or at least a distraction.
---
The Stack.
It was dim. Warm. Smelled like old ink and sin.
She wandered the aisles slowly, fingertips trailing over book spines, though her mind was elsewhere.
A soft shuffle.
She looked up.
Carmen Alviero.
Again. Barefoot. Again.
This time in a loose black shirt, sleeves rolled to her elbows, loose black shorts, hair in a low bun—an image so soft and undomesticatedly casual, it stunned Alia still.
Carmen stood with one hip against a shelf, flipping through a thick leather-bound manual titled:
"Code of Silence: Internal Politics of Mafia Governance"
(Same drama, fancier name.)
She didn't look up.
"You're making unnecessary noises," she murmured.
The voice was velvet dipped in warning.
Then came the muttered cuss in her native Italian—sharp and elegant, like the click of a pistol safety.
Alia smirked.
"You always read mafia rulebooks barefoot?"
"I always read alone."
"Must be nice. Being alone."
Carmen flipped a page.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even look at her.
Alia took a slow seat on the low shelf near her, not too close, but enough to watch. To study.
Carmen's collar was slightly open. Her neck tattoo peeked like an echo of defiance.
She was stunning in the way a thunderstorm is—quiet, looming, and without apology.
"Didn't peg you as the lounging type," Alia said gently.
Still no answer.
Carmen turned a page, but her eyes hadn't moved from the last paragraph.
"I like you like this," Alia added, almost to herself. "Human."
Carmen turned.
Sharp.
Fast.
And just as she stepped past Alia, about to disappear behind the next shelf—
Alia snickered.
Loud.
Startling.
Unforgivable.
Carmen froze.
"What?" she asked, without turning.
"Nothing," Alia said, biting her lip. "You just—look like you own the world even when you're barefoot in shorts. It's kind of unfair."
Carmen exhaled like she didn't want to admit it, but her voice softened when she spoke next.
"Don't project. Power doesn't always look like power."
Alia tilted her head, curious. "So what does it look like?"
Carmen finally looked at her. Fully. Like a flame looking at a spark and trying to decide if they shared a lineage.
"Control."
A beat.
"And what happens when you lose it?"
Carmen's gaze lingered.
Then she walked away.
But not fast.
Not dismissively.
Just… retreating. Just enough to make Alia want to follow.
Which she didn't. Not yet.
---
The silence stretched between them.
The stack smelled faintly of burnt paper and polished wood, as if all the knowledge in the world had been scorched, dusted off, and reshelved.
"Why'd you follow me to the infirmary?" Alia asked behind her, voice light, but pointed. "You don't even like people."
There it was.
That question again. The one she'd ignored the first time.
The one that clawed its way back now that Carmen thought she was alone again.
Carmen had taken exactly seven steps before she paused.
Her fingers curled a little tighter around the leather spine of the book she was carrying.
Carmen hmph'ed.
A quiet breath of irritation. Not real anger. Just… exposure.
She didn't turn.
But she closed the book in her hands. Slowly. Firmly. Like an exhale she couldn't control.
"Because you're a Sovereign by legacy," she said flatly.
"And?"
"And I don't let people who matter to the Table bleed out on marble floors."
Alia tilted her head. Her smile crept in, wide and playful, but curious under the skin.
"So I matter?" she said, half-laughing. "I matter to you?"
Carmen turned slightly. Not a full pivot—just enough that the golden lamp above caught the side of her face.
For the first time since they'd met, she had an expression.
Her eyebrows lifted—just one. The edge of her mouth lifted a bit.
Not amusement. Not irritation.
Something closer to…
Confusion.
Like Alia had spoken in a dialect Carmen wasn't fluent in.
"That's not what I said," Carmen replied, voice clipped.
"But it's what you meant," Alia shot back, all tease, but her eyes sparkled with that sharpness she rarely showed—clarity.
Carmen's stare locked with hers.
A beat.
Then she tossed the book gently onto a lower shelf with the least amount of drama she could muster. Still very dramatic.
"You're infuriating," she muttered.
"I'm adorable," Alia corrected, swinging her legs where she sat.
"You're just under-socialized."
Carmen shook her head, clearly regretting every life choice that brought her to this moment.
"I followed you because if something happened to you under my watch, it would come back to the Table," Carmen said. "I'd do the same for anyone important enough to get into Vantaire or Noctis."
"But no one else is in both."
That stopped her cold.
"Exactly," she said softly. "Which makes you… complicated."
Alia's voice dropped with a grin.
"Complicated girls are your type?"
Carmen retracted her head and took a step back.
"Complicated girls are a liability."
"And yet…" she said, smiling wider now, "here you are."
Another silence. This one a little heavier. A little warmer.
Carmen finally turned fully, her body angled toward Alia like she hadn't meant to face her but couldn't not.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, everything in Carmen's usually unreadable face glitched—just the tiniest bit. Like her system couldn't process the code Alia was writing with her smile.
"You're doing it again," Carmen said quietly.
"Doing what?"
"Making noise."
"Good noise?"
Carmen turned back around before she could answer, but her ears were pink and her steps were slower now.
Alia leaned back against the shelf and whispered to herself:
"I so matter to you."