Lex should have just walked away. But blind rage drives people to foolishness, and so he made a mistake. And he knew it. He just didn’t care. As he wove his way through the maze of tables toward the bar, where Veela was loading a tray with futuristic cocktails, Zara Thandros rose from her seat and started in his direction. There was no doubt—her eyes were locked on him. He turned his back on the most powerful woman in the system, planting both arms firmly on the counter.

He looked at Veela as though she were the greatest enigma in the universe—the kind of mystery that rendered all others meaningless. What lay beyond the event horizon of a black hole? Was there life among the stars? How would it all end? Dark energy, dark matter, the Fermi Paradox, the Pioneer anomaly, the great cosmic web—all those questions seemed trivial compared to the puzzle standing before him.

"I don’t know how you made it here, but I think I can guess why," she said softly. "I’m sorry. Do you want something to drink?" Her gaze met his, and every time she looked at him like that, there was something disturbingly empty in her expression. It wasn’t feigned. It was real, and that made it even more unsettling.

Lex threw a quick glance over his shoulder. Zara Thandros was gone. Her seat was still empty. Where had she vanished to?

Veela slid a small projector across the glass counter and pressed the power button with her thumb. A hologram shimmered into view, displaying the bar’s drink menu in midair. For a long moment, Lex stared through the flickering projection at the girl—the woman—the mystery before him.

BLUE MOON HOUR

SUNSPOT SHOT – 750 CR.

JAVELINE – 850 CR.

JAX – 1,000 CR.

CRYSTAL FOREST – 1,200 CR.

RED STAR DUST – 1,400 CR.

EARTH WINE – 250,000 CR.

He switched off the projector and pushed it aside.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Veela didn’t answer.

The bartender shot them a disapproving look. He was dressed in a pristine white suit with a black bow tie, immaculate like most of the staff on DENOVA-2. His features were striking—high cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, symmetrical almond eyes, and a full head of jet-black hair that shone under the neon lights. He was intently focused on crafting a vivid green cocktail, meticulously picking herbs from a mahogany bowl. The way he plucked the leaves from their stems was almost reverent, as if the act itself were a form of meditation.

He added a single blue mountain flower to the mix, followed by a measured splash of clear liquor—whether by instinct or habit was unclear. With care, he crushed the ingredients with a pestle, then poured boiling water from a gleaming golden kettle, steeping the mixture like tea.

The elegant ritual, however, failed to entertain the wealthy woman seated across from him. Resting her chin on her manicured hand, she looked thoroughly bored. Her silvery, luminescent gown spilled over the barstool where she perched, legs crossed. A bejeweled pump dangled loosely from her foot as she yawned dramatically, despite the attention of three young station attendants vying for her favor.

Still, she demanded her share of amusement from the bartender. On her command, he swiftly placed a polished glass before her, snatched up a tin shaker, and spun a bottle of liquor into the air behind his back. The bottle’s neck landed perfectly in his fingers, the same hand already gripping the shaker. Liquor flowed smoothly into the tin as the woman clapped her hands in delight.

The bartender let the frosted bottle drop. The woman leaned over the counter, watching as he caught it on the tip of his shoe. With a deft motion, he kicked it upward, spinning, and it landed back in its place among the other chilled bottles beneath the bar. At the same time, he twirled a long bar spoon through his fingers, creating a small gust that sent a napkin fluttering through the air. It floated gracefully down, landing precisely in front of the woman, just above her dazzlingly low neckline.

In one fluid movement, he shifted to the opposite end of the bar, added liqueurs and other ingredients to the shaker, and made the ice rattle like a musical instrument as he shook the mix with flair. In a sharp arc, he poured the contents into the waiting glass, ice cubes and liquid soaring gracefully before landing with pinpoint accuracy. Only a single drop spilled over the rim.

Without missing a beat, the bartender grabbed a small cloth napkin, flicking it like a frisbee toward the spill. It landed neatly on the bar in front of the woman, overlapping the first napkin, forming a perfect square. He placed the finished drink atop it with a flourish, then whisked away the damp cloth, crumpling it in his hand as he apologized.

"This trick never quite works perfectly," he remarked with a slight smile, setting the glass on the now-dry napkin. The other, now useless, disappeared into the trash.

Veela’s voice cut through the moment. "So, have you figured out what you want to drink yet?"

The boy’s thoughts were still caught up in the bartender’s choreography—how he’d defied gravity, calculated the napkin’s trajectory. Lex turned to Veela. The small spotlights above the bar illuminated her green eyes, highlighting the infinite depth within them. The incomprehensible. The mystery. He still felt the anger burning inside him, but it was mixed with something much bigger. Love, twisted into fear of losing her, which in turn spiraled into an existential crisis.

"You lied to me," he said. "You’ve done nothing but lie since the day we met. That amulet you gave me back then…"

"Not here, Lex."

"Why didn’t you tell me what I was carrying around with me?"

"Shut up, damn it."

The bartender gave them a pointed look. A moment later, he excused himself from the rich woman and stepped toward a terminal.

"I brought war to Luvanda," Lex whispered.

"You’re not just ruining my life—you’re ruining your own if you keep talking."

"And you think I care about that anymore?" He looked at her.

Of course, she said nothing. Instead, she picked up an empty glass, reached into the ice bin with a sleek steel tongs, and plucked out a glowing ice sphere, letting it drop into the glass with a soft clink.

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"Every day I feel guilty," he said. "Do you think I’ve had a single peaceful night since I came back from Luvanda? The war, the suffering, the destruction—all because I brought that cursed thing there. Was it worth it, Veela? Tell me."

She took a fine bottle filled with amber liquid—unlabeled—and poured it over the ice. The sphere cracked as the liquor enveloped it.

Lex watched the level rise in the glass.

It felt like an eternity.

"As far as I’m concerned," he continued, "I have a very clear opinion: it wasn’t worth it. We never should’ve handed the Bl—”

"That’ll be one thousand credits," she interrupted quickly. "But don’t worry. It’s worth every single one." She placed the cocktail on a coaster, and as she did, she deftly slipped a card underneath it. Lex scanned the drink with his PDA, watching as the last of his money drained away for a measly drink.

A Jax.

Worth every credit, apparently.

"Does that mean…"

"Take the card," she whispered as she stepped out from behind the bar. Without looking back, she brushed past him.

He lifted the glass and discreetly covered the card with his hand, slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket. But he had the sinking feeling the bartender had noticed from the terminal. Lex half-turned to see where Veela had gone.

She was wrapped in the arms of a slimy corporate rat. Not just any rat. Zak Quinten, the slimier of the two SnackBite brothers. She stood on her toes, batting her lashes at him. He wore an elegant tuxedo, adjusting his custom horn-rimmed designer glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Then he kissed her.

On the lips.

And she kissed him back.

After what felt like a lifetime, she murmured, "I just need to clock out. Then we can leave."

Zak didn’t want to let her go. He kissed her neck, slid his large hands to her hips, and pressed her against him.

The glass shattered in Lex’s hand.

The cheap sensors in his prosthetic couldn’t register the sensation of wetness. To him, the liquid on his synthetic skin felt like a faint pressure, something barely there.

Veela pulled away from Zak’s embrace and returned to the bar. She leaned over the counter to clock out with the bartender. Then, she turned back to Lex.

His hand trembled with rage.

His entire body was shaking.

"He loves me," she whispered. "Do you know what that means?"

He had no idea what she was trying to say. Just as he was about to follow her, the bartender grabbed his forearm, his grip so strong it sent pain shooting up his arm and caused blood to pool in his hand. The man could’ve broken his wrist effortlessly.

"You’ll need to pay for the crystal glass you destroyed, sir," the bartender said flatly. "You’re just a visitor here. The glass costs two hundred and thirty credits. You must settle the bill immediately."

Lex used his prosthetic hand to grip the bartender’s arm, pushing it away with a force that clearly surprised him—a force equal to his own.

The bartender let go.

Lex slid off the barstool, watching as the tall, smug corporate parasite draped an arm around Veela’s shoulders. Veela leaned into him, and together they strolled out of the foyer.

Lex followed them.

She clung to the man like a trophy, while he was her anchor to a better life—or was it the other way around?

The boy saw the world through a veil of tears, always on the verge of spilling over. A single thought, a word, a feeling, even a sound could trigger them. Don’t imagine anything now. Don’t think. Don't. Around him, the guests continued their conversations. A woman’s lavish gown spilled across the narrow pathway between the tables. As he hurried to catch up to Veela, he stepped over the expensive fabric without a second thought.

But suddenly, a waitress blocked his way. She balanced a large serving tray over her head, its surface resembling the marble floors of the habitat station, though it was likely just epoxy resin—pure aesthetics. Otherwise, how could her delicate arm bear the weight so effortlessly? The cleared dishes atop it remained perfectly still, as though glued in place.

"Sir, we’ve noticed your emotional state, and it’s causing us concern," she began. "You’re releasing a significant amount of stress hormones. You’re even trembling. Based on your behavior, we deduce that you desire the lady who just left the restaurant with a resident. Unfortunately, I must inform you that visitors are strictly prohibited from utilizing the services of DENOVA-2’s staff. This privilege is reserved exclusively for residents."

The boy shot her a glare, equal parts anger and confusion.

"What services?"

"On DENOVA-2, our employees also provide residents with physical companionship. It’s part of our premium service and core business model. Resident satisfaction is our highest priority. The woman you were pursuing is one of our most popular employees."

The boy shoved the waitress aside. The tray slammed into the marble-like floor, leaving a dent. Porcelain shattered into a thousand pieces.

The pianist turned his head sharply toward the commotion, cutting off his flawless symphony. The conversations at the tables ceased as if a switch had been flipped.

"Sir," the receptionist called out into the tense silence, "we must insist that you pay for the damages and leave the station immediately. DENOVA-2 is a secure environment where no disturbances are tolerated."

This place was full of problems, the boy thought, starting with the residents and ending with the staff. He bolted past the reception desk. Just as he did, a security officer rounded the corner and grabbed his sleeve. Lex twisted free by slipping out of his jacket and took off running.

Outside the restaurant, he skidded to a halt so abruptly that his dress shoes squealed against the smooth floor.

A squad of security personnel surrounded him.

He glanced over his shoulder. More armed guards emerged from the restaurant. A dead end.

Over their angry heads, he saw Veela stepping onto a docking platform, boarding a sleek glider. The corporate scumbag let her go first, offering her his hand like a perfect gentleman.

If he didn’t stop them now, Lex thought, Veela would sleep with that bastard tonight.

The circle of guards closed in, their presence pressing like walls. His heart pounded in his chest, but the danger didn’t even register. His mind tunneled on one vision—an inevitable future. A suite. An elegant, luxurious bed. Two bodies moving in rhythm beneath silken sheets. One of them Veela. The other, not him.

It couldn’t end like this.

Lex lunged at the guards, smashing through the circle. Hands grabbed at him—one caught his tie, nearly choking him. Another seized his shirt, tearing the fabric as he wrestled free. His sleeve hung in tatters as he sprinted toward Veela and Zak Quinten.

He was only meters away when the glider lifted off, gliding past him. The slimy corporate executive noticed nothing, entirely engrossed in Veela.

Lex cast a glance over his shoulder. The guards were gaining. He sprinted to the last unoccupied glider, only to find a well-dressed couple climbing aboard. The man was hoisting a suitcase into the rear compartment, and the elegantly dressed woman had just placed a stockinged leg onto the glider’s floor when Lex yanked her back by the arm.

Her heel slipped off. She screamed. The wide-brimmed hat she wore flew from her head, spinning over the railing and spiraling into the lower levels of the station. The woman herself fell to the floor with an undignified thud, her dress hiking up as she landed. Her heavily made-up face was a mask of shock.

"Sorry," Lex muttered, leaping onto the hovering glider, which swayed slightly under his weight.

His eyes darted to the holo-console, scanning the options: casino, spa (whatever that was), shopping mall, café, cinema, art gallery, observation deck, lobby…

He should have wondered why the couple wasn’t putting up a fight. Why the guards hadn’t caught him yet. But all he cared about was finding Veela.

Just as he was about to select the outer residential ring, where the station’s living quarters were located, a polished hand slid into his field of vision. It tapped the console and chose instead the security station on DENOVA-2.

His breath caught.

Lex looked up, his heart pounding.

Zara Thandros leaned over the glider, staring into his face. Her eyes gleamed with an amused smile. She wore a blouse buttoned to her throat and a skirt, which she adjusted before swinging a leg into the glider and settling into the empty seat beside him.

"The little dreamer came so far, only to lose his way. Now, he’ll go back to where he came from: back to captivity, back to his roots. Isn’t that right, you treacherous little rat? You were born a convict, and you’ll die as one."