Alexander recalled the message in his head: his first objective was Orpheus Mellert. It was a daunting challenge, given the animosity between Mellert and Elsbet’s father. Mellert, fiercely protective of his reputation, would not take kindly to anyone affiliated with the Institute, especially not someone in the director's favor.

Still, Alexander had uncovered a lead. One of the street boys he paid to monitor Mellert’s movements reported that the professor had been visiting an old academy building by the river, officially closed for renovations. Suspiciously, the so-called "renovations" involved mages rather than construction crews. These weren’t just any mages—they were the Academy’s best, individuals whose faces Alexander knew from meticulous observation. Among them were the blue magic prodigy Cal and a handful of royal guards, their identities confirmed despite the masks they wore in public.

Alexander couldn’t investigate directly. His face was too well-known—he had ties to the Aven ambassador, and Captain Gerum of the royal guard harbored vague suspicions about him. Gerum had no evidence, of course, but Alexander knew better than to tempt fate by appearing near a high-priority site uninvited.

A bottle rang against the hard curb outside the Institute's back entrance. Alexander slipped inside, avoiding the crowds and any chance encounters. He climbed to the third floor where his laboratory waited. The room was stifling, the windows closed and the air thick with the familiar smell of dust and oil. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, he felt a flicker of relief. This was his domain.

A knock interrupted his moment of peace. He turned to see Mark standing in the doorway—slightly hunched, hair disheveled, his expression as unkempt as his appearance.

“You’re late,” Mark said, his tone brimming with self-satisfaction.

“Thank you for pointing that out.” Alexander didn’t have time for this. His schedule was already strained.

Mark huffed and stepped inside uninvited, glancing around with mock disdain. “Your office is a disaster. Maybe you could’ve used some of that time spent with the director’s daughter to tidy up in here.”

“Are you volunteering?” Alexander shot back, his irritation mounting. “That would be a step up from your current responsibilities.”

Mark smirked. “I came to deliver a message, actually. Thought you’d like to know that true success comes from hard work, not—” he paused for effect, “other pursuits.”

Alexander nearly rolled his eyes. Mark worked hard, yes, but he was painfully mediocre, and no amount of effort seemed to elevate him above his limitations.

“I’ve been assigned to a highly sensitive project,” Mark continued, puffing himself up. “Top secret. A joint effort with the Academy.”

Alexander’s interest piqued. Could it be the same project he’d been investigating?

“What did Mellert have to say about this?” Alexander asked, keeping his tone neutral. “He detests working with engineers.”

Mark grinned, savoring the moment. “He didn’t have a choice. The order came from above. Since he doesn’t know any engineers personally, he had to take whoever the Institute assigned. Which, lucky for me, happens to be the best.” He paused, relishing Alexander’s silence before adding, “Don’t worry, though. You still have your composites to play with while I make history.”

“History? You?” Alexander let out a short laugh. “You wouldn’t make—”

“Now, now,” Mark interrupted with a condescending smirk. “That’s beneath you, Alexander. Anyway, I’m sworn to secrecy, so I can’t tell you more. Here are some documents from the director.” He dropped a stack of papers on a nearby table. “I won’t be your errand boy for much longer.” With that, he left without another word.

Alexander’s mind raced. The Academy and Institute had no official collaboration. This had to be the secret project he’d been searching for. The division between mages and engineers in the City of Light had always baffled him. In Aven, they worked together seamlessly, creating innovations in magical technology that would crush the City of Light in a confrontation—if it came to that.

When it came to that, Alexander corrected himself. The queen’s ambitions were no secret. She was backed into a corner, and a decisive move was inevitable. The economic strain alone demanded action. Still, he pushed these thoughts aside. Politics weren’t his fight.

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The question was why Elisabeth’s father hadn’t chosen him for the project. He was the best engineer available, and both he and the director knew it. Could this be a test? It was hard to believe that anyone would choose Mark otherwise, given the man’s track record of mediocrity and the director’s frequent frustrations with him.

Alexander recalled a hint dropped by Elisabeth’s father at dinner—a subtle nod to the project and, more pointedly, to Alexander’s future with Elisabeth. Was this an ultimatum? A way to force his hand regarding their marriage?

He sighed and turned to his desk. Opening a technical drawing, he tried to focus on the equipment he was designing, but the lines blurred together. He shuffled through the papers on his desk, an uneasy feeling prickling at the back of his mind.

Strange, he thought. I’m sure I put those documents away.

He sifted through the clutter, the sense of suspicion growing. Something was off.

He was never late to a meeting. It had been drilled into him since the very first day of his training. But today, it seemed the meeting had started earlier than expected. He arrived a few minutes before Mark, but when he stepped into the room, a few people were already gathered. The Institute's director, with his familiar slightly plump figure, was immediately recognizable. He stood surrounded by members of the Institute, but beside him stood a new figure—a man Alexander didn’t know.

The newcomer was a tall, dark-haired man with a commanding presence. His posture was so rigid, so precise, that he might as well have been a soldier on parade.

"Ah, Alexander, my boy!" The Institute director greeted him warmly, then turned to Mark with noticeably less enthusiasm as he arrived, slightly out of breath. The director’s frown quickly gave way to a smile, one of those practiced smiles that made the recipient feel like they were part of an exclusive club—a camaraderie that was, of course, entirely fabricated.

"Meet Mr. Sanders," the director continued, his excitement palpable. "A new member of our Institute. He has vast expertise in light engineering and has graciously agreed, after many letters from me, to join our forces."

The director paused, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "I admit, it was a humbling experience, but I’m thrilled he’s decided to give us a chance. I’m certain the research we do here will benefit enormously now that he’s here." He raised his glass, and the others followed suit, offering their congratulations.

Alexander studied the man. Sanders was older than him, with black hair and an easy smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He recognized the name immediately—John Sanders, the famed lumineer of light engineering from the southern territories. Alexander had read his manuscripts and, to be honest, had expected someone more… enigmatic. But there was something about Sanders that nagged at him.

The man blended in too easily. He stood among them, laughing and chatting, as though he belonged in this engineering environment. But something was wrong. His posture was too stiff—no sign of the weariness that came from late nights bent over a desk, the frustration of a difficult project. There was no arrogance in him, but also none of the self-doubt that marked a person who fought daily to prove their worth.

Then Sanders turned to him, flashing a knowing smile and raising his glass in acknowledgment. That was it. The gleam in his eyes, the way he controlled every movement—it was all too familiar.

He was exactly what Alexander had been trained to be. What he was when he first joined the Institute. A spy. A spy from Aven, here because Alexander hadn’t delivered the results expected of him.

Alexander swallowed hard, his mind racing. Why hadn’t they told him about this? Why send another spy without informing him? He laughed bitterly to himself. Of course, they wouldn’t. It was clear now—he either stepped up or failed. The message was unmistakable.

He couldn’t speak to his handler about it. He wondered if his handler knew about this. He probably did.

“Alexander, come meet Mr. Sanders,” the director’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. With a polite smile, Alexander excused himself from the conversation he was trying to ignore and walked over to the two men.

As he approached, he felt a flashback to his military days—the polished pleasantries, the smile that masked the hunger in a man’s eyes. Sanders was no different.

"John Sanders, it’s an honor," Alexander said, offering a measured handshake. He turned to the director with a raised brow. "How did you manage to get him here? I’ve heard that the laboratories in Libereth are unparalleled in all the known world."

The director beamed, pride coloring his cheeks. "Well, our facility remains one of the leading institutes in the world. We’re rising, and hopefully, soon we’ll be the ones setting the standard."

"I’d like to think of it as a challenge," Sanders said smoothly. "We need to carry the torch of excellence to other parts of the continent—not just hold it for ourselves, wouldn’t you agree?" He leaned in slightly, as if drawing them into a secret. "Development thrives on competition, after all. The southern technologies have been dormant for far too long. There’s been no motivation to push beyond what’s already been achieved."

There was no subtlety to his words. No attempt to hide his intentions.

"Exactly!" The director agreed enthusiastically. "But I think you’ll be surprised at what we’ve managed to accomplish here. I wouldn’t be so quick to declare Libereth superior. Tell me, how is Jerome Ackelmander doing? I heard his estate was flooded—what a shame." The director’s voice held an unmistakable glee, the satisfaction of having stolen a top engineer from his rival.

Alexander couldn’t help but wonder how they would explain it if Ackelmander and Sanders ever crossed paths again. They’d likely never compare notes—by the time that happened, both men would likely be long gone from the city. But the thought of it made Alexander uneasy. There were deeper games being played here, and he had no doubt that he was a pawn in them.