Gen tore the two weaponized pens from her dress—Aether’s had been connected with ice and Umbra’s had been clipped. They were both the same make and model, so she presumed they were common and didn’t mind destroying them. Calling them pens, however, was inaccurate because they couldn’t write. Crafted from the metal commonly used within aura gauntlets, they were the second smallest aura weapons she had ever seen—right after True Stilettos’ heels.

Gen held them before the crowd and injected aura into them. They lit up, releasing a small smokescreen. A poor ability that did nothing to help her display... Gen pursed her lips then tossed them high into the air. The woman in purple scoffed, “Lame!”

Gen stepped back and spread her legs, hoping her annoying dress didn’t get in the way and that she wouldn’t twist her ankles. If an accident did happen, well, she had the healing pods to fix the injury, and hopefully Aether wouldn’t send her to a hospital instead. Gen hated hospitals.

Her eyes remained transfixed on the falling pens; she calculating their path. Once they hit the appropriate height, she placed her hand onto the stage and swung her leg behind her. She kicked up her other leg and placed down her second hand, beginning a breakdance flare. She carried through with the move, swinging her legs around her body and raising her arms as she activated True Stilettos. The blue aura blades created afterimages in the air, akin to a vehicle’s neon lights piercing through the night.

During the second revolution, the pens fell into True Stilettos’ range. A blade struck them both but didn’t slice through; instead, the pens activated. Smoke covered her, hiding her figure from the audience. As she entered the third revolution, the edge of her palm landed on the skirt of her dress. Rip! She gritted her teeth in frustration. Her hips, upon meeting the friction, had shifted and disoriented her balance.

She pulsed her aura, not enough for Umbra to recognize her, but enough to undulate the smoke and shift herself into position so that she could continue her revolutions. The smoke swirled around her with the movements of her legs, forming a thin wind barrier that rippled with her aura. Her stiletto blades, piercing it, tore long gaps.

Peering through, Gen noticed the audience’s gaping mouths—but that was not all. Some women covered their eyes, a few men turned their heads from the stage, others were frozen stiff; and Umbra, face a vibrant red, coughed and pulled at the leg of his pants. The empress dowager’s jaw twitched as if her lips didn’t know what to do. And Aether—he stormed from the gala, his head low.

Oh crap, did I just...? Gen halted her flares and snapped her thighs, shutting her legs as she rose to stand. Her cheeks burned hotter than Sexy’s plasma core. Dresses. She hated them and the black, lacy lingerie she had worn to complete her Dessy outfit. Thank goodness she had decided not to wear a flimsy thong. Her obscene display could have been much worse—there could have been no smoke. But did the smokescreen help hide what was beneath her dress or did it fuel one’s fantasies?

Act cool, act cool, she told herself as she picked up the two pens with quivering hands. She raised one of her legs, placed the pens at its heel, then activated the respective True Stiletto. The aura blade punctured them so quickly that the metal rods didn’t release smoke. The needless destruction did nothing to abate her nerves, and her dress’s partly ripped ruffle taunted her to tear it off.

Gen smiled at the still stunned crowd, heart beating rapidly from embarrassment, praying to be blessed with thick skin and a shield of shamelessness. “Thanks for watching, everyone,” she said as cutely as she could. Then, she hopped off the stage and refused to make eye contact with anyone—especially not with the random man whose nose began to bleed.

The audience remained eerily silent; it pricked her more than laughter. Were they impressed? Embarrassed? Shocked? Confused? Aroused? A bit of everything?

STAR PRINCE’S DATE FLAUNTS HER PANTIES. She imagined tomorrow’s headline and the gossiping sneers. The broadcasting cameras seemed far more evil to her than Janus Puresoul. Gen had made her performance unforgettable, but not in the way she had wanted. She strode—almost jogging—around the seats, following Aether’s footsteps to leave.

Somebody broke the silence; thankfully, the man didn’t mention her panties. “Those pens were worth 5 million star credits... Each.”

Gen lowered her head and pushed through the double doors. No way they were worth as much as a few Nightingales. Right?

When she entered the gala’s outer section, she found the people milling about in confusion. The large screens had become static, showing only white and black lines. Gen sighed in relief; Mind still had his reliable moments and had cut the broadcast.

Her steps faltered; she sensed Umbra behind her. She picked up her pace and turned down the hallway. He still followed. A few more turns, three flights of stairs, and a sliding door. She stepped onto an old, rusty skywalk bridging the distance from this skyscraper to the one across her. Few people used it—Gen couldn’t be relied upon for knowing people, but she always checked a building’s blueprints and the locations of their skywalks and docks.

“Are you going to continue following me?” she asked, swirling around on her heels. She stumbled; one had caught in the skywalk’s grate. She yanked her foot and inwardly cursed True Stilettos’ thinness.

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“Let me help.” Umbra supported her by the arm, and she stiffened, gazing into his eyes. His ears were still red, not having cooled down from her display. Had he come to tease her or had he noticed her pulsing the smoke?

“Shouldn’t you be with Her Majesty?” she asked and tightly gripped his wrist. If he recognized her—which she doubted because most aura-breakers could lightly pulse their aura—he might toss her over the railing. At least by holding him she’d take him with her.

“It’s more of a formality,” Umbra said. The cold, night breeze nipped her skin, and Gen realized the amount of warmth emanating from his skin. Her body moved closer to his, almost instinctively. He said, “Lift your heel.”

“What?” she stammered, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out two oddly shaped metal sheets. They each had small prongs on one side, and during her muddle-headedness, he bumped her nose with them. She exclaimed, “Hey! Those better be clean, whatever they are.”

“You haven’t seen these?”

Gen raised a brow. Should she have?

Umbra chuckled. “And I thought you wore heels often. They connect to the heels so they don’t get stuck in grates. These are the old lady’s, treat them nicely.” He dropped to his knee and lifted her right foot.

She leaned into him and grabbed the back of his tuxedo. He wasn’t tricking her into letting him throw her off the skywalk—or at least that’s what she hoped he was thinking about and not her black lingerie. At her own thoughts, her cheeks reddened and discomfort formed below her abdomen. “The old lady’s? You mean the empress dowager’s?”

He glossed over her question with a shrug. “You were stunning during your performance, and your pumps are amazing.” His fingers brushed her skin, tantalizing her as he lowered her foot. “Next.”

Gen lifted her other heel and tried shifting the topic away from the exhibition. “They’re stilettos, not pumps.”

“Do you breakdance?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. Please, stop reminding her how she hated wearing dresses. “My brother taught me some power moves.”

“He must be pretty good. What’s his name?”

“Generation.”

Umbra rose. Then taking off his tuxedo’s jacket, he draped it over her shoulders. “Stay warm. May I drive you home?”

His scent and body heat lingered on his jacket, and she grabbed his arm—not romantically, but for survival’s sake. She couldn’t have herself tipping over the rail and falling more than 200 stories because of a giddy head. That would be far more embarrassing than the sight she had shown the crowd.

Umbra, possibly getting the wrong idea, pulled her to his chest and lowered his lips close to hers. She turned her head, ignoring the fluttering in her heart.

This was dangerous, she told herself. He was Janus’s hitman, and he knew nothing of her true self. Anything that happened between them would dissolve into nothingness when Dessy’s existence as a disguise met its end. If and of anything left over, it would be pain and disappointment.

Umbra disengaged and muttered an apology. Gen’s wrist watch vibrated; it was either Mind or Aether, most likely the former.

“Hey,” Umbra said softly, directing her gaze at his own. “I mean it. You were amazing tonight, and I had a lot of fun.”

Gen coughed. It was easier to brush him off by joking, so thinking of how he got a full view of her underwear, she said, “Sure, you did.”

“What?” he said, flashing a grin. “Thinking about something lewd?”

She choked and shook her head. Her wrist watch vibrated for a second time. And then a third.

Umbra glanced at it. “So, is that Aether? He’s not the greatest date, is he? I don’t get why women say he’s the number one bachelor.” He snapped his fingers, forming a small orb. “Shall I gouge out his eyes?”

“It might be my brother,” she said and opened her messages. She used her shoulders to hide them from Umbra but relaxed her vigilance upon realizing Mind had changed his contact name. She let Umbra chance a peek. He didn’t do so.

Ascending: Mayday! Code 12! Code 12!

Ascending: I said Code 12!

Ascending: Enough with the toaster and the oven!

Gen’s face blackened at the last message. The toaster and the oven, it was one of Mind’s weird euphemisms for sex. And code 12—a randomly picked number—meant that Aether was searching for Gen’s whereabouts and that she should prepare to make an appearance.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” Gen told Umbra.

“Want a ride?”

She shook her head, and her wrist watch vibrated for a fourth time. Before she checked it, Umbra covered it with his palm.

“Hey,” he said, “I mean it. I had a lot of fun dancing with you, and I have a business card in my jacket’s inner pocket. Feel free to give me a call when you’re free.” Then he released her.

What was with all these aura knights carrying business cards? First Fenri, then Aether, and now Umbra. Did they have nothing else to do with such an expensive commodity such as paper?

Gen nodded, planning to never call him. It wasn’t good for her and Dessy how her heart thumped too wildly to his attentiveness.

Ascending: Code 93!

Code 93? She wrinkled her nose; she didn’t remember that one. Another message arrived.

Ascending: C 0

Her heart leapt. Mind’s life was in danger.

“Umbra, I need to borrow your car!” She grasped Umbra’s arm, her nails digging into his skin.

He raised a brow, moving too slowly for her. “What made you—”

Boom! Clouds of smoke. Shattering glass.

The skyway lurched, and Umbra wrapped his arms around her. Her mind flooded with thoughts: someone was attacking the gala, and the name Ascending Rook was on the guest list. Mind was inside.

Her back shivered, sensing ill-intent and the crosshairs of some distant weapon.

“Watch out!” She grabbed Umbra and pulled him off the skywalk, flipping them over the railing. A rocket exploded where they had stood, spraying plasma and melting the metal grate. The walkway collapsed in on itself and detached from the high-rises.