The drive back from the gala was quieter than the streets outside. Restrictions lifted meant more cars, more voices spilling out of late-night bars, more horns echoing through the city's arteries. Behind the tinted glass of the mustang, Don and Claire might as well have been sealed in another world. She sat with her usual composure, one leg crossed neatly over the other, gaze drifting past the window but not distracted by it. Don leaned back against the seat, letting the silence stretch. No more provocations. No more forced pleasantries. Just the hum of the engine and the faint roll of tires on pavement. vmmm~ By the time they reached the penthouse, the night had already begun to dull into memory. Samantha met them first—questions tumbling over themselves, compliments on how they looked, and, to her delight, a quick photo snapped with Don before Claire could protest. Small rituals, harmless. The rest of the night passed without incident. Don called it in early. Routine was waiting tomorrow, and he wasn't about to lose footing after one party. The following morning didn't begin with an alarm. It began with a voice. "...should've known it was a lie." It dragged him up from sleep, the words threading straight through the haze thanks to hearing that never turned off. Don rubbed the fog from his eyes, already placing the voice before he moved. Summer. He rolled out of bed in loose sweatpants and a plain vest, padding toward the door. A single command authorized it, and the panel slid open with a soft hiss. shhhk~ Summer stood there, scruffy-haired, arms folded tight. A cropped vest with some faded stylized print clung to her frame, matched with shorts so small they looked like they'd been cut to spite fabric manufacturers. Her eyes narrowed as she greeted him with accusation. "I should have known the whole 'escorting Miss Claire because you had nothing to do' was a lie." Don yawned into his palm, unbothered. "What are you on about?" She huffed, arms snapping open—not to gesture, but to reveal the phone she'd been hiding. She shoved it forward, screen lit. The image caught him immediately. A shot from the gala's exit, but altered. His arm had been repositioned lower, hand caught just at the edge of Claire's waist—too low, too familiar. And Claire herself had been touched up, her figure exaggerated in a way that made the intent obvious. Don frowned. "That's… obviously edited for clickbait." He plucked the phone from her hand before she could stop him, scanning the caption beneath the photo. Rising Bad Boy Hero Don Castillo spotted with femme fatale lawyer Miss Claire. Read more at… followed by a link so suspicious it might as well have been malware wearing cologne. "Hey, give that back!" Summer snapped, snatching it from him before he could scroll further. Her indignation faltered when she actually skimmed the text. Her frown wavered into realization, then hardened again. "I—I knew that," she insisted. "Just wanted you to see that your dummy self following made Miss Claire a target for your haters." Don gave a slow nod. "Right. Did you wake up early just to tell me that? Or did you just miss me?" His smirk came easy, and it had the desired effect. Summer flushed, caught off guard, then barked back, "Hah! You wish!" She folded her arms again, chin high. "I was just… just… doing some stuff most of the night when this popped up on my feed. Anyway—whatever, I'm going to bed now." She spun on her heel and retreated down the hall, retreat quick, words clipped. Don watched her go, amusement at his lips. He didn't bother denying the view was worth it. Once alone again, he moved through his routine. Shower, teeth, clothes. Joggers, sneakers, a loose white shirt. Chain at the neck, watch on the wrist, contact lenses in place. Back to form, ready for a day that wouldn't afford the luxury of isolation. The penthouse hall was quiet when he stepped out. He passed Charles's door without thought—until the faint hiss of a panel sliding open behind him made his ears twitch. Charles emerged, polished to a level that suggested he'd been ready for an hour. Black slacks, polo with silver wing insignias, tucked in. Silver loafers that caught the light too easily, a silver watch to match, and aviators he wore indoors without hesitation. He smiled when he saw Don. "Ah. It seems you also decided to go early. I imagine traffic at the main entrance will be choresome… so, do you wish to join me in the helicopter?" Don considered it a moment, gaze steady. Then nodded once. "Why not?" Roughly twenty minutes later, Don found himself in the familiar cabin of Charles's chopper. The steady thrum of the rotors filled the air, a background hum that rattled lightly through the floor. whummm~ Charles sat opposite him, one leg crossed over the other, silver loafers catching the cabin light. His foot tapped a steady rhythm against the floor in time with the music piping through the onboard system—classical rock, strangely enough. Guitars in the distance, muted by the insulation, but just present enough to guide the beat. The city stretched below in long veins of traffic. SHU's huge campus rose ahead. As they approached, the pilot requested clearance. Static cracked, a clipped reply followed, and the descent began. It was only then that Charles finally leaned forward, voice casual. "Do you have other plans here today, besides those to do with setting up our schedules with the lecturers? Maybe join a random establishment for additional… basis?" The sigh that followed his words undercut the suggestion. Don shook his head. "I don't think so." Then, after a pause, "You sound like you're not looking forward to it." Charles chuckled, low, eyes half-lidded. "Well, let's just say I do not enjoy the prospect of physical classes. Even if, given our circumstances, they'll be few." He gestured lazily toward the window with two fingers, gaze following the flow of traffic below. "The only reason heroes still enroll at such establishments is for the licenses. And those won't carry you far in a saturated market—unless you're outliers like us." Don followed his gaze. Long lines of cars choked the streets near the gates, inching forward under the constant stop-and-wave of mandatory quick screenings. Even with restrictions lifted, the higher-value places clung to procedures. Order dressed as caution. Don leaned back against the seat. "For some of them, it's not really the case. A few will find themselves stable—or even in a better situation than before. It just comes down to whether what they have is enough, or if they're reaching for something beyond their grasp I guess." Charles chuckled again, but this time softer, more thoughtful. He turned away from the window, a faint smile curling. "You have a point." A pause, then, "Do you think we're pushing for something beyond our reach?" Don didn't hesitate. "Individually, perhaps. As a team? I'd like to think we stand a chance." Charles grinned at that, tilting his head back with a short laugh. "Hah. Well said. You should consider a career in politics one day—you make it hard not to believe you." Don allowed a small smile, but he didn't feed the joke. Charles leaned forward, tapping his silver watch against the armrest absently. "But I digress. If you have nothing further keeping you here once arrangements are done, we should see how best to work around certain things during our tenure. There are a few ways I think we could really capitalize on—" He cut himself off mid-sentence. His gaze had shifted out the window again. At first his expression was mild, then it sharpened just enough for Don to notice. "Now what's this about?" Don followed his line of sight, but saw nothing unusual at first. It wasn't until the helicopter dipped lower that the figure came into view. He stood just beyond the safe perimeter of the landing pad, one hand up to shield against the wash of the rotor winds. His coat flapped violently against him, the thinning hair forced flat by the gale. Don frowned. "Is he… waiting for us?" Charles scoffed lightly, though his eyes stayed on the ground. "As much of a doormat as Sanchez is, he has no reason to welcome us. Not when we have no direct business with him today." Don shook his head. "Not that I know of." Charles sat back, folding his arms. "Let's hope it's nothing troublesome." The chopper's landing gear hit the pad with a muted thud. thmm~ ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel·fıre·net Outside, Sanchez stood rooted, waiting.