“Mister Riker is expeg you oop floor,” said the man on the left, his tone as ral as his expression.

  “Thanks,” I replied instinctively, but her of them moved. Their solid bodies remained firmly pnted in front of the door.

  Should I go? Or…

  I hesitated, gng at the slightly ajar door behind them. We stood there in an awkward silence, eyes locked, her party making the first move.

  Charlie, be brave! “Uhmm… I gh then?” I asked, motioning vaguely toward the door.

  “Yes,” said the man on the right, but he didn’t step aside. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement? A test? His lips curved ever so slightly into the hint of a smirk.

  Ah. A test. Fine. Irwen to the rescue!

  “Move. Now.” My icy tone came out sharper than I’d intended. For a moment, I thought it had worked; I saw a subtle shiver ripple through him. “See the dress? Would be a shame to stain it,” I added, taking a deliberate step forward.

  Even so, they didn’t budge. My heart raced, pounding in my chest like an imperial marg song as the tension mounted. Behind me, I caught a faint murmur from the crowd. Stupid people. Stupid guards. Why?

  WHY?

  WHY!

  Without thinking, instinct took over.

  I stepped closer to the guard on the right and executed Imperial Move Seventeen—a swift, fluid motion desigo exploit openings in an oppo’s stance.

  My hands darted to his side in a feint while my foot struck out in a sharp arc.

  He didn’t react quickly enough, a mistake on his part, because a moment ter, his head met the wall with a solid bong.

  The sound echoed in the air as he stumbled. “Stay,” I anded, my voice cold.

  her of them moved now, their expressions bnk with shock—or respect, maybe? Ign my hammering pulse, I strode past them, f myself not to look back.

  The door creaked slightly as I pushed it open, and with every step ihe tension eased—until the murmur of the crowd outside faded entirely.

  “Stupid Riker,” I whispered to myself.

  “Oh, e now, Miss Charlie,” a voice came from shadows. It beloo a man in a bizarre, multicolored coat, his silhouette shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Surely, a woman of your caliber appreciate the artistry of a harmless jest?”

  I froze mid-step, squinting into the near-darkness. My eyes struggled to adjust to the dimly lit hall, the faint gleam of the plush carpet beh my feet the only disible detail. “Riker, I presume?” My voice carried more irritation than I intended.

  “The very same,” he replied. Suddenly, the lights bzed to full power, illuminating the room in a harsh, blinding gre. His coat—a ridionstrosity of rainbow hues—sparkled with every aginable, a showy dispy that made me wince.

  “I must fess, Lady Charlie, that your attire serves only to atuate the radiay you possess so effortlessly. Though I was well aware of your remarkable talents, I must admit—your timeless elegance is a revetion that words could scarcely do justice.”

  I shielded my eyes with a hand, grimag. “You certainly have a thing for the dramatic,” I muttered.

  “And you, my dear, have a talent for uatement,” he tered, throwing his arms wide as if basking in an imagined appuse. “A party, after all, is meant to dazzle! One must rise to the occasion for all guests to be happy.”

  “That coat is ugly,” I shot back before I could stop myself. The words hung in the air for a moment before I added, “And yuards aren’t polite. And you’re holding Lucas hostage. I am not happy.”

  The entire day had worn me down. From Katherine’s antics to Lucas’s mess, from Patrick’s bar to Roberto’s chaotic driving, and now this… Riker.

  “Ah,” he stammered. A faint blush colored his cheeks, though he quickly posed himself. “I see you are not oo mince words. Admirable, truly.” With a sweepiure toward a door at the far end of the hall, he offered a smile. “e, let us discuss matters in mreeable surroundings. I assure you, my hospitality will not disappoint.”

  From another door, a man barged into the hall. He was almost running and almost tripped over us. Stylishly dressed, but not ostentatious, he exuded a natural charisma—effortless so I could never replicate.

  “Oh, Mister Riker!” he greeted warmly, his smile practiced. His eyes flicked to me, and his tourned admiring. “And a woman with the beauty of a hundred admirers.”

  Riker’s grin remained firmly in pce as he ined his head toward the newer. “Ah, Mister Ruez! May I introduce the illustrious Miss Charlie! I see you’re departing so soon—hrettable! Pray, did the festivities meet your expectations?”

  Ruez nodded, his face shifting into something that looked a bit apologetic. “Sorry, something urgent’s e up.” He g me again. “Apologies for dug out so quickly, Miss Charlie. Maybe we’ll run into each other aime.”

  Before I could find a response, he was gone, disappearing as quickly as he’d appeared.

  The door led us to a small room, with cozy leather armchairs squeezed around a low gss coffee table, with walls paneled in dark wood. It all felt like being in the slimy dungeon library all ain.

  I hesitated for a moment before taking a seat.

  The leather creaked softly under me as Riker settled across from me, his multicolored coat catg the dim light and shimmering faintly like some mispced rainbow. He smiled that infuriatingly fident smile. “Charlie, do you truly uand the essence of what I represent?” His tone was curious, almost teasing, as his stare studied me with disturbing precision. “You seem to know so much about me, a I hold only your name.”

  I crossed my legs—finally succeed!—and leaned back, trying to appear calm as the door slid shut with a quiet click. A voi the bay head screamed danger, but holy, I was beyond g. I sighed. “You mean Riker’s Rimelion Ranking? Or maybe Riker’s Rimelion Guide?”

  His poker face slipped, his eyes tightening slightly as he leaned forward. “Impressive. Truly, your breadth of knowledge is nothing short of extraordinary. The Rimelion rankings? Indeed, we’ve spared no expense in ensuring their promihrough relentless marketing endeavors. But the guides? Only a select few were privy to their existence. Yet, somehow, you already know.”

  I o ge the subject—fast. Time t out the big guns. “I want to save the world,” I decred, leaning forward. “We’re heading into a dystopian future where people do nothing but py Rimelion, lounging at home while robots do all the work.”

  Riker’s smirk faded, his expression turning thoughtful. “Miss Charlie… you are absolutely corre your analysis. This trajectory leads to stagnation, dependency, aual societal colpse. What solution do you propose?”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling a bit defted under his scrutinizing gaze. “This isn’t my forte. Maybe… make money and create jobs for people?”

  Riker’s lips curved into a knowing smirk. “A noble se. But let me ask—if your workers produce services, who will e them? AIs and robots provide a cheaper alternative. In a deing job market, ers naturally gravitate toward the cheapest option, not necessarily what’s best for them.”

  I frowned, his words sinking in. “But… if I gave them jobs…”

  “A endable idea,” he said, ining his head slightly. “But it would work only on a microscale. On a macro scale, however, your business must remain profitable. And profitability, as it stands, often hinges on minimizing human bor. The cycle perpetuates itself. The only viable solution at that level is taxation—tax the panies aribute the funds to the popuce.”

  I let out a long sigh, slumping slightly in my seat. “The ie tax…”

  Riker burst into ughter, the sound iious. “Indeed, it could be sidered unist.”

  And then the room shifted.

  Wait.

  The world moved?

  I grabbed the armrest instinctively, my body tensing as I looked around. The sensation was subtle—a smooth, gliding motion, like being on a lift. My heart jumped, ready to bolt, but Riker raised a hand, his expression calm. “Don’t be armed. We’re in the elevator, after all.”

  I blinked, gng around again. This was aor? The polished wood, the plush armchairs, the cozy lighting—it was all so deliberately designed, I’d assumed it was a ridiculous showpiece. “You have got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath.

  Riker’s grin widened as if my disbelief was exactly the rea he wanted.

  “Dear Charlie, your reas speak volumes, revealing truths you may not even realize, and I must say—I find them utterly fasating,” Riker said cryptically. “Ignorance, when paired with unrefined brilliance, is a rare and potent bination. It’s like raw ore—unpolished, but brimming with infiential for those who see it.”

  “Mister Riker,” I replied, my tone sharper than intended. Damn you, Irwen! “I’m not some random ore you dig out and fe into a sword.” I paused, letting the words hang before adding with a wry smile, “Not that I don’t appreciate a fine sword, but in this stupid metaphor, I’d like to keep some agency. Uood?”

  Riker’s lips curved into a faint smile, more amused than bothered. “Charlie, if I believed you were someone easily swayed by simple persuasion, we would not be having this versation. Your presence here speaks to a certain fortitude of spirit—a trait I find both admirable and, dare I say, essential to the matters at hand.”

  He leaned ba his chair, his multicolored coat blinding me again as he studied me like a puzzle he’d yet to solve. “Lucas, for all his retice, did mao share origuiail: your debt. A burden, no doubt, but also a thread that ties you to choices far more plex than most would care to uand.”

  The soft chime of the elevator saved me from answering him. I let Riker step out first, his coat blinding me as he moved, and followed him into a unique room.

  Not what I expected.

  Don’t get me wrong—there was the obligatory big-ass window spanning the length of the room, a breathtaking view of the city lights glittering below.

  That I expected.

  But the rest of the room? A far cry from the vish opulence I had braced myself for.

  The space was surprisingly minimalistic, almost stark. A modest sofa domihe ter, something so unassuming it could’ve e from a bargain store. It wasn’t worn or shabby, but its simplicity stood out, especially in trast to what I imagined someone like Riker would own. It’s a sofa I could’ve afforded—if I still had a job. The thought made me smile.

  Sitting on that sofa was Lucas.

  He was wearing one of his expensive suits, the kind that screamed loaned money, but his perpetually u hair undermihe entire look.

  Did he e here with his hair like that?! I resisted the urge to groan out loud.

  Lucas g us as we entered, his expression a mix of relief and unease. His eyes darted between me and Riker, like he wasn’t sure if this was a rescue mission or a setup. His eyes lingered on my dress for a moment, and the look was worth all the trouble getting the dress.

  He didn’t care that his mouth en.

  The room’s other octs were harder to ignore: four armed guards, statio each er like statues. Their uniforms were stylish, their ons subtle yet apparent.

  “And so, the destined lovers!” Riker annouheatrically, spping his hands together with a grin that practically sparkled. Well, his coat did. “Guided by the invisible hand of fate, rediscover the path that leads them back together!”

  “Riker,” I said, fixing him with a gre, “if there weren’t guards here, you’d be flying out that window.”

  The guards, as expected, didn’t reay words. They stood stoically, eyes forward, ons as steady as their stances.

  Riker, oher hand, burst out ughing as if I’d just told him the most absurd joke about the drunken Imperial Prin the stables. Which, to be fair, actually happened.

  Lucas, however, didn’t share Riker’s sense of humor. “Charlie…” His expression screamed at me, like he’d just caught me sipping a hundred-year-old whiskey straight from the bottle.

  I rolled my eyes and turo Lucas. “So, what trouble are you in?” I asked, plopping onto the sofa but keeping a deliberate distance from him as Riker busied himself p drinks.

  “Miss Charlie,” Riker said smoothly, approag with a gss in hand, his movements as practiced as a seasoned sommelier, but had nothing at Patrick's expertise. “Our dear Lucas here indulged in my modest creation, the esteemed Riker’s Luck! And what a performa was—a dispy nothing short of remarkable. Were it not for the formidable firewall at the st hurdle, he might well have cimed a spectacur victory!”

  “So you lost,” I said ftly, direg my words at Lucas as I took a cautious sip from the gss. Scotch. It wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t Irish whiskey. And it sure as hell wasn’t Patrick’s Irish whiskey.. “I prefer Irish whiskey,” I couldn’t hold myself, already regretting the drink. And probably something cheaper.

  Lucas frowned, finally finding his voice. “Lost on a teicality,” he admitted, his tone full of frustration. “I have… less mohan I came with.”

  “Ah, Irish whiskey!” Riker decred loudly, nodding as if I’d made a grand procmation. “Duly noted. And yes, Mister Lucas—rules are rules. Back tunneling is perfectly allowed.”

  His tone was almost smug, and I caught a flicker of annoyance cross Lucas’s face. It was hard to tell if he was a himself for losing or at Riker for finding the whole situation so eaining.

  Then Riker turo me, his grin fading slightly, repced by an expression that was serious. It was uling, like watg a circus performer suddenly step off the stage. He swirled the scot his gss absently, his gaze sharp as it locked onto mine.

  And then, as if he were asking about the weather, he said, “What do you know about Nathan?”