“Miss Charlie, you o wake up, or you will be te,” Jerry’s calm, ever-persistent voice rang out.

  “e on, longer,” I mumbled groggily, burying myself deeper uhe covers. My fortress of warmth was imperable.

  “The time re-agreed, Miss Charlie,” Jerry pressed on, his tone unwavering.

  “I! NEED! SLEEP!” I hissed, eling my inner ferocious northern serpent snakie. With a triumphant flourish, I yahe waty wrist, shoved it under my pillow, and growled, “Stay!”

  For a moment, there was blissful silence.

  Victory.

  Then Jerry’s voice returned, annoyingly cheerful and now emanating from a speaker somewhere in my room. “Miss Charlie, I’m your friendly AI, not a dog.”

  “Hmpf!” I pouted, retreating even deeper into the b co. “I don’t wanna go out! It’s cold! I’m happy here!”

  “I have checked the current temperature, Miss Charlie. It is 24 degrees Celsius—very warm by most human standards.”

  “It’s not about the temperature!” I shot back, my voice muffled by the bs. “It’s the vibe! I’m cozy, Jerry. Cozy beats waking up any day.”

  Jerry remained unimpressed. “I ot see how waking up and ess are mutually exclusive. You specifically requested I ensure you wake up on time today.”

  I groaned dramatically, filing a hand out from uhe covers in a show of defeat. “Why did I give you so much authority?”

  “Because you’re resourceful and value efficy,” Jerry replied smoothly, the smugness practically radiating from his voice.

  “That was rhetorical!” I shrowing the b off in a huff. The cold air immediately attacked, and I regretted my decision. “Fine! I’m up! But don’t think I’m happy about it.”

  “Duly noted, Miss Charlie,” Jerry said, and if AIs could smile, I was sure he’d be beaming. “Shall I prepare your m updates while you get ready? The night was busy with your tent on the ranking page.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, rubbing my eyes as I shuffled toward the closet. “But first, coffee. Lots of it. And maybe regret. Definitely regret.”

  “I have reached an agreement with Mister Riker’s legal team. For their exclusivity, they—”

  “I don’t care about the details,” I cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as I reached for my coffee mug. “Anything iing?”

  Jerry hesitated, clearly unprepared for my ck of i in the fine print. “Uhm… your video is very popur.”

  I took a sip of the steaming coffee, sav the warmth as it slid down my throat. “Good,” I said simply, leaning ba my chair and eyeing the watch. “Anything else, or is that the highlight of my m?”

  “For now, that’s the highlight,” Jerry admitted, his tone almost sheepish. “But if you’d like, I analyze social media metrics for deeper insights.”

  “Please don’t,” I replied, resting my head in my hand. “I’ll take the win and avoid a breakdown about why people love watg me get pummeled by ice statues.”

  Jerry’s voice carried a hint of humor. “As you wish, Miss Charlie. I must say, your charisma is proving remarkably effective, even in moments of peril.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, suppressing a smile. “Charisma or just people enjoying my suffering—it’s a fine line.”

  “Miss Charlie, Mister Roberto is nearly here. I uimated his speed. You should hurry,” Jerry informed me with the ess of someone who wasn’t about to have their life thrown into chaos.

  “The hell he is!” I practically yelled, dashing toward the closet. My hands fumbled as I yahe door open. “How much time do I have?”

  “I may have informed him that you were attending—”

  “When-is-he-here!” I interrupted, my voice reag a near shriek.

  “Approximately… ten minutes,” Jerry said, his tone almost apologetic.

  “JERRY!” I shouted, already bolting for the bathroom. “You’re supposed to maime, not ruin it!”

  I threw the door open and glimpsed my refle in the mirror.

  My hair was an unruly mess, my blonde hair stig up in every dire as though it had rebelled against me personally. My pajamas were adorably pink, yes, but ly meeting someo the door attire.

  “You leave him waiting, Miss Charlie. It’s perfectly reasonable—”

  “It’s not!” I shouted over the sound of the faucet as I spshed cold water on my face. “My mind is on high alert, like I just walked into a boss’ room unprepared! I hate this!”

  I couldn’t meet him looking like this told me my subscious.

  Jerry paused, his voice taking on a note of . “Miss Charlie, perhaps this level of stress is unnecessary. Mister Roberto does not seem like an individual who—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Jerry!” I snapped, grabbing a brush and attag the tangled mess that was my hair. “It’s not about him—it’s about me! I refuse to look like a disaster when someone’s at my door. Why does this always happen to me?” I muttered, trying tle my hair into something that didn’t scream, just woke up.

  “Miss Charlie, I’d like to remind you I anage Mister Roberto’s driving speed,” Jerry said helpfully. “Perhaps a sed reminder might prevent the future—”

  “Not helping!” I snapped, fumbling with some hair ties and clips. I twisted my hair into a messy bun that was at least semi-presentable.

  With two minutes shaved off, I quickly rummaged through the pile of clothes ohroom ter, searg for something that wouldn’t make me look like a disaster.

  “Miss Charlie, you still have—”

  “I know!” I cut him off, grabbing a pair of bck leggings and a fy oversized sweater. “Don’t give me the tdown, Jerry. Just… keep him outside if I’m not ready!”

  “As you wish, Miss Charlie. He’s almost here.”

  “Of course he is,” I muttered, pulling on my outfit as fast as humanly possible. “Because the damn simution hates me.”

  With one final gn the mirror, I grabbed my watd spped it onto my wrist. “Alright, Jerry. Let’s go meet the speedster before he thinks I’ve bailed.”

  I sprinted for the door, heart rag and barely posed, just as the telltale sound of a car engine revving echoed outside.

  Perfect timing.

  “Ah, signorina! Ready for Rime-y cousin really likes you!” Rreeted me with his usual grin as I reached his car.

  “No, I am not, Roberto,” I said, ping the bridge of my nose. “I’m sorry, I ime to fix—”

  “Mister Riker arranged a make-up artist and outfit for you, Miss Charlie,” Jerry’s voice chimed in my head.

  Of course he did. That piece of junk hadn’t mentio until now. I closed my eyes, suppressing the urge tue with my watch. “Sorry, Roberto. Yes, we go.”

  Roberto, a true gentleman, opened my door for me befetting in himself.

  Okay, maybe it’s a pany policy. But I haven’t called Tüber ride.

  As always, his car roared to life like it had just been unleashed from a cage. The speed was immediate and breathtaking, and my hands instinctively clutched the edge of the seat.

  “So, signorina,” he said, eyes on the road but his tone light and teasing, “I didn’t know you were that famous.”

  “I’m not,” I replied automatically.

  Roberto let out a hearty ugh. “Ah, but my cousins were so excited when I told them it was me who dropped you at the tower. Should’ve known they wouldn’t let just anybody in there.”

  “I…” I trailed off, suddenly reminded of the relentless ads Riker’s eai empire had been pumping out.

  It hit me like a poorly aimed frost shard: Riker’s rankings weren’t just about trag progress. They were setting the tone, creating a hierarchy of Rimelion celebrities. And somehow, I art of that. “I am, aren’t I?”

  “Certamente!” Roberto ughed again, steering sharply to avoid an AI-driven car that beeped angrily. “You o sign my car, signorina! Imagi—‘Driven by the Sword Queen!’ Perfecto!”

  “Your car?” I repeated, incredulous, as I g the speeding blur of pavemeh us. “Why? So I endorse your alternative routes?”

  Restured grandly toward the road—or rather, the improvised path we were now taking. “Not a sidewalk, signorina. It’s an opportunity! We Italians, we find strada where others see obstacles!”

  “Uh-huh,” I muttered, gripping the door haighter as we narrowly missed a decorative fountain. “Well, your ‘strada’ better get me to Rime- in one piece, or your cousins will be autographing this car instead.”

  “Miss Charlie, I don’t endorse this man’s driving teique,” Jerry said in my head, his tone dry.

  “Yeah, me her,” I whispered, my knuckles white from gripping the door handle. “But… he’s an amazing driver.”

  “That is undeniable,” Jerry ceded just as Roberto squeezed the car between a lumbering bus and a brick wall with a hair’s breadth to spare.

  “We’re here, signorina!” Roberto announced with triumphant fir. From his driver’s seat, he somehow opened my door with a smooth motion.

  “I… thank you, Roberto.” I stepped out, feeling a little wobbly from the adrenaline rush. With a quick wrist motion, I sent him payment, including a tip.

  Jerry’s interface made it absurdly easy. “And thanks for the watch, Jerry.”

  “No problem, Miss Charlie,” Jerry replied with practiced politeness.

  I took a moment to gather myself.

  We were standing in front of the Rimelion. No wait. I g the sign, Riker’s gress ter. He hadn’t re yet.

  Still a big-ass building capable of holding millions of attendees.

  It loomed over the surrounding pitiful offices like a fortress of gss and steel, its massive holo-dispys already advertising Rime- in bold, glowiers.

  Just seeing it again brought back memories—of chaotic crowds, relentless excitement, and overwhelming noise. In my past life, I’d attended quite a few s here, but the sheer scale of it never failed to make my stomach .

  This time’s different, I reminded myself. I’m not just here to gawk at boob—I mean booths—and snag freebies. I have a role to py.

  “Let’s just go,” I muttered to myself, striding toward one of the servitrances.

  A bored-looking girl stood guard there, holding a holo-tablet. Her brue ponytail swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and her eyeliner was so intricate it could have been a skill from Rimelion. She gnced up at me as I approached, her expressioral.

  “Key?” she asked curtly.

  “Uh, key?” I responded, surprised.

  “Yeah, key,” she repeated, her tone suggesting she was used to dealing with the clueless.

  “She mearance key,” Jerry chimed in helpfully in my head. “You have the quantum key, Miss Charlie.”

  “No, I don’t have it.” My voice was ft as realization struck. “I left it in my reader at home.”

  There ause as Jerry processed this.

  “That… is unfortunate,” Jerry finally said, his tone sounding almost pained. “It appears your ‘stupid piece of junk’—as you so fondly call it—has indeed caused plications.”

  The girl raised an eyebrow at me. “No key, ry,” she said simply, tapping her holo-tablet in what seemed like practiced dismissal.

  “Wait!” I blurted, scrambling for a solution. “I’m Charlie. The… uh… Sword Queen for the mai?”

  The girl paused, giving me a skeptical once-over. Then, with a slow swipe of her finger oablet, she accessed a different s.

  After a few tense moments, her eyebrows shot up, and her bored expressioed into something resembling terror.

  Is Riker an evil boss?

  “Oh. Oh!” She straightened up, suddenly flustered. “Miss Charlie! I’m so sorry—I didn’t realize!” She tapped rapidly on her holo-tablet. “You’re cleared for VIP access. Ght through!”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thanks,” I muttered, stepping past her into the service corridor.

  Jerry’s voice returned in my head, smug. “Miss Charlie, it seems your fame precedes you, after all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, fame,” I muttered. “But you’re not off the hook. We’re having a talk about your ions. Spending o and fetting importaails. Like taxi being faster, or leaving a quantum key.”

  I walked through the long tuhe sound of my heels eg off the metallic walls. The fluorest lights overhead flickered occasionally, casting a harsh, sterile glow on the corridor. “Ugh, I always hated these. They always broke. Stupid cheap-ass lights!” My steps quied, a mix of anticipation and dread boiling in my chest.

  The tunnel finally opened into a spacious room, bustling with activity.

  Teis were scattered around, bent over soles or adjusting the big-ass holo-dispys that hovered mid-air, their projes shimmering with data streams, vibrant ads, a schedules. The hum of maery and the faint murmur of voices filled the air, giving the space a strangely lively yet meical vibe.

  Then my heart sank.

  There, standing in the ter of it all, was a figure that could only be described as ridiculously over-the-top.

  The unmistakable glimmer of a new coat—brighter and more obnoxious tha one—caught the light and shimmered like a disco ball, refleg the millions of lights here, momentarily blinding me as he turo face me.

  “Lady Charlie!” Riker’s voied across the room, his smile growing impossibly wider as his arms spread theatrically.

  “Oh, no,” I muttered under my breath, shielding my eyes from the gre of his multicolored monstrosity. “How is it shihan before? Is that even legal?”

  Riker, oblivious to my critique, strutted toward me as if the room were his personal runway.

  Well, he owns it.

  His coat sparkled with every step, a cert of shifting hues that screamed, look at me! It was as if someone had taken a rainbow, added glitter, and then decided it wasn’t enough, so they threw in a few hundred LEDs food measure.

  “Lady Charlie,” he repeated, stopping just short of me, his arms still dramatically outstretched. “How delightful it is to bask in your radiant presence again! And might I add, you look absolutely stunning today.”

  “Riker,” I said ftly, fighting the urge to rub my temples. “I look not-great. And yoing to cause a traffic act if you keep wearing coats like that.”

  He ughed, pletely uerred. “Ah, but what is life without a little sparkle, my dear? A dull, colorless existence, I say! But e, e, we have much to discuss and little time before the festivities begin.”

  I sighed, resigning myself to the iable chaos. “Fine, but if your coat blinds me, I’m holding you responsible.”

  Riker’s grin widened. “Deal!”