I was lying on the couch in the living room, staring at the ceiling with the kind of peaceful boredom that felt almost luxurious after everything that had happened. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant sounds of conversation coming from the kitchen—Camille's voice, unmistakably energetic, punctuated by Sienna's softer responses and what sounded like Alexis's more measured tones.

It had been a couple of days since the museum exhibition. A couple of days since Camille had decided to kiss me in front of what felt like every camera in existence.

The fallout had been immediate and overwhelming.

Articles. Social media posts. Think pieces analyzing what the kiss meant for my public image. Speculation about our relationship. Photos of that exact moment plastered across news sites and gossip columns alike.

Camille, naturally, thought the whole thing was hilarious.

I could hear her now, her voice carrying from the kitchen with that teasing lilt she used when she knew she'd gotten away with something.

"—and you should have seen his face! He had no idea it was coming. The photographers loved it. We're basically the power couple of political resistance now."

Sienna's response was quieter, probably flustered. She always got flustered when Camille talked about things like this.

Then Alexis's voice cut through, clearer and more deliberate. "A simple kiss isn't that big of a deal, Camille. You're acting like you invented public displays of affection."

"Oh?" Camille's voice took on a challenging tone. "Is that so, Dr. Frost? Feeling jealous that I got all the attention?"

"Hardly," Alexis replied, and I could practically hear the smirk in her voice.

Footsteps approached the living room, and I tilted my head to see Alexis walking toward me with that purposeful stride that meant she'd decided something and was going to follow through regardless of consequences.

She stopped beside the couch, looking down at me with an expression that was equal parts clinical assessment and mischief.

"Alexis?" I said, slightly wary.

Without a word, she leaned down and kissed me.

Not as theatrical as Camille's museum kiss, but definitely not casual either. Her platinum hair fell forward like a curtain, blocking out the world for a moment, and I felt her hand rest lightly on my chest.

I was too shocked to do much beyond kiss her back, my brain trying to catch up with what was happening.

When she pulled away, there was a slight flush on her cheeks—barely noticeable, but there—and she turned back toward the kitchen with an expression of smug satisfaction.

"See?" she called out. "Not a big deal at all."

From the kitchen, I heard Camille's voice rise in disbelief. "Did you just—? Did she just—?"

"Yes," Alexis replied calmly, walking back toward them. "Yes, I did."

Sienna made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been shock. "Oh my god, you two are ridiculous."

"She started it," Alexis said primly.

"I'm ending it," Camille declared, and then I heard rapid footsteps like she was preparing to launch a counterattack.

I stopped paying attention after that, settling back into the couch with a slight smile. Let them have their competition. I certainly wasn't going to complain about being in the middle of it.

The peaceful boredom returned, washing over me like a warm blanket. This was nice. No immediate crises. No political maneuvering. No life-threatening surgery. Just… normalcy.

I was just starting to drift into that pleasant state between waking and sleeping when I heard different footsteps approaching. Lighter. More measured.

Evelyn.

"Rey," she said, and there was something in her tone that made me open my eyes immediately.

She stood beside the couch, her blindfold in place, holding a phone out toward me. "It's Samuel. From Ghana."

The peaceful boredom evaporated instantly.

I sat up, taking the phone from her hand. She'd already answered it and put it on speaker, probably sensing I'd want to hear this with full attention.

"Samuel," I said, bringing the phone closer.

"Reynard Vale!" His voice boomed through the speaker, warm and jovial. That rich uncle energy he always projected, the kind that made you feel welcome even when you knew he was calculating three moves ahead. "My friend! How are you? I saw the photos from your museum exhibition. Very impressive! And that kiss—chef's kiss—excellent publicity!"

Despite everything, I felt my lips quirk into a small smile. "I'm doing well, Samuel. The exhibition wasn't exactly my idea, but it went better than expected."

"Of course it did! You have good people around you, Reynard. That fashion designer of yours, very smart woman. She understands image, understands narrative. That's valuable in our line of work."

"She is smart," I agreed. "But I assume you didn't call to discuss my love life and public relations strategy."

Samuel laughed—that big, genuine laugh that filled a room even through a phone. "Always so serious! But you're right, you're right. We have important matters to discuss."

His tone shifted then, not losing the warmth entirely but gaining an edge of seriousness that I recognized from our UN meetings.

"I wanted to thank you again," he said. "For the warning about the World President being in Ghana. That information was… extremely valuable to say the least."

"Did you find anything?" I asked, leaning forward slightly.

"Oh yes," Samuel said, and I could hear him settling into something—a chair, probably. "We found quite a bit, actually. The World President has been here for some time, it seems. Operating out of one of our research facilities. It used to belong to NovaCore, but after its shutdown it got remodelled into a more modern building."

My jaw tightened. NovaCore. Of course.

"What kind of facility?" I asked.

"A laboratory," Samuel replied. "One that specializes in System research. Neural pathway manipulation. The kind of work that makes ethical review boards have nervous breakdowns. Those NovaCore employees were truly crazy. It's a shock that they didn't get life sentences for their actions." He paused. "The World President was here to oversee something. An experiment, we believe. Something significant enough to require personal supervision. At least that's the only logical conclusion we're reaching here."

"Do you know what kind of experiment?"

"Not yet," Samuel admitted. "My people are investigating, but these things take time. The World President is very good at covering tracks. But we're making progress."

I ran a hand through my hair, processing this. The World President in Ghana, overseeing experiments related to System manipulation. That couldn't be a coincidence. Not with everything we'd learned about the Cain Protocol, about NovaCore, about Subject 3840.

"There is good news, however," Samuel continued, and I could hear the smile returning to his voice.

"What kind of good news?"

"The World President is trapped."

I blinked. "Trapped?"

"Trapped," Samuel confirmed, clearly pleased with himself. "You see, shortly after you warned me, we began preparations. Nothing obvious, nothing that would raise suspicion. But we started implementing certain… protocols. Yesterday, we officially closed Ghana's borders."

"I didn't hear about any border closure," I said, my mind racing.

"Because we announced it as a response to an economic and military crisis," Samuel explained. "Which, technically, isn't even a lie. Having the World President conducting unauthorized experiments in our country certainly qualifies as a crisis. But the official narrative is that we're stabilizing internal security and economic infrastructure. Nothing to do with any mysterious figures operating in our laboratories."

"So the World President can't leave," I said slowly, understanding dawning.

"Cannot leave," Samuel confirmed with evident satisfaction. "Without revealing their identity and position. Which, as you know, would be… problematic for someone who has spent considerable effort remaining anonymous."

I stood up, unable to sit still anymore. Evelyn moved slightly to give me space, her blindfold tracking my movement by sound alone.

"How long can you keep the borders closed?" I asked.

"As long as necessary," Samuel said. "We have legitimate reasons. Economic instability. Regional security concerns. No one will question it for at least a few weeks, possibly months. And by the time anyone does question it, well… we'll see what happens."

This was huge. The World President, the figure who'd been a shadow puppet master for years, was suddenly trapped in a single country. Unable to move freely. Unable to operate with their usual anonymity.

"Wait, but how is this good news for us exactly?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer. "The World President is still dangerous even if they're contained."

"Ah," Samuel said, and I could hear the shift in his voice. The rich uncle persona falling away slightly, replaced by the shrewd political operator underneath. "That depends entirely on your answer to my next question, Reynard."

I waited, my hand gripping the phone tighter.

The penthouse had gone quiet. I could sense the others had stopped whatever they were doing in the kitchen, probably aware that something significant was happening even if they couldn't hear the conversation.

Samuel's voice came through the speaker, clear and deliberate.

"Do you want to meet the World President?"​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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