Chapter 3: The Dress Box
Alicia hurried back to her apartment, the tablet clutched against her ribs like a stolen heart. Her fingers were numb from the cold, or maybe from the tremor that had settled into her bones after meeting Necroblade. The hallway was empty, the overhead light flickering the way it always did, casting a sickly yellow pall over the worn carpet. She stopped short when she saw the box waiting outside her door.
It was a sleek, dark box, the kind that came from shops she could never afford. A silver ribbon was tied around it, and a simple card was tucked under the bow. Her name was written in precise, elegant strokes. Not a blade-and-vine seal. Something else. She recognized the weight of the paper from the gala invitation Helios had pressed into her hand that afternoon.
She scooped up the box, fumbled with her keys, and locked the door behind her with a click that felt final. The apartment was dark, save for the amber glow of a floor lamp she had left on. She set the box on her kitchen counter and placed the tablet beside it, then stood there, breathing.
Her eyes went to the tablet first. Necroblade’s words echoed in her mind. *A manufactured weapon. A cover-up.* She sat down at her kitchen table, pulling the tablet toward her. The screen illuminated a constellation of files: classified military reports, redacted communications, satellite imagery timelines. She scrolled through photographs of a man she didn’t recognize, labeled GEIST — PHASE ONE. There were damage projections, cost analyses, casualty estimates. The cold mathematics of human lives reduced to budget lines.
She read until her eyes burned, until the words blurred into accusations. There was a pattern here, a thread that led from Geist’s creation directly to Helios’s rise. A test, Necroblade had said. A test for their perfect hero.
When she finally pushed back from the table, her neck ached and the clock read well past midnight. She rubbed her eyes, and her gaze fell on the box. She had nearly forgotten it. She crossed the room and pulled the ribbon loose. Inside, nestled in black tissue paper, was a dress the color of liquid gold. Silk, probably, or something that felt like water. A note fluttered out.
*For tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at seven. — H.*
She held the dress up. It was elegant, devastatingly so. A gown meant to be seen, meant to stand beside a man who commanded the sky. She imagined the gala, the chandeliers, the whispered conversations. And behind it all, the face of the man who had created a monster to forge a hero.
This was her chance. Not just to interview Helios, but to find the ghost at the center of the machine.
She hung the dress over a chair and lay down on her bed, still fully dressed, staring at the ceiling. The tablet glowed on the kitchen counter like an ember. The dress shimmered in the dark like a promise.
She did not sleep. She waited.