“Mmm.” Julia doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it go. “There’s a reception upstairs. VIPs, major donors, the usual crowd. I expect you to make an appearance.”
“What about Paragon?”
“Paragon will be there as well. It’s important the public sees you together.” She pauses. “As partners.”
Right. Partners implies equality. Trust. Something mutual. I got none of those things from that machine.
Paragon is already moving toward the building, a silent glide that doesn’t quite look like walking. Julia follows, her attentionfixed on her creation, and I’m left standing on a cracked stage with a crowd still chanting my name.
I look toward the press section one more time.
Mia is gone.
But she left something behind—a feeling, a pull, a reminder that somewhere in this circus of performance and control, there’s still something real. Something human.
I just have to figure out if that something is me.
The reception is everything I expected—champagne flutes and shit music and people who want to shake my hand so they can tell their friends they touched a superhero. I make the rounds, say the right things, smile until my face hurts. All in a day’s work.
The whole time, though, I’m watching Paragon.
He moves through the crowd with mechanical precision, accepting handshakes without warmth, answering questions with responses that sound not just rehearsed, but canned, exactly the same. The helmet never comes off. He never relaxes. It’s performance without personality, heroism without humanity.
And of course, everyone loves it, because everyone loves whatever the new toy is, even if the old one still works perfectly fine.
“Incredible, isn’t he?” a donor gushes beside me, gesturing toward Paragon with her champagne. “So mysterious. So powerful. My daughter is absolutely obsessed already.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Incredible.”
I excuse myself and find a quiet corner by the windows, looking out at the city I’ve sworn to protect. The sun is setting over the Hudson, painting everything gold and crimson, and for a moment, I let myself feel small. I’m just a man in a suit, staring at a view he didn’t earn, wondering for the first time what his purpose really is.
Deep fucking thoughts for a fundraiser.
My watch buzzes. A message from an unknown number. Not a holograph, but a text.
That was quite a show. Dinner tomorrow? I have questions.
I don’t recognize the number, but I know it’s Mia. She must have gotten my number from Julia.
I type back before I can second-guess myself:I have answers. Name the place.
Her response comes immediately:Somewhere without handlers. Or cameras. Or whatever that thing in the black armor is. Let me know if I need my LactoEase pills.
I smile despite myself.
Deal.
I pocket the phone and look back at the reception. Julia is introducing Paragon to the mayor, her hand once again resting on that black armor with unmistakable pride. My replacement. My competition. The next chapter in Global Dynamix’s vision for a better tomorrow.
But tomorrow night, I won’t be here, playing puppet.
I’ll be with her.
I think I won this round.
CHAPTER 11
JULIA
