Tobin Meyer, suit slightly rumpled now, eyes cool and calculating, steps into the room like he owns it. Which, I guess, he does.
“One Horn, go do... literally anything else.”
The big man gives me one last slow look, then spits on the floor and saunters out.
Meyer turns to me, smile back in place but paper-thin. “Apologies. He’s not... house-trained.”
“Yeah, no kidding. That guy is one creepy flex away from full-blown villain monologue.”
He doesn’t laugh.
He just motions me to follow. We walk down a side hall toward the crew lounge, if you can call it that—a few cracked chairs, a crate-table, and a holoscreen that doesn’t fully work. Meyer pours himself a drink from a bottle that smells like turpentine.
“Let’s level,” he says.
“Level?”
He sips. “You’re not stupid. And you’re not just some fame junkie looking for clicks. You want the Hulk. And I can get you there.”
I narrow my eyes. “In exchange for...?”
“Oh, nothing major,” he says lightly. “Just, when the time comes, you let me have first crack at what’s inside.”
“So you’re not interested in the exploration. Or the mystery. Or the stream views.”
He smiles. “Nope.”
I sit, hard. The chair wobbles. “You tricked me.”
“I delivered exactly what I promised. A ride to the Hulk. Protection. Access. You’ll get your broadcast. You’ll get your fame.”
“And you’ll get whatever vaults or relics or forgotten weapons are buried in the heart of that ship.”
“Correct.”
I laugh. It sounds brittle and weird. “You know this was supposed to be a stunt, right? Something thrilling, edgy, safe-but-spicy. Instead I’m on a deathtrap with a walking HR violation and a Reaper pilot who hasn’t blinked since I boarded.”
“You’re not wrong,” Meyer says, leaning back. “But here’s the thing, Isolde... You’re gonna do it anyway. Because you want to matter. You want to prove something.”
I flinch.
He notices.
“You’re tired of being a sideshow,” he says softly. “Of being the pretty face with the catchy intro. You want to be real.”
“Don’t—”
“You’re sick of the comments. The filters. The pressure to sparkle when all you want is to beseen.”
My jaw tightens. I stand.
“Get out of my head, suit.”
He tips his drink to me. “See you at the Hulk.”
I storm out. Reflector trails behind, quietly humming an anxious lullaby. My heart thunders in my chest. My skin feels too tight.
But he’s not wrong.
