Adele wore a black hoodie now. Not designer. Not branded. Just plain fabric from a street vendor in Lower Aurelia. It made her invisible. And right now, invisible was good.
She moved through a crowded sidewalk near Grand Vale Avenue, where bright digital billboards cast harsh colors on worn concrete. The city was noisy here — too busy to notice a seventeen-year-old girl slipping into the back entrance of a records office. She'd scoped the place for three days. Nobody asked questions in the lower levels of Aurelia.
Inside the building, the air smelled of paper and dust. Not everything had been digitized. Old files still mattered — especially to people who knew how to change them.
She approached the clerk with a practiced calm.
"I'm here for a records request. Private update for a transfer case. Saerrowell."
The clerk barely looked up. "Form and ID."
Adele slid a crisp form across the counter. The ID looked real. Because, technically, it was — just not hers. It belonged to a girl who dropped out of the candidate list last year. Adele had bought the info from a tech runner named Finn for 2,000 credits.
She could no longer sit back and watch her cruel family win. She failed. Yes, but it won't define her. She had slipped out of the estate hoping no one would notice her absence.
There was no use hoping though, even if she was gone for years they still wouldn't notice,so what was a few days. Fear was the only constant partner who refused to leave her side. After all,what she was doing had never been attempted,at least not when it came to Saerrowell.
The clerk sighed, tapped his screen, and waved her through. The system was too overworked to ask why.
Who knew. one negligent clerk just made her whole plan easier, she expected a walking institution of a woman whose glasses would seat right on top of her nose, scrutinizing every single word. But then luck chose today to favor her.
As she stepped back out into the light, her phone buzzed. A message from Finn: "You should be as careful as possible, we can't joke around"
She didn't hesitate. There was no room for doubt anymore. If Saerrowell wouldn't open the door, she'd slip through.
Later that evening, the Lorrington penthouse gleamed under artificial golden light. Lucille sat on the edge of a cream leather chaise, her tablet in one hand, a glass of rosé in the other. The city skyline blinked through the glass walls behind her.
Clarisse waltzed into the room, dressed in a velvet two-piece and heels too sharp for comfort.
"You're ready early," Lucille noted without looking up.
"Obviously," Clarisse said. "The Welcome Gala is tonight. Everyone important will be there."
"You aren't enrolled, darling."
Clarisse grinned. "But I'm invited. And Adele's not. Isn't it delicious?"
Lucille didn't smile. "Don't concern yourself with Adele. She's... being handled."
Clarisse tilted her head. "What does that mean?"
"It means she won't be in our way much longer."
Back in Lower Aurelia, Adele met Nyra. A girl who couldn't have been older than twenty, with silver braids and a fierce stare. Her workspace was cluttered with tech — monitors, cables, ID printers, and a mountain of ramen cups.
"You want in clean," Nyra said. "That's rare. Most just want to look like they got in."
"I don't want a mask," Adele said. "I want the door open."
Nyra tapped keys. "You're bold. But Saerrowell isn't a grocery store. You need three things — advisor recommendation, background clearance, and a live-entry assessment."
"I'll handle the last two. You fake the first."
Nyra whistled. "Alright, heiress. Let's see what you're really made of."
At the same moment, Mr. Lorrington stared blankly at his whiskey tumbler. The news display on the wall played headlines on silent loop: Saerrowell Expands Candidate Pool... New Security Protocols Announced...
He wasn't a cruel man. Just tired.
Adele reminded him too much of her mother. The woman who once stood exactly where Adele stood now — angry, brilliant, reckless. He'd loved her in a way he didn't know how to handle. And Adele? She was the leftover flame from that fire.
"I should've done more," he muttered.
But he didn't move. Didn't call her. Didn't ask where she was.
Because he already knew he'd waited too long.
Three days passed.
Adele ran through alleyways, climbed over fences, and visited forgotten corners of the city. She met a former Saerrowell applicant who gave her the exact layout of the entrance exam. She paid a retired security guard to clone a visitor badge. Each night, she returned to Nyra's place, piecing together the perfect lie that would soon become her truth.
One evening, while reviewing her updated student profile, Nyra paused.
"You sure you want this?"
Adele looked up. "I've never wanted anything more."
Nyra nodded slowly. "Then act like it. You'll need to play it like you belong there from the second you walk in."
Adele tied her hoodie tighter. "I don't just want to belong." She met Nyra's eyes. "I want to own it."
Back in the Lorrington home, the family sat at breakfast. Sunlight spilled over the sleek marble counters.
Lucille sliced into her papaya delicately. "Adele, you're unusually quiet."
Adele didn't look up from her toast. "Just thinking."
Clarisse flipped her hair. "Thinking won't fix your failure."
"Neither will talking about it every morning," Adele shot back, voice even.
Mr. Lorrington watched them both, unmoving.
Lucille dabbed her mouth. "We've discussed options. Mentorships. Relocation. There are boarding schools that—"
"I'm not going anywhere," Adele said.
Clarisse scoffed. "You'll be lucky if any employer hires you with your level of stupidity"
Adele looked up slowly. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm the only stupid one"
Silence snapped the room in half.
Lucille's hand froze mid-air.
Mr. Lorrington blinked.
Clarisse's fork clinked against her plate.
"What does that mean?" Lucille asked.
Adele stood up and calmly finished her coffee. "It means I'm building something better than what any of you ever gave me."
And just like that, she left. Not in a storm of shouting or drama. Just the quiet, steady walk of someone who was already far ahead.
Hours later, a message lit up her screen:
FINN: The system took your file. Waitlist confirmed. Step one complete. You screw this up, it's on you.
ADELE: I won't.
She looked out her window at the city pulsing below — layered streets, blinking signs, roaring traffic. All of it alive. All of it watching.