Sommer awoke late — sun-kissed and silk-draped in sheets that still smelled faintly of the ocean and whatever decadent oil she'd worn the night before. Andrew had left a note on her pillow:
"Gone to acquire coffee and sin. You were asleep and perfect."
She smiled to herself, rolled over, and stretched toward the sea-drenched light filtering through the drapes.
A gentle
chime at the suite's entrance.
No knock. Just the chime. Polite. Precise.
Sommer rose, wrapping herself in a sheer linen robe that left little to the imagination. As she crossed the room barefoot, she cast a glance toward the glass-bottomed tub — empty. Still. She blinked.
Then opened the door.
No one was there.
Only a
box.
It was a matte-black hexagonal container with
no markings, save for a tiny embedded crystal on the clasp. A security seal, she realized — biological, not digital. The box had
weight. Balanced, deliberate.
Sommer brought it inside, placed it on the table, and waved her fingers over the seal.
It opened like a whisper.
Inside:
- A bottle of rich obsidian perfume, unmarked — scent unknown.
- A folded parchment, not flimsiplast. Real paper. Expensive.
- A small brushed metal insignia: two overlapping stars over a wave-cut line. A military emblem — but not one she recognized.
Sommer frowned, unfolding the note with careful fingers.
To the Proprietor of the Gilded Veil, Sommer Dai —
Your talents have drawn attention well beyond the pleasure districts and performance spheres.
We recognize precision where others only see indulgence.
We invite you to Signa-Ki, a research and tactical innovation facility located on the edge of the Dry Veins of Avidress.
There are things here that require vision. Things that may suit you.
A private shuttle and clearance beacon are prepared under the name Kiora Anthess.
If discretion is a language you speak, we would be honored to converse in it.
Sommer sat back, one brow arched, lips pressed together in thought.
She didn't recognize the signature. The alias. The emblem.
But whoever they were… they'd done their homework. And the invitation was
not an idle one.
She lifted the perfume bottle and uncapped it.
A single drop landed on her wrist.
The scent rose —
warm metal, old jasmine, faint leather, and something almost…
ozonic.
It smelled like memory and war. Like lust in a locked bunker.
And it lingered.