The twin moons of Vareon glowed faintly through the glass dome above the Elaris International Airport. Streams of light slid down chrome panels as crowds buzzed in every language imaginable — students, traders, soldiers, and dreamers, all passing through one of the planet's busiest cities.
Lyra Valestra hated airports. Too many eyes, too many lies. She tightened her scarf and adjusted the strap of her duffel bag, scanning every reflection in the polished floors. Her instincts — the kind only generations of shadow assassins could breed — stayed sharp.
Her credits were running low. Her pride, lower.
She checked her wrist holo again — her balance blinked red. "Fantastic," she muttered. Her parents had cut her off completely. They'd said, 'If you want to live like a normal civilian, then earn like one.' So she left. No guards, no orders, no bloodline politics.
But someone had already tested her patience today. Her small travel wallet had gone missing right after customs. She'd barely blinked before realizing it — and then she'd spotted a man, tall, dark jacket, same build as the one near her earlier — heading toward the exit.
Her eyes narrowed. "Not today."
She stormed across the lounge, boots echoing. The crowd parted slightly — she moved like a predator who didn't know how to stop hunting. The man paused near a fountain pool, turning just in time for her hand to swing.
SLAP.
The sound echoed across the marble.
He stumbled backward in shock, right into the shallow water. The splash drenched half a dozen bystanders.
"What the—?!" the man sputtered, blinking water from his lashes.
"You think you can steal from me and walk away?" Lyra snapped, pointing at him, her eyes burning like stormlight.
"Steal—?!" He looked around wildly. "I don't even know you!"
"Sure," she said, crossing her arms. "Next time, maybe try not to look so obvious."
She turned on her heel, hair whipping dramatically, and stalked away toward the taxi bays.
The man sat there, dripping wet, staring after her as people filmed the scene with their holo-devices.
"Great," he muttered. "Day one in Elaris and I'm already a viral meme."
His name was Aiden Kael, though he hadn't used his family name openly in years. His parents — old warriors from a once-great bloodline — had trained him like a weapon and then tossed him aside when he refused to follow the family business. They'd frozen his accounts too. Now, like Lyra, he was broke, proud, and pretending to be normal.
An hour later, both of them stood outside the campus gates of Elaris University, carrying bags and a bad mood.
Aiden scrolled through housing listings on his wristband, all flashing "occupied" or "too expensive.""Perfect," he grumbled. "Guess I'll sleep under a drone tower tonight."
Lyra wasn't having better luck. Her wrist holo displayed rejection after rejection.She sighed. "Maybe I should've slapped someone richer."
Both of them ended up calling the same housing agent — a cheerful voice named Mr. Lunn, who promised "a beautiful, affordable shared apartment near the university." Neither of them knew he had sold the same unit to both parties, hoping to disappear with double the payment.
A few hours later, Lyra arrived at Building 7-B, Unit 42. It wasn't much — old tech, slightly flickering lights, but at least it was clean and private. She dropped her bag on the couch and exhaled.
"Finally. Peace."
The doorbell chimed.
Lyra frowned, walked over, and opened it — and froze.
Standing there was him. The airport guy. The one she slapped into the fountain.
Aiden froze too, halfway through raising his hand to knock again."Oh, no," he said flatly. "Not you."
"You again?" Lyra's voice rose an octave. "Did you follow me?"
"Follow you? You literally threw me into water hours ago!"
"I mistook you for a thief!"
"I was checking my flight map!"
They glared at each other, both ready to slam the door — except Aiden held up a keycard. "Look. Unit 42. My place."
Lyra blinked, then showed hers. "Also Unit 42. My place."
They stared. Then both checked their holo-contracts. Same address. Same signature. Same scam.
"Wait…" Lyra muttered. "That sleazy agent—"
"Mr. Lunn," Aiden growled. He dialed the number — straight to voicemail. Lyra tried too. Same result.
"Well," Aiden said dryly, "we've officially been robbed."
Lyra dropped her bag to the floor, rubbing her temples. "This is unbelievable. I just wanted one normal day."
"Trust me, I didn't plan to get attacked by a stranger before moving into my new home either."
They stood there in silence for a long second, the absurdity settling in. Then, almost in sync, they sighed.
"Well," Lyra said finally, "the place is paid for."
Aiden raised an eyebrow. "You're suggesting—"
"Temporary co-living. Until we find the con artist. And don't get any ideas, water boy."
He gave her a deadpan look. "Oh, please. I wouldn't stay if I had a choice."
"Good. Then don't break anything."
"Don't slap anyone."
She glared. "You're lucky I didn't aim harder."
The first night was chaos.
Aiden tried to fix the flickering lights in the kitchen, only to short-circuit the power for half the apartment. Lyra laughed for five straight minutes while holding a candle.
Later, she caught him trying to cook noodles at 2 a.m. "You're using the wrong setting," she said.
"Do I look like I care?"
"Apparently not, judging by your noodles turning into concrete."
They bickered, argued, and mocked each other until exhaustion finally won. For the first time in years, both of them fell asleep in a place that wasn't built for killing or training — and the silence, oddly, felt safe.
The next morning, sunlight broke through the smog layer, hitting the skyline of Elaris. A soft breeze drifted through the window, carrying the faint hum of hover-bikes and early market chatter.
Aiden woke up to find Lyra practicing silent movements in the small living room — not with blades, but with perfect, graceful precision that made him stop and stare.
She noticed. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing. Just wondering if I should start locking my door."
She smirked faintly. "You should've already."
Neither of them knew that two shadows were watching from a nearby rooftop — operatives assigned by their families to ensure the heirs' safety. Through a comm line, a woman whispered,"They've met."
A voice replied, deep and cautious:"Good. Let them believe they're free. For now."