"No."

  "Wa-what? Wait, hold on."

  Zoe pushed the envelope back toward Amelia, "I'm not doing anything for Crater." She shook her head, offended that they would even ask.

  Amelia stared at her, dumbfounded. For a moment, she said nothing, the silence heavy and expectant. Then frustration flashed across her face like a sudden storm. “You were begging to do high-quality contracts for so long.”

  "Well, I'm fine now."

  "Doing this mission will even give you another star. They made it a special benefit. At your age, being a triple-star would be very impressive. You know, normally, you'd have to do two B-rank missions. That's really tough to do; proven barely even ten percent of people have three stars on their badge. That's including all four colonies too!" One of her dogs barked as if to give emphasis to her claim.

  Zoe flashed her a look, "You de-patriate Ivy, and you want me to help you?" Her voice cracked slightly, but her gaze was unwavering. "I'm not taking bribes. You could make me a five-star. I'm not doing this." Her eyes fell to the ground, "Sorry," she mumbled and started shuffling away.

  "Well, here's the thing about that," her tone sweetening in a way that was almost mocking. One of her Mastiffs bounded down the hallway, claws clicking sharply against the floor. It skidded to a halt, blocking Zoe's path. She froze, staring at the snarling dog in front of her, "We really aren't asking," Amelia continued, her words dripping with an almost weird satisfaction.

  Zoe turned back slowly, seeing the corners of Amelia's mouth curl as if she was trying to hide a smirk.

  Zoe paced in circles around her room, her steps uneven and restless. The letter lay open on her bed, the words staring back at her. 'They really want me to go across the country…by myself.' She thought back to several hours earlier.

  She had stood awkwardly in the cabin, the faint scent of beachy candle wax curling through the air. It didn’t help. Neph and Amelia’s eyes bore into her like a weight she couldn’t shrug off. Neph leaned forward at his desk, fingers entwined and elbows resting heavily on the polished wood. Amelia stood off to the side, arms crossed, her mastiffs sprawled at her feet, their slow, rhythmic breathing the only sound breaking the silence.

  "As Amelia said earlier," Neph began, his voice calm and deliberate, "I'm aware that we're the last people you want to help…but we're not asking you. We're telling you."

  "I-I don't know…" Zoe shifted uncomfortably, her hands gripping the hem of her shirt. “I—I don’t know…” she mumbled, her voice barely audible. Her gaze darted around the room as if searching for an escape route.

  "Look," his voice softened considerably, "The person who contacted us is very trustworthy. We wouldn't have entertained this if we didn't think you could do it. Say what you want about yourself, but everyone here knows you're quite precocious." 'Even if your grades may suggest otherwise,' he considered adding but, thought better of it.

  "Hey, also," Amelia said, "We're not saying you have to go immediately."

  Zoe swallowed hard. Her mouth felt like a spider had created a nest inside, and then made a million babies, "How long do I have?"

  "You got three days."

  Neph straightened in his chair, "In three days, you will board an aircraft and be flown to New York. New York City, to be exact. Before you go, we'll give you the address of where you'll meet him."

  "That's not all, right?" Zoe asked.

  "No," Neph admitted, his tone shifting to something more cautious, "But I'll let him explain to you what he wants you to do. Though I will say that there will be four other people you will be working with when you arrive."

  Zoe's brow furrowed as she looked up, finally meeting his gaze, "I can't pick someone to go with me?"

  "Nope. The client seemed to have something particular in mind when he gave us this contract. Out of everyone available, our program chose you as the most suitable based on your stats. Usually, we wouldn't do this, but he said this was urgent, and he's been a VIP client of ours for a while..." Neph trailed off. "If I recall correctly, the others are actually from some of the other colonies."

  Zoe looked up, meeting his gaze, "The other...colonies? Which ones?" Neph glanced at Amelia, but she didn't know either. Zoe’s heart sank further. She dropped her gaze, chewing on the inside of her cheek. The idea of leaving, especially alone, filled her with unease. Yet, the words she’d been dreading slipped out before she could stop them. "Okay," she said, her words almost drowned by the slumbering dogs. "I'll do it." She didn't want to meet her eyes, but she could tell Amelia was smiling.

  The sun was barely in the sky as Zoe stepped off the aircraft. The towering black buildings on the horizon stood like dark silhouettes, the pink hues of the morning sky painting a backdrop for the sprawling city below. Her hair whipped around wildly in the frosty morning breeze, and she clutched a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, the ink slightly smudged from her nervous grip. and read it over again. Squinting down the lengthy tarmac, her eyes caught the helicopter described in the note. The sleek black vehicle, emblazoned with an unfamiliar logo, gleamed faintly in the morning light.

  With a shaky step toward the awaiting vehicle, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself.

  The pilot, engrossed in his phone, looked up once he noticed a girl approaching. She wore her usual oversized t-shirt, this time a several-year-old blue one that hung off her, almost reaching her knees. She wore dirty red light-up sneakers, which were untied. His expression changed from indifference to one of mild amusement.

  She stopped in front of him. She stood for several seconds, not saying a word or making a sound.

  "You're Zoe?" he asked, standing and brushing crumbs from his jumpsuit.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Yeah."

  "Alright, let's go."

  The helicopter blades roared to life, and within minutes they were airborne, cutting through the early morning air. The cabin vibrated rhythmically, and the world outside blurred into streaks of color.

  "So," the pilot yelled over the noise, "I've never been to Gia Tower. What's it like in there?"

  "I've never been there," Zoe yelled back, tightening her grip on the seatbelt strap. "I'm meeting someone there."

  The pilot raised an eyebrow, "Oh. I thought you were gonna be some billionaire's kid. From what I heard, those are really the only people who can afford to live there."

  "Cool," Zoe mumbled, staring out the window, her mind already racing ahead.

  Ten minutes later, the helicopter landed smoothly on the tower’s rooftop helipad. As the rotors slowed, Zoe stepped out, shielding her face from the whipping wind. She made her way to the elevator, her heart pounding louder with every step.

  The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Inside, instead of numbered buttons, each was labeled with a name: Rich, Andrew, Nicholas, Jodie… Finally, her eyes found "Damon." She pressed the button, her finger trembling slightly.

  The elevator glided upward, and the doors opened into a sprawling penthouse that immediately stole her breath. It was opulent in every sense of the word—floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city, white marble floors that gleamed under recessed lighting, and furniture that looked more like modern art.

  Immediately, she noticed six people already in the room. Two occupied the oversized white couch, while the remaining four were dispersed among chairs or leaning against tables.

  The girl who lay on the sofa had been on her back, tapping away on her phone. At the sound of the elevator doors opening, she twisted, turning to see who had entered. Zoe winced when she saw her. The girl appeared a few years older than her; if Zoe were to guess, she'd say eighteen at the oldest. Black, but light-skinned, and her long, braided black hair featured bold streaks of red. Tattoos adorned nearly every inch of her body, the most striking being the ink beneath her right eye—a jagged 'KTA' as if scrawled by an unsteady hand. Above her left eyebrow, the word 'tentacion.'

  The man beside her turned to her with a stern expression. "Zheanni," he said, his voice sharp, "go tell Damon."

  "I'm kinda busy," she drawled, her voice unnatural

  "Zheanni…" his tone carried an unspoken warning.

  "Okay," she sighed, swinging her legs off the couch, trudging toward the glass staircase. She wore large black combat boots and baggy cargo pants with more zippers than Zoe could count. One pant leg was colored black, while the other was white.

  Zoe watched as Zheanni walked to the steps, 'Why is she talking like that? It sounds like she's forcing her voice to be a lot deeper than it normally would be.'

  Lazily, she strolled up, knocking on the large wooden door on the second story. "Damon," she called, "The kids is here." After a few seconds, the door flung open, and a man in his late twenties wearing a luxurious white bathrobe with gold trim cruised to the landing, regarding everyone as he leaned over the second-floor railing.

  A kid next to Zoe muttered, just loud enough for her to hear, "I don't think he realized we can see that he isn't wearing underwear under that." He was slightly taller than her, with messy blond hair and glasses that magnified his sharp blue eyes.

  Everyone watched silently as Damon and Zheanni walked down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, the man on the couch got to his feet, walking to Damon with an extended hand. He was tall and muscular, with white skin, and wore a pitch-black tuxedo.

  Damon took his hand, shaking it. "Hey Paul, How're you doing, brother?" He talked with a thick New York accent.

  "Eh, I'm doing alright. Those fifty M's are making today just peachy."

  "You know those stocks I was telling you about the other day? Well, this morning, I put another fifty up."

  Paul cackled and shook his head, "Bro, you are a fuckin' degenerate."

  Damon smiled, "Well, don't blow too much of it on strippers…Hold on," he laughed, "Remember the South Islands a few years ago?" They both started cracking up, their laughter filled the room, but Zoe felt out of place, shrinking further into herself. The others in the room watched with varying degrees of interest or boredom. Once the laughter died down, Damon asked, "Did you ever find out what happened to that safe?"

  "Yeah, it was some underling from one of the capos."

  "What happened to the guy?"

  "Oh," Paul chuckled, "he's gone now."

  Zheanni walked past them and sat back on the sofa.

  Damon clasped his hands, turning to everyone else, "Well, before we start. Let's all introduce ourselves!" He pointed to Zoe.

  "Uh," Zoe's eyes flicked around the room, noticing everyone's stare before fixating on the floor. "I'm Zoe," she muttered, her hand half raised.

  The kid with blonde hair and glasses stepped forward, "Hey everyone, I'm Asher."

  A boy who looked a few years older than Zoe sat in a chair at a dining table. Before now, he'd been zoned out, staring blankly at the gigantic television screen nailed to the wall. It had been on, but the sound was muted, though once he saw Zheanni, his eyes lit up with recognition. He pried his eyes from her and he glanced up, "Oh, hey. Y'all can call me Mitani." He had black hair, with Kohl around his eyes. He wore what looked like a short gray chef's hat.

  A boy who sat cross-legged on the dining table next to Mitani raised his hand. He wore a tight T-shirt with gym shorts. "I'm Kalimba! Damon graciously chose me for my teamwork abilities! I look forward to working with you all!"

  The last one was a tall and thin boy. He wore what looked like a boiler suit, a dark navy blue with red streaks and hems. "Yahd. That's my name," he mumbled.

  "Now that was great!" Damon smiled. "I'm not gonna waste any more time. In about an hour, we'll all fly over and land on my yacht. After that, we'll be off to..." he used for effect. "Australia!"