JACE

The main office is a sanctuary from the drama. A wooden masterpiece carved into the heart of the castle. Every inch of the room, from the high-beamed ceilings to the polished mahogany walls, are aged beyond centuries. Although it's a new property of mine, there's a symbol of hope within its ancient roots. It has persevered over hundreds of years ... so can I.

I prep for a long night in front of an 80-inch supercomputer. The fire on Alodia is a stain on my conscience, one I can't scrub clean until I've uncovered every thread of corruption. Every Strygent employee will be investigated. No exceptions. No excuses.

I label the consequences of not attending as termination from their position. The video conference is immediate, since there are thousands, I can't chat with them all, so groups of 100 will suffice. I involve every title, from operations to blue collar, even custodians and lunch aids.

One by one, faces appear on the monitor, filling the grid of 100 in lightning speed. "As many of you are aware, there was an incident on Alodia—an incident that has cost us trust. Every Strygent subordinate is under scrutiny." I scan their faces, noting nervous flickers in their eyes, some fidget in their seats. They know this isn't a routine check-in. "Effective immediately, everyone will face thorough investigation. Any mention of this process infringes NDA and will result in detainment." A few shift uncomfortably, but none dare to speak.

In the hours that follow, I delve into their lives, prying into every work email, tracking every mile driven in company cars, scrutinizing every transaction in their bank accounts. No detail is too small, no connection too trivial.

I cross-reference their communications, compare expenses, and analyze whereabouts with the precision of a surgeon. Every suspicious interaction, every unexplained expense, is flagged for further interrogation. The sheer scope is extremely invasive, but I press on, determined to rip out any trace of betrayal.

By 6 am, I have NASA's President on conference. Phone based since the official has a demanding title. Johnson Cowell is on the floor while talking, the mummers of employees and machinery are audible. "Failure to report the fire until it was too late is inexcusable. My conclusion is that there's a leak."

"Mr. Harrison, I understand your frustration. I want to assure you that we're taking this situation very seriously. The breach of our satellites is something we've never encountered on this scale. Everyone went offline for an hour. We believed it to be a glitch in the system and worked to reboot it as quickly as possible." Cowell's tone is heavy with mortification.

"An hour?? An hour is an eternity in a situation like this. You should've reported the outage immediately. Waiting this long is suspicious—trying to fix it quietly—only allowed the fire to spread unchecked."

Cowell exhales, clearly struggling with the weight of the situation. "You're right...I take full responsibility for the hiccup. We should have communicated, but we were caught off guard. It was an unprecedented malfunction. We decided to deal with it privately."

"Do you always leave your clients out of the loop?" I interject, my tone unyielding. "I'm not interested in excuses; I need the culprit."

"What makes you think there's a culprit?

"I received a cryptic phone call seconds before the attack." I best not mention the mafia, that will scare him away from our business deal.

"Interesting..." He mumbles lowly. "Please allow me to pinpoint the transmission as apologies. I'm committed to exposing this breach. This is not our typical client service, please forgive the mishap." Cowell's voice softens. "My deepest condolences for the Alodia tragedy."

Hmm...is this a ruse? Should I accept the apology and compromise? The satellite malfunction is fishy. "Thank you." Is all I say before disconnecting the call. I rub my temples, experiencing white flashes blinding my vision.

I need sleep...it's 7am...I've been awake for 24 hours. But resting is too vulnerable. I dial President Belle. Of course, I'm on hold for security reasons and have to verify my identity through SSN and business code. Only a select few can call POTUS.

"Morning, Harrison," he greets.

"Mr. President," I greet with royal courtesy. "I have a few requests."

"Of course, anything. I owe you a great deal."

"I hope you'll stand by that, sir. I'm sure you're aware of the tragedy on my island."

"Yes, dismal, very dismal news."

"I'll let you in on a secret that only a few know. I'm sure your sworn secrecy isn't a rumor?"

"Not at all... the things I have to take to my grave are unbelievable."

"I ask you to take one more with you."

"You have my word."

I can trust him; I'll have to be completely transparent in order for my favors to begin. "I've had an issue with the Uganda mafia for close to a decade. They were behind the attack on Alodia." 

"Dear god..." He mumbles. "So, the wildfire was a cover?"

"Yes...the Bacia family conducted the strike. The island is uninhabitable...volcanic temperatures due to artificially engineered fire."

"I wondered how the Palace could melt. Polycarbonate is 200 times resistant. Tungsten is the strongest steel on earth."

"Yes...but now we know it's weakness."

"Unfortunately..." Belle sighs. "What are the favors? So I can help you through this."

"I request hostile air space privileges."

"Of where exactly."

What I'm about to say is illegal, but here it goes. "Free range, global permission. The next airstrike could be anywhere. It could very well be our next meeting. I fear for my wife, in laws...and my family." This is my first time mentioning them aloud since the wedding dilemma.

"Hmmm..." Belle rattles his brain. "Usually the vice president, military, and secret service have this permission."

"I know..."

"But...I can make an exception as commander-in-chief."

"Perfect, thank you, sir."

"What is the next favor?"

"Alonso and I have a method to bring down the mafia. A drug bust. He'll act as an undercover informant to infiltrate from within. The only issue is we don't possess the drugs. I know this favor is huge...but once again, the credit will be all yours. A great drug bust in 14 territories on your resume."

"You always know how to sweeten the deal, Harrison. A great mindset for president. I have no issue supplying the drugs if you agree to campaign."

There's always a Catch 22. He's trying to lock me into a president run. Although I don't desire this...I have to agree. I'll have 4 years to wiggle myself out of the candidate list. "I'll join...with your endorsement."

"We have a deal."

MADI

The smell of French toast, sausages, and freshly squeezed orange juice fills the kitchen. I cook breakfast. The morning sun peeks through the castle's grand windows, shimmering on the stone floors in diamond shapes. I add oatmeal with fresh strawberry slices—hoping it'll coax him into taking a break. I carry the tray to his office.

He's been in there all night, and most of the morning. He didn't come to bed. This investigation is killing him. Jace is slumped over his desk, the blue light from the 80-inch supercomputer shining across his face. My heart sinks at the sight of him. His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles so pronounced they look like bruises. His usual sharp jawline is masked by inflammation. There's tension in his shoulders, he's been clenching them nonstop.

"Jace," I speak softly, setting the tray down on the mahogany desk. He barely glances at it, his focus is still on the screen, even though it's on the wallpaper. My baby is staring at blankness. "You need sleep. You can't keep going like this."

He shakes his head, brushing me off. "I've survived on less. My first expo, I only got two hours."

"That's still better than none," I argue. "Please...just a few hours? You look—" I stop myself, not wanting to say the word "dead".

He deflects again. "I'm flying to Alodia to appraise the property damage. You stay put; I'll go by myself."

A sharpness pangs my chest. "Alone? No, Jace, that's too much for you. We're in this together, remember? For better and for worse. You don't have to bear this yourself."

His zombie gaze meets mine. For a brief moment, his fragile soul is exposed. "Madi...you can't handle it, you'll breakdown again."

"It's too much for you, too," I stroke his chin. "We're going together, that's final. Let me be here for you."

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. "You're not safe there anymore...I can't say you're safe there anymore...it's a lie now." He croaks expressively.

My mouth trembles, recalling the phrase I loved so much. You're safe here because I love you. Those words saved me from the doomsday storm...now they'll never work again. Tears streak down, dropping to the floor. I don't know how Jace fights off a breakdown because I can't! I try to speak, but the words stick in my throat. My limbs tremble uncontrollably, my vision blurs. My knees buckle. Anxiety wins.

"Madi!" Jace catches me before I fall.

I clutch at his shirt, gasping, "We can't—we can't do this—" the panic swallows my voice. "I don't know how..." I sink to the floor, wailing. Jace embraces me, his body shaking. His tears soak my shoulder.

My lovebug is inviting the breakdown in...but his sobs are still so controlled. My husband micromanages the outpour. He doesn't let anguish rot out his heart.

I gently cup his face, gazing into his broken eyes. "Let it out. It's okay. It's okay...just let it out." I whine. "We can break together..." His sobs intensify to a guttural cry. Each tremor of his body, each ragged breath, is unfiltered. My Jacy baby listens this time. My heart shatters. I pull him into my neck, cradling my love Jace clings to me, his cries vibrating the office.

The jet lands in silence. We suit up in hazmat suits before the doors open. The gear is heavy and totally seals our skin. This protects us from harmful pollutants. The fire released toxic chemicals from the soil, such as mercury and carbon monoxide. Greenhouse gases. The climate is hazardous.

We step out onto the blackened earth, the sight before us...devastating. The once-vibrant landscape is now a graveyard, tropical hills burnt to ash and wildlife reduced to carcasses. We move in silence, evaluating the palace in twisted ruin. The steel beams are contorted backwards, the windows melted. The gazebo that once crowned the roof is gone.

The wreckage sends me back in time. The ballroom where we danced, the kitchen where Jace cooked for me. My bedroom...his bedroom. Teardrops fog my visor. Jace kneels to scoop charred dirt into his palm. He's so quiet. I should allow it. He has to put this place to rest. I don't have as deep of an attachment as him. I lived here only a few months...Jace has been here years.

Once back in the jet, I head to the small kitchenette to prepare chamomile tea with elderberry. Hoping it'll soothe Jace enough to let him sleep. The scent of the herbs fills the air as I bring the steaming cup to him. He takes it without a word, his gemstone eyes distant. We cuddle on the daybed, the silence between us heavy but comforting. Sometimes there's nothing to say...and that's fine. Jace sips on the warm brew. I'm happy when he drifts off 30 minutes later.

The atmosphere at the country club trumps the somberness of the day before. The place is alive with the sounds of clinking and hectic conversation. Even the gentle swaying of couples on the dance floor is therapeutic.

I see why Jace decides to work away the stress...I've done it myself many times before. Distractions are lifesavers and give hope of normalcy. Nostalgia storms over me. The bartenders expertly concocting drinks remind me where I started from. And where I'm at now. Servants glide the room, delivering dinner to the tables. I'm sure this tugs on Lil's heartstrings too. It feels like old times before life became complicated.

Lil and I oversee from a quiet corner, in pants suits. We keep an eye on operations, being co-managers. "How are you and Jace holding up?" My bestie clocks my uncharacteristic muteness, I'm usually talkative. I haven't said much but "hey".

"We're managing..." I keep it short...not to be mean, but to safeguard mine and Jace's privacy.

"Jessica's done with the render, we could go to her place after. If you want?"

"Sounds like a plan." That's a good idea...I need to stay occupied like Jace.

JACE

I judge the concept art for the Sanctum Embassy, which will be the largest hotel in the world. 10k rooms, 8 theaters. 80 restaurants, 5 underground malls. A staff of 5k, servants, maids, receptionist. Concierges. Valets, cooks. The key to growing the representation is pampering NBA, NFL, Soccer, Golf, and Baseball Players. They'll stay free for every home game, just for sponsoring. New land will be developed along with freshly built roads.

The construction zone will rise from the ocean. This will involve stakeholders and experts specializing in ocean structure. Environmental and Marine Biologists to evaluate the effect ecosystems. Architects. Regulation Authorities to obtain permits. Geologists to study the ocean floors and the currents to ensure the new land is stable.

I already have investors and manpower, so the approval will be swift. I signature my initial at the bottom of the photo, granting a green light for production. The construction will begin spring...unlike Madi's studio, which began in August. Her project is far less of a headache. The completion month is still June.

I should call her and share live feed of the studio. My bunny picks up quick. "Hey, you."

"Hey yourself, how's the club?"

"Frustrating...the bartenders are so slow!"

"You could be hands on if you want. Many managers hop on the floor."

"Really? Mr. Thompson never did."

"You're the rule maker...plus you'll be able to train them on pace."

"Yay I'll do that! I'm dying in this office."

"Yeah...you're not meant to be confined, busy bee. As for me, I'm accustomed to it."

"What are you up to?"

"Hotel development."

"Wow, you keep outdoing yourself!" She exclaims.

"Always." I grin. "Speaking of development." I log into my project app, click on InkHart, and share the screen. The live feed of Madi's dance studio is covered with handymen laying foundation.

Hardhats, smooth out concrete walls and tall window frames. There's no ceiling yet. Steel beams are planted like skeletons to the bare roof. The floor layout is crated. Pavers move with precision, laying glossy tile on the lined stone.

"Wow! It's really coming along!"

"It is."

"Hey...we should call it project phoenix for a new beginning. We're rising from the ashes. This is our light in the dark." Her wise words are so inspirational to my soul.

"I love you."

"I know I'm the best." She derides.

"Thank you for yesterday..."

"You're welcome...I'm glad you know that it's not all on you."

"Let's renew our vows."

"Aww...Jace!" My wife swoons.

"A lot has changed...why not modify them?"

"But where would we do it?"

I grimace, realizing the wedding arena may be gone. I didn't stay long enough to check. The palace was too much to bear. Too heart wrenching. I had to go. But...what if our sacred arena is still alive? I know the tent castle is safely stored deep underground. I was adamant on safeguarding it even back then. But what if the arena is secure too?

"Hold on..." My voice is a whisper.

I tap into the drone feed, sending it to explore the edge of the desolate island. The drone's camera zips the scorched land of ash and ruin. My heart sinks as the view of the devastation unfolds in an endless loop. Please...please be there! The drone edges further pass the wasteland, inching across the island's borderlands. I hang onto the live video, my heart heavy as bricks.

The drone maneuvers the jagged rock mountain. It's burnt...but is still standing. Not molten...not impacted by the lava. On the opposite side is where it'll be. I swallow hard. The bot shifts past the scarred terrain. I hold my breath, my phone trembling from my unsteady hands.

The camera pans the familiar venue. There it is—our stone arena, miraculously untouched. The rows of stone seats, lanterns, and the wedding arch. It's all perfectly preserved. So hauntingly beautiful. A relic of our love. I send the live footage to Madi.

"NO WAY!!" She gulps for air. "It's still there??!!"

"We didn't lose everything." She laughs bittersweetly, torn between bliss and sentimental value. "I take back what I said...you're still safe."

"We're still safe." She corrects me. "When can we go back for the vows?"

I brood over the rundown in my head. Environmental Testing will postpone our renewing. "Five months."

"Could we rebuild the palace too?!"

"I'm not sure...the nature restoration will be difficult. It won't heal itself for decades without scientific interference. Compost. Mulch. Erosion Control for seed germination. Fertilization. Everything will have to be regrown synthetically, grass, hills, bushes, trees."

"But...it's possible, right?"

"Maybe...no one has ever rehabilitated an entire island." I have to be realistic...I won't give her false hope. "But let's take what we can, this is still a miracle."

"It is!" Madi squeals. "This and my studio! It's the best day ever!"

"It definitely marks our calendar as a special day. October 3rd."

"Our day of hope." My wife names it. "Honestly, I want to leave work but...that's not smart to do is an owner."

"Once again, you make the rules."

"I want to bail."

"And do what?"

"Well, I'm hyped about InkHart, I would love to have dance lessons now."

"Melissa Auclair. All I have to do is call and she'll show."

"I'm thinking the beach house...tonight."

"As you wish, my queen."

MADI

I'm giddy to return to the beach house ballroom. The dark maroon walls are just as sexier as last time. Very Victorian brothel themed. Melissa Auclair has a bald head but rocks it. The bravery in her high chin reeks confidence in the choice. She wears a deep navy leotard with lace, off-the-shoulder sleeves, and a high-waisted sheer organza skirt.

She exudes Parisian elegance. All I have on is a simple dance dress, I feel outdone by her. "Bonjour, Madi, are you ready to dance," she says warmly. Her French American accent envy worthy. I really need to get my accent as fine as hers, she's still very English-based but with foreign flare. I'm sure she's French American.

"Yes, extremely ready!"

"Lovely...shall we begin?"

"We shall."

Hip hop begins the lesson. Melissa's movements are sharp and sleek, there's no break in her street dancing. The popping, locking, body spins and head spins are intimidating. I struggle to catch the rhythm, but she coaches me through it. "Let the body loose, allow it to go limp with poise," she says, demonstrating each move in slow motion. I attempt to repeat her, but feel like a clown. "Maybe I'm not ready for this yet..." I shake my head.

"We have time, 10 lessons total, don't worry." Break dancing is just as complex. Melissa executes effortless power moves, from windmills, mid dance freezes, robot motions. Once again, my attempt is too forced and clumsy. "It's okay, just try your best."

"Okay." I cringe at my shaky re-creations. I overestimated my skills. I'm nowhere near ready for these techniques.

In lyrical dance, Melissa embodies the essence of the spoken word music with flowing transcending quotes. So emotive...so watery. I get the hang of this one easily, it's slow and simple to learn through surveillance. Our limbs and cores translate art. It's all about softening our lines, extending our range of motion, to express nuance. Contemporary dance is experimental and free form. "Embrace the unconventional, don't think, just do. Freestyle your own version of dance," she encourages.

I experiment with off-balance positions and abstract shapes, breaking traditional posture. My movements are random but fitting for my style. Even the little awkward, off-balance poses are allowed. I find my rhythm, referring to what Jace said about Picasso: "The shape doesn't have to be perfect. That's the beauty of Picasso. Imperfection."

Ballet is last. I took it once in middle school but was too old to be successful. I think mom still has my slippers at home. Melissa's execution of pirouettes and arabesques are precise and flawless. "Imagine yourself as a straight line," she advises for perfecting balance.

I work on my posture, turnout, and fluidity. Focusing on maintaining a vertical line and achieving a controlled, elegant finish. Muscle memory helps me here. I'm surprisingly balanced and accurate.

"Impressive!"

"I tried out in 6th grade...but I was too old. I remember how it's done."

"Ahh, a fellow ballerina."

"Only for a little bit..."

"No such thing as too old for ballet. Whoever told you that lied! Any age is acceptable."

Hmm...I always heard different. The girls in my class were three years old...starting early for proper body molding. But Mellissa is a professional she would know best. "I didn't know that...I feel suckered!"

"Yes, you were suckered!" Her accent is comedic gold.

I can't help but cackle at how she pronounces "suckered." "Sorry, the word sounds funny when you say it."

Mellissa sniggers. "I know...some words are unironically funny. Seal is pronounced phoque. Such pretty little phoques." It sounds like she saying fuck and fucks! I literally laugh out loud, cupping my mouth. "Happiness is pronounced bonheur. I'm experiencing great bonheur tonight!"

"Did you just say boner???" I hackle, holding my stomach.

She titters. "A very silly language at times." My laugher has me incapable of speaking, all I can do is nod. "We shall continue the comedy show next week, same time."

"Sure." I manage one word through foolish snickering.

"Until then, love." She bids me farewell with a French kiss to my cheek. I get a little hot but remind myself that this is a common way to depart in France and isn't sexual.

I meet Jace on the beach, his helicopter lands on the sand, working up a dust storm. I wait for it to clear before running to him, jumping into his arms. "I missed you."

"I'm irresistible." He whips his long hair back.

I tick my tongue at him in playful irritation. "So full of yourself, sir."

"I am, ma'am."

We lie on the beach, under the stars. The cool touch of the sand is refreshing on my exhausted muscles. I snuggle against him, recapping the lesson. "Hip-hop was intense. So was break dancing. I was a mess, but Melissa was patient."

"What about lyrical and contemporary?"

"Those were easier to grasp, since they're slower and improvised."

"Sounds like you had a good time."

"I did." I smile big, showing all my teeth. "She was so silly! I didn't know French had funny translations. Like seal sounds like fuck. Happiness sounds like boner. Mellissa was a blast!" I giggle.

Jace grins. "Hun...I think she was flirting."

"I should've expected this angle..." I sigh.

"Sounds like she had a boner and wanted to fuck you."

I playfully whack his shoulder. "I can't with you!"

"I'll pay to see that."

"Same...with you and the model. When is the shoot?"

"Well...it was supposed to be 2 days ago...but I postponed because of the fire. So, this Friday."

"I'll be there to tease you, payback is sweet."

He chuckles. "I'm serious about Mellissa, she's gay. Her and Velma are on again, off again."

"Velma is gay???" My mouth hangs.

"Yes."

"But...you two slept together??"

"There's a confused phase when discovering yourself. You sleep with who society expects you to."

"Wow...that's...sad." I frown, then recall Jess and her chatting. "OMG she was hitting on Jess!"

"Your gayder is broken, darling."

"I have to get better with it." I yawn, wiggling deeper into his cozy chest. I knock out within seconds.