Episode 3

Chapter 3: Evolution

Lucian Blackwell showed up at nine the next morning like he was punching a clock.

Same Lysander-9. Same white jacket. Same expression that suggested smiling was a skill he'd heard about but never personally attempted. The Fire Squirrel rode his shoulder like a tiny copper emperor surveying its domain.

"You're early," I said from behind the counter, where I'd definitely not been watching the street for the last forty minutes.

"You said come back." He set a small alloy case on the counter. "For your face."

I looked at the case. Looked at him.

He didn't elaborate. This was a man who treated words like a finite resource.

I opened it. Inside, nested in shock-absorbing foam, sat six vials of medical gel — Meridian-grade, military issue, the kind they used on frontline Star Patrol officers. I'd seen this stuff in catalogs. A single vial cost more than my monthly allowance at the Ashford house. Six of them cost more than my yearly.

I swallowed hard.

"This is—" I cleared my throat. "You didn't have to do this."

"Your healing pod can treat star beasts," he said, like he was explaining basic math. "It cannot treat humans. Your injuries need attention."

He wasn't wrong. I'd been washing my face with cold water from the synthesizer and hoping for the best. The scratches from Yara's nails had scabbed over into angry red lines, and the bruise on my cheek had gone from purple to a green-yellow that made me look like a spoiled fruit.

"Thank you," I said. The words came out rougher than I intended.

He gave a single nod.

I set the case under the counter and pulled up the evolution pod's interface. "Ready to see what your squirrel can do?"

---

The evolution pod was the system's crown jewel. Where the healing pod fixed what was broken, the evolution pod cracked open what was possible.

I placed the Fire Squirrel inside. It sniffed the bio-gel lining, turned a full circle, sat down, and gave me a look that clearly said: *Well? Get on with it.*

"Brave little guy," I muttered, and sealed the chamber.

"How long?" Lucian asked.

"Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Depends on how fast your squirrel picks fights."

The holo-display above the pod broadcasted the simulation feed — a translucent rendering of the Fire Squirrel navigating a virtual combat arena. First opponent: a Steel-Jaw Beetle, all armored carapace and crushing mandibles. The squirrel dodged, feinted, then lit its tail like a fuse and whipped a fireball straight into the beetle's joint gap. Clean hit.

"Not bad," I said.

Lucian said nothing. But he hadn't blinked.

Second opponent: a Frost Serpent. Ice element, natural counter to fire types. The squirrel hesitated. Got hit. Got hit again. Frost crept up its hind legs.

Come on, little guy.

The squirrel screamed — a high, sharp note — and its entire body ignited. Every strand of fur blazed white-gold, and it launched into a spinning attack that turned the air into a vortex of flame.

*"New skill acquired: Fire Tornado."*

The Frost Serpent didn't stand a chance.

I punched the air. Actually punched the air like some arena spectator.

Lucian's gaze cut to me. I dropped my fist.

"Good skill acquisition," I said.

The pod chimed. The chamber opened.

The Fire Squirrel emerged brighter, stronger — fur shimmering with new depth, movements sharper, star-energy radiating off it in visible waves. It leaped to Lucian's shoulder and chittered with enough force to vibrate the counter.

Lucian raised one hand and touched its head. The squirrel pressed into his palm and purred.

"We should verify this officially," I said. "The Star Beast Academy has a public certification scanner — it'll confirm the tier and new skill on record. Good for you, good for my station's credibility."

"Fine."

---

The Star Beast Academy sat on Dustmere's main strip — a squat, utilitarian complex that handled beast registration, contractor licensing, and about six hundred other bureaucratic functions that made you want to chew through your own arm. We took Lucian's Lysander-9 because my transportation options were "walking" and "walking faster."

Inside, the certification hall was half-empty. A bored technician in a grey uniform scanned the Fire Squirrel, pulled up its registered profile, and stopped. He pulled it up again. Looked at the squirrel. Looked at the screen.

"This is — your Fire Squirrel was Silver-tier as of last week."

"It evolved," Lucian said.

"To Gold."

"Yes."

"And it's showing a new skill — Fire Tornado, Rank A."

"Yes."

The technician stared at Lucian like he was waiting for the punchline. Lucian stared back. The technician blinked first, updated the record, and stamped the certification without another word.

We walked out through the academy's main entrance into Dustmere's flat grey daylight. The Lysander-9 was parked at the curb, looking embarrassed to be on a public street.

Lucian stopped walking.

"Next time," he said, not looking at me, "I'll bring friends."

"I'll be there," I said. Then, because I couldn't help myself: "You have friends?"

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"One or two," he said, and got in the car.

I watched the Lysander-9 lift off and glide toward the skyline, then turned back toward the fringe district, hands in my pockets.

I made it two blocks before Star Eye pinged.

Not the gentle chime of a data scan. A sharp pulse, directional and urgent.

*"Alert: surveillance detected. Optical recording device, bearing northeast, distance approximately eighty meters. Device is transmitting to an encrypted remote receiver."*

Someone had photographed us. Walking out of the academy together.

I didn't stop. Didn't look around. Kept my pace even and my expression neutral, even though my pulse had other ideas.

Someone was watching. And the list of people who cared enough about my movements to pay for surveillance was exactly one name long.

---

The photo arrived on Yara Ashford's personal comm at 6:47 PM.

High resolution. Perfectly framed. Sera Ashford and Lucian Blackwell, walking side by side out of the Star Beast Academy's main entrance. Sera's face still marked with bruises and scratches. Lucian a half-step behind her, the Fire Squirrel bright on his shoulder.

Yara enlarged the image. She pinched, zoomed, and studied Lucian's face.

Lucian Blackwell. Sole heir to the Blackwell fortune. The most eligible man in six sectors. The boy Yara had been positioning herself to meet for the better part of a year — studying his schedule, mapping his social circle, preparing the perfect "accidental" introduction.

And there he was. Walking out of a building with Sera.

With the stray dog she'd spent two years breaking down. The waste of space she'd kicked out of the family three nights ago. The nobody who was supposed to be freezing in a gutter somewhere, not standing next to Yara's target, looking like they'd known each other for years.

Yara's comm creaked in her grip.

She dialed a number. Her voice was steady, dangerously so.

"I need a full report on what Sera's doing in the fringe district. What she's opened, who she's seeing, everything." She paused. "Budget: five million credits. I want it by tomorrow."

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