The train slipped deeper into the fog-drenched landscape, its wheels humming a low, rhythmic song along the tracks. Outside, the trees blurred into ghostly silhouettes, distant hills fading into soft gray.
Kez lounged in the plush first-class seat like he owned the place—legs stretched out, arms folded behind his head. The cabin was mostly empty, just a businessman snoring three rows back and a woman reading something too dense for leisure.
He popped a biscuit from the complimentary tray into his mouth and chewed with absent delight while taking a sip of some kind orange soda. He glanced toward the frosted window across the aisle and saw only his own faint reflection staring back—scruffy, dark-haired, definitely not dressed for first class. He definitely had a thing about ending up at places he didn't seem to belong.
Meanwhile, several cars back, Allexis sat rigid in her window seat in the standard car. A crying toddler echoed down the aisle. Her seatmate had drifted into a snoring slouch, occasionally bumping into her shoulder with each sharp lurch of the train. She endured it in silence, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the blurred landscape passing by.
She hadn't seen Kez since boarding. And for now, that was probably for the best.
A few hours passed.
Some passengers dozed. Some stared blankly. A few tried to make idle conversation but gave up quickly—the mood in the train was too heavy, the air too thick with memory.
Eventually, the soft chime of the intercom crackled to life. A distorted voice spoke overhead:
"Next stop: Central Gate Station. Arriving in fifteen minutes. Please have your belongings and identification ready."
Kez sat up slightly. "Finally."
He stretched his arms, then took a moment to tidy himself—finger-combing his hair, brushing off biscuit crumbs, even adjusting his collar like someone important might be waiting.
He didn't know why. Just instinct, maybe.
The train slowed.
Fog thickened outside as the tracks curved toward the outskirts of a town—low buildings, pale streetlamps, empty sidewalks. Central Gate Station loomed into view: a long platform beneath a sagging canopy, flanked by dull concrete walls and flickering overhead lights.
Kez stepped off first, descending the steps onto the platform. He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and scanned the crowd—mostly quiet, tired people returning to something familiar.
Then he froze.
Near the far end of the platform, past the clusters of waiting passengers and distant taxis, stood a man in a long black coat. He held a sign—plain, cardboard, hand-lettered in thick marker.
KEZ
No last name.
Just that.
Kez stared.
He didn't recognize the man. Late fifties maybe. Broad-shouldered. Face like a brick wall. No expression. No movement.
Kez squinted, half-hoping it was for some other Kez.
But no one else moved toward him.
Behind him, the crowd thinned. People dispersed. Allexis stepped off the train a minute later, scanning the station with her usual cautious precision.
Kez took a few slow steps forward, boots clicking faintly on the damp concrete. The man didn't move, didn't blink, just stood there, holding the sign like he'd been born to do it.
Up close, he looked even more like a wall with eyes. Square jaw, salt-and-pepper stubble, a trench coat that looked like it had survived a war—and maybe caused one.
"You're Kez?" the man asked in a gravelly voice.
Kez hesitated. "Depends. Who's asking?"
The man dropped the sign, reached into his coat, and pulled out a sealed envelope. On the front, written in an unmistakably smug scrawl:
For Kez (Why the hell are you taking a train???) – S
Kez stared at the letter for a while without any expression on his face then laughed nervously, "Oh Strizz-Stricoss...Of course. My friend hahaha. How nice of him to send me a ride."
Behind him, Allexis had just stepped off the platform, dragging her bag behind her. She paused mid-step, caught the last line of the conversation.
"Did you say Stricoss?" Her voice was sharp. Cold.
Kez turned slowly. "Uh... yeah. Apparently, he sent this guy to come get me."
Allexis's expression didn't shift much, but her body tensed in a way that told Kez she'd gone from irritated to deeply wary.
"You were still in touch with him?" she asked. The question was careful, like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.
"I mean… yeah?" Kez said, Kez replied, trying to establish himself in some neutral ground. "I lost my wallet yesterday. Figured he was the fastest way to TROP."
Allexis didn't respond at first. She just stared at him, scanning for something behind his words.
"You didn't tell him about me, did you?" she asked finally.
Kez blinked. "No. I mean, no. I just said I was stuck. Didn't give him a passenger list."
"You sure?" Her voice was quiet now, but firmer. "Because if I find out he even knows I was with you..."
She trailed off, but the implication was sharp enough to cut air.
Kez raised both hands. "Look, I swear. I didn't mention you. Not a word."
A pause.
"You better keep it that way," she said, walking away. "Go play pet to your scheming little friend."
He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say in this situation. Personally, he felt that given the little amount of knowledge he had about the history between the three of them, he handled this pretty well. He didn't want to seriously antagonize Allexis or Stricoss especially when he lacked any backing at TROP. It was hard to survive alone in TROP and he mostly loved easy things in life.
Allexis picked up her bag and walked off into the fog without a goodbye.
He watched her go.
He didn't know if she was serious about forgetting, or if she just meant she wouldn't bring it up again.
Either way, he had no illusions. If he ever broke that silence, it was over.
"Are you coming or what?" the man beside him asked.
Kez looked back at the man who didn't comment on his little lie earlier and adjusted his jacket. "Yeah. But I need some breakfast first."
The man gave a curt nod and turned, walking along the edge of the platform toward a cracked and faded parking lot. Kez followed, footsteps light, his stomach tightening with that dull, familiar ache. He had been ignoring the hunger since yesterday, but now it was clawing its way back to the front of his mind.
They passed a few other passengers from the train. Most looked like they'd barely slept, their faces drawn and hollow. One woman lit a cigarette with shaky fingers. A boy held his mother's sleeve tightly, watching the mist like he expected it to reach out and take her.
No one looked at Kez. That suited him just fine.
At the far end of the lot, a sleek black car idled, humming quietly. Its paint was untouched by rust, windows tinted. It looked out of place in a town like this, too polished, too clean. The kind of car owned by someone with money, power, or just no concern for consequences. Knowing Stricoss, probably all three.
The man opened the rear door without saying anything.
Kez blinked. "Right. But... food? Remember that part?"
Without comment, the man reached into the front seat and pulled out a plain paper bag. He tossed it back like someone feeding a dog that might bite.
Kez caught it, peeked inside. A sandwich wrapped in paper, a bottle of water. It wasn't gourmet, but it was solid.
He shrugged. "Better than that soup"
Sliding into the back seat, he pulled the door closed behind him. The car rolled forward almost immediately, leaving the station and its heavy air behind.
The city sharpened around them as they drew closer to the heart. Faded buildings gave way to high-rises wrapped in mirrored glass. Roads widened. Neon signs buzzed above storefronts. People moved with purpose on the sidewalks, cadets in uniform, officials in long coats, civilians weaving through it all like they belonged.
The streets were crowded, but everything felt controlled. Monitored. Watched.
Kez unwrapped the sandwich and ate slowly, chewing in rhythm with the hum of the engine. Every few seconds, he glanced out at the blur of traffic and glass. He did not ask how far they were going. He did not need to. Mostly because he had no clue where he was going. Suddenly, he remembered the time he got in the wrong Buber with Jerome.
'Oh for fuck's sake. Not again, I hope.'
The driver said nothing. His hands stayed firm on the wheel.
Silence, engine, and the city's muffled sounds filtered through the glass. Nothing else.
Kez sighed and leaned his head back against the seat.
He was tried to recall what he knew about Stricoss. Rich, handsome, some 2nd rate villain and wait that's pretty much it, right? Was he smart? He couldn't remember.
He tried to recall what he knew about Stricoss. Rich. Handsome. Some second-rate villain. And… that was pretty much it, right? Was he smart? He couldn't remember. Maybe. Probably. The kind of guy who either knew too much or faked it well enough to convince people who mattered.
The car turned sharply, gliding into a narrower street lined with tall buildings, the kind with smart glass and too many cameras. Up ahead, a hotel sign flickered in blue letters. The place looked expensive. Not luxurious, just the kind of expensive that came with keycard elevators and quiet staff.
The car slowed and stopped.
The driver stepped out without a word and opened Kez's door.
Kez blinked at the building, then stepped out slowly. "This it?"
The man handed him a slim envelope. Inside was a keycard and a folded paper.
Room 1807. Check-in already handled. TROP registration begins tomorrow at 0700. Ask Sohan if you want to go anywhere. I'll can't meet today cause of the party.
Signed only with an S.
The driver gave him his number and went back in the car, pulling away without a backward glance.
Kez stood alone for a moment, city noise swirling around him. Cars passed. People hurried along the sidewalk. Somewhere in that glass maze was TROP, waiting.
But tonight?
Tonight he had a hotel room, a full stomach, and a quiet bed with clean sheets.
It almost felt like a win.
He walked inside.
The hotel lobby was all soft lighting, polished marble, and artificial calm. The kind of place where everything looked expensive but not personal. People passed by in coats that cost more than his entire luggage. Some gave him a look, quick and dismissive. Most didn't even register him.
Kez took the elevator up, the keycard slot glowing green with a satisfying beep. Room 1807 was near the end of a long hallway that smelled faintly of citrus and money.
He stepped in, dropped his bag on the floor, and collapsed backward onto the bed with a grunt.
Clean sheets. Soft pillows. No bugs or smell. A rarity in his world.
He let out a long breath.
So, this was it. Day zero.
TROP started tomorrow. An institution in this world only for the elite of the elite where drama and chaos are the common at every turn. He didn't want to fully admit it, but he felt pretty excited for TROP.
He stared at the ceiling.
Somewhere out there in the city, there was a party going on.
Not just any party. That party.
The night-before gala. An invitation-only gathering hosted by one of the families that essentially bankrolled TROP's top cadet initiatives. Wine, string quartets, multi-tier security, and enough ego in one room to destabilize a region.
Stricoss was there, obviously. Probably already charming someone important, or more likely, picking a fight with someone twice his age and flaunting his wealth. Allexis? He wasn't sure.
Kez hadn't been invited. He hadn't expected to be. Stricoss had offered him a hotel room, not a seat at the table. That said enough.
He rolled over and grabbed the hotel's remote, flipped through channels without looking, then shut it off again.
'Should I go to that party. After all, the novel starts at the party with Jack walking in and stealing all the attention using his main character perks. I must say, most my major plans are related to events that will occur almost half a year from now. Mostly because that's the part I remember the most. It's been around 10 years since I read this part.'
'Maybe there's benefit of observing the party to recall how the story actually flowed. Fuck, where do I get an invitation from now? Also...'
He looked down at his outfit. Ruffled hair, crumpled jacket. Scuffed boots. Definitely not party-ready.
'Maybe I should go shopping. My bank account would take a hit, but I guess it'd be worth it later. Fuck me, why did I forget to pack a bag. Worst of all, my so-called parents haven't called me even once. Very rude of them...'
He pulled up his bank account on his phone and blinked at the number at the top of the screen.
AP balance: 1252
"Alright. Enough to not get laughed out of the lobby."
He opened the local merchant app, filtered for decent formalwear under 1000, and scrolled. Most of it looked like it belonged to someone who had very strong opinions about elbow patches. But after a few painful minutes, he found something simple. Clean black slacks, pale shirt, decent dark coat. Subtle. Boring. Passable.
998 AP. Delivery in 40 minutes.
Kez winced at the total and hit confirm.
"Cool. Now I'll look like I got lost on the way to a tech job interview."
He stood and stretched, then glanced toward the window where the city lights were starting to sharpen. Somewhere across that glowing skyline was the venue for tonight's pre-TROP gala. High security, high expectations, high likelihood he would be politely removed.
But the party was its own thing.
TROP didn't officially begin until tomorrow, and tonight the big names were already mingling. If he wanted to get a feel for what he was walking into, this was the best chance he had.
"No invite. No connections. No plan. Pretty similar that time in Belgium..."
***
The delivery came with an obnoxiously cheerful chime at the door. A slim black bag, freshly pressed contents, no branding. He gave a polite nod to the courier, shut the door, and opened the bag like it might explode.
It didn't. The outfit looked… surprisingly okay.
He took a shower and threw it on quickly. The coat was a little tight around the shoulders, but the cut was clean and the shirt didn't itch. Most importantly, the entire ensemble didn't scream "fraud." Just whispered it politely.
He stepped in front of the mirror.
"Not bad," he muttered. "Might even pass for someone who belongs."
He flattened his hair, adjusted the collar, then stuffed his phone and hotel keycard into his pocket.
He stepped out into the city, the hotel doors hissing shut behind him. The pavement was slick from a recent wash, catching the neon light in streaks of blue and gold. His shoes made just enough noise to sound intentional.
The problem was, he still didn't know where the party actually was.
He had some ideas. It wouldn't be in the lower zones, obviously. TROP events were rarely held anywhere that didn't offer top-tier surveillance and absurd drink menus. Somewhere high, probably. Clean glass. Minimal signage. And tight circles of very confident people pretending not to judge each other.
Kez sighed and looked around.
A group of students passed on the far side of the street, laughing too loud, dressed like they'd spent most of their lives in luxury and weren't planning to stop. A few had the subtle TROP insignia stitched into their sleeves. Not standard cadet uniforms yet, but enough to say they were invited.
Kez followed.
Not obviously. Just enough distance to seem like a guy headed in the same direction. He watched the group take a sharp turn onto an upper walkway, bypassing traffic entirely. Magnetic paths guided their shoes. He stepped on, hoping his cheap pair wouldn't glitch.
They didn't.
A few blocks later, they reached a building with no signage. Just a wide, black stone entryway and a sleek security scanner posted in front. The glass shimmered, showing nothing behind it. Whatever was happening inside, it wasn't visible from the street.
One of the students flashed something on their terminal device looking thing. The scanner beeped once. They were waved in.
Kez exhaled and stepped off the sidewalk.
"Well. I found it."
He glanced at the side entrance, half-hoping there was a trash chute labeled for narrative convenience. No luck.
He walked toward the building with measured steps and scanned the crowd for an opening. Most guests arrived in pairs or small groups. Confident. Relaxed. Definitely used to being expected. He continued to observe them without seeming obvious. Mostly, he tried to understand their terminal device.
'Interesting. Only one of them has to scan something for all of them to get in.'
Then he saw a guy standing just off to the side. Pale. Awkward. Hair combed with the desperation of someone who had Googled how to blend in with rich people this morning. He was scrolling through his terminal with rapid swipes, trying to find something.
Kez's opening.
He approached casually. "Hey. You looking for the confirmation code screen?"
The guy looked up, surprised. "Yeah. It glitched or something. I swear I downloaded it."
"Same thing happened to me earlier," Kez said smoothly. "Try logging in through the event tab. They hid it there under Guest Functions."
The guy tapped his screen a few times. "Oh. Got it. Thanks."
Kez nodded like he worked there.
As soon as the scanner lit up for the guy, Kez stepped just behind him, close enough to seem like they were together.
The scanner beeped. The guard looked at them, then waved them both in.
Kez smiled politely and walked through without looking back.
He was in.
And the party had already started.