First day at a new school, and Locke had already burned a thousand Potential Points.
He replayed the math on the walk to his locker after the final bell. The mock exam had been a daily mission, five hundred Achievement Points, five hundred Potential Points on completion. Two exams like that and he'd break even on the upgrade. Three, and the rest of the semester was pure profit. Midtown High ran surprise assessments constantly; he'd clocked that much just from the way the teachers moved, the way the top students kept their notes color-coded and current. He wasn't going to be caught flat-footed again.
Every spend is an investment. You don't mourn the seed; you watch for the harvest.
He pulled his backpack from the locker, checked his phone - 3:07 PM, and started toward the exit.
"Locke."
He turned.
Gwen was coming down the hall toward him, a stack of AP course packets tucked under one arm, backpack slung over the other shoulder. Student assistant mode was apparently a full-time operation.
"Hey." He waited.
She tilted her head. "You heading out? Are you joining any clubs, or...?"
"Just got here." He zipped his bag. "I'll look around before I commit to anything."
"Fair." She smiled. "Well, if you want options, our Chemistry Lab Group is pretty good. No pressure, just putting it out there."
"I'll keep it in mind."
He meant it, too, in a purely logistical sense. Lab groups meant consistent proximity to smart people, which meant more observable situations, which meant more potential mission triggers. He'd calculate it later.
"So where are you headed?" She fell into step beside him without quite asking permission, which he found mildly interesting. "Don't you need to get home?"
Locke paused for just a beat. "I'm actually checking out a place this afternoon. Just moved here, haven't settled anywhere yet."
Gwen stopped walking.
"Wait, you don't have a place lined up?"
"I have one lined up," he said. "I meant I haven't moved in yet."
"Oh." She relaxed slightly, then reconsidered. "But, do you have family here, or...?"
There it was. He'd been expecting the question since she'd started walking with him.
"I'm an orphan," Locke said simply.
The words landed the way they always did, a small flinch from whoever was on the receiving end, the immediate recalibration of the face into something careful and apologetic.
"Oh, Locke, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"It's fine." He said it without edge, because it genuinely was. "I've had a long time to get used to it."
That was true in more ways than she could know.
Being alone had its advantages. No one else's decisions shaping your trajectory. No one's chaos bleeding into yours. He'd watched enough people derail their own potential just trying to manage other people's problems. At least this way, the only person responsible for where he ended up was him.
Gwen was quiet for a moment, processing. Then:
"Do you need help finding the place?"
He looked at her.
"I'm a native," she added, with a small shrug that said obviously. "Besides, helping students is kind of literally my job. Come on."
She was already heading for the doors.
Locke followed, mildly amused and not entirely sure why he was letting her come along. He told himself it was because arguing would take longer than just going.
The cab dropped them on Fifth Avenue twenty minutes later.
Gwen climbed out, looked up, and went very quiet.
Starlight Tower rose out of the Manhattan skyline the way expensive things tended to, without apology, without effort. Glass and steel in a configuration that caught the late afternoon sun and redirected it, so the building seemed to generate its own light. The kind of address that showed up in magazine spreads about What New York City Used to Cost and Why Nobody Normal Lives Here Anymore.
Locke was already on his phone, talking to the agent.
Gwen turned to look at him with an expression she was doing her best to keep neutral.
Isn't he an orphan?
A man in a suit materialized from the lobby, mid-forties, hair slicked back with the particular precision of someone whose income depended on first impressions. He spotted Locke and broke into a wide, genuine smile.
"Mr. Broughton." He jogged the last few steps and extended his hand. "Great to finally meet you in person. Shall we head up?"
Locke shook his hand. "Thanks for making the time, Mr. Oren."
"Not at all." Oren glanced at Gwen - polite, professional, inclusive. "Right this way."
They rode the elevator to the twenty-eighth floor.
The unit opened into light.
Floor-to-ceiling windows ran the full length of the living room, and through them, Central Park spread out below like a green painting someone had hung between the buildings. The space itself was around two thousand square feet across two levels, duplex layout, high ceilings, the kind of renovation where someone had actually thought about how human beings moved through a room. The previous owner had installed a full Stark Smart Home system throughout: adaptive climate, integrated security, everything voice-responsive. The furniture and appliances came with it.
Locke set his backpack down on the sofa and walked straight to the terrace.
The private pool caught the afternoon light. Beyond the park, Manhattan arranged itself in layers and there, in the middle distance past Columbus Circle, a specific tower caught his eye. The Stark Tower complex, unmistakable even from here, its architecture projecting a kind of deliberate dominance over the skyline around it.
He looked at it for a long moment.
That's the center of gravity for everything that's coming.
Something in the hesitation he'd been carrying around all week, the lingering question of whether New York was the right call, whether Midtown High was the right school, whether this whole plan was moving fast enough - settled.
This was the right place. It just was.
He turned around.
Oren was waiting near the kitchen island, expression carefully pleasant. Gwen was in the middle of the living room, slowly rotating in place, taking in the furniture, the view, the integrated tech panel on the wall, then looking back at Locke with an expression that had moved somewhere past confused and was approaching something like philosophical crisis.
Locke reached into his jacket, pulled out a card, and held it out to Oren.
"Let's do it today."
Oren's eyes lit up.
Gwen's mouth dropped open.
The card machine beeped. The receipt printed.
Locke watched the number on his phone's banking app reduce itself to something that would have alarmed a reasonable person, and felt the particular, specific ache of watching years of careful saving vanish in about four seconds.
Worth it. He pocketed the card. Everything compounds eventually.
Oren shook his hand again, professional warmth at maximum output now that the commission was real. "I'll have the transfer documents drawn up and delivered within three days, Mr. Broughton. Congratulations."
Locke nodded.
He turned to look out the window again, at the park, at the city, at the tower in the distance standing there like a clock counting down to something he couldn't quite see yet.
He'd moved all his savings into this city, this building, this floor.
Now he just had to make it worth it.