Unwritten Codes ll

The lecture hall stretched before me like a shimmering cathedral of steel and light. Every surface gleamed with the cold, perfect precision of technology—"Aedicula progressui ubi humana imperfectio intrare non auderet"—the words were emblazoned on the entryway ,they always made Valli laugh and were one of the few reasons she called the criminology seminar pretentious.

Above me, light bulbs configured into luminescent strips, curved like ribbons of captured moonlight, casting the room in a dreamlike glow. Yet even here, the city's restless energy seeped in, carried by the low hum of hovering surveillance drones outside the tinted windows. Seventy-two students filled the tiered seats, their faces half-shielded by the soft blue of their holographic tablets—rows of them slouched into their seats, scrolling through their tablets with the half-conscious conviction that they would never need this knowledge anyway. A few earnest ones—as though carving meaning into the world with each stroke of their styluses—scribbled furiously

At the front of the hall, Professor Reinalda moved like clockwork, her voice slicing the air with polished certainty.

"Cybercrime forensics," she declared, her tone drenched in authority. She traced holographic diagrams in the air, her gestures carving glowing patterns that flickered like constellations against the darkened backdrop. But to me, her words were distant, hollow echoes.

I watched her gestures, not moving from under a nook outside the open door which was closed off with a light barrier .She spoke of systems as though they were impenetrable fortresses, of algorithms as unknowable beasts. But I had danced with those beasts. I had coaxed them, broken them, and reshaped their sinews into something entirely my own. She didn't know that the walls she revered were fragile as glass—shards I had once shattered, guided by a voice that was no longer here.

Leocade. His name surfaced, unbidden, a pulse of heat an ache beneath my ribs.

I moved from the door and dropped into the nearest seat, my messenger bag sliding to the floor with a calculated thud.

You're late," Professor Reinalda said, not even looking up from her holographic display as I slipped past the barrier and into the criminology seminar.

"Technically, I'm precisely when I meant to arrive."The words spilled out almost of their own volition. I sighed internally,Valli hadn't been wrong when she called me quietly rebellious, this was out of character for me.

A few students snickered. Reinalda finally glanced up, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised. "Miss Astralys, your charm is not a substitute for punctuality."

I tilted my head, letting a polite smile curl my lips. "Of course, Professor. I wouldn't dream of substituting charm for punctuality. That would imply I didn't arrive late on purpose." My tone dripped with an agreeable sweetness, the kind that masked its serrated edges.

Her eyebrow stayed arched, a faint flicker of suspicion passing through her sharp features. "Good. Then I trust this will not be a recurring issue?"

"Not at all." I folded my hands neatly on the desk, leaning forward just enough to feign earnestness. "Your authority is paramount, after all." The words were deliberately careful, each one a stepping stone to nowhere, their surface polished and slippery.

Reinalda's lips thinned, her gaze narrowing on me like a predator deciding whether I was worth the chase. "See that it isn't, Miss Astralys. While charm may work in some circles, it has little place in the meticulous world of criminology."

"Ofcourse Professor " I said, my voice steady as a heartbeat. "Charm is merely a tool, isn't it? Much like the truth—wielded sparingly, when it serves the purpose." What I didn't say,couldn't say ,was I knew she was working for my father ,had in fact gained access to my private archives which contained all the information I had been gathering over the years on the Iron Wraiths,the Umbras on the brink dying off being kidnapped and being augmented into telepathy drones all in the name of their grand experiment —she had it all wiped away and served back to Nicodemus,my father, for his perusal.

A murmur rippled through the room, and Reinalda's jaw tightened. I caught the slight twitch in her fingers before she returned her focus to the holographic display.

"Let's move on," she said curtly, the holographic interface flaring to life with case

Professor Reinalda's voice cut through the low murmur of shifting bodies and restless whispers. "The key to understanding a cyber-breach," she intoned, tapping a stylus against her glassy lectern, "is recognizing the human behind the machine that is the Code Breakers. No system is hacked without intent, no code breached without motive."

I felt a smile tug at my lips, faint and sharp. Her words, neatly packaged and precise, hung in the air like museum exhibits—tidy, curated, sanitized for public consumption. Intent? Motive? In the world she described, code breakers were ghosts haunting the digital realm, leaving behind trails of malice and chaos. In reality, we were far less glamorous—hungry, flawed, impatient. And sometimes, I thought bitterly, heartbreakingly loyal to the wrong people.

"Miss Astralys," Reinalda's voice rang out, snapping me to the present. The stillness that followed was immediate, surgical. Heads turned, a wave of curiosity rippling toward me.

"Yes?" I asked, lifting my eyes with the calm precision of someone who had spent years cultivating invisibility and knew exactly when it had been shattered.

"What's your perspective on digital evidence manipulation?" she asked, her words coiling in the air like smoke.Her tone wasn't hostile—Reinalda didn't deal in open confrontation. No, this was a precision strike, a test disguised as a passing inquiry. The faintest twitch of her eyebrow told me she expected something worthy.

The room leaned in, silent but for the hum of tablets and the faint rustle of jackets shifting,the air practically crackling with anticipation. I could feel the weight of every gaze, the collective glee of students hoping to witness my downfall.

Davina Astralys, the quiet girl at the back with amber eyes too sharp for comfort.

Strikingly odd they thought. Maybe too much so.

I tilted my head, pretending to consider the question. My tablet lay untouched before me, its blank screen a polite mirror reflecting my eyes ,a little unfocused like I'd been woken from a dream.

"Oh" I said, leaning forward now, my tone cool but resolute. "The case study on the Corvelle Syndicate's asset laundering scheme highlights how their use of cybernetic shell companies exploited legal blind spots. But what's really fascinating isn't just the mechanics—it's the moral erosion. It's not just a loophole; it's an indictment of a society that incentivizes such ingenuity in crime over ethics."

Reinalda tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze dissecting me. "Interesting perspective. Though I wonder, Miss Astralys, are you critiquing their methods—or admiring them?"

"Maybe both," I replied, unflinching. "But isn't criminology about understanding the line between the two?"

A pause. Then the professor allowed herself the faintest of smiles. "Fair enough. You're lucky, Miss Astralys. For today, intellect has bought you time. But I suggest you remember: brilliance fades quickly without discipline."

"Noted," I said, settling back into my chair as the tension in the room dissipated.

The next student's voice broke the silence as the seminar continued, but I could feel the threads of attention still lingering on me, still humming with curiosity—and perhaps a little envy.

A few students exchanged puzzled looks, their brains grinding like rusted gears. One of them—a guy with a puffed chest and the air of someone who got too many answers right in high school—laughed softly, though I couldn't tell if it was from agreement or confusion. Professor Reinalda, however, regarded me with something that looked dangerously close to approval.

Beneath the table, my device vibrated, a subtle pulse so faint it might have been imagined. But I felt it like a thunderclap.

I glanced down, my heart quickening as I opened the holographic display. The message was simple, and yet it struck me with the force of an avalanche.

Firefly protocol active.

Two years ago, that name had meant something different with all the sentiment tied to it it was a wonder how it wasn't a figment of my imagination. It was the system Leocade and I had created in the dim, flickering haze of our sanctum. A living map of the city's digital arteries. A lifeline. It was also the system that should have died with him.

The words pulsed on the screen, persistent, undeniable. Firefly protocol active.

I felt the weight of my breath catch in my throat, the classroom around me receding into shadow. Somewhere beyond the walls, beyond the algorithms and firewalls I had abandoned, something impossible was stirring.

The lecture continued. Students scribbled notes. Reinalda's voice droned on, speaking of codes as if they were mere tools, unaware that the very ground beneath her theories was shifting.

But for me, the world had tilted. My fingers trembled slightly as I closed the message, burying the truth beneath the thin veil of my facade.

My mother's silver locket hung against my chest. I filed it between my thumb and fore-finger the cold metal weight doesn't give me any comfort as it usually does ,only playful amber eyes—

Some people collect Trinkets ,you know pieces of trash to remind us we once lived in a moment .

"Are you going to philosophize the fact that I have trust issues?"

I quipped falling deeper under the spell of his hands tangled in my hair not minding the salt,sand and blue surf . He turned ever so slightly to peer at me.

You collect traumatic memories like other people collect souvenirs—meticulously organized, rarely discussed.