The stone pavement, worn smooth by history, stretched beneath Mira’s feet as she stood near the entrance, pulling her coat tighter against the breeze.

  Then, she heard a familiar voice.

  “Mira.”

  She turned swiftly.

  Standing a few steps away, dressed in his usual tailored coat, was Harrison Larkspur. His composed diplomatic demeanor softened the moment their eyes met. Without hesitation, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Dad.”

  His arms tightened briefly around her in return. Though he had never been an overly expressive man, his presence was always grounding. When they finally stepped back, he took a moment to study her.

  “You look well. More serious than usual. University life must be shaping you.”

  Mira let out a small laugh. “Or just stressing me out.”

  Harrison smirked, then glanced around at their surroundings. “The place suits you. But I imagine you haven’t had much time to explore.”

  “Not really. Between classes and… everything else, I barely have time to breathe.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Everything else?”

  Mira hesitated for a split second, but there was no avoiding it now. Her father was perceptive—he’d sense if she was hiding something. So, she sighed and admitted, “That debate we talked about… it’s almost here. And my opponent is…”

  She trailed off, suddenly second-guessing how to phrase it.

  Harrison’s eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity. “Your opponent is…?”

  Mira exhaled. “The smartest genius in the university.”

  Her father’s expression remained unreadable for a moment. “Oh? And what’s his name?”

  “Adrian.”

  There was a pause.

  Then, Harrison blinked. “Adrian… Vale?”

  Mira flinched at the exactness of his reaction. “Wait—you know him?”

  Her father let out a short laugh of disbelief. “Know him? Everyone in academic and political circles knows of him. That boy’s been making waves since he was a teenager. Neuroscience, cognitive science, biotechnology—his work has even influenced discussions in governance and security.”

  Harrison shook his head, amused. “And my daughter has decided to go to war with him.”

  Mira crossed her arms. “It’s not ‘war.’ It’s just a debate.”

  Her father gave her a knowing look. “I can already tell it’s not ‘just’ a debate.”

  Mira exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, maybe it’s a little more than that. But I can’t back down now. I just—” She hesitated before admitting, “I don’t know if I can actually beat him.”

  Harrison studied her for a moment before nodding slightly. “Well then, let’s get you some perspective.”

  At that, he gestured toward the grand entrance ahead of them. “Come. Eleanor is waiting.”

  Mira straightened, forcing herself to focus. Whatever doubts she had, she wasn’t going to let them stop her now.

  With that, father and daughter walked toward the doors of the House of Commons, stepping into a lesson in governance that Mira would not soon forget.

  ?

  The conference hall was filled with the kind of people who shaped the future.

  Medical pioneers, biotech executives, government officials—each one a gatekeeper of scientific progress, each one wielding power in ways that determined who lived, who thrived, and who got left behind.

  And yet, at the center of it all, a single figure commanded the most attention.

  Adrian Vale stood by the window, effortlessly apart from the crowd yet impossible to ignore.

  A senior researcher from the Institute of Advanced Neurobiology was the first to break the invisible boundary, clearing his throat. “Dr. Vale.” The man hesitated, as if reminding himself that, yes, this was still an eighteen-year-old he was speaking to. “Your paper on neural regeneration—frankly, it’s years ahead of its time.”

  Adrian didn’t turn immediately. He let the weight of the words settle first. Let the silence stretch, just long enough for the researcher to feel it. Then, finally, he glanced over, expression unreadable.

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  “Is that so?” His voice was smooth, but distant.

  The researcher shifted. “We… would like to discuss the possibility of collaboration. Your theories on synaptic restructuring could redefine the way we approach degenerative diseases, but the application still requires extensive—”

  “No.”

  The response was soft but absolute.

  The researcher blinked. “I—Excuse me?”

  Adrian finally turned to fully face him, the detached civility in his eyes cutting sharper than any outright dismissal.

  “You’re not looking to collaborate,” he said simply. “You’re looking for an excuse to delay releasing your own findings until you can secure my involvement.”

  The researcher paled slightly.

  “Your team has been sitting on unpublished trials for over a year now. A year in which you had the data to push the field forward, but didn’t—because you feared being outpaced by competitors.”

  The man opened his mouth, but Adrian didn’t let him speak.

  “And now that my research is public, you want to attach yourselves to it so you don’t have to justify your hesitation. Not because you believe in progress, but because you want control over its direction.”

  A pause. Then Adrian’s voice turned softer, but no less cutting.

  “You don’t have it.”

  Silence.

  The researcher swallowed, nodding stiffly before stepping away.

  Adrian didn’t watch him leave. He already knew how the rest of the conference would react.

  Some would whisper about how arrogant he was. Others would justify it—after all, Adrian Vale had never been wrong. Most, however, would take the lesson for what it was.

  He wasn’t here to be used.

  “Your ability to dismantle a man’s pride in under sixty seconds remains impressive.”

  Adrian didn’t react to the voice behind him. He had already sensed the presence before they spoke.

  Dr. Evelyn Hart stood with a faint smirk, holding a glass of white wine like she was simply watching the entertainment unfold. She was one of the youngest directors in the Bioethics Advisory Committee—an entity that existed outside corporate and government influence, yet advised both.

  Adrian turned his gaze slightly. “And yet, you still associate with them.”

  Hart took a slow sip of her drink, unfazed. “Even vultures serve a purpose in an ecosystem.”

  Adrian hummed noncommittally.

  She studied him for a moment, then exhaled. “There’s an offer on the table. You already know that.”

  “I do.”

  “And?”

  Adrian glanced back toward the conference, where groups of researchers and executives were murmuring among themselves, eyes flicking toward him as they no doubt tried to reassess their approach.

  Then he looked back at Hart.

  “You need me more than I need you.”

  Hart chuckled. “Perhaps. But you and I both know influence is a currency. One you shouldn’t underestimate.”

  Adrian held her gaze, unblinking. “That’s why you’re offering a favor.”

  Hart inclined her head slightly.

  The Bioethics Advisory Committee wasn’t bound to any institution, but it held the ear of all of them. It could dictate which research received funding, which breakthroughs were deemed ethically viable, which individuals gained silent protections when their work became inconvenient to powerful entities.

  It wasn’t a shield. But it was leverage.

  “A favor from the Committee,” He murmured, as if tasting the words. “You make it sound generous.”

  Hart smirked. “It is.”

  Adrian tilted his head slightly. “And yet, you wouldn’t be offering if you weren’t expecting something in return.”

  She swirled the wine in her glass. “Influence is leverage, Adrian. You’re not naive enough to think you can navigate the scientific world without alliances.”

  A pause. Then Adrian’s lips curled—not quite a smile, but something close. “And yet, here you are. Sitting across from an eighteen-year-old, offering an alliance before I ever asked for one.”

  Hart let out a slow breath, conceding the point. “The world is watching you,” she admitted. “Whether you like it or not, you’ve made yourself a central figure in medical progress. That means you’re either an asset… or a problem.”

  Adrian exhaled, gaze flicking toward the distant city lights outside the conference hall’s window. “And which am I?”

  Hart set her glass down, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile. “That depends entirely on how you respond.”

  Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken calculations.

  Adrian didn’t rush his answer. He let her sit in the uncertainty, let her wonder just how much he had already predicted before this conversation even began.

  Then, finally, he spoke.

  “You want control over medical ethics,” he said. “Over which research sees the light of day, over who gets to dictate what is acceptable and what is not. But you’re losing that control, aren’t you?”

  Hart’s expression remained neutral, but the slight stillness in her posture told Adrian everything he needed to know.

  “You’re fighting a losing battle,” he continued, voice smooth, measured. “Corporations and private entities are outpacing regulation. The government can’t keep up. And now, with AI-driven research accelerating beyond traditional oversight, you’re struggling to hold the reins.”

  He leaned forward slightly, watching her carefully.

  “You don’t need me to be an ally,” he murmured. “You need me to be your contingency plan.”

  Hart studied him, and for the first time in years, she felt a flicker of unease.

  Because he was right.

  Adrian Vale wasn’t just a rising star in medicine—he was a wild card. Too intelligent to be controlled, too young to be dismissed, and too independent to be owned.

  And he knew it.

  “So here’s what’s going to happen,” Adrian said, voice turning impossibly soft. “You will owe me a favor. Not because I need your protection. But because, one day, when the world shifts in a direction you don’t like—when the wrong people gain too much influence, when your position is threatened—you will need me.”

  He let the words settle before delivering the final blow.

  “And when that day comes… I’ll decide whether or not to help you.”

  Hart exhaled slowly, studying him in silence.

  Then, to his slight amusement, she laughed.

  A low, knowing chuckle, laced with something between admiration and apprehension.

  “I underestimated you,” she admitted. “That won’t happen again.”

  She extended a hand.

  Adrian considered it for a moment before shaking it.

  A favor was secured. A debt created.

  One that Adrian had no intention of calling upon.

  ?