Page 52 of The Sovereign, Part One (The Sovereign Saga #1)

The morning light filtered through the transpane skylight, cool and diluted. I blinked against it, my body slow to respond. My limbs were heavy, thoughts sluggish as if they hadn’t fully returned from wherever I’d drifted during the night.

The sheets were twisted around my legs, a protest from the bed I wasn’t ready to leave.

My muscles ached from too many tense nights of wishing I wasn’t alone, my mind still fogged by a dream I couldn’t quite catch.

The air outside the comforter felt too sharp, as did the world beyond my somna—upcoming Oathbond planning, Maxim’s deviations, and tomorrow’s evaluations—pressed beneath the weight of a blanket I hadn’t asked for.

If it weren’t for the promise of seeing Maxim, his first embrace always warm and eager, I might’ve let the day pass without me.

I groaned into the pillow. “Remind me to uninstall your morning enthusiasm.”

“Downgrading to groggy and irritable.”

“Hilarious,” I muttered as the interface shimmered to life, presenting a soft terracotta ensemble, versatile enough to suit whatever adventure we decided on for the day.

My gaze wandered to the frame on the dresser, expecting the same blank pane of glass, only to catch on the unmistakable shape of something new.

The photo from our Court Date fit perfectly inside. Next to it, a sleek black frame contained a second photo.

It caught me off guard—an image of Maxim and me at the carnival, both of us mid-laugh as I struggled to hold Mochi, the bear’s bulk overwhelming my arms, limbs splayed in every direction.

In the background, the exponent who’d handed him over stood motionless, inactive after completing its task until the next couple came along.

We weren’t posed or prepared, just caught in the middle of something ridiculous and real, Maxim leaning close, his hand resting at the small of my back, the moment natural and unplanned.

I remembered the way I nearly dropped Mochi when the exponent extended him unceremoniously into my arms, and Maxim had burst out laughing—not at me, but with that kind of rare, full-bodied joy that couldn’t be contained.

He’d reached to anchor me without thinking, his hand landing low at my back, a subtle act of protectiveness, unwittingly creating a core memory for me.

I’d looked up at him just as he looked at me, and for half a second, everything else fell away—the noise, the crowd, the lights. In that moment, it was just the two of us.

He’d been so proud. I could see it in the way his smile lingered after the laughter had faded, in the furrow of his brow like he couldn’t believe something so simple for him had made me that happy.

Some would say it was insignificant. Silly, even. A game booth and a ridiculously oversized bear. But it was perfect. It was ours. And now, the moment was captured beautifully and sitting on my side console.

Before I could process what it meant—or why it was there—Calyx shifted protocols.

“Good morning, Maxim. Your presence was logged at 05:07. System sync remains within optimal thresholds. Will you be requiring operational integration for the day, or shall I assume we’re continuing the experimental interpretation of Vesture protocol?”

Maxim chuckled behind me.

I bolted upright too quickly, a rush of dizziness tipping the edges of my vision.

Instinct sent my gaze to the empty side of the bed—only it wasn’t empty.

Maxim was still there, lying beside me, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped casually across the sheets.

He watched me with a slow, amused smile, like he’d been waiting for the exact moment I’d panic.

“You can’t stay overnight, Maxim! Being shielded somehow is one thing, but they’ll notice you didn’t check in at The Crèche!”

“Take a breath, my love,” he said, pressing his palm against my thigh.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to disturb you.

I waited until you were fully at rest, left for the Crèche at 01:42, completed my recharge and maintenance, handled a few…

personal errands, and—as Calyx so eloquently tattled—returned at 05:07. ”

I stared at him. He looked… perfect. Relaxed, even. Like this was normal. “Would those errands have anything to do with that?” I asked, pointing to the photos now snug in two rare, precious frames.

His gaze slid toward our frozen moments.

“It took most of the night after the Carnival to reconstruct the images. The original captures were sourced from drone streams. I isolated the frames, reconstructed them using the Tirix adaptive clarity interface, and then used a latent-ink transfer process to create the images themselves. Printed on retextured cellulose. Took some negotiating.”

“Negotiating with who?”

He grinned. “A Sovereign technician on night shift at The Crèche, someone with an appreciation for antique restoration and access to legacy materials. I admired his work. He was eager to show me.”

Despite myself, my mouth curved.

He leaned toward me on his elbow, the mattress shifting beneath his weight. “Tell me. You waking up like the world’s ending… I’m starting to take it personally.”

I leaned into him, and the sharp edge of panic receded, dissolving into the calm he carried with unsettling ease. “It isn’t you.” I sighed. “It’s everything else.”

He didn’t speak, just curved his arm around me, holding me in a stillness that didn’t require explanation, and we stayed that way for a while, the space between us unmarred by expectation.

Eventually, I turned my head, my cheek still resting against his shoulder. “Our Dyadic Assessment is tomorrow.”

“Yes,” he said. “The Citadel’s version of couples therapy, confirming we’re emotionally compatible, behaviorally aligned, and worthy of continued investment. You’re worried?”

“It’s been on my mind. Shielding has worked in our favor until now, but what if it compromises us in the session? What if The Citadel’s records are incomplete?”

“You think the system is extrapolating data. And if our version doesn’t match—”

“We’ll be exposed.”

He nodded slowly. “Then we stay inside the lines. If something unpredictable comes up, one of us answers. The other adapts.”

I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Maxim, that isn’t a plan. If they discover full sync tracking has been blocked, they won’t care that it wasn’t us who did it. We didn’t report it. They’ll pull us from Vesture.”

“Then we keep to shared memories, only reference what we both know has been mirrored in system logs.”

“It’s not that simple. What if we recall something that doesn’t exist in their record?

All it will take is a single moment, a detail.

They don’t know what to look for, not yet.

But if we give them cause to examine anything closely, the inconsistencies won’t be hard to find.

If even one sequence pings off-pattern, they’ll backtrace everything until they find the missing data.

” I waited a beat, trying to read his eyes.

“You’re trying to reassure me, and I’m grateful. But, you know I’m right.”

He didn’t argue.

“We need Lev,” I said quietly. “He’ll know what The Citadel has seen. What’s stored. I trust him. He worked closely with my papa.”

Maxim nodded once. “Then we see Lev. Today.”

The transport glided in near silence, so smooth it barely registered as movement.

Only the subtle shift of light through the windows marked our progress, a current carrying us toward the Enclave.

I sat angled toward the window, watching Hyperion Proper give way to the understated difference in design marking our education building’s domain.

Its architecture had always struck me as elegant—gleaming surfaces, thoughtful curves—but older in its aesthetic.

It didn’t demand attention like The Citadel.

The Enclave didn’t flaunt its importance, it embodied it, its refined architecture and understated design reflecting knowledge, progress, and tradition.

A nod to neoclassical influence ran through its symmetrical lines and timeless facade, infusing both gravitas and grace.

I had walked its halls as a child, attended my earliest lessons in one wing, and would later complete the final phase of my Veritas in another.

It was where young minds were shaped and adult commitments were forged, a place that guided us from our first questions to our final answers.

Our transport slowed to a stop just a few meters from the threshold.

The Enclave’s elegant sweep of curved stone and transpane offered just the first glimpse of the luxury inside.

Above the arched entrance, a single emblem marked its importance: a minimalist rendering of the original schematic of a Supplicant’s neural core, subtle but unmistakable.

We stepped out and the transport veered off, guided by the auto-routing system into the underground port.

Maxim extended his arm, guiding me past the Skith port and through the entrance, into filtered warmth and the faint scent of aged tech: metallic trace, polymer composite, and something immaculate yet subdued.

Lev was already waiting in the atrium, its vaulted arches and mirrored surfaces designed to evoke wonder.

“Isara,” he greeted me, stepping forward. “And this must be Maxim.” His eyes flicked from me to Maxim, quietly studying him before extending a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Chief Architect Navon,” Maxim said, taking it with one firm shake.

Lev chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’ve always felt a little strange about the title.

Chief Architect sounds as if I’m building Hyperion with a drafting pen and a stack of concrete blocks.

But the truth is, most of what I built you’ll never see.

It’s stitched into the framework, buried beneath protocols and power grids, running behind every AI node and behavioral script.

The bones of Hyperion aren’t stone. They’re code. ”