The dockside drama was punctuated by a new arrival: the kind of black SUV that only showed up in action movies or presidential motorcades. Its paint reflected everything—sun, ocean, paparazzi flash—so perfectly that it looked almost fake, a computer-generated vehicle rendered with too much budget.

Asune, mid-sentence about some lurid rumor about Rebecca and one of the male students, cut off in the middle of a syllable. Her entire body went still, hands frozen in air like a puppet whose strings had just been yanked by a distracted god.

The SUV’s back door opened with a hydraulic hiss. Zara stepped out first, all legs and attitude, her spiky white-blonde hair defying the wind in ways that should have been physically impossible. Her jaw was set, and she looked like a Bond villain, albeit a bit younger. She did not look left or right, just stood there for a second, letting the world adjust to her existence.

Eve came next. Even from the limo, Bri could feel the chill rolling off her: the reddish-brown hair, shaved on one side, long on the other, the flash of brown stubble running over half her head. She made Bri’s life a living hell. She’d threatened her a number of times just today in the airport and plane ride, or used her flunkies to do it. She was the former bestie of Asune before they had a falling out, for reasons that Asune had never disclosed. She wore oversized mirrored sunglasses and turned her tall frame severe, like every angle was calculated for maximum intimidation. Eve paused at the door, one hand resting on the roof of the SUV, then flicked her wrist and let the sunglasses drop a fraction lower.

Dogun slid out last. He kept a step behind the others, hands jammed in the pockets of his white jacket, dark hair parted dead center. His posture telegraphed “chill” but his eyes flicked everywhere, cataloguing the scene. He looked more like Zara’s bodyguard than her equal.

Asune’s jaw set so hard Bri heard the click of her teeth. For a moment, Asune’s eyes didn’t even move; she was locked on Eve like there was a wire between them, some energy that no one else could see.

“Dammit,” Asune muttered, voice flat and low. “I was in denial that she was coming.” Her breath fogged the window. “Oh. Well. Nevermind.”

The smile did not come back.

Bri watched her friend more than she watched the dock, caught the way Asune’s fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on her knee, the way her whole body leaned, involuntarily, toward the glass whenever Eve stepped forward. The usual flood of commentary dried up, replaced by a quiet that was somehow louder than any of Asune’s jokes.

Eve and Zara glided through the mess of students, not so much parting the crowd as causing it to collapse around them. Zara didn’t glance at the Diamonds or the Golds; she just pointed her chin at the ship and strode forward, pace steady, like she was timing herself. Eve was slower, more deliberate. She stopped once, looked over the heads of the VIPs and the teachers, and swept the scene with a single pass of her mirrored lenses.

The sunglasses reflected everything—students, teachers, the Erebus—and for a second, Bri thought she saw herself in the glare. But then Eve moved on, and the moment snapped.

Dogun trailed behind, keeping his head down, except for the briefest sideways glance at the gaggle behind Anri. The glance was a message—Bri didn’t speak the language, but she understood it was a warning, or maybe a promise.

The whole thing lasted less than a minute. By the time the teachers had finished arguing about headcounts, Eve and her crew were already halfway up the dock, moving as a unit.

Asune didn’t speak. She just watched, eyes unblinking, until the trio was nearly at the gangway.

Bri wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension. Instead, she settled for the softest, “Hey. You okay?”

Asune flinched like she’d been pinched, then forced a smile that had too many teeth in it. “Yeah. I’m just… distracted. Sorry. Bad memory trip. Ignore me.”

But Bri didn’t. She logged every detail, every microexpression, and let the silence settle.

On the dock, the world snapped back to normal: students jockeying for better luggage spots, teachers barking orders, and the ship’s horn sounding again, more insistent this time.

But inside the limo, the mood had shifted. The air felt tighter, heavier. Something had arrived that wasn’t going away.

Their limo moved forward. Bri pressed her glasses up her nose and watched the gangway, waiting to see who would be the first to crack.

A second limo inched up the port line and stopped so precisely it looked rehearsed. There was a tiny delay—three seconds, maybe, but enough for the anticipation to settle in the crowd—before the door swung open and Gabriel Ishikawa stepped out into the sunlight.

Hello hotness. The air didn’t actually change, but it felt like it did. Gabe stood a little taller than the limo, white hair flashing even in the brutal daylight. His gold eyes flicked across the dock once, not looking for applause but registering every face and detail. He wore a charcoal suit, so sharp it looked like a weapon, and he adjusted his silver earring—a thin strip of silver that caught the light like a camera flash. There was no fanfare, no gesture to announce himself. He simply existed, and people adjusted to accommodate.

Bri stared. Not the polite, “oh, there’s a celebrity” glance, but the full-on, brain-checks-out-and-leaves-the-eyes-behind stare. She’d seen him once at school in a lecture. His presence worked on a frequency she couldn’t tune out.

Behind him came Michael Moriarte, her stepbrother. What was he doing here? Was he supposed to be one of the guardians? His hair was dark, almost black, and he wore a suit that was technically more expensive than Gabe’s, but he filled it differently—easy, unhurried, the kind of relaxed posture that came from knowing you’d never have to hurry for anyone, ever. Michael took in the scene with a single raised eyebrow and then gave a little wave to the nearest camera.

Before she could process, Asune sucked in a breath so sharp it almost whistled. “Holy shit,” she said. “I can’t believe he got off to come chaperone. Doesn’t he have a company to run?” She pointed at Gabe.

“Yeah I guess.” Bri responded. Her eyes locked on Gabe and Michael as they moved together for a beat, twin vectors slicing through the dock traffic. They didn’t speak to each other—didn’t even seem to acknowledge it—but the crowd parted all the same, like everyone had been told in advance this was how it would go.

The reverie broke when a stretch hummer, longer than the limo by half, pulled up with the grace of a nuclear submarine. Its doors popped open and a full squad of VIA’s highest-ranking social capital burst onto the dock. Anri came first—six feet of black hair and white teeth, the kind of smile that made adults nervous about their daughters. He really was handsome. After seeing Gabe, he looked like a darker, more muscular imitation of his brother. He’d also forgone the VIA attire and wore a midtone blue suit over a blue t-shirt, the color sat somewhere between sky blue and navy with a few hints of gray. For him every movement was a casual flex. He barely hit the ground before he started laughing at something Sera said, and the sound carried all the way across the dock.

Behind Anri came Houston, Hideki, Sera, Mylo, and Mei. Houston’s hair was an even deeper red, surprisingly natural with dark black brows, and a tan made him stand out. His arms surrounded twoo people at once. Hideki, tall and lean, had his phone out, documenting every second with the deadpan efficiency of a nature photographer. Sera, petite and perfectly put-together, attached herself to Anri’s elbow like she was born there. Mylo, broad and bright, lifted three rolling suitcases in one go, earning a round of applause from the Diamonds at the bus line. Mei brought up the rear, her smile a little more cautious but her eyes darting to every VIP and teacher in sight, logging them for future reference.

It wasn’t just a group; it was a coordinated incursion, each member finding their mark, forming up around Anri with a speed that spoke of years of practice.

But even with all that confidence, all that noise and presence, every single one of them tracked Gabe the second he stepped onto the carpet. The laughter died a little, the conversation paused; Anri nodded once, like he’d been expecting this, and the rest followed suit.

Bri watched the whole exchange, trying to keep her face neutral. In her head, she was already mapping out how this would play: the lines of tension, the silent competitions, the way everyone would orbit the same handful of people no matter how big the ship was.

Asune leaned in, voice questioning. “I thought you had a thing for Anri.”

Bri didn’t break her gaze from Gabe. “A little. Not enough to do something about it. Really, I just thought he is nice. He’s been one of the few that have been nice to me given Victoria’s shenanigans to make me a class pariah.” she said. “But I just saw his brother.”

Asune snorted, amused. She looked at “I heard Gabe hates women. You got better odds with Anri and half the student body has slept with him or wants to sleep with him.”

Gabe paused at the edge of the red carpet, surveyed the crowd once more, and then—without warning—looked directly at the limo window. A moment too long. For a heartbeat, Bri thought maybe he saw her, but then the gaze moved on, indifferent, and the spell snapped.

The mass of arrivals congealed into a single, moving parade. Photographers jostled for position, the teachers hustled to keep headcounts accurate, and the ship’s staff swept the students and VIPs toward the same gleaming gangway.

Bri pushed her glasses up again, this time catching the sun’s glare off the ocean. She watched the others moving—Michael and Gabe, Eve and Zara, Anri and his orbit—each of them falling into the roles that everyone else had already written for them.

The Erebus loomed in the background, all white and gold and impossible. A floating city, a sealed ecosystem. In less than an hour, they would all be locked inside.

For now, Bri just sat back and watched, letting herself enjoy the last moment before the curtain dropped.

The real show was about to start.