Valmont Series - Inheritance Code

Chapter 6.3 - Courtyard Convergence

There was no requirement to include a reason.

Still, he entered one anyway.

[Optional Message: Filled]

— Project collaboration request. Tier II eligibility assumed.

Concise. Direct. Just enough to signal capability—without overreaching.

He had no intention of drifting at the bottom of Avalon's rank flowchart, even if he had no legacy here to float him up. That kind of weightless existence—unclaimed, unnoticed—wasn't just inefficient. It was dangerous.

Prestige wasn't given. It was built. Constructed piece by piece.

And if legacy was a shortcut others inherited, he would forge the long path—starting now.

No more burning hours trying to solve variables with no known outputs.

No more spiraling through half-formed theories in the dark.

He couldn't outthink Avalon in a sleepless haze.

Advancement was the better strategy. Visibility was leverage. Position was power.

If he moved upward, the system would eventually reveal its fractures.

Because systems always cracked under pressure—especially from within.

So he would rise.

Deliberately. Quietly. Precisely.

Then—from across the courtyard—footsteps.

He didn't need to look up.

He knew that stride.

A soft chime pulsed in his earpiece.

"Aria Lancaster now within range," Vox intoned—neutral, clinical, unnecessary.

He glanced around. The courtyard appeared empty.

But in Avalon, "not visible" never meant not watching.

Exactly two minutes later, Aria walked in.

Alone.

Blazer precisely fastened.

Her braid swept over one shoulder, sleek and deliberate, not a strand out of place.

There was no trace of casualness in her posture.

Not today.

Not when every eye—human or algorithmic—was watching.

She didn't speak at first.

Just looked at him—one brow raised, eyes scanning him like a biometric read.

Then came the smirk.

"Did you lose a debate with your own brain again?"

"You look like you haven't blinked since yesterday."

"You know, Avalon tech almost had me fooled."

"But beneath all that SleepCore polish and StyleForge precision... still radiating that signature insomniac charm."

Unlike him, she had slept.

And it showed—in the way she moved, in the composure behind her gaze.

She didn't look concerned. Not about the key. Not about the system.

Not yet.

Her presence had shifted—back to sharp lines, steady rhythm, unshaken tone.

Whatever had rattled her yesterday was no longer visible.