Valmont Series - Inheritance Code

Chapter 9.4 - The Variable

Aiden caught up with Aurora just past the Gravity Loop Ring terminal—her silhouette already framed by the glass corridor, her stride as composed as ever. She didn't rush. She didn't need to. Even when Avalon moved fast, Aurora moved deliberately.

He fell into step beside her without a word. The Vault's low-frequency hum faded behind them, replaced by the clean pulse of transit sensors and atmospheric regulation gates.

She didn't ask why he followed. She never did.

Aurora wasn't the kind of person who filled silence—she shaped it.

By the time they reached the Maglev Capsule dock, she finally glanced at her slate, fingers tracing a light arc across the screen.

"I should check if Aria still wants to meet," she murmured. "She said something about dinner earlier... but that was hours ago."

Aiden didn't look over. "Where?"

She hesitated a moment—not for lack of answer, but as if confirming it internally.

"Veritas Gallery."

He turned, brow faintly raised. "For dinner?"

"She said she wanted something quiet. Something that doesn't lie." A soft pause. "You know Aria."

Aiden nearly smiled. Of course she'd choose the one place in Avalon where no one could edit the truth—not even themselves.

Aurora moved forward again, her steps fluid as the junction lights traced along the floor. The platform gates hissed open as the next Maglev capsule arrived—silent, luminous, impossibly smooth.

She stepped inside without breaking stride.

"You coming?" she asked, not quite teasing—but close.

Aiden followed, the doors closing behind them with a whisper of compression. The capsule surged forward—cutting across the city, light fractals scattering over glass and skin.

Across the terrace, framed by the shimmer of a kinetic bridge, Aria was already there—leaning on the hover-ledge like the world wasn't watching. Hair tied back. Silken top tucked carelessly into tailored trousers. Effortless. Intentional.

And she wasn't alone.

Luc Raveneau stood beside her.

They weren't touching.

They weren't laughing.

But the space between them said enough—too measured to be casual, too still to be cold.

Luc leaned in slightly, head tilted, eyes sharp with the kind of knowing that didn't ask for permission. Whatever he'd just said—it wasn't loud, but it landed. Intentional. Calculated. The kind of line designed not to echo, but to stay.

Aria didn't smile.

But she didn't move either.

She held her pose with surgical grace—shoulders aligned, chin lifted just enough to suggest control. As if she hadn't felt it. As if nothing had reached her.

Except it had. And Aiden saw it.

The fractional shift of her weight toward Luc. The barely-there pause before she answered. The way her hand, still resting on the rail, curled just slightly inward—like she was grounding herself. Tiny signals, invisible to anyone else.

He knew her tells. The way she blinked once when caught off guard. The way she didn't blink at all when she was trying not to feel anything.

She was trying to stay composed.