Thursday morning in New York arrived with a persistent chill that seemed to vibrate through the thin walls of my apartment. I sat on the edge of my bed, splashing my face with cold water from a plastic basin to shake off the remnants of a restless sleep. My bank account was sitting at a pathetic $9.12, and my mind was already running the numbers.
"Ten points in the bank," I muttered, wiping my face with a scratchy towel. "I need twenty to hit Authority Level 2. After that... Tier 2 Mental Clarity. If Tier 1 was ten points, Tier 2 shouldn't be more than fifty, right? That's seventy points total. I have about thirty-six hours to find sixty points."
It was a daunting mountain to climb, but I had a plan. The Grand Hyatt in Midtown. It was a hub for the city's power players—people whose lives were so complex that a single "nudge" in their fate could result in a massive payout of points.
I grabbed my bag, heading out for my morning classes. I didn't take my delivery gear yet; the bulky orange thermal box was still at the Pizza Galaxy shop. I'd have to swing by there after my lectures.
As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I saw Rosie.
She was leaning against the iron railing of our building, wearing a simple white t-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans and a thin beige cardigan. She looked fresh and vibrant against the grey, soot-stained street. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she was absent-mindedly flipping through a psychology textbook.
"Morning, Silas," she said, her eyes brightening as she saw me. "Heading to the subway?"
"Yeah. Got a morning stretch of lectures," I said as we started walking together.
The commute was our usual ritual. We chatted about the trivialities of student life—the rising price of street cart coffee, the professor who took off points for 'incorrect margins,' and the best places to find quiet study nooks. Rosie did most of the talking, her voice animated, while I nodded in the right places. My mind, however, was miles away, still obsessing over the Obsidian Gala at Omega House.
"So..." Rosie said, her tone shifting to one of mild annoyance as we descended into the subway station. "Sarah is still trying to talk me into that Omega House party tomorrow night. I told her I'm really not in the mood. Every time I go to those fraternity mixers, it's just a sea of guys trying to use the same three pick-up lines. It's exhausting. I hate having to spend the whole night figuring out how to dodge annoying conversations. It's not really my scene."
She sighed, looking at the approaching train. "I'd rather just stay in, but Sarah already put my name on the list."
I felt a surge of excitement, but I kept my face neutral. This was it.
"Actually," I said, looking at her as we stepped into the crowded car. "I was thinking about checking that one out. If you're worried about people bugging you, I could go with you? You know, just to be a buffer. We can hang out, and if it gets too annoying, we can just leave."
Rosie stopped talking and looked at me. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, followed by a soft, pink flush on her cheeks. "You... you want to go to a party? With me?"
"I mean, if it helps you deal with the creeps, why not?" I said, trying to sound like I was doing her a favor. I didn't feel guilty; I was just happy to have a way in. I didn't quite register the way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Oh! Well... yeah! That would actually be great!" She turned her head toward the window, but I caught the sudden, bright smile she couldn't quite hide. She seemed to have a bit more bounce in her step for the rest of the ride.
To me, the "entry ticket" was secured. To her, it was something else, but I was too focused on the mission to dive into the nuances of her feelings.
After my morning classes wrapped up, I bypassed the library and headed straight for the Pizza Galaxy shop. I had realized that I couldn't just walk into the Grand Hyatt and loiter; I needed the "invisibility cloak" of a delivery guy.
I tried to slip into the back to grab my thermal box, but I ran right into Sal, the owner. He was a man who lived in a state of permanent high-tension, usually surrounded by a cloud of flour and the smell of burning pepperoni.
"Silas! Perfect timing!" Sal shouted, shoving a heavy thermal bag into my chest. "I've got a VIP rush for the Grand Hyatt—two lobster bisques and a prime rib. My regular driver just called in with a flat tire, and the customer is already blowing up my phone. I was about to go myself! Take it, now! Don't let it get cold!"
I didn't argue. It was exactly the "Pass" I needed.
Ten minutes later, I was pushing through the revolving doors of the Hyatt. The lobby was a cathedral of marble and gold leaf. After delivering the food to the penthouse, I didn't leave. I found a deep leather armchair in a secluded corner of the lounge, tucked my orange bag under my legs, and pulled out a textbook.
Then, I waited. And waited.
One hour. Two hours. Three.
I scanned everyone.
Grey. Grey. Grey.
[Target: Businessman. Status: Impatient. Fate: Will buy a $25 martini. Reward: 0 FP] [Target: Socialite. Status: Bored. Fate: Will gossip about her ex-husband. Reward: 0 FP]
I sat there until my eyes felt like they were full of sand. It was nearly 7:00 PM. The head concierge was starting to eye my worn sneakers with open hostility. I couldn't sit there any longer without being kicked out.
I stood up, stretching my stiff limbs, and headed for the exit. I stepped out into the parking area, where the valets were busy moving luxury cars.
Just then, a black sedan pulled up. A man in his sixties—Arthur Miller—scrambled out of the back seat. He was on his phone, his face pale with stress.
My eyes instinctively locked onto him, and the system flared.
[Target: Arthur Miller. Status: High-Stakes Negotiator.] [Fate: He is about to lose a manila folder containing the S-1 filing for a $200 million merger. If the documents are lost, the deal collapses tonight. Reward: 15 FP.]
I stopped in my tracks.
A second later, as Miller yanked his briefcase tight while shouting into his phone, it happened. A thick manila folder slid out from an unzipped side pocket and dropped right into a puddle of black, oily New York slush.
Miller didn't even notice. He was already sprinting toward the hotel entrance, his voice echoing as he yelled about a "filing deadline."
I lunged for it. I grabbed the folder within seconds. The cold mud was already starting to seep into the bottom edges of the heavy paper.
I ran back to my bike. Being a delivery guy in New York meant being prepared for the elements. I always kept a high-powered travel hairdryer and a pack of microfiber cloths in my bag—it was the only way to dry my gloves and socks during a twelve-hour rainy shift.
I sat on a bench hidden by a newsstand and went to work. I wiped away the mud and carefully fanned the pages out. The first few pages were wrinkled and slightly stained at the bottom, but the ink hadn't bled. I spent thirty minutes meticulously drying the edges. The paper felt crinkly and warped in my hands, but every word of the legal text was perfectly legible.
I ran back into the lobby. I saw Miller charging out of the elevators, his face the color of ash. He was shouting at his driver, eyes darting across the sidewalk in a state of pure, unadulterated panic.
"Mr. Miller?" I called out, walking up to him.
He was too frantic to hear me. I stepped into his line of sight. "Sir? I heard you looking for a file. I found this near the curb. Is it yours?"
Miller snatched the folder from my hand, his breath hitching. He flipped through the pages with trembling fingers. He saw the crinkled, slightly stained edges, but he saw that the document was intact.
"The S-1..." he whispered, his eyes widening. He looked at me, then at my worn delivery jacket. "You found this? Kid... I had no idea where it went. I thought it was gone. Everything was on these pages."
"I saw it fall," I said simply.
He didn't offer a long speech. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed me two crisp hundred-dollar bills.
"Take it. I'd give you more if I wasn't ten minutes late for a board meeting," he said, before sprinting back toward the conference rooms.
I took the money. Two hundred dollars. "At least I can buy a decent shirt now," I thought.
At exactly 8:00 PM, while I was sitting on a park bench, the notification flared.
[Fate Diverted: $200M Merger Successful.] [Reward: 15 Fate Points.] [Current Balance: 25 FP.]
"System. Upgrade Authority Level. Now."
[Consuming 20 FP... Authority Level 2 Unlocked.] [Status: Reconstructing Heavenly Exchange... Unlocking Tier 2 Modules.]
A rush of cold air swept through my skull, sharpening my vision. I pulled up the Exchange, my heart racing. This was it.
But as I scrolled to the item I needed, my heart plummeted.
[Mental Clarity - Tier 2] [Price: 100 FP]
I stared at the number. One hundred.
I only had 5 FP left.
"One hundred?!" I whispered, the excitement draining out of me. "I just saved a two-hundred-million-dollar deal and only got fifteen points? How am I supposed to get seventy-five more points by tomorrow?"
I slumped back onto the bench, the two hundred dollars in my pocket feeling suddenly very small. I had the invitation. I had the Authority. But the "lens" I needed to see the truth was locked behind a wall of points I couldn't possibly earn in twenty-four hours.
"Fine," I muttered, looking at the city lights. "I'll do my best to earn what I can before the party... and then I'll just have to adapt as I go."
The Heavenly Exchange was a cold master, but I wasn't going to let a price tag stop me. Not when the clock was already ticking for Isabella.