Rebate King: Every Beauty I Spoil Makes Me a Billionaire

Stan nodded once. The weight of that sentence settled between them and stayed. He put both truths in the same place: the girl in the Velaris window, the vampire in the city ahead, his other girls, the sister in his passenger seat holding a knife that could become a sword. Responsibility, not romance, was the thing that made his hands tighten on the wheel.

Sacha turned her face toward the glass again. Inside, her ordinary map of the world kept tearing and restitching. Vampires. Contracts, Qi. Her brother speaking of all of it as if it were a logistics problem. She chose, not for the first time, to stand where he stood. Fear of losing him did the rest.

The scenery changed as they got to the boundary of the two big cities Inksea and Velaris...

Stan focused fully on the road. They fell silent

They crossed the boundary and into Inksea tighter lanes, older trees giving way to blocks with pretty interesting names all came into view the light a little harder off glass and signage.

The heavy talk had used up its first hour. What remained in the Audi was not peace, exactly. It was the quieter work of living with what had been said.

Sacha watched a delivery van cut in and then think better of it. When she spoke, her voice had come down from shock into something usable.

”I keep trying to picture Tuesday,” she said. ”Not the end of the world. Just Tuesday. Someone walking a dog. A shop opening late. And then a beast that used to be a stray isn’t a stray anymore. Or a person on the bus starts glowing and nobody has a protocol for it.”

Stan’s mouth tilted. ”There won’t be a protocol at first.”

”That’s what I mean.” She turned the shortened blade in her lap, careful, as if manners still applied to impossible metal. ”Ordinary people are going to do ordinary things with it. Film it. Deny it. Panic in the comments. Pretend it’s a stunt until something bleeds that shouldn’t. Cities feel safe because they have routines. Routines hate surprises.”

”They’ll hold longer than you think,” he said. ”Then they won’t. The gap in between is where people get hurt.”

She nodded, accepting the ugliness of that without asking him to pretty it. ”How fast?”

”I don’t know. No one does, not cleanly. Some places will change in a week. Some will look the same for months and then break overnight. Preparation beats a calendar.”

Traffic thickened near a school let-out that had nothing to do with Qi and everything to do with backpacks. Sacha watched the kids the way you watch a photograph of a life you are already leaving.

”I only found out this morning,” she said. ”They still think the biggest problem is homework. I don’t know if I’m jealous or if I want to stand in front of them with a stick.”

”Both can be true.”

She huffed a breath that wanted to be a laugh and didn’t quite make it. ”I’m not going to freeze. I decided that somewhere after the second dump of information you put in my head. Freezing feels like a luxury. But I am allowed to think the whole thing is unfair.”

”You are.”

”Good.” She looked at him. ”Don’t do the caring brother thing where you swallow every ugly detail so I can sleep. I’d rather sleep badly and not be stupid.”

Stan let that land. Responsibility sat in him, not as drama, as fact: he had opened a door she could not close. Relief sat next to it. She was not rejecting the shape of the world. She was measuring it.

”I won’t sand it down,” he said. ”I also won’t hand you nightmares I can’t confirm. Strength first. Information second. Panic never.”

They drove a stretch without talking. The Audi’s hum filled it honestly. Inksea’s residential edge began, laundry on a balcony, a man arguing with a parking app, the ordinary stubbornness of a city that did not know it was being rewritten.

Sacha broke the quiet again, smaller.

”If the streets get bad, do we stay. Do we leave. Do we pretend we have a plan when we don’t.”

”We adapt,” Stan said. ”Apartment first. Training first. If a place stops being livable, we move. Although it might seem that way, I’m not very much attached to Inksea or Velaris.”

”That’s the most casual uncaring you’ve ever said.”

He almost smiled at that dry joke. ”You’re welcome.”

Her building came up on the right, the one with the chipped planter and the intercom that only worked if you believed in it. Stan pulled in and let the engine settle to idle. The goodbye had too much behind it to be long.

Sacha opened the door, then paused with one foot on the pavement. ”I’ll sit tonight. Meditate. I won’t try to become a myth before breakfast.”

”Serious,” he said. ”Not reckless. If something in the manual hurts in the wrong way, you stop and you call me.”

”I will.” She looked at him through the open door, sibling-close, the morning’s kitchen and the road’s revelations stacked behind her eyes. ”Together. I meant that.”

”I know.”

She shut the door with her hip, lifted the blade in a tiny, absurd salute, and went inside. Stan watched until the building took her. He condensed a qi message and sent it to her... Something he forgot to tell her while she was in the car with him.

Then he pulled back into the street, alone with the wheel and the rest of the city.

Peak University waited up ahead, and the apartment near it, and the question he had not asked out loud since Velaris: how the next door would open, and who would be standing in the light when it did. The car carried him forward anyway. Readiness, for now, was just continuing to drive.

***

A/N:

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