Chapter 30:


    And stepped forward. “Professor, she’s been self-studying…”


    “Self-studying!” Nelson scoffed. “Did she build a wind tunnel in her kitchen?”


    Effie was hiding behind Isolde’s leg, coughing slightly from the chalk dust.


    Isolde gently pushed Effie toward a chair. Then she walked to the ckboard.


    It was covered in equations. A problem about orbital decay and non-linear correction thrust. It was messy. Unsolved.


    Isolde picked up a piece of chalk.


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    She looked at the problem. She didn’t see numbers. She saw shapes. She saw the path the satellite wanted to take, and the forces fighting it.


    She started to write.


    Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.


    The room went silent.


    Isolde’s hand moved faster. She crossed out Nelson’s third line. She introduced a variable for sr radiation pressure that he had ignored. She simplified the integral.


    Three minutester, she drew a double line under the final solution.


    She turned around. Her hand was covered in white dust.


    “You forgot the sr drag,” she said. “At that altitude, it’s significant.”


    Nelson stared at the board. He walked over to it. He traced her numbers with a trembling finger.


    He looked back at her. The anger in his eyes was gone, reced by a grudging, fierce respect.


    “Rusty,” he muttered. “Your handwriting is terrible.”


    He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a stic card. He threw it at her.


    Isolde caught it.


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    “Don’t embarrass me,” Nelson grumbled. He looked at Effie. “Does the kid do math?”


    Effie peeked out. She held up a piece of paper she had been folding. It was a perfect geometric crane.


    “It flies,” Effie whispered.


    Nelson huffed. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Get out of myb. Both of you. Go win.”


    Isolde clutched the card. “Thank you.”


    As they walked out, Isolde felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She wasn’t just a divorcee. She wasn’t just a mother. She was an engineer.


    The prepetition mixer was held at a gallery in Chelsea.


    Isolde hadn’t wanted toe. But Nelson had texted her: Show your face. Fear is a variable.


    She wore a simple ck dress she had bought at a thrift store. It was elegant, severe. Effie wore a white dress that Isolde had spent an hour ironing.


    The room was full of suits. And in the center, holding court, was the SkyLine team.


    Grayson looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes that makeup couldn’t hide. Belle was clinging to his arm, wearing a dress that sparkled too much for a Tuesday. Daron McKnight was loud, boasting about SkyLine’s odds.


    “We have the best AI,” he shouted to a group of investors. “It’s in the bag.”


    Isolde stayed near the juice bar, keeping a hand on Effie’s shoulder.


    “Can I have juice?” Effie asked.


    “Cranberry,” Isolde said, pouring a ss.


    Suddenly, a blur of motion.


    Kaiden appeared. He was running, weaving through the legs of the adults. He held a ss of dark red juice in his hand.


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