Chapter 169:


    She looked at her reflection in the dark screen of a monitor. The tired woman from the elevator was gone. In her ce stood an engineer. A creator. A fighter.


    She was ready.


    The basementb at Carson Dynamics was cool and smelled of ozone and solder. It was Isolde’s sanctuary.


    For thest three days, she had practically lived here. Effie sat at a small desk in the corner, coloring in a schematic with crayons and asionally pointing out a “wrong color” in the flow chart. She was safe here, surrounded by her mother’s work and a discreet security detail.


    Isolde was working on a micro-drone — tiny, the size of a hummingbird, designed for swarm surveince. It was the only thing she could showcase at the Orbital Systems booth without drawing too much attention. For now.


    A knock at the door. Harper walked in, holding a FedEx envelope.


    “It’s here,” Harper said, her eyes bright.


    Isolde took the envelope with her left hand and ripped it open with her teeth.


    Inside was a simple styard. No photo. No grand title. Just three lines of text:


    ??e???? ??????ho???? ??n????r??????t??????? on ??а????о????l??.??????


    NAME: ANNA SMITH ROLE: AVIONICS TECHNICIAN ORG: ORBITAL SYSTEMS


    Isolde ran her thumb over the name. It felt like slipping on a familiar uniform.


    “And called,” Harper said. “He sent the guest list. It’s confirmed — Administrator Sterling from the DOD is attending.”


    Isolde looked up sharply. “Sterling? He neveres to these things.”


    “He’sing for the Phoenix. And there’s more. SkyLine just put out a press release. To counter the bad press, they’re nning ast-minute surprise for the finale — a live flight demonstration of their prototype.”


    Isolde went still. “They built a functional model? From my stolen, iplete schematics?”


    “They must have,” Harper said grimly. “They’re desperate. They want to prove it’s real.”


    She turned on the small TV mounted in the corner. A business news channel filled the screen. Belle was being interviewed outside Lancaster Tower, wearing a hard hat that looked ridiculous against her perfectly coiffed hair.


    “Yes,” Belle was saying to the reporter, shing a dazzling smile. “The Phoenix-X7 was abor of love. I’ve always had a passion for aerodynamics. I provided the — strategic vision for the airframe.”


    Isolde snorted. “Strategic vision. She thought the ailerons were ‘cute little wings.''”


    “And will we see it in action at the Summit?” the reporter asked.


    “Absolutely,” Belle beamed. “It’s going to revolutionize the skies.”


    Isolde turned off the TV. The screen went ck.


    “She has no idea,” Isolde whispered. “She has no idea that without the titanium ribbing I designed, that airframe will shear apart at Mach 1.2.”


    “Are you going to tell them?” Harper asked.


    Isolde looked at the Anna Smith badge. She clipped it to herpel.


    “No,” she said. “I’m going to let physics tell them.”


    Across town, in the penthouse, Grayson was watching the same interview. He frowned at the screen.


    “Strategic vision?” he muttered to the empty room.


    .


    .


    .