Chapter 176:


    Isolde sat at the console. The chair was ufortable. She positioned her cast-heavy right arm on the desk, using the fingers that protruded to hover over the enter key. Her left hand — the burned one — hovered over themand cluster.


    “Begin.”


    The screen exploded into data. Red lines, wind vectors, altitude warnings.


    Isolde’s left hand trembled over the keyboard. Every intended keystroke sent a jolt of agony up her wrist. She gritted her teeth, sweat beading on her forehead. She couldn’t type. She couldn’t execute theplexmands fast enough.


    “Look,” Belle whispered loudly. “Her hand is shaking. She’s choking.”


    Grayson watched the tremor in Isolde’s left hand. It wasn’t fear. It was a spasm of pure pain. The image of the scalding coffee shed in his mind again.


    The simtion ramped up. A sudden wind shear struck the virtual jet. rms red.


    TURBULENCE DETECTED. STABILIZER FAILURE IMMINENT.


    This was the kill zone. This was where Belle’s design would fail.


    Isolde needed to input aplex correction algorithm. Fast.


    Her left hand seized. The pain was blinding. She gasped, her vision graying out for a moment. She couldn’t do it. Not like this.


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    The altitude meter dropped. The crowd gasped.


    “She’s losing it,” Daron muttered gleefully.


    Isolde closed her eyes for a microsecond. She took a breath and activated the microphone headset.


    “Effie,” she whispered, her voice a low, steadymand. “Listen to the storm. Tell me the sequence.”


    In a quiet room backstage, Effie sat with a headset on, her eyes closed. She didn’t see the code. She heard it.


    “It’s scratching, Mommy. A high C and then a G-sharp. The numbers are… 7-3-2-8.”


    “Voicemand override: activate,” Isolde spoke clearly into the mic. “Execute macro ‘Sophia’s Gambit.’ Input sequence: seven, three, two, eight, point one, five.”


    A synthetic voice echoed through the hall. “COMMAND ACCEPTED.”


    The virtual jet shuddered — then leveled out. The red lines turned green. The trajectory smoothed.


    ERROR: 0.00%. SYSTEM STATUS: PERFECT.


    The hall held its breath for a single heartbeat, and then it erupted. Apuse thundered against the walls. Nelson rose from his seat and pped slowly, a wide grin spreading across his face.


    Isolde slumped back in her chair, cradling her left hand against her chest. It was throbbing so hard she felt sick. But the screen behind her was a wall of green.


    Grayson stared at it. Then he looked at Isolde — pale, sweating, clearly in excruciating pain. And she had just performed a miracle.


    He looked at Belle. She was pouting, checking her phone.


    “She pushed me,” Belle had said.


    Grayson looked back at Isolde’s burned and bandaged hand. For the first time, the lie tasted like ash in his mouth.


    Isolde stood up. She didn’t smile. She turned to the audience, her gaze sweeping across the front row until it found Grayson. Her look wasn’t triumphant. It was disgusted — the look of someone who had scraped something unpleasant off the bottom of her shoe.


    The apuse was still washing over the stage as Nelson limped toward Isolde. He took her right shoulder gently, careful to avoid the cast.


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