Keyon woke up with a headache that felt like a drill boring into his temples. He groaned and rolled over, his hand blindly slapping the nightstand.

"Water," he croaked.

His hand hit polished wood. Nothing.

He opened one eye. The glass of electrolyte water that was always there-fresh, with a slice of lemon, placed by Elodie every night before she slept-was missing.

"Elodie!"

His voice cracked.

Silence. The room was dead quiet. The humidifier, usually humming with a scent of eucalyptus, was off. The air was dry and stale.

Keyon sat up, fury rising in his chest. He threw the covers off.

He walked into the massive walk-in closet. He stopped.

His suit for the day wasn't hanging on the valet stand. His tie wasn't selected. His shoes weren't polished and waiting.

"Is she serious?" Keyon muttered. "She's on strike?"

He grabbed a grey suit at random. He couldn't find the matching trousers. He pulled a tie from the rack, but it was wrinkled.

He looked at his phone. 7:15 AM.

His alarm hadn't gone off.

"Why didn't the alarm go off?" he shouted at the empty room.

He didn't know that Elodie managed the shared calendar alerts. She had deleted the recurring event: Wake Keyon.

He stomped downstairs in his robe, his hair messy. He saw a figure in the kitchen.

"Where is my coffee?" he snapped. "And why is this house freezing?"

Mrs. Lee turned around, her eyes wide with fear. "Mr. Schneider... Mrs. Schneider isn't here."

Keyon stopped. Reality crashed back in. Right. She left.

"Fine," he spat. "Make me a coffee. Ethiopian blend. 195 degrees."

He sat at the dining table. Mrs. Lee brought him a cup. He took a sip and immediately spat it back into the cup.

"It's bitter! Did you burn the beans?"

"I... I used the machine, sir. Mrs. Schneider usually programs the grind settings."

Keyon slammed the cup down. "Useless. Everyone is useless."

Arlen Brewer walked in, clutching a tablet. He looked stressed.

"Sir, good morning. We have a problem with the schedule."

"What now?" Keyon rubbed his temples.

"Your dental appointment. It was this morning at 8:00 AM. They just called to ask where you are. There was a cancellation fee."

"Why wasn't it on my calendar?"

"Mrs. Schneider... she usually confirms the appointments on Sunday nights." Arlen looked uncomfortable. "It seems... there are holes in the schedule."

"She's doing this on purpose," Keyon said, his face reddening. "She's sabotaging me."

"We should cut her gym membership," Arlen suggested vindictively. "That will get her attention."

---

Elodie sat in the passenger seat of Carter Yost's beat-up Volvo. She was holding a paper cup of bodega coffee. It cost two dollars. It tasted better than the burnt sludge Keyon was currently screaming about.

Carter looked at her hair. He whistled.

"Woah. You went full G.I. Jane. I like it."

"It was in the way," Elodie said.

They pulled up to a red brick building in Brooklyn. This was Carter's lab. It looked like an abandoned warehouse from the outside. Inside, it was a fortress of servers.

Elodie walked to a terminal. She didn't sit down. She stood, typing with one hand while holding her coffee with the other.

"What are you doing?" Carter asked, leaning against a server rack.

"Cleaning up," Elodie said.

On the screen, a progress bar filled up.

Target: Schneider Estate Home Automation System / User: Admin

Action: Deep System Purge.

"You're wiping the smart home config?" Carter laughed. "That's petty. I love it."

"I wrote the script that integrates the HVAC with the lighting," Elodie said calmly. "It's my intellectual property. I'm revoking the license."

She hit Enter.

Executing Command: Lock Bootloader. Encrypt Root Directory.

User 'Wife' deleted. Admin Access Revoked.

In the Schneider estate, the blinds in the living room suddenly slammed shut. The lights went to full brightness, blinding white. The thermostat reset to default: 55 degrees.

"What the hell is going on?" Keyon screamed, shielding his eyes. "Alexa! Open blinds!"

I'm sorry, I don't have a profile for that voice command, the system replied in a robotic monotone.

Keyon grabbed a vase and threw it at the wall. It shattered.

Back in the lab, Elodie opened a new tab.

Stokes Global Careers.

"You're not serious," Carter said, reading over her shoulder. "You're going to work for Derrick Stokes? Keyon's brother?"

"He's Keyon's enemy," Elodie corrected. "And I need a cover. I need access to their server farm to run the Lugi-X simulations without burning out your grid."

She clicked on Executive Assistant - Administrative Support.

"You're overqualified by about ten PhDs," Carter noted.

"That's the point," Elodie said. "Nobody looks at the assistant."

She clicked Apply.

Back at the mansion, Keyon was trying to change the door code. He punched in the master override.

System Error: Firmware Locked by Developer. Contact Support.

"I am the administrator!" Keyon yelled at the keypad.

He wasn't. Elodie was. And she had encrypted the kernel with a rolling 256-bit key that he wouldn't crack in a hundred years.

The next morning, Elodie stood outside the courthouse. Carter was with her. She was wearing a grey suit she had bought at a thrift store. It was slightly too big in the shoulders, making her look smaller, more fragile. Perfect for the role she was about to play.

"Ready?" Carter asked.

"Let's get it filed," Elodie said.

They walked in, filed the paperwork, and walked out twenty minutes later. It was anticlimactic.

"Coffee," Carter said. "Real coffee."

They ducked into The Grind, a boutique coffee shop near the legal district. It was dimly lit, quiet, filled with lawyers billing four hundred dollars an hour.

Elodie slid into a booth.

Then she froze.

Across the room, near the window, Keyon sat. Arlen was with him.

Keyon looked up. His eyes locked onto hers.

For a second, there was shock. He barely recognized her with the short hair and the cheap suit. Then, the shock turned to a sneer.

He stood up. He didn't care that he was in a meeting. He walked straight over to their booth.

Carter shifted, putting his arm on the table, creating a barrier.

Keyon ignored him. He looked down at Elodie.

"Are you done playing dress-up?" Keyon asked. His voice was loud. "You look like a temp worker."

"I am a temp worker," Elodie said evenly. "I have an interview today."

Arlen appeared at Keyon's elbow. He snickered. "An interview? For what? Does Starbucks need a barista?"

"Stokes Global," Elodie said.

Keyon laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "Stokes? You think Derrick will hire you? You have no skills, Elodie. You can't even manage a household staff, let alone a corporate job. You are a glorified housekeeper."

The cafe went quiet. People turned to look. A woman at the next table whispered to her friend.

Carter stood up, his fists clenched. "Watch your mouth, Schneider."

Elodie reached out and touched Carter's arm. "Sit down, Carter."

She stood up. She faced Keyon. She was five inches shorter than him, but she didn't shrink.

"A glorified housekeeper," she repeated.

"Yes," Keyon said. "Without me, you are nothing."

Elodie stepped closer. She reached out. Keyon flinched, expecting... what? A slap? A hug?

Her hands went to his neck. She adjusted his tie. It was crooked, the knot sloppy.

"If I'm just a housekeeper," she whispered, loud enough for Arlen to hear, "then the man who lost his housekeeper can't even dress himself properly. Your Windsor knot is a mess, Keyon. You look unprofessional."

She tightened the knot, choking him slightly, then smoothed it down.

Keyon's face flushed red. He reached up to check the tie. It had been crooked.

Someone in the back of the cafe giggled.

"The papers are filed," Elodie said. "Have your lawyer call mine."

She grabbed her bag and turned to leave.

Keyon grabbed her wrist. His grip was hard, bruising.

"You don't walk away from me when I'm speaking," he hissed.

Elodie didn't think. Instinct took over-the muscle memory from the Krav Maga classes she took in secret on Tuesday nights.

She rotated her wrist against his thumb-the weak point-and simultaneously drove her elbow down onto his forearm.

Keyon yelped. His hand sprang open.

Elodie stepped back. Her eyes were cold, dangerous.

"Don't touch me," she said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of a threat.

She grabbed Carter's sleeve and walked out.

Arlen stared at Keyon. "Did she just... use a joint lock on you?"

Keyon rubbed his wrist. It was throbbing. He looked around the cafe. Everyone was looking at him.

"Don't be stupid," Keyon snapped, though his heart was racing. "She just got lucky. She flailed."

"She's going to Stokes," Arlen reminded him.

Keyon narrowed his eyes. "Call HR at Stokes. Tell them if they hire her, Schneider Holdings pulls out of the joint venture negotiations. Blacklist her."

"But... that's illegal retaliation," Arlen muttered.

"Do it," Keyon ordered. "I want her to crawl."

In the car, Carter was grinning.

"That was beautiful," he said. "The look on his face when you twisted his wrist... priceless."

Elodie looked out the window. She rubbed the spot where Keyon had grabbed her.

"He called me a housekeeper," she said softly.

"He's an idiot," Carter said.

"He's right," Elodie said. "That's all I was to him. But not anymore."

Her phone rang.

"Hello? This is Elodie Dickson."

"Ms. Dickson? This is Stokes Global HR. We'd like to see you for a second round this afternoon."

Elodie smiled. It was a shark's smile.

"I'll be there."

The lobby of Stokes Global was a cathedral of capitalism. Vaulted ceilings, polished terrazzo floors, and a security desk that looked like the bridge of a starship.

Elodie sat in the waiting area, clutching a folder containing a resume that was entirely fabricated. It listed "Junior Assistant" and "Data Entry" as her peak achievements.

The revolving doors spun.

An old man walked in. He wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches, looking completely out of place among the sharp suits of Wall Street.

Elodie froze.

It was Professor Dalton. The Dean of Computer Science at MIT.

He stopped at the security desk, looking confused. Then he turned and scanned the room. His eyes landed on Elodie.

He squinted. He took a step toward her.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice raspy. "You look incredibly familiar. Are you... did you take my Cryptography 401 seminar? The student who wrote the Lugi kernel?"

Elodie's heart hammered against her ribs. She lowered her head, letting her hair fall forward.

"I think you have the wrong person, sir," she whispered. "I didn't go to MIT."

"Really?" Dalton frowned. "The bone structure... the eyes... I could have sworn..."

"Professor Dalton!"

Arlen Brewer's voice cut through the air like a whip. He was marching across the lobby, carrying a briefcase stamped with the Schneider logo.

Arlen stepped between Dalton and Elodie, physically blocking the professor.

"Don't waste your time with her, Professor," Arlen sneered. "She's a stalker."

Dalton blinked. "A stalker?"

"She's Keyon Schneider's ex-wife," Arlen announced loudly. "She follows us everywhere. She's mentally unstable. Desperate for a payout."

Elodie gripped her folder. Her knuckles turned white. She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell Dalton the truth-that she had aced his class under a pseudonym, that she was the one who fixed his algorithm in 2018.

But she couldn't. Not with Arlen there. She forced her shoulders to slump, adopting the posture of a defeated woman. She made her eyes wide and vacant, stripping away the intelligence that Dalton had recognized.

"She doesn't know a line of code from a grocery list," Arlen laughed. "She thinks Python is a snake."

Dalton looked at Elodie. He saw a woman in an ill-fitting suit, cowering, silent. He searched for the spark of genius he remembered, the defiant glint of Solaris. But Elodie had buried it deep.

The light in his eyes faded. "Ah. My mistake. The student I'm thinking of... she had a fire in her. You're right. It's not her."

The disappointment in his voice hurt more than Arlen's insults.

"Elodie Dickson?" The receptionist called out.

Elodie stood up. She kept her head down. "That's me."

"Don't let me catch you upstairs," Arlen hissed as she passed him. "I'll have security drag you out."

Elodie walked to the elevators. She didn't look back.

Upstairs, the HR manager was a stern woman named Ms. Vance.

"Can you use Excel?" Vance asked, bored.

"Yes," Elodie said. "I learn fast."

"We need someone to answer phones, make coffee, and file invoices. It's mindless work. Can you handle mindless?"

"Mindless is fine," Elodie said.

"Keyon Schneider called," Vance said suddenly. "He tried to block your hiring."

Elodie's stomach dropped.

"However," Vance continued, a small smile playing on her lips, "Mr. Derrick Stokes overheard the call. He instructed me to hire you immediately."

Elodie blinked. "Why?"

"Because Mr. Stokes hates being told what to do by Mr. Schneider. If Keyon doesn't want you here, Derrick wants you here."

"I'm hired?"

"You start tomorrow. 8:00 AM. Don't be late."

Down in the lobby, Professor Dalton was leaving. He paused at the door. He looked back at the elevators where Elodie had disappeared.

He pulled a photo from his wallet. It was a group shot from a hackathon. A girl with long hair was turned away from the camera, wearing a hoodie that said Solaris.

"The walk," Dalton muttered to himself. "It's the same walk."