A black helicopter, sleek and devoid of any markings, hovered ten feet above a small, hidden clearing just beyond the Sterling's prize-winning rose garden, shielded from the main house by a thicket of ancient oaks.

The downwash was violent. It tore leaves from the branches, sending a confetti of green swirling into the night.

Two figures in full tactical gear fast-roped down, hitting the grass with heavy thuds.

Agent Miller straightened up, ignoring the debris flying around him. He walked straight to Nova and snapped a salute.

"Dr. Vance," he shouted over the roar of the rotors. "We are red on time."

Nova nodded. She tossed her bag to him. "Equipment is secured."

Inside the mansion, Mr. Henderson pressed his face against the glass. His eyes went wide. Through the thrashing trees, he caught glimpses of dark shapes, the glint of metal, and the impossible silhouette of the aircraft. He couldn't see faces or uniforms, only terrifying efficiency.

"Sir!" he screamed, running into the living room. "Sir! Something's happening on the back lawn! Men in black, and some kind of aircraft! They're taking Miss Nova!"

Richard Sterling jumped up from his armchair, spilling his drink. "What did she do?"

Chloe gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "I knew it! All those times she disappeared... she was dealing drugs! Or worse!"

On the lawn, Nova grabbed the harness lowered from the bay door. She clipped in with a practiced snap of her wrist.

The helicopter banked sharp and hard, lifting her into the air. Within seconds, they were just a set of fading red lights in the sky.

Victoria stood by the window, shaking with rage. "That little criminal! What was that? The cartel? She had them land on my property! The neighbors will talk for years!"

"Call the police," Richard barked, grabbing his phone. "We need to distance ourselves. I won't let her drag the company stock down."

High above the city, inside the cabin, Nova pulled on a noise-canceling headset. She opened a ruggedized laptop.

Agent Miller handed her a secure folder. "General Knight is not happy about the delay."

"I was taking out the trash," Nova said, her eyes scanning the screen.

Miller looked at her. "Do you want us to scrub them? NDAs? intimidation?"

Nova shook her head. "Don't waste the budget. They aren't worth the paperwork."

Back on the ground, Richard was shouting at a 911 operator.

"Yes! Armed men! A black helicopter! They took my daughter!"

"She's dangerous," Chloe added from the background, her voice shrill. "She might have weapons!"

Bryce stood by the fireplace, staring at the empty spot on the lawn where Nova had stood. The sound had been muffled by distance and trees, but it was unmistakably military. The people who met her hadn't dragged her. They had moved with a chilling deference.

He frowned, pushing the thought away. It was impossible. She was Nova. She couldn't even parallel park.

Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer.

Nova looked down at the grid of New York City lights. Her expression hardened. The girl in the polyester dress was gone.

"ETA to the facility?" she asked.

"Forty minutes," the pilot responded.

Nova typed a command into the terminal. "Good. Let's get to work."

The underground facility in Virginia smelled of ozone and stale coffee.

Nova strode through the blast doors. She had changed in the chopper. The dress was gone, replaced by jeans, a black t-shirt, and a white lab coat. A blue ID card hung around her neck-Clearance Level Zero. The highest.

Dozens of scientists in the main control room stood up as she entered.

Dr. Stein, a man in his sixties with wild grey hair, rushed over. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "Dr. Vance. Thank God. The core temperature won't stabilize. We're looking at a meltdown in the simulation."

Nova didn't break stride. She looked at the massive wall of screens, all flashing angry red warnings.

"It's not the core," she said, her voice cutting through the panic. "It's the containment algorithm. It's creating a harmonic resonance in the magnetic field, and your sensors are misinterpreting the feedback as a thermal spike."

"That's impossible," a younger scientist argued. "The physics don't support that."

Nova stopped at the main console. Her fingers flew across the keyboard. "Your physics don't. Mine do."

She typed a string of code, bypassing the safety protocols, and hit enter.

On the big screen, the red bars froze. Then, slowly, they turned green. The temperature curve plummeted.

Silence filled the room. Then, applause. It started slow and erupted into a roar.

Dr. Stein grabbed her hand, his eyes wet. "You saved the project, Vance."

Nova rubbed her temples. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a headache behind her eyes. "It was sloppy coding, Stein. Fix it."

A red phone on the wall rang. A harsh, analog ring.

Agent Miller picked it up, listened for a second, and held it out to her. "It's the General."

Nova took the receiver. She leaned against the console. "General."

"Good work, Kid," General Arthur Knight's voice was gravel and iron. "Now. About the other half of our agreement."

Nova stiffened. "General, I just saved a fusion reactor. Can I get a night off?"

"My grandson needs a wife," the General said. "And the Knight bloodline needs intelligence. God knows Roman has the business sense, but he lacks... vision."

"He's a capitalist," Nova said, rolling her eyes. "And I just got dumped. I'm not in the mood for men."

"This isn't a request," the General said. "It's a tactical maneuver, and a necessary one. There's a leak in the program. We believe you're being targeted. The Sterling name is compromised. The Knight name is a fortress. Being Mrs. Roman Knight gives you the cover you need to work in peace."

Nova sighed. Logically, he was right. She needed a fortress.

"Tomorrow. 2 PM. The Manhattan Club," the General ordered. "Don't be late."

The line went dead.

Nova looked at the receiver. She looked at the fusion data on the screen. Nuclear physics was easy. Marriage was going to be a nightmare.

"Dr. Vance?" Stein asked. "Are you staying for the celebration?"

Nova took off her lab coat. "No. I have to go prepare for a hostile negotiation."

The Manhattan Club smelled of old leather, cigar smoke, and exclusion.

Nova walked past the maître d', ignoring his sputtered protest about her denim jeans. She pushed open the door to the private suite.

Two men sat inside.

Roman Knight sat in the shadows. He was darker than she expected. Dark hair, dark suit, eyes like obsidian. He radiated a cold, predatory energy. He was reading something on a tablet.

Silas Montgomery, his best friend, sat opposite him, nursing a whiskey. He looked Nova up and down and smirked.

"I'm Nova Sterling," she said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

Roman didn't look up. "You're thirty seconds late."

"Security took a while," Nova said, pouring herself a glass of water. "Your biometric scanners are slow."

Silas laughed. "So, you're the charity case? The Sterling reject? Bryce Calloway really did a number on you, huh?"

Nova took a sip of water. "Your intel is decent."

"College dropout. Unemployed. Living off daddy's money," Silas listed off, ticking his fingers. "What makes you think you can sit at this table?"

"General Knight asked me to be here," Nova said calmly. "I didn't ask for this."

Roman finally looked up. His face was sharp, angular, handsome in a cruel way. "My grandfather is senile."

Nova's eyes drifted to the table. Next to Roman's hand was a copy of Automotive Weekly. The cover featured a prototype armored vehicle-the Vanguard.

"The suspension is wrong," Nova said, pointing at the magazine.

Roman followed her gaze. He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"The Vanguard," she said. "Center of gravity is too high. If it takes an IED hit from the side, it'll roll."

Roman's eyes narrowed. "That is a classified prototype. How do you know about the suspension geometry?"

"I follow military tech blogs," she lied smoothly. It was a partial truth. She wrote the technical specs for them under a pseudonym.

Silas burst out laughing. "Oh, wow. She's a pathological liar too! Roman, this is rich."

Roman looked at her with pure disgust. "Do you think lying about military tech impresses me? It's pathetic."

Nova shrugged. "Think what you want."

Roman stood up, buttoning his jacket. "I have no interest in this. Or you. Leave."

Nova didn't move. "The General said you'd say that. That's why your trust fund is frozen."

Roman froze. His hand stopped halfway to his pocket.

"How do you know that?" Silas asked, his smile vanishing.

Nova pulled out her phone. "Because I wrote the freeze protocol."

Roman leaned over the table, invading her space. He smelled of sandalwood and danger. "You are playing a dangerous game, little girl."

Nova looked up at him. She didn't blink. She didn't flinch.

"I brought the decryption key," she said. "And I'm the only one who knows the password."