Royal Reboot: Level up, Your Majesty!

Trust Like Glass 

2

Indigo panted, chest heaving. Sweat slid down his spine as uncontrollable tremors afflicted his fingers. He’d pushed his ability too far. This level was heavily restricted and even more heavily armed.

It was a miracle he’d made it this far alone.

Even with his ability, he couldn’t take on an army. They simply kept advancing, relentless, while his own power, powerful as it was, desperately needed time to reset.

A click. 

A gun cocked behind him. 

“Freeze. Hands where I can see them.” The voice was deep, military-trained. “Identify yourself.”

Indigo’s hands shook uncontrollably; the Agent could be dropped, but attempting it felt impossible in this state, with half his neurons feeling like frayed wires.

All he could do now was stall. Slowly, Indigo raised his hands and turned.

“Professor Crane?” Thomas frowned, eyes narrowing as they flicked from Indigo’s face to the ID badge on his coat. “This sector’s classified. You’re not cleared for this level.”

Indigo opened his mouth, preparing a lie he’d likely never finish—

“He is now.”

Thomas didn’t even have time to fully turn. His eyes went wide with shock, then rolled back into his head as he crumpled to the floor, weapon clattering harmlessly.

Into the server room, a figure stepped silently, clad in a black jumper, her face mostly obscured by a hood. “Cameras?” was her immediate question.

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Looped. And finally, I thought you’d never show.”

The figure lowered her hood. Starlight hair. Starlight presence.

Astra.

She always froze a room without trying, too unreal to belong. Indigo had seen it a hundred times: the way strangers stared when she walked down the street, the way her beauty refused to dim, even when she tried to disappear.

Her appearance couldn’t be altered, as if magic itself had sculpted her features. And in a world ruled by eyes that punished difference, Astra’s existence had always been a sentence in itself.

She glanced down the hallway, scanning instinctively. “One hundred and seven guards between the gate and this sector, suppression fields, arc traps triggered by motion. You wanted me to be the distraction, leave them breathing, and be back in fifteen minutes.”

“And yet, somehow, not a single hair appears out of place,” Indigo replied as he moved toward the primary terminal, from which he retrieved a black-cased laptop from his messenger bag.

Astra rolled her eyes but paused when she noticed the way his hands trembled. “You should’ve waited.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You’re barely standing.”

“I noticed.” He plugged into the port. “This system refreshes every hour. New encryption, new access tree. I had to catch it mid-cycle, or not at all.”

She lingered at the doorway. “And you think this will work?”

“I don’t think,” Indigo said, typing, “I know.”

Lines of code flooded the screen.

“The Council’s builds profiles across layers: biometrics, behavioural patterns. But I’ve been planting backdoors for years. I didn’t just erase your profile, Miss Astra.” He glanced at her. “I replaced it. A fabricated identity: Gifted, registered. As far as the system’s concerned, you were born inside it.”

He turned the screen slightly toward her.

“From now on, you’re just another citizen. Not the girl in the alley. Not the late-blooming anomaly the machine flagged.”

She stayed silent.

“After tonight you can stop running,” his voice softened. “Breathe. Live.”

The Council had chased her across three continents on a single hint: Tony’s description. Indigo had tried to erase her from their memories, but his power had limits. They’d been careful, leaving no photos, no footage, no digital trace of her face.

Still, the Council’s predictive engine kept piecing her together from scraps: a fleck of skin, a warped boot print, energy signatures. The machine gathered them bit by bit, trace by trace.

Until it formed something close enough to hunt her, to turn her into the very thing she feared becoming. None of the agents could match her. She always walked away untouched, but what cut deepest was never physical.

He understood what she never said.

Which means simple erasure wasn’t, and never would be, enough. She had to be rewritten, and to vanish she first had to be seen. That was why they were here.

Astra finally faced him. Her crimson eyes, for once, held worry. “And you?” she asked. “What happens to you?”

Indigo offered a faint, resigned smile. “Hard to disappear when you’re already seated inside the Council. My part is to watch the board and keep your mask intact.”

“Then make me an Agent.”

He blinked. “Why? Our objective has been achieved. You are free, Miss Astra.”

“You freed me,” she said, and there was no sarcasm in it. “But you still have a war to fight. I don’t.” She gave a small shrug. “So I’ll stay and make sure you survive yours.”

“That kind of defeats the point,” Indigo muttered. “You are meant to build a normal life—“

She tipped her head, eyes glowing. “Do I look normal, Professor? Define it.”

Indigo sighed, long and low. “A stable occupation. A home. Predictable days that don’t end in magical crossfire.”

She let out a short laugh. “Pretend I’ve never tasted what’s outside?”

“On occasion, yes.” His voice dropped. “Maybe you’ll meet someone who shows you the chase isn’t everything, that the world’s weight isn’t yours alone, that quiet can—”

“Hence your matchmaking. Indigo, I’m not normal.” The sharpness in her voice didn’t match the hurt in her eyes.

Indigo’s reply gentled. “I only hoped you would see the possibility—”

“Low-tier Gifted won’t draw attention,” she said. “It even protects me from Ares Van Nassau’s eavesdropping. And if anyone digs too deep, you’re inside, you can wipe me clean. New name, new history.”

He closed the laptop with a soft click. She was right. Too clever, too sharp, too… good, though she’d never admit it.

“Orders don’t care what you believe. Right or wrong, they still ask you to kill. And it goes against everything you believe.”

Astra stepped closer. “Then I’ll believe in what keeps you breathing.”

Indigo sighed loudly. When he met her gaze, his golden eyes were burning.

“Then I’ll see to it the world forgets you, Astra.”

Later.

They walked side by side through bustling streets, passing beneath a wall-mounted security camera. It rotated, scanned.

Paused.

And passed over Astra as if she were nothing at all, just another face in the system.

Indigo gave a wry smile. “We’ll drink to that.”

Astra raised a brow. “You? Drinking? World must be ending.”

He chuckled. “Maybe it already did.”

That was before, of course. That’s how he arrived at this point in his life, carrying the title of Head of Research.

There were moments in this line of work when the only way to dismantle an adversary was not through confrontation, but by becoming familiar enough to be trusted, and eventually, by assuming enough control to render it vulnerable from within.

It had taken time and a background so carefully fabricated it passed three separate intelligence audits without raising a single red flag. Eventually, he did exactly that.

Yet, despite being Head of Research, Indigo had no jurisdiction over mission reassignments; that particular authority belonged solely to Dmitri alone, as Chief Advisor.

Still, Indigo had expected Astra to arrive. She always did. She had that uncanny ability to appear just before everything went wrong.

His hand moved instinctively to the wound at his throat. It was still bleeding. He reached up, tried to pull the collar higher. It wouldn’t work as she would undoubtedly notice it regardless.

Damien had proven too powerful. Indigo had already dealt with Adrian, followed by seven Gifted agents, and finally Damien himself, at which point his reserves had been completely depleted.

“Miss Astra. My apologies if this ruined your Saturday,” he said lightly.

She frowned out of habit, but her voice was quiet. “You shouldn’t have been facing the perp alone. Why is the file classified?”

“I wasn’t alone. Adrian handled it. Like always.” His eyes caught on something unexpected.

Beneath her characteristic leather jacket, she was wearing an elegant pale pink dress. A checkered beige scarf wrapped around her neck, and that in itself was peculiar, considering how little regard she typically had for colder temperatures.

He hesitated. “Were you on a—”

“Not a date,” Astra cut in.

Indigo paused, then smiled, tired perhaps but undeniably sincere as he said warmly, “Whoever he is, I hope he realised what a rare thing it is to spend a not-date Saturday with you.”

Astra didn’t respond; it wasn’t unlike her. She never did when it got too personal. But her ears flushed. Barely. Briefly.

Flushed?

Maybe he was more exhausted than he thought. Or hallucinating. It wouldn’t be entirely implausible, considering the blood loss.

Still, he cleared his throat, unable to help himself.

“Strictly from a research standpoint,” he said, pretending to inspect his cuff, “I find myself intrigued by this statistical anomaly. Not that I’m making assumptions, of course. Just… mildly curious. Well. Mildly more than mildly.”

Astra glared. “Indigo.”

But he kept going. “Could be wrong. Happens often. But tonight? Dangling earrings. And if I recall correctly, wasn’t it you who once threatened physical harm in response to a matchmaking? Or was it shellfish-related?”

A tired sigh escaped her.

“And,” he continued, “you texted me about sashimi-grade fish at two in the morning. You’ve never liked seafood. You barely tolerate it when cooked. That feels like a change, possibly indicative of a culinary shift, or perhaps even an emotional one."

For a moment, her expression eased. Not quite a smile, but close enough.

“Not a man,” she said quietly.

Whatever look he gave must have amused her, because that not-quite-smile became something more...definitive.

He let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Well, then. My regression model just got a new data point.”

“Should I ask?”

“I keep models for everything,” he said. “Efficiency is important. That said, you may want to return to your not-a-man not-date before I ruin the rest of your evening with procedural paperwork from the Council.”

Astra shrugged. As Indigo turned to face her fully, her eyes found the wound at his throat. They narrowed. Her fingers twitched once, then formed fists.

That was strange. She had never liked physical contact. But for just a moment, it looked as though she was about to reach for him.

His voice softened. “I’m fine, Astra.”

“You nearly got yourself killed,” she muttered. “Again.”

“Ah,” he said. “My other hobby. That, and being lectured by friends in leather jackets. Speaking of which—”

“Did you use your power?” she asked sharply. Too perceptive.

He deflected smoothly. “Just fatigue. Flying in from New York is… exhausting. And you mentioned a vision. Too dangerous to discuss over comms. Something you didn’t want recorded.”

Her expression changed. Fast. Walls slamming into place. “It doesn’t matter now. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not.”

Indigo nodded slowly. He wasn’t convinced, but knew pressing further would only push her away.

Then his phone buzzed in his coat pocket.

Dmitri.

He sighed through his nose. “It was good seeing you in person again." He turned toward the elevator. “Let’s talk again. Soon. Properly.”

Astra offered nothing more than a nod.

She remained rooted to the spot, watching him leave, until something small near the elevator caught her attention. Small, black, and boxy.

Kneeling, she picked it up and studied the case. Inside was a cheap set of earpieces. Not Council issue. Not secure. It was warm to the touch, faintly.

Someone had used it, and not long ago.

Her fingers closed around it. Tight.

When she stood again, she looked toward the closed elevator doors, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she slipped the device into her jacket pocket.

Trust.

It cracks before it breaks. 

And when it breaks...

someone always bleeds.