The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Room 4410.

Today was Neville’s day off, and here he was surrounded by bowls of pearls like a jewelry appraiser.

At least, Shelly wasn’t here to judge his impromptu setup.

Neville’s fingers drummed against the counter as he stared at the white and black pearls separated into their respective containers.

To make this work and give Shelly a chance for an early comeback, he absolutely could not think about what she said or dig deeper.

Neville grabbed a black pearl, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. The surface was cool and impossibly smooth, like touching solidified shadow.

The memory of watching one of these transform from midnight black to pristine white after absorbing ocean water still made his curiosity itch.

If ocean water works, what about...

Neville retrieved a drinking glass from the kitchen and filled it with tap water. He added salt according to his usual ratio, stirring until the crystals dissolved into a respectable brine solution.

Nothing as complex as actual ocean water, but the principle should be similar, right?

He dropped the black pearl in with a soft plop.

Then he waited.

Five minutes passed.

The pearl sat at the bottom of the glass like a sulking marble, doing absolutely nothing.

Neville drummed his fingers again.

Ten minutes.

Still nothing.

By the fifteen-minute mark, Neville had checked his light brain twice and reorganized the pearls in their bowls by size. He seriously considered whether the pearl needed encouragement.

"Come on," he muttered at the glass. "Do something."

The pearl remained stubbornly still, making him look like an idiot.

Neville pulled up a chair and sprawled across the counter, propping his chin on his folded arms.

Thirty minutes and the water level hadn’t dropped significantly enough that he could tell apart from evaporation.

In actual ocean water, the black pearls had practically inhaled the liquid, transforming like caterpillars into butterflies.

This artificial substitute apparently didn’t meet their standards.

So they only work with genuine ocean water. How picky. The seasalt came from the ocean; it’s the same thing, man!

As he moved in frustration, his elbow bumped one of the bowls.

A white pearl escaped, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion before landing with a decisive plink into his glass of plain drinking water.

It was the one he had set aside for himself, not the experimental brine solution.

"Just great," Neville exclaimed in annoyance and was about to reach for the glass, intending to fish out the pearl before it could contaminate his water.

But as he thought about this, curiosity made him pause.

What would the white pearl do in clean, drinkable water?

Neville brought the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip.

His eyebrows shot up.

The water was salty.

Not overwhelmingly so—more like someone had dropped a pinch of sea salt into it. It gave that slightly mineral taste he associated with expensive bottled water from natural springs.

But his drinking water definitely hadn’t tasted like this before.

Neville set the glass down and frowned at it.

Had he somehow contaminated it when making the brine solution? He was usually more careful than that.

Neville stared at it for a full minute, watching the white pearl bob gently at the bottom. Then, he decisively took another sip.

The same level of saltiness. Not more, not less.

Two more minutes of waiting.

Another sip.

Still the same.

His frown deepened.

If the pearl were continuously releasing salt, the water should be getting progressively more saline. But it had stabilized at this particular concentration and refused to budge.

Interesting.

Neville grabbed a fresh glass and filled it with clean drinkable water.

Now there was no salt anywhere near this one.

Neville dropped in a white pearl first, waited the obligatory two minutes while fighting the urge to tap his foot impatiently, then tasted it.

Salty.

The exact same level of saltiness as the first glass.

"What are you doing?" he asked the pearl, as if expecting an answer. "Self-regulating salinity? Creating a specific mineral balance?"

The pearl, obviously, wouldn’t explain itself since it couldn’t talk.

If Shelly were here, she could analyze the water’s composition. She would tell him if it matched something specific—ocean water percentage, hydration optimization levels, mermaid-specific requirements.

But Shelly wasn’t here, and Neville had no way to summon her back when she was clearly imprisoned by the system for the rest of this quest.

Seems like I’ll just have to wait until tonight, he decided. If I don’t need to transform for hydration, then the pearl water is doing something. If I did, I could just test how long it will last until the next sip is needed.

He glanced at the time display on his light brain and nearly choked while drinking the remainder of the pearl’s salty water.

Three hours until Grayson arrived to escort him to the gathering.

Three hours to figure out what to wear to a casual get-together with people who obviously had important positions in this world and not just Grayson’s simple friends.

Why didn’t anyone mention this was a formal thing in disguise?

Neville abandoned his pearl experiments and rushed toward his closet, already mentally recalling what his wardrobe options were.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The hovercar that arrived was not Grayson’s usual sleek black model. This one had tinted windows so dark they might as well have been painted on, and the overall vibe was also different.

Neville approached cautiously, his simple but elegant outfit. He wore dark slacks, a fitted blue shirt that highlighted his eyes, and the black teardrop pearl necklace that Grayson gave him.

Is this Grayson’s hovercar?

Thankfully, the passenger door slid open.

Neville bent down to peer inside, expecting to see Grayson behind the wheel with his usual half-smile.

Instead, an intimidating man sat in the driver’s seat. His posture was as rigid as that of those in the military. The intimidating man turned, and Neville felt that this person looked familiar.

Wait.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hope," the intimidating man said, his voice professionally neutral.

"Colonel Vane?"

Colonel Vane just nodded and said, "Please, have a seat. Mr. Maxwell will join you shortly."

Neville climbed into the backseat, his mind racing.

Why is Colonel Riley Vane here?

The last time he saw him in person was at the proposal at the assembly hall. Otherwise, he was always next to Xavier in the news.

What was a man of his rank doing playing chauffeur for a casual social gathering? Is Grayson really coming, or is he getting kidnapped by the military right now?

Just as he was about to panic, Neville heard the door on the opposite side open. Grayson slid in beside him.

Up close, Neville noticed things he usually tried not nitpick. But Grayson’s black hair was slightly disheveled.

It was as if he had run his fingers through it in frustration. There was also a faint tension around his eyes.

Then, Neville suddenly noticed just how close they were to each other. He felt his face heating up. He turned to turn the other way to prevent Grayson from noticing, but then he heard Grayson call him.

"Neville," Grayson called warmly.

"Mr.—Ah, Grayson," Neville quickly corrected.

Neville tried to keep his tone carefully professional, just like in the company. But meeting Grayson’s gaze, he couldn’t.

After all, they were out in a gathering with friends who knew that they were in a relationship. Therefore, he needed to get his act right and be a proper boyfriend that Grayson would be proud of.

Still, he couldn’t help but turn his gaze toward the front of the vehicle.

"Care to explain why we have a Colonel serving as our driver?" Neville asked in a whisper

The hovercar lifted smoothly off the ground, merging into the aerial traffic lanes seamlessly. Grayson’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

"There’s been a... situation." He whispered back.

"What kind of situation?" Neville asked, feeling Grayson’s hand reaching to his hand to hold.

Grayson carefully said, trying to meet Neville to give him a signal. "Nothing dangerous."

"That’s not an answer." Neville turned to face him fully, keeping his voice low, still whispering but insistent. "A military officer. As a bodyguard. For a social gathering. You realize how that sounds?"

Grayson’s finger in their intertwined hands drummed once—a tell for Neville to know that he was uncomfortable with the question.

"Think of him as additional security," he said.

"Additional security for what?" Neville pressed as he secretly panicked.

"The venue," Grayson cut in, "requires certain protocols."

"Protocols?" Neville asked in confusion

"The High Society Club is... a sensitive place."

Neville felt his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline in confusion.

"High Society Club? You said this was a casual gathering. What exactly is this High Society Club, and why does it need someone in the military to guide us there?"

Grayson exhaled slowly, trying to explain in a way that Neville wouldn’t ask for another explanation.

"It’s a private area. Exclusive, if you may. Many members have military backgrounds or hold positions that make them potential targets. The Club maintains security arrangements with the Imperial Military—trusted officers rotate through to ensure no unauthorized gatherings occur."

"Unauthorized gatherings," Neville repeated flatly.