Everything happened too fast. His fall, her scream. A blur, a spiking pulse, the impact of the pavement, the ache of scraped skin, and then the suffocating weight pressing her down. Panting, she opened her eyes. She was crushed under the weight of the man who had just jumped of the bridge. She had made it just in time, instinctively grabbing his arm and yanking him back, redirecting his momentum so that he fell onto the pavement instead of into the water.

  He lay across her, body trembling faintly, breathing hard. One eye was hidden beneath thick strands of his black hair; the other fully lucid, intense, deep blue. He was close to her age but slightly older, with a sharp jawline and pale skin. They were both soaked, water dripping into their eyes.

  He didn't move, his gaze fixed on her teal eyes, expression unreadable. She knew interfering and saving him had been a dangerous gamble. Suicidal people were traumatized, unpredictable, unstable. She had no idea what he might do next. Still she had only seconds to decide and, in those few seconds, she chose to save a life. Gratitude was not expected nor needed.

  And now she didn't dare move, didn't dare look away, afraid to unnerve him or break the frail silence.

  Finally, he closed his visible eye as if processing, his breathing slowly stabilizing. He rolled off her, standing up. Rosalyn exhaled, sitting back on the wet pavement, heart hammering and looking up at him.

  He was tall, muscular, dressed in a black V-neck shirt and black pants, his long coat framing him. Strangely, he didn't leave but stood there, motionless and silent, fists clenched, lips tight, staring away. Was he waiting for words? Or did he just need a presence? She couldn't offer either. They were strangers. He was fragile. He could be dangerous. And she was no orator.

  She stood up, wincing at the sting on her knee, then forced a tiny smile and murmured:

  "Take care."

  His jaw twitched. Before she could turn away, he dashed off, unnaturally fast, coat bleeding behind him and disappeared around the nearest corner. Rosalyn blinked after him, rain stinging her face.

  ------------------------------------

  The excavation finally moved into its starting stage. Hydraulic excavators, mini tunnel-boring rigs, and skid-steer loaders rolled into the Academy grounds and took position on the northern side: the pine-forest clearing David had marked. Students and faculty members treated it like any other construction site, a few passing glances without much interest.

  David allowed himself to breathe. Discretion, finally.

  It did not last.

  Fences went up around the clearing. But instead of bland contractor tarps bearing a company logo, enormous magenta banners plastered the perimeter. In bold letters they shouted, 'DIG THE DREAM'. Naturally, students drifted to the edge of the site, phones out, puzzled and delighted, taking selfies and photos.

  David felt his blood climb into his head. Livid, he yanked his phone and called Sir Vu. The cheery gnome jingle on the other end made his jaw clench, every note of the music a tiny pin in his patience, until Sir Vu's voice finally resounded.

  "Dream Factory logistics! Glitter department speaking. To place an order for joy, press one. To drown in misery, press two. To speak with your favorite magenta-haired entrepreneur -Good day, David!"

  "Why the heck are there blinking magenta signs with 'DIG THE DREAM' all over the perimeter of my excavation site?!" David snapped.

  "Well, David, it started with a little boy named Vubert who-" Sir Vu began.

  "I'M GONNA THROW YOU OUT THE WINDOW!"

  "I'd just fly back up!" Sir Vu chuckled. "But seriously Davey boy, how could we not advertise that we're digging up a miracle machine? Wasn't it in our agreement that as your founder I would get a share in the 'loot' ?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Yes but after the excavation is complete! You could merch it all after, not before, AFTER!"

  "It's best to start early, Davey boy! Build the momentum, give the masses pre-joy before unfolding the real deal!"

  "Build the momentum? What else do you plan to do?!"

  "Glad you asked!" Sir Vu purred. "I've designed a heart-shaped plush with a tiny automated shovel that keeps digging and chanting 'Dig the Dream.' My gnomes will hand them out at government towers' entrances, hotels, squares, stations-" .

  David gripped the phone until his knuckles turned white, trembling with restrained fury as he listened to Sir Vu's gleeful voice. Then he interrupted, his voice low and sharp, struggling at the thought of the absurdity he was about to say.

  "Vu, listen. Hand them out now and they'll just end up in trash cans. Wait, and they'll end up in museums."

  Silence followed on the other end of the line, before Sir Vu murmured:

  "...Genius. I'll archive the plushie plan for the meantime then. It should 'marinate', eh"?

  "Yes, marinate," David repeated through clenched teeth.

  "By the way, David, would you be interested in a magenta-themed musical about the history of dreams in the corporate industry, starring yours truly as a giant briefcase and-" CLICK.

  David slammed the phone down, seething. He sat back at his desk, hands laced, chin pressed against them, furiously brainstorming how to slow this excavation advertising pitch. Keeping the public far from the site was imperative.

  Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed. Without waiting for an invitation, the door opened and a young woman stepped in, confident and unannounced. She was pale, had shoulder-length black hair, straight bangs and black eyes. Dressed in deep burgundy pants, a black lace blouse, matching heels, and single metallic thread earrings, her posture radiated self-assurance, though too much to be natural.

  David, as cold as ever, stared at her as if he wanted to drill holes straight through her skull. She paid it no mind and, with a confident expression and steady voice, began:

  "David, I want you to hire me as a journalism TA. I know the faculty is understaffed. I've got a degree in journalism and I head Arctar's newspaper. I'm more than qualified for the position."

  "Get out."

  She clearly hadn't expected such an immediate rejection. She blinked, cleared her throat, and tried again, keeping her head held high.

  "Honestly, the Academy's journalism department is crumbling. Just last week, they let an entire misquote run across three editions without fact-checking, and somehow the student newsletter printed it as if it were high truth. That's a rookie mistake! Your current TAs are useless! And what are the results? Chaos, confusion and a tarnished reputation."

  She paused for a breath, eyes flicking briefly away, then back at him. "Now, I know how to fix this, because I know the machinery of Arctar's press. I know what draws attention, how headlines resonate, how to prevent a complete collapse of credibility."

  She leaned on his desk, voice dropping. "I could have your faculty running like clockwork in a week."

  She folded her arms, a self-satisfied smirk painted on her face. But David stayed stoic and unmovable. He replied impatiently:

  "I couldn't care less about the 'misquote that ran across three editions'. You're just here to worm into the faculty and the Academy Archives, snooping around the grounds, desperate for a scoop. Paparazzi is the last thing I need, Elisabeth. Write about your aunt's bribing scandals instead."

  Elisabeth straightened, rolling her eyes. "Why bring her up? I'm nothing like her."

  "No. She's a hyena. You're a spoiled brat."

  Elisabeth's eyes flashed, nostrils flaring. "You've got no right to compare me to her! I'm not fake! I bleed to reach my goals!"

  "And yet it's Deborah who placed you at the head of Arctar's newspaper."

  "Ha! You believe her fake charity? It was all to show how insignificant I am compared to her. So what that she placed me at that position? Should I maybe kiss her hand and marvel at her generosity now? She flaunts her influence as if she owns the world, distracting men with her cleavage and ridiculing anyone who tries to climb on their own merit!"

  Elisabeth trembled from restrained anger, clenching her fists. David, who had reached the end of his patience and was about to kick her out, froze at one word she had said: 'distracting'. Distracting. A distraction. Something to divert everyone's attention from the excavation site. A project. Multidisciplinary.

  He stood up, a faint smirk creeping onto his face, and started pacing around the room, hands clasped behind his back.

  "Frankly Elisabeth, whether it's you or some other pest in the TA position makes no difference to me. However, your status could indeed prove useful, and the public would generally approve of me hiring you. Since I'm so considerate I have no choice but to go along with it."

  Elisabeth's eyes lit up, anticipation flickering across her face. David's smirk widened.

  "And I've got your first job. The Academy will launch a mandatory project soon. Multidisciplinary, ambitious, all-encompassing. Every department, every student, will be forced into collaboration. And you will make sure Arctar's eyes stay fixed on it instead of... elsewhere. Praise it in your newspaper, inflate it, drown the city in its promises."

  Elisabeth's breath hitched and she asked: "What will the project focus on?"

  "I'm still thinking on it," David said flatly. "I'll tell you when I know. In the meantime, start forming the groups. Mix students across different wings, faculties and years. The more unlikely the match, the better."

  Elisabeth bit her lip, hesitating. "Will... the Academy Archives be available?"

  David's gaze hardened. He leaned closer, voice dropping to ice. "No. And don't you dare defy me on that."