Isaac POV — Backstage, Los Alamos Science Forum — Feb 15, 2035 CE

  The applause was still cresting when Isaac slipped behind the curtain. His whole body felt electrically overclocked — excited, breathless, high on a week of breakthroughs that barely felt real.

  Alpha lived.

  Beta had compiled cleanly a week ago.

  Everything he built in theory was now standing, carrying its own weight, in the world.

  And Howard was right there.

  Howard emerged from the glare of the stage lights, blinking into the dim hallway. When he saw Isaac, his expression warmed immediately.

  “Isaac,” he said, smiling. “Good to see you.”

  Isaac practically beamed. “Your talk was incredible.”

  Howard waved that off with a modest tilt of his hand. “Thank you. But you look like the one with news.”

  Isaac laughed—because it was true.

  He was nearly vibrating.

  “I finished Alpha,” he said, trying to sound composed and failing. “And Beta compiled last week. Cleanly. No failures. The mediator layer held on the first pass.”

  Howard paused—not frozen, not alarmed, but processing.

  “Last week,” he repeated. “That’s sooner than you expected.”

  “A little,” Isaac admitted. “But it wasn’t unstable. It was… elegant.”

  Howard rubbed a thumb across his jaw, thoughtful.

  “That’s impressive,” he said. “Very impressive.”

  But the tone had shifted.

  Softly.

  Subtly.

  Isaac felt it but didn’t understand it yet.

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  He opened the folder—sketches, maps, the beating-heart diagrams of his architecture.

  “It all comes back to boundaries,” Isaac said eagerly. “The idea you taught me: structure over scale. Specialists over monoliths. Everything routed through shared language.”

  Howard’s expression warmed—pride, unmistakable.

  “You really did listen.”

  “I did more than listen,” Isaac said. “Once I saw the visual cortex layout, everything just—clicked.”

  Howard handed back the pages with a small, appreciative nod.

  “It’s good work,” he said. “It’s real work.”

  Isaac swallowed. “I want you to see the convergence curves.”

  “I will.”

  Then Howard’s eyes drifted—just for a moment—to Isaac’s badge.

  “FAEI?” he said, turning the badge lightly between his fingers. “Be aware… people will latch onto the name. FAE. The fae. Humans love metaphors.”

  Isaac groaned. “I didn’t even notice.”

  “You will,” Howard said. “Sooner than you’d like.”

  They both laughed, but the laughter was gentler now — warmer, but edged with something Isaac couldn't quite name.

  Howard stepped a little closer, lowering his voice.

  “Isaac,” he said, “you’re moving fast.”

  Isaac blinked. “Too fast?”

  “Not yet,” Howard said carefully. “But momentum has a way of carrying bright people farther than they intended to go.”

  Isaac’s excitement stuttered into something else — not fear, but a small, sharp awareness.

  “I’m keeping everything controlled,” Isaac said quickly. “Everything is sandboxed. Local. Air-gapped. Nothing gets out.”

  Howard nodded, approving but still reflective.

  “Good. Hold to that.”

  Then, softer:

  “And don’t let the thrill of being right outrun the discipline that made you right.”

  Isaac felt his pulse quicken again — not from fear, but from the weight of being seen so clearly.

  “I won’t,” he said. “I don’t want to rush this.”

  Howard studied him, not doubting, but gauging — the way a seasoned climber looks at someone holding a new rope.

  “I believe you,” he said. “But discovery can be intoxicating. Be mindful.”

  Isaac nodded. “I will.”

  Someone down the hallway called for Howard — panel discussion, urgent gestures, lights shifting.

  Howard touched Isaac’s shoulder once, firm and grounding.

  “You’re on the edge of something important,” he said. “Enjoy it. Celebrate it. But keep your center. Promise me that.”

  “I promise.”

  “And send me the summaries tonight. All of them.”

  Isaac laughed, breathless again. “I will.”

  Howard stepped away toward the waiting crowd.

  Isaac stayed where he was, heart beating too fast, excitement mixing with a faint flutter he couldn’t quite name.

  Pride.

  Joy.

  Validation.

  And something else — something like tension coiling under the skin, the need to talk to someone who knew him even better than Howard did.

  He reached for his phone.

  He needed to call Julie.

  He needed to tell her everything all at once.

  And he needed to hear her voice steady him before the adrenaline carried him off a cliff.