Milo’s laptop hummed faintly as he continued to tweak the setup, his hands moving with the precision of someone deeply immersed in their work. The encrypted drive sat on the desk in front of him, its bulk a stark reminder of how old and out-of-place it seemed compared to the sleek VireBands and compact devices scattered around the room.

  “Alright,” Milo muttered, plugging in another adapter and squinting at the screen. “If this thing is as old as it looks, I might need to brute-force the connection manually. But the software compatibility is going to be a nightmare.”

  “How old are we talking?” Clara asked, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

  “Judging by the design, at least thirty years,” Milo replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  “Thirty years?” Amélie said, her hazel eyes widening. “Were computers even a thing back then? Like, real computers?”

  “Of course they were,” Milo said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “But this isn’t like anything we’re used to. Back then, encryption wasn’t about firewalls or remote hacking—it was all about physical security. Drives like this couldn’t be accessed without being physically connected to compatible hardware.”

  “Compatible hardware,” Clara repeated dryly. “And we don’t have any of that, do we?”

  Milo sighed, shaking his head. “Not exactly. But I’m improvising.”

  Isabelle watched the interaction from her spot near the bed, her fingers lightly brushing Azzy’s soft fur. The room buzzed with quiet activity, but her attention kept flicking to the encrypted drive. The outdated technology seemed out of place in the modern world, a relic from a time she barely understood.

  Her mental projection appeared beside her, crouching near the desk with the same serious demeanor it had worn back at the library. It tilted its head, studying Milo’s setup with a faint frown.

  “This isn’t going to work the way he thinks,” it said, its voice low and firm. “He’s trying to force modern connections onto outdated systems. That drive doesn’t want to play nice—it requires hardware that matches its design. Anything else is like speaking different languages without a translator.”

  Isabelle frowned slightly, keeping her gaze on Azzy to avoid looking suspicious. And how would you know that? she thought, directing the question internally.

  The projection glanced at her, one eyebrow arching. “It’s obvious if you pay attention. The connectors Milo’s using are advanced, but they’re not designed to interpret the data architecture of something this old. He needs to reverse-engineer the pathways, not force compatibility.”

  As Isabelle absorbed the information, her attention was pulled momentarily to Elliot, who sat slouched in the desk chair, one leg draped over the armrest as he bobbed his head in a slow, lazy rhythm. His headphones sat firmly over his ears, and though his expression remained unreadable, the faint tapping of his fingers against his knee suggested he was lost in his own world.

  “What’s he listening to?” Amélie whispered, leaning toward Isabelle.

  “I have no idea,” Isabelle admitted, though she found herself wondering the same thing.

  Her mental projection answered without hesitation. “Techo punk. Jammin’ JasperZ. Night Pulse, if you want to get specific. It’s one of their new singles—hugely popular right now.”

  Isabelle blinked. How do you even know that?

  The projection smirked faintly. “Because I know things. Focus.”

  She stole a glance at Elliot, wondering if the projection could possibly be right. She wasn’t about to ask, though—interrupting his rare moment of peace felt wrong, even if she was curious.

  Milo’s voice cut through her thoughts, dragging her attention back to the drive. “Alright,” he muttered, plugging in yet another adapter and adjusting the settings on his laptop. “Let’s try this one more time.”

  “What are the odds this works?” Clara asked, her tone skeptical.

  Milo shot her a glance. “Better than they were five minutes ago.”

  “Comforting,” Clara replied dryly.

  Amélie smiled faintly, leaning back against the bedframe. “Don’t worry, Milo’s got this. He’s the smartest one here.”

  Milo didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the screen as lines of code scrolled past. Isabelle’s mental projection, however, stood nearby, arms crossed and an expression of resigned irritation on its face.

  “He’s trying, I’ll give him that,” it muttered, tilting its head as it studied the setup. “But brute-forcing encryption from a thirty-year-old drive with adapters cobbled together from modern tech? He’s lucky it hasn’t fried his system yet.”

  Isabelle shot the projection a look, careful not to draw attention to herself. What’s wrong with how he’s doing it? she asked internally, her fingers brushing Azzy’s fur for grounding.

  Azzy tilted her round head, her large, beady eyes following Isabelle’s gaze to where the projection crouched near the desk. The tiny Pokémon stared at the empty space for a moment, her tail swaying curiously, before looking back up at Isabelle with a soft chirp. Isabelle blinked, her heart skipping slightly as if Azzy had seen something—then dismissed the idea. Of course, there was nothing there. At least, nothing Azzy could see.

  The projection sighed, pacing slightly beside the desk. “Drives like this don’t operate like modern systems. Encryption back then wasn’t just software—it was hardware-dependent. Every drive like this had a unique architecture tied to its physical build. You can’t just plug it in and hope for the best. It’s like trying to run an electric stove with a fire starter—completely different systems.”

  It paused mid-step, glancing briefly at Azzy, who was now staring directly at the empty space the projection occupied. A faint, almost bemused expression crossed its face. “She can’t sense me,” it murmured, tilting its head slightly. “Not even a hint. She’s just reacting to your tension. Pokémon are attuned to their Trainers, after all.”

  The projection straightened, its gaze shifting back to Isabelle, its tone softening slightly. “She’s yours—your anchor. Keep that in mind.”

  Azzy chirped softly, tilting her head again before looking back up at Isabelle, who quickly refocused on her friends. The projection resumed its pacing without another word, its focus once again on the mechanics of the drive.

  Milo’s laptop hummed faintly, lines of code scrolling across the screen as he continued his adjustments. The soft clinking of adapters and wires as he plugged and unplugged components filled the quiet room, underscoring the tension building among the group.

  “Alright,” Milo muttered, his tone more focused now. “If I can just get the system to stop defaulting to modern protocols, I might be able to bypass the error entirely.”

  Clara, leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow. “And by ‘might,’ you mean…?”

  “I mean it’s the best option we have,” Milo replied, not bothering to look up.

  “It’s also the only option we have,” Amélie said, her voice light but steady. “So let the genius do his thing.”

  Stefano leaned back against the bunk bed, one arm draped casually over his knee. “I don’t know, sounds like he’s making it up as he goes. Isabelle, what do you think? You’ve been pretty quiet over there.”

  Isabelle blinked, startled out of her thoughts. She hadn’t realized how intently she’d been staring at the drive until Stefano’s voice drew the group’s attention to her.

  “She’s probably thinking about what snack pairs best with Milo’s techno babble,” Clara said dryly, earning a quiet snort from Amélie.

  “Or,” Stefano continued, ignoring Clara entirely, “she’s just being her usual thoughtful self. I mean, she did help Milo figure out the manual bypass thing, right?”

  Isabelle opened her mouth, unsure of what to say, when Azzy chirped softly, nuzzling against her arm. The tiny Pokémon’s curious gaze darted to the empty space where her mental projection crouched, still observing Milo’s setup.

  Her mental projection sighed, pacing slightly beside the desk. “He’s close,” it said, its tone calm but precise. “But he’s not quite there yet. That data stream needs alignment, Isabelle. You see it—you just need to tell him.”

  Azzy tilted her head, her large eyes briefly scanning the space before looking back up at Isabelle, her tail swaying softly as if in question. Isabelle’s chest tightened. It wasn’t like Azzy could see the projection, but her sensitivity to Isabelle’s emotions made the moment feel oddly significant.

  Okay, Isabelle thought, glancing at the others to make sure no one was paying her too much attention. So what does he need to do?

  The projection straightened, its sharp gaze locking onto her. “He needs to align the drive’s data stream with his system’s receiver. But his equipment isn’t calibrated for something this old. The drive won’t ‘talk’ to his programs because they’re speaking completely different languages.”

  Isabelle frowned, struggling to keep up. So… translate the data stream?

  “Exactly,” the projection said, its tone approving. “Guide him to focus on aligning the drive’s physical output with his software input. If he bypasses the automatic configurations and directs the connection manually, he might stand a chance.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Isabelle?” Milo’s voice broke her concentration, and she snapped back to reality. He was looking at her, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been staring at the drive for a while. Got something to say?”

  The rest of the group turned to look at her, their expressions ranging from curious to mildly impatient. Isabelle swallowed, feeling the weight of their attention.

  “Uh…” She hesitated, carefully choosing her words. “What if… you stopped relying on the automatic settings and, I don’t know, tried to, like, direct the connection manually? If the drive’s this old, maybe it needs, uh, a more hands-on approach?”

  Milo blinked, his gaze sharpening with interest. “Direct the connection manually… you mean bypass the system’s automatic configurations?”

  “Y-yeah,” Isabelle said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “If the drive’s not ‘talking’ to your programs, maybe you need to line them up yourself. Kind of like… adjusting frequencies until they match?”

  The room fell silent for a moment as Milo considered her suggestion.

  “That… actually makes sense,” he said finally, turning back to the laptop. “It’s worth a shot.”

  Milo dove into the adjustments, his hands moving quickly as he worked to reconfigure the data stream. Isabelle’s mental projection stood beside him, nodding slightly in approval.

  “He’s got the right idea now,” it murmured, its tone less irritated. “Good. Keep him on track.”

  I’m not exactly doing this on purpose, Isabelle thought, her internal voice edged with frustration. How do I even know this stuff?

  The projection tilted its head, its expression unreadable. “Some things don’t need explaining. Focus on what matters.”

  Isabelle clenched her jaw, ignoring the projection as she turned her attention back to the group. Amélie leaned forward with a faint smile, clearly pleased that things were moving along. Clara remained near the wall, arms crossed but eyes sharp, while Stefano sat back with his usual air of confidence, occasionally sneaking glances at Isabelle. Elliot, as always, remained in his own world, his slow head bobs suggesting he was still lost in his music.

  “Okay,” Milo said after a few tense moments, his voice breaking the silence. “I think I’ve got something.”

  The group crowded around him as a single file appeared on the laptop screen, its name displayed in stark black text:

  [Timestamp Log: 09/17/20XX | 14:35:47 | Event: Atmospheric Disruption, Leaflink Hamlet]

  “September 17th, three years ago,” Milo read aloud, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. He adjusted his glasses, his light blue eyes narrowing. “Does that date ring any bells?”

  Clara frowned, crossing her arms. “Wait. Isn’t that when those freak storms hit Leaflink Hamlet? You know, the ones everyone swore were caused by a Legendary Pokémon?”

  Isabelle felt a chill crawl up her spine.

  “Exactly,” Milo said, his voice gaining momentum. “It wasn’t just bad weather. It disrupted the entire region’s ecosystem. Crops failed, Pokémon habitats were destroyed, and trade routes had to be rerouted. It was like nothing anyone had seen before.”

  “And this file is connected to that?” Clara asked, her tone sharp.

  “Pretty high odds,” Milo replied. “If Team Eclipse is involved, they might’ve been behind it—or at least know why it happened. And if the Forces of Nature are tied to this—”

  “The Forces of Nature?” Isabelle interrupted.

  Tornadus, Thundurus, and Landorus, Milo explained, his tone shifting into his “lecturer” mode. “They’re the Legendary Pokémon associated with weather manipulation. Tornadus controls wind, Thundurus controls storms, and Landorus restores balance. If they were involved in what happened at Leaflink, this file might hold clues.”

  Amélie leaned forward, her expression curious but wary. “So, what? Team Eclipse is chasing weather Legendaries now? That feels… ambitious.”

  “It’s more than ambitious,” Milo said, his voice low. “If they’re targeting Legendaries, they’re playing a much bigger game than we realized.”

  As the group digested Milo’s words, Isabelle felt the tension in the room shift. This wasn’t just a school project or an idle mystery anymore—it was something far larger, something that pulled them all into its orbit.

  Her mental projection lingered beside her for a moment longer, its gaze softening. “You did well,” it said quietly. “For now.”

  Before she could respond, it faded, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Isabelle let out a slow breath, brushing Azzy’s fur again as she tried to push down the questions swirling in her mind. Whatever was happening with her, whatever this projection was, it could wait.

  For now, she had a mystery to solve.

  "And then," a voice cut in, low and measured, breaking through the tension like a drop of water hitting a still pond.

  The group turned toward Elliot, who slid his headphones off with an easy motion and let them hang loosely around his neck. He hadn’t moved from his spot in the desk chair, still slouched with one leg draped lazily over the armrest. His light brown eyes were calm, but there was a flicker of curiosity in them now as he tuned into the conversation.

  “I mean, if they’re playing with weather Legendaries,” he began, his tone casual, “it’s not just about power. It’s about control. They’d have to be targeting specific regions—places where their impact would ripple the hardest.”

  Clara raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed. “Oh, nice of you to finally contribute. I was starting to think you were just here for ambiance.”

  Elliot shrugged, unbothered by the jab. “I’m in this for better or worse,” he said simply, leaning back into his usual relaxed posture.

  Isabelle blinked, her thoughts slipping out before she could stop them. “Seriously?”

  Elliot glanced at her, his gaze steady. “Seriously.”

  Isabelle wasn’t sure what she expected. She gave a small nod, a flicker of respect she hadn’t felt before.

  As the group returned to brainstorming, Clara cast a pointed look at Stefano. “And just to be clear, you’re not part of the Orbital Clique. You’re just lucky to be blessed by our presence.”

  “Blessed is right,” Stefano shot back, smirking. “You’d be lost without me.”

  Amélie rolled her eyes but smiled, the lighthearted banter cutting through the tension. “Alright, alright, enough. Let’s focus. We’re the Orbital Clique—plus Stefano—and we’ve got a project to figure out.”

  Elliot slid his headphones back on after his brief but impactful input, leaning back into the chair with a casual nod that all but dismissed the conversation. Milo, however, remained focused, his hands moving deftly across the laptop keyboard as he adjusted configurations and closed out the decryption programs. His presence was quiet but steady, the subtle hum of his work grounding the group’s chaotic energy.

  “So,” Amélie began, breaking the brief lull in conversation with her usual upbeat tone. “What exactly is our fearless ‘field agent’ going to do for the project? Isabelle, are you planning to dazzle us with your adventurous spirit, or are you just here to keep us from falling apart?”

  Isabelle looked up, caught off guard. “I, uh, thought my role was already assigned. Field agent, right?”

  “Exactly,” Amélie said with a grin, gesturing dramatically toward her. “You’re the one who takes risks, asks questions, and puts yourself in the thick of things. Like a detective—only, you know, less boring.”

  “That’s… a lot of pressure,” Isabelle muttered, her fingers brushing Azzy’s fur again for comfort. “But I guess I can try to live up to it.”

  Clara smirked, leaning against the wall. “Just try not to blow anything up while you’re at it.”

  Isabelle rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at her lips. “No promises.”

  “Well!” Stefano exclaimed, standing up and puffing out his chest like he was about to make a grand proclamation. “Since everyone has their roles clearly defined, it’s only fair that I, Stefano Marino, take on the most essential task of all.”

  Clara raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, this should be good. Go on.”

  Stefano placed a hand over his heart, his tone swelling with exaggerated importance. “I will create an immersive, scale-accurate display of the Forces of Nature—complete with figurines, weather effects, and a fully realized environment. You’re welcome in advance.”

  Amélie laughed, shaking her head. “Incroyable,” she said, switching briefly into French. “A real genius, this one.”

  “Mon dieu, il ne s’arrête jamais,” Clara muttered under her breath, earning another snort from Amélie. (My god, he never stops.)

  Stefano ignored them entirely, grinning as he continued. “Picture it—Tornadus, Thundurus, and Landorus, each in their element, with swirling winds, roaring thunder, and a balance restored by the great Landorus! It’ll be art. No, better than art—it’ll be legendary.”

  Clara crossed her arms, unimpressed. “We haven’t even settled on a topic, but sure, let’s all marvel at your imaginary display.”

  “It’s not imaginary,” Stefano said, feigning offense. “It’s a vision. And you’ll all see it soon enough.”

  Amélie smirked, her tone light as she teased him. “Et tu crois que ?a va sauver le projet?” (And you think that will save the project?)

  “Naturellement,” Stefano replied without missing a beat, his grin widening. (Naturally.)

  Milo finally chimed in, his voice dry as he spoke without looking up from his laptop. “As long as your ‘vision’ doesn’t interfere with the actual research, I don’t care what you do.”

  “See?” Stefano said, gesturing to Milo. “The genius approves.”

  “That’s not what I said,” Milo muttered, earning a laugh from Amélie and Isabelle.

  The energy in the room shifted as the conversation wound down, the group beginning to pack up and prepare to leave. The dim light outside the window hinted that evening had settled in, casting warm, golden hues across Amélie’s small, memory-filled room.

  Clara swung her bag over her shoulder, glancing at Elliot, who had slipped his headphones back on. “Come on, headphone boy,” she said, nudging him lightly. “Let’s go before Stefano starts narrating his life story again.”

  Elliot slid his chair back with a shrug, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he stood. “See you tomorrow,” he said, giving a brief wave to the group before following Clara out the door.

  “Bye, Clara! Bye, Elliot!” Amélie called after them, earning a quick wave from Clara as the pair disappeared down the stairs.

  Milo packed his equipment with quiet efficiency, his focus already shifting to tomorrow’s tasks. His laptop was the last to go into his well-worn messenger bag. “See you all tomorrow,” he said flatly, nodding to no one in particular before making his way out.

  Stefano, of course, was the last to leave. He lingered near the door, straightening his jacket as he cast a confident grin toward Isabelle. “Well, this was a productive meeting. If you need an escort home, Isabelle, just let me know. I’m more than happy to ensure your safety.”

  Isabelle snorted softly, shaking her head. “Thanks, but I think I’ll manage.”

  “Suit yourself,” Stefano said with a dramatic shrug, placing his hand over his heart. “But the offer stands. Until next time!” With that, he swept out of the room with a flourish, clearly pleased with himself.

  Amélie laughed as she stood by the door, watching him go. “That boy never quits. C’est un vrai spectacle.” (He’s a real show.)

  Isabelle rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Yeah, well, at least he keeps things entertaining.”

  The two girls headed downstairs together, where Amélie’s parents were waiting by the boutique counter. Madeleine offered them a warm smile, her hands busy tidying up a small display. “Alors, les enfants, vous partez?” (So, kids, you’re heading out?)

  étienne gave them a nod as he carried a box of materials to the back room. “Good work today. Stay safe out there.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Lévesque,” Isabelle said with a small wave.

  “Goodnight, girls!” Madeleine called as Amélie and Isabelle stepped outside into the cool evening air.

  The quiet hum of the city filled the streets as the sky deepened into shades of navy and black, scattered stars peeking through. Isabelle glanced at Amélie with a tired but satisfied expression. “Well, that was… something.”

  “It always is,” Amélie replied with a grin. “Same time tomorrow?”

  “Yeah,” Isabelle said, adjusting Azzy in her arms. “See you then.”

  As they parted ways, Isabelle’s mind buzzed with lingering thoughts about the drive, the Forces of Nature, and what Team Eclipse could possibly be planning. The mystery felt bigger than all of them, but somehow, being part of this strange, chaotic group made it feel just a little less overwhelming.

  And as the night deepened, one thing was clear: this was only the beginning. The real storm was still coming.