Urban System in America

But the mortal wasn't alone. He was with an immortal. At least, that's how it felt as Aren's gaze lifted to Rex's towering back, framed in the sunlight like he belonged here.

And Aren knew this firm well. It was the same one whose services they had quietly tapped into just last night for something as deceptively small as a copyright transfer contract. For Strathmore & Keene, that was pocket-change work, barely worth the ink and paper. But even that tiny glimpse into their efficiency had left Aren impressed.

Now, standing before their headquarters, the true scale of it sank in. This wasn't a building. It was a fortress of influence. Within these walls, careers weren't just made, they were shielded. Empires weren't just built, they were defended. And wars… wars were fought here not with armies, but with clauses, subclauses, and signatures sharp enough to cut throats.

Rex stepped forward first, pushing through the sleek glass doors with the kind of ease that suggested he belonged here. Aren followed a half-step behind, trying not to look like a kid trailing after his older brother on the first day of school. The lobby was everything he expected from Strathmore & Keene… polished marble floors that reflected the light like water, walls lined with abstract art pieces that probably cost more than his entire apartment building, and a quiet hum of efficiency that made even silence feel expensive.

At the reception desk sat a woman whose beauty seemed as deliberately placed as the artwork on the walls. Her posture was perfect, her smile professional—at least until her eyes lifted and landed on Rex. For the briefest second, professionalism cracked. Her eyes lit up, and the greeting that followed came with just a bit more warmth than standard protocol demanded.

Of course, he thought, because Rex wasn't just tall, he was movie-poster tall, the kind of tall that made ceilings look lower. Add in that annoyingly perfect smile, and suddenly even marble floors seemed to lean in his direction. Aren, meanwhile, might as well have been a background extra in his own life. If he'd walked in alone, he was pretty sure she'd have asked him if he was lost.

"Good morning, sir. Welcome to Strathmore & Keene. How may we assist you today?"

Rex's smile was easy, practiced, and devastatingly confident. Without a word, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced the crisp business card they'd received from the lawyer last night. He placed it gently on the counter, the move as smooth as if he were laying down an ace in a high-stakes poker game.

The receptionist took the card with careful fingers, her glossy nails clicking lightly against the cardstock. . Her eyes flicked down to read the name printed in sharp, clean letters, and for the first time since they'd walked in, her perfectly composed face cracked with surprise.

"Oh," she said, blinking once, then straightening in her chair. "So you're here to meet with Mr. Colin Price."

Even Aren knew that name. Colin Price wasn't just some lawyer at Strathmore & Keene, he was the lawyer... the kind of man people whispered about at industry parties. Unless you were one of the founding partners, Colin Price outranked you by several galaxies.

And just like that, the receptionist's professionalism upgraded from polite warmth to red-carpet treatment. Her smile sharpened, brighter and more attentive, her voice softened, and words carrying a touch of awe now. She no longer looked at Rex like he was simply another handsome visitor… now he was a man with access, a man important enough to be expected by Colin Price himself.

Aren was pretty sure if Rex asked for a glass of water, she'd sprint to the Himalayas to bring back melted glacier ice.

"Please, right this way," she said, rising gracefully from her chair. She smoothed her blazer in one practiced motion and walked them across the polished marble floor. Her heels clicked with a rhythm that seemed to echo off the high ceilings, past walls lined with framed magazine covers, each flaunting Strathmore & Keene's victories.

She guided them toward the sleek, steel elevators tucked into the far corner of the lobby. its doors a mirror of brushed steel that reflected their small group back at them. She pressed the call button, and the doors slid open with a soft chime, almost reverent in tone.

"Mr. Price's office is upstairs," she explained, stepping aside and gesturing for them to enter.

Rex walked in with casual confidence, as if the entire building had been constructed just to welcome him. Aren followed close behind, but not without catching sight of their reflections in the mirrored walls.

Rex looked natural here. His tailored jacket, his calm smile, the easy way he carried himself—he blended seamlessly into the polished image of the firm. Aren, on the other hand, looked…well, like the plus-one at a party he hadn't been invited to. His shirt felt too plain, his sneakers suddenly too loud against the pristine elevator floor. He silently promised himself he'd stop standing so hunched, then immediately slouched again out of habit.

And, of course, there was the receptionist. Her eyes had lit up the moment Rex entered, practically sparkling like someone had plugged her into an electrical outlet. With him, she'd been all warmth, charm, and barely-contained admiration. With Aren? He might as well have been a coat rack following Rex around.

The elevator doors closed smoothly, sealing them in. The faint hum of machinery filled the silence as the car began its steady climb upward. The numbers above the door flicked higher and higher, and with each floor they passed, Aren's nerves twisted a little tighter.

The doors slid open with a dignified ding, The receptionist stepped out first, guiding them into a wide hallway lined with dark wood panels and framed movie posters, each one a quiet reminder of the firm's reach. The carpet muted their steps, and the air carried a faint mix of coffee, paper, and the sharp tang of polish.

Aren kept his head down, but his eyes moved restlessly, catching glimpses of closed offices with gold-plated name tags. The names that were whispered in Hollywood circles with equal parts reverence and fear. Lawyers who could rewrite destinies with a single clause.

Aren's stomach tightened. He felt like an ant trespassing in a colony of lions.

They stopped in front of one office that seemed larger, its frosted glass marked with a name etched clean and bold: Colin Price.

The receptionist knocked lightly, her head bowed as though the simple act demanded respect. For a moment, silence. Then a voice answered from within, deep, commanding, and resonant.

"Come in."

(End of Chapter)