I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

The lobby fell silent as she entered, enforcers and civilians alike turning to stare. Cassandra kept her pace measured, heels clicking against the polished floor in a steady rhythm. At the reception desk, she didn\'t break stride.

"Commander Brock\'s office," she stated, not a question but a declaration.

The receptionist fumbled with her comm unit. "I... yes, Miss Beaumont. Top floor, end of the hall."

The elevator ride gave Cassandra time to refine her approach. She needed information about Steele, but directly asking would raise flags. \'Play it cool, Cass. You\'re just here about a security matter.\'

Commander Brock\'s office door slid open before she could knock. The man himself stood from behind his desk so quickly he nearly knocked over his coffee.

"Miss Beaumont!" His voice cracked slightly. "What an unexpected... I mean, what a pleasure! Please, please come in."

Brock was exactly as she remembered from charity galas – middle-aged, slightly overweight, with thinning hair and eager eyes. He gestured to a chair while simultaneously trying to straighten his uniform and clear papers from his desk.

"Commander," Cassandra said smoothly, taking the offered seat. "I hope I\'m not interrupting anything important."

"Important? No, no, nothing that can\'t wait for someone of your... I mean, for such an esteemed visitor." He tugged at his collar. "Can I offer you something? Coffee? Water?"

"No, thank you." She crossed her legs, noting how his eyes followed the movement before darting away. "I\'m here about a rather sensitive matter. I need your best investigator for a... personal situation."

Brock\'s face lit up. "Of course! We have several highly qualified—"

"Officer Steele," Cassandra interrupted. "I\'ve heard excellent things about his work."

The commander\'s eager expression faltered. "Steele? Well, yes, he\'s certainly capable, but perhaps someone more... diplomatic might be better suited? Officer Chen has an impressive—"

"It has to be Steele." Cassandra leaned forward slightly. "The Beaumont family has always valued our relationship with the Enforcer Division, Commander. My father spoke highly of your leadership."

Brock\'s chest puffed up visibly. "Yes, yes, your father was a great man. And we\'ve always appreciated the family\'s... support. Speaking of which, the annual fundraiser is coming up, and we were hoping Beaumont Industries might consider increasing their usual contribution? The department has been looking to upgrade our surveillance systems..."

A knock at the door interrupted his pitch. A young officer entered, datapad in hand.

"Sir, the report you requested about—" The officer stopped short, eyes widening at the sight of Cassandra.

"Not now!" Brock snapped, but the officer had already placed the datapad on his desk.

Cassandra rose gracefully. "I should be going anyway. About Officer Steele?"

"I\'ll... look into his availability," Brock promised, still glaring at the retreating officer. "Though he\'s currently engaged in a rather complex case—"

"I\'m sure you\'ll figure something out." Cassandra\'s smile was practiced perfection. "Have your office contact mine with the details."

She turned to leave, catching a glimpse of the datapad as she did. The header bore the imperial seal, and below it, she caught the words "Area 52 Authorization" before Brock snatched it up.

The door slid shut behind her, leaving Commander Brock alone with the report. His hands trembled as he read it again, unable to believe the words before him.

"Emperor-sanctioned operation... Area 52 access granted... immediate deployment..." He collapsed into his chair. "What in blazes does Steele have on the emperor to get this kind of clearance?"

The wasteland of Area 52 had been off-limits for decades. Even thinking about it made his skin crawl. And now Steele was out there, hunting something – or someone – with the emperor\'s own blessing.

Brock glanced at his door, remembering Cassandra\'s request. Something wasn\'t adding up, but he was too afraid to pull at that thread. Sometimes, he decided, it was better not to know.

\'What game are you playing at, Steele?\' Cassandra thought as she strode toward her waiting cart, her heels echoing against the rooftop landing pad. The morning sun had risen higher now, casting long shadows across the sleek vehicles parked in neat rows. \'Not available? In this line of work, that could mean anything from a vacation to...\' She didn\'t let herself finish that thought.

She remembered their last encounter, how his eyes had gleamed with barely concealed triumph when he mentioned Zafron\'s name. The memory made her skin crawl. \'He knew something then. Was already plotting something.\'

Just as her hand reached for the cart\'s door handle, quick footsteps approached from behind. A young officer, barely out of training by the look of his fresh-pressed uniform, thrust a folded paper into her hand. Before she could react, he had turned and disappeared back through the rooftop access door, his white and red uniform flashing in the sunlight.

Cassandra unfolded the note, her perfectly manicured nails catching on the crisp edges. Her eyes narrowed as she read the hastily scrawled message.

"Tex," she called to her driver, "change of plans. Take us to the lower market district."

The driver\'s eyebrows rose slightly in the rearview mirror. "Ma\'am? The quarterly shareholders\' meeting—"

"Can wait," Cassandra finished firmly, settling into the plush leather seat.

As the cart lifted off, joining the stream of morning traffic, Cassandra\'s thoughts drifted back to Zafron. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, how his hand had felt against her cheek that last morning. \'Where are you?\' she wondered, watching the city\'s spires slip past below. \'What mess have you gotten yourself into?\'

Five minutes later, the cart descended into one of the city\'s older districts, where the gleaming towers gave way to weather-worn buildings and narrow streets. Cassandra stepped out, her ivory suit a stark contrast against the grime-covered walls.

\'This better not be a waste of time,\' she thought, making her way down a narrow alley. The sounds of the main street faded, replaced by the distant hum of industrial units and the occasional scurry of vermin.

She didn\'t have to wait long. The distinctive whine of an arcane-powered bike pierced the relative quiet, its blue-white energy trails casting eerie shadows on the alley walls. The young officer from before pulled up, his uniform somehow even more pristine up close.

"Why here?" Cassandra demanded, not bothering with pleasantries. "What was so important it required this cloak-and-dagger routine?"

The officer killed the bike\'s engine, the arcane crystals cooling from bright blue to dull gray. "You were asking about Officer Steele, Miss Beaumont. It\'s... complicated."

"Uncomplicate it."

"He\'s not in our world anymore," the officer said, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "He\'s gone to Area 52."

Cassandra\'s heart skipped a beat, but her face remained impassive. "The wasteland? You mean the emperor\'s personal prison realm?"

"Yes, ma\'am. Got special clearance and everything. Never heard of anything like it before."

"Why are you telling me this?"

The officer\'s posture softened slightly. "My sister, Sarah. She works in your R&D department. Says you personally approved her project proposal last month, gave her a chance when no one else would. She comes home every day talking about how you\'re changing things, making them better."

A genuine smile touched Cassandra\'s lips. "Sarah Chen? Brilliant girl. Her work on sustainable energy distribution is promising."

"That\'s her," he beamed, then sobered. "About Steele\'s case..."

"Yes?"

"It\'s classified, but... it has to do with Malachi Vest\'s death."

The name hit Cassandra like a physical blow. She managed to keep her expression neutral, but her mind was racing. \'Malachi Vest. The man who...\'

"Thank you, Officer...?"

"Chen, ma\'am. Like my sister."

"Officer Chen. Your information is appreciated."

Back in her cart, Cassandra\'s mind whirled with possibilities. Area 52 – the wasteland realm created by ancient imperial magic, where the worst criminals were sent to live out their days in a barren, hostile world. \'But Zafron was supposed to be heading to Lumina,\' she thought, her fingers drumming against the armrest. \'Unless...\'

The pieces were starting to fit together, forming a picture she didn\'t like. The enforcers who had pursued him that day, Steele\'s sudden interest, Malachi Vest\'s death – it was all connected.

\'Did they catch him?\' she wondered, watching the city scroll past her window. \'Or did he go there willingly?\' Neither option was particularly comforting.

The cart hummed through the morning traffic, but Cassandra barely noticed. She was already forming plans, calculating risks, considering options. If Steele was in Area 52, and if Zafron was there too, then she needed to act fast.

\'The wasteland,\' she thought grimly. \'Of all the places...\' She\'d heard stories about that realm since childhood – tales of endless deserts, hostile creatures, and the broken souls who wandered its expanses. No one went there willingly.

No one except, apparently, Officer Steele.

And possibly the man she couldn\'t stop thinking about.