I thought about it for days. Turned the problem over in my mind from every angle, using every analytical tool I had.

Deduction mapped out possible strategies Mark might be employing. Instinct searched for warning signs of traps or manipulation. Strategist ran scenarios and counter-scenarios.

Nothing.

Despite all of my skills and jobs, I couldn't find a logical reason why Mark would deliberately tank his approval rating. No strategy that made sense. No hidden benefit to losing public support.

Maybe he really was just crazy. So committed to his ideology about rank-based hierarchy that he'd sacrifice everything to implement it. Arrogance combined with genuine belief in his own vision, blind to the consequences.

It happened. History was full of leaders who destroyed themselves through ideological rigidity.

And more importantly—Instinct really wasn't screaming warnings at me. That skill had saved my life countless times, operating on a level beyond conscious reasoning as if it could see into the future. If there was a trap, if Mark was planning something, my subconscious should be picking up on it.

But there was nothing. Just… calm certainty that waiting was the right move.

If Instinct isn't worried, I told myself, then I have no reason to worry.

In all honesty, my biggest regret from the Ghana confrontation wasn't the fight itself. It was that I'd never used Scan on Hugo. Never tried to see what jobs and skills he had. Never attempted to copy anything from him.

Even if Hugo had defenses against scanning—which he probably did—I was upset I hadn't even tried. I'd been so in the moment, so focused on survival and revenge, that strategic information gathering had completely slipped my mind.

A mistake I wouldn't repeat with Mark.

But for now, we waited.

Eight and a half months later, I woke to the sound of excited voices in the main house.

I'd been sleeping better lately. Still had nightmares occasionally—Anthony's death, Hugo's revelations, the panic attack in the closet—but less frequently. The meditation helped. The writing helped. Actually processing things instead of burying them helped.

I found everyone gathered around Evelyn's tablet, watching news coverage with expressions ranging from satisfaction to disbelief.

"Mark's approval rating," Evelyn said when she saw me, turning the screen so I could see. "Ten percent."

Ten percent. Down from ninety-one percent eight months ago. An eighty-one point drop in less than a year had to be some kind of record.

"What's the latest policy?" I asked, moving closer to read the details.

"Housing restrictions," Alexis said, her medical disgust evident. "Minimum job rank requirements for certain neighborhoods. D-Rank and below citizens are being relocated to designated zones."

"Ghettos," Camille translated bluntly. "He's creating ghettos."

I scrolled through more headlines. Policy after policy, each one more explicitly discriminatory than the last. Employment restrictions. Education access based on rank. Healthcare prioritization for high-ranking individuals.

"He's become paranoid, apparently," Sienna added, pulling up a different article. "Multiple reports of him purging government officials he suspects of disloyalty. His inner circle has shrunk to almost no one."

"Good," I said. "Paranoia makes people sloppy. Makes them see enemies everywhere, including where there aren't any."

Camille gestured to her phone. "You should see social media. It's a disaster. Want to see?"

She pulled up various platforms, and I spent the next hour reading through what had become of public discourse.

"Mark is the literal devil. Look at his scarred face. That's what evil looks like."

"We should have kept Reynard Vale. At least he pretended to care about normal people."

"Two demons—Reynard and Mark. One sold us out to his father. The other is actively destroying society. Humanity is cursed."

"Where is Reynard anyway? Dead? Hiding? Did Mark have him killed?"

Most people assumed I was dead or permanently disappeared. That made sense—eight months without any sightings or evidence would lead to that conclusion.

But what really caught my attention was who was posting.

"These are all high-rankers," I said, noting the profile information visible on each account.

"Mostly A-Rank," Evelyn confirmed. "Some B-Rank. But nothing below that."

"Because C-Rank and lower can't afford social media access anymore," Alexis said grimly. "The platforms all implemented rank-based pricing structures. If you're below C-Rank, the costs are prohibitive."

Camille pulled up more data. "And it's not just that they can't afford it. They don't have time. Working conditions for low-rank individuals have deteriorated so much that they're spending sixteen, eighteen hours a day just trying to survive. No breaks for social media. No leisure time at all."

"Global homelessness is up between forty and fifty percent," Evelyn added, her voice clinical but I could hear the anger underneath. "Projections suggest it'll reach seventy to eighty percent within two years if current trends continue."

I felt my jaw tighten. Numbers that large were hard to conceptualize, but each percentage point represented millions of real people. Families. Children.

"Show me the commercial impact," I said.

Evelyn pulled up economic data. "Stores and malls have implemented minimum rank entrance requirements. Most are B-Rank minimum. Some allow C-Rank and D-Rank, but—"

"But admitting low-rank customers means admitting you're a low-rank establishment," I finished. "Which damages your reputation with high-rank clientele."

"Exactly," Evelyn confirmed. "So the places that do allow lower ranks compensate by hiking prices. Sometimes double or triple what they should be. Because where else are those people going to go? There's no alternative."

"Which puts them further into debt," Alexis added. "Which makes their situation even more desperate. It's a death spiral."

I stood there, processing. Eight months of policies specifically designed to benefit the elite at the expense of everyone else. The world Mark had always wanted to create—hierarchy enforced through System rankings, with himself at the top.

And people hated it. Ten percent approval meant ninety percent of the surveyed population wanted him gone.

This was the opportunity. The moment I'd been waiting for.

"Everyone," I said, looking around at the girls. "We need to talk. Now."

They gathered in the main room, sensing the shift in energy.

"Evelyn," I said, "contact President Valeska. Tell her it's time. We need those resources and personnel she promised."

Evelyn nodded, already reaching for the encrypted device Valeska had left eight months ago.

"Camille," I continued, "I need you to do something specific. Multiple anonymous accounts across different social media platforms. Various forums, message boards, anywhere people are discussing Mark and current politics."

"What message?" Camille asked, her wild energy focusing into something sharper.

I smiled. "Four words. 'Reynard Vale has returned.'"

Camille's eyes lit up with understanding. "You want to announce you're alive. Make people wonder. Create anticipation."

"More than that," I said. "I want to position myself as an alternative. Mark has spent eight months proving he's a disaster. Now we remind people there's someone else. Someone who might actually give a damn about more than just the elite."

"It's risky," Alexis pointed out. "Announcing you're alive means Mark knows you're alive. Means he'll be actively looking for you."

"He's probably already looking," I countered. "But this changes the narrative. Right now, I'm either dead or irrelevant. After this, I'm a threat. A real one. And that's exactly what I want to be."

Sienna looked worried but determined. "When do we do this?"

"Now," I said. "Camille starts posting. Evelyn contacts Valeska. We coordinate timing so everything hits at once. Maximum impact."

I looked around at all of them—Evelyn with her strategic mind, Alexis with her medical precision, Sienna with her caring strength, Camille with her creative chaos.

"Eight months," I said quietly. "We've been hiding for eight months while Mark destroyed everything. But that ends today. Today, we stop hiding and start fighting back."

"About time," Camille said, grinning.

Evelyn was already on the encrypted device, speaking rapidly to whoever answered on Valeska's end.

Camille pulled out her laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as she set up anonymous accounts.

Alexis and Sienna moved to start packing—we'd need to leave the farm soon if we were making ourselves known again.

I stood in the center of the activity, feeling Strategist kick into high gear. Plans forming. Contingencies developing. The next moves mapping out in my mind like a chess game where I could finally see the whole board.

Mark had ten percent approval. I had nothing—no public presence, no platform, no infrastructure.

But I had something he'd lost: the ability to position myself as the alternative. The person who might actually fix what he'd broken.

And in a world where ninety percent of people hated the current leader, being the alternative was a very powerful position.

Camille looked up from her laptop. "Ready. Just say the word and I'll post to every platform simultaneously."

Evelyn covered the encrypted device. "Valeska is mobilizing resources. Says she can have people in position within forty-eight hours."

"Do it," I said to Camille. "Send the message."

Her fingers hit the keys, and somewhere out in the digital world, four words appeared across dozens of platforms and forums.

Reynard Vale has returned.

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