Life on Illuvari was good. An early colony world, it glistened with the polish of two centuries of development. Spires the size of small mountains reached into the sky, their exteriors sheathed in shining metal and sparkling arcs of glass.

Amber was part of that good life. She slotted into the flow of humming cars and babbling people, a perfect piece of a perfect puzzle. Her oaken eyes shone with youthful energy; her waterfall of onyx hair flowed and rippled as she walked. A satchel made of impossibly soft synthetic silk rested on her hip.

Sixteen, happy to be alive and on course to carve out a perfect life.

Amber slipped onto the school transit tube, slotting into place among thirty other students in the carriage. The chairs filled the interior in a pair of long columns three by ten. She moved with the ease of an expert, gliding in and around the other students till she found her seat with her friends. The last to arrive out of the trio she had earned the aisle seat. Sitting down, she placed her satchel between her legs.

It was just like every other day – almost. She noticed a boy a few seats up dozing in his chair despite the morning babble, and she didn't recognise him. Amber had a very reliable memory. Some described it as photographic and in doing so understated the situation. She could name every person in her class and describe their features well enough for an artist to paint a portrait. This boy, however, was new and that intrigued her.