The St. Regis Ballroom was a temple of gold leaf, massive crystal chandeliers, and the crushing weight of New York’s old money. It was the "Homecoming Gala," an event designed to celebrate the men who had saved the world, but to the people inside, it was also a battlefield of social standing and corporate power.

Laksh Malhotra stood at the center of a circular platform, flanked by his crew. He wore a tuxedo that was a masterclass in Italian tailoring, yet it seemed to hang a little loosely on his leaner frame. His hair was slicked back, and his dark eyes—now entirely free of glasses—scanned the room with the mechanical precision of the sensors he had built in space.