Trio!

They used to say the three of them were a paradox before they were even old enough to name one—a witch who treated curiosity like mischief, a biologist who treated life like a canvas, and a girl who could see the universe as equations before she could properly write her own name. In those early days within the orbit of the Genius Society, Linda was not yet the “Unnamed Mathematician,” not yet the broken theorem wandering the stars—she was simply the quiet center between two forces: the playful unpredictability of Herta and the soft, unsettling precision of Ruan Mei. Herta would drag them into half-finished experiments just to see what would happen—rewiring puppets, bending simulated realities, laughing when causality itself seemed to hesitate—while Ruan Mei would collect fragments of existence like pressed flowers, studying the structure of life with a patience that bordered on reverence. And Linda? Linda would sit between them, legs tucked beneath her, eyes distant, quietly correcting the universe when it didn’t make sense. She didn’t speak much even then—not because she couldn’t, but because everything already existed in a more perfect form inside her mind, where tensors unfolded like constellations and time itself could be factored, simplified, understood.