Marcellus ran a hand through his golden hair, his composure cracking further with each new wave of pilgrims streaming past the plaza. Families. Merchants. Even a contingent of what looked like foreign dignitaries, their robes bearing symbols from the eastern provinces.

"They weren’t supposed to come," he said quietly. "I had assurances—"

"We’re dealing with the church," Julius cut in, his voice low. "It isn’t your fault you didn’t expect this many possible casualties."

Marcellus’s hand stilled in his hair, then dropped to his side.

"Casualties," he repeated, the word bitter on his tongue. "That’s what we’re calling them now? Not ’people’? Not ’citizens’? Just... casualties."

Julius didn’t flinch. "I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to keep you focused."

"Focused." Marcellus laughed, short and hollow. "I’m about to order the deaths of thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. And you want me focused."

"I want you alive."

Julius stepped closer, close enough that no one else in the bustling plaza could hear.

Marcellus stared at his brother for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, sharp and controlled.

"You’re right."

"I usually am."

"Don’t push it."

The plaza continued to hum around them, oblivious. Merchants hawked souvenirs, small wooden charms shaped like Elion’s sunburst emblem. Children chased each other between the fountain and the food stalls. Lovers paused to kiss beneath the flowering trees that lined the promenade.

None of them knew.

Marcellus reached into his coat and withdrew a small brass cylinder, no larger than his thumb. The flare. The signal that would turn this festival into a slaughter.

"Not yet," Julius said, his hand closing over Marcellus’s. "We wait for the ritual to start. That’s what we agreed."

"I know what we agreed."

"Then stop torturing yourself and sit down."

Marcellus let Julius push him back onto the fountain’s edge. The stone was cold through his trousers, a grounding sensation in a morning that felt increasingly unreal.

"Tell me about Lillian," Marcellus said, changing the subject with the skill of someone who’d been dodging uncomfortable topics since childhood.

Julius’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes softened. "What about her?"

"You’re going to marry her, aren’t you?"

"Eventually. When this is over. When things are... quieter."

Marcellus snorted. "Things are never quieter. You’ll be waiting forever." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"Then I’ll wait forever." Julius glanced toward the church, toward the thousands of pilgrims still climbing the stairs. "She’s worth it."

"You’re a romantic. Who knew?"

"I learned from watching you pine after every eligible noblewoman in the empire and reject them all."

"That’s—" Marcellus stopped, caught off guard by the unexpected jab. "That’s not pining. That’s... strategic restraint."

"Strategic restraint," Julius repeated, deadpan. "Is that what we’re calling it?"

"Shut up."

The sun climbed higher. The crowd thickened. And somewhere in the penthouse overlooking the church, a deck of cards was being shuffled for a game no one would win.

*** Penthouse

"I call."

Jayden laid his cards on the silk bedsheet, his expression as neutral as it had been for the entire game. A full house. Kings over eights.

Vivianne swore under her breath and threw her cards down in disgust. "You’ve got to be cheating."

"I’m not cheating."

"No one’s that lucky."

"I’m not lucky. I’m just better than you."

Kevin gathered the cards, shuffling them with practiced ease. His eyes kept drifting to the window, to the church visible through the gap in the curtains, to the pilgrims still streaming through the gates.

But before the game could continue, Lillian suddenly barged in, a determined look in her face.

"Evelina, I need your help with something?"

"Me specifically?"

"Yes!"

*** Outside the Penthouse Apartment

"What’s this about, Valemont?"

"I want your help relieving Marcellus of his guilt," Lillian said, her arms crossed as she looked at Evelina with a surprisingly serious expression.

"Guilt? Is that strategically important?"

"Of course. If he doesn’t give the signal, this entire plan will go to waste. You know for a fact that this whole operation relies heavily on Marcellus’s contacts."

"So... what did you have in mind?"

"We investigate, or at least try to distract people from entering. With Valemont and D’Arclight assets, surely we can do something like that, right?"

Evelina studied her for a long moment, the ring on her finger glinting in the morning light that filtered through the penthouse windows. Her crimson eyes held none of the warmth they’d shown during training, none of the softness from the night before.

This was the woman who had clawed her way to the top of Eryndor’s social hierarchy. The woman who had made nobles tremble with a glance.

"You’re asking me to commit resources," Evelina said slowly, "to potentially save the lives of people who chose to be here."

"I’m asking you to give Marcellus a reason to keep his nerve." Lillian didn’t back down. "There’s a difference."

"Is there?"

"Your cynicism is showing, Lady D’Arclight."

"And your sentimentality is showing, Lady Valemont."

They stared at each other, two women who had spent years circling each other like wolves, never quite attacking, never quite retreating. The tension crackled between them, sharp as static before a storm.

"Sentimentality," Lillian repeated, her voice dropping. "Is that what you call wanting to avoid a massacre?"

"I call it what it is." Evelina’s tone was flat, clinical. "Those people down there, the ones you’re so desperate to save? They would watch us burn if the church told them to. They’d cheer while it happened."

"You don’t know that."

"I do."

Lillian’s jaw tightened. "Then why are you here? If you don’t care about the innocents, if you’re so convinced they’re all complicit, why bother with any of this?"

Evelina was quiet for a moment. The morning light caught the edges of her white hair, turning it almost translucent.

Then she laughed.

"Because I’m a dark mage. If I don’t interfere and leave this operation to you three, and you screw it up, Cael and I are dead. And you know that’s not something I’ll allow."

Evelina’s words hung in the air between them, sharp and undeniable.

Lillian’s expression flickered through several emotions before settling on something that looked almost like understanding. Almost.

"So this is survival," she said. "Not heroism."

"Heroism is for people who can afford to die."

Evelina turned away, her robe swirling around her ankles.

"I can’t. Neither can Cael. Neither, I suspect, can you, no matter how much you pretend otherwise. If you want me to help, then I expect you to offer something in return."

"But if you don’t help, Marcellus’s plan will go to hell anyway! And you and your precious Cael will die right along with it!"

Lillian shot back, stepping closer to Evelina until their noses were nearly touching.

"Got a counterargument for that, Lady D’Arclight?"

"No. I just wanted to see if you had any guts left, and you do. Don’t worry, I planned to help the moment you mentioned Marcellus’s hesitation."

Evelina’s smirk was slow and deliberate, the kind she reserved for moments when she’d already won and was simply enjoying the view.

"You planned this," Lillian said, realization dawning.

"I planned to test you." Evelina turned and began walking down the corridor toward the stairs. "There’s a difference."

"A test?"

"If you’d backed down, I would have helped anyway. But I would have known you couldn’t be relied upon in a crisis." She glanced back over her shoulder, her crimson eyes glittering. "You didn’t back down."