Trigger Warning: Descriptions or depictions of sexual violence, including rape and sexual abuse.

------

"BREAKING NEWS: New developments have emerged about the group known as the Maskers," the news anchor reported, her tone grave. Erika turned up the volume, eyes focused as the screen filled with the anchor's serious expression.

"A UCLA student, recently detained after attempting a ritualistic sacrifice on campus, has confirmed disturbing suspicions. The group he was recruited into operates as a cult—one that taps into dark, supernatural forces. The student, whose identity is being withheld due to the ongoing investigation, claims the Maskers are not acting alone. Their endgame appears to be a hostile takeover of the city—on behalf of a higher, possibly otherworldly, power."

Erika leaned forward, frowning as footage of flashing police lights and yellow caution tape played behind the anchor.

"The authorities have confirmed that several other attacks across the city appear to be connected. Sources say that more students are being targeted and manipulated into joining the cult under promises of power, protection, or fear."

Erika remained still for a moment, staring at the silent screen. Then, she clicked on another video that led her to a live press conference. A podium emblazoned with the FBI seal filled the screen, and a large headline read "OFFICIALS SEEK HELP IN ID'ING PERSON OF INTEREST IN ATTACKS". Standing behind it was Special Agent Mireille, her sharp gray suit crisp, her expression stark and serious..

"We are officially launching a federal investigation into the group known as the Maskers," she announced, cameras flashing as murmurs rose among reporters. "Their operations have escalated in coordination, intensity, and threat level. The recent incident at UCLA involving a near-sacrifice confirms the group's connection to dark, occult practices and their stated goal of taking control of the city through supernatural means."

She paused for a moment, then gestured to the large monitor behind her.

"We are also seeking the public's assistance in identifying this individual," she said. An image appeared on the screen—grainy, low-resolution, clearly captured from a traffic camera. But even through the distortion, the figure was striking. Slender. Agile. Long platinum hair that shimmered under the streetlights. The face was half-turned, blurred—but something about it was unforgettable.

"This person has been spotted at multiple incidents involving the Maskers. We believe they may be either directly involved with or actively opposing the group. At this time, we are uncertain of their motives or affiliations, but we consider them a person of high interest."

The room stirred as Mireille added, her voice steady:

"We have reason to believe this may be Edel Monclerchanteau, a French royal who was presumed dead in the Monclerchanteau estate fire several years ago. While we cannot confirm her identity, we are pursuing all leads."

A hand shot up from the press row.

"You're saying a billionaire heiress thought to be dead is back—and fighting cultists?"

"I'm saying we are not ruling out possibilities," Mireille replied coolly. "If anyone recognizes this person, or has had contact with her, we urge you to contact the Bureau immediately. Do not approach her—she may be in danger. Or she may be dangerous."

A young reporter from a national outlet stood. "Agent Mireille, if this woman is indeed Edel Monclerchanteau, wouldn't this be the first confirmed survivor of the estate fire? What does the FBI know about her now?"

Mireille took a breath before answering. "The Monclerchanteau estate fire was a tragedy that claimed multiple lives and left no conclusive evidence of survivors. Edel Monclerchanteau was declared legally deceased due to lack of identification and extensive damage to the scene. However," she said, letting her words sink in, "there were anomalies in the case file that were never made public. The timing, the inconsistencies in the estate's financial records after the fire, and rumors of external political conflict—these are all now part of our reopened investigation."

The murmurs turned into a low roar of chatter. Mireille waited.

Another reporter raised a hand. "Are you suggesting Edel may have faked her death?"

"We are not speculating on her intentions at this time. Our concern is that someone with a presumed deceased identity has appeared at multiple high-level crime scenes involving a magical terrorist organization. Whether she is a victim, a vigilante, or a perpetrator remains to be seen."

Flashes from the cameras lit up the briefing room like a lightning storm.

Mireille continued, now turning slightly more grave. "We understand that the concept of dark magic and cult activity may seem far-fetched. But the UCLA incident, as well as several others across Los Angeles, have yielded irrefutable evidence of supernatural phenomena. This is no longer isolated, or symbolic. It is real. And it is escalating."

"Are there more targets?" someone shouted.

"We're currently mapping the locations and pattern of attacks. The group's tactics are becoming bolder—abductions, blood rituals, attempted sacrifices. Theories range from political motives to eschatological beliefs. We ask for patience and cooperation from the public as we respond with the appropriate urgency."

The same image of the platinum-haired woman—of Edel—flashed on the screen once more.

"If you have seen this person, or know anything about her whereabouts, please do not confront her. Instead, contact the authorities immediately. We are treating this case as high-risk."

Mireille gave one final look to the sea of reporters, then gave a nod. "That'll be all for now."

As the room erupted with overlapping questions and camera shutters, the agent stepped away from the podium, her face still composed, but her eyes were weary.

Her heart pounded in her chest, the FBI press conference replaying in her mind. The image of Edel's blurry image was frozen on her laptop screen. But her thoughts drifted—not to the platinum-haired enigma or even the Maskers—but to the people who had come to America's rescue. Charlotte. Perchance. Tabo. Astrid.

She hadn't said much to them when it happened—too overwhelmed, too shy, too wrapped up in the fear that had been pulsing through her veins. But now, after the adrenaline had faded and the city returned to its uneasy quiet, she wished she had done more.

"I should've said something," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the low hum of her laptop. "I should've asked more."

She thought about Astrid's assertiveness, about how she had taken control of the situation like it was second nature. About Tabo's fists crashing into the Masker boys without a second thought. They had moved with purpose, like they belonged to something—something bigger than themselves. Something brave.

Erika hugged her knees to her chest. She wanted to be a part of that. She wanted to do something, instead of just being the girl who stood on the sidelines while other people saved her friends. Her hands clenched in her lap.

"I should've asked if I could join them," she muttered.

But she hadn't. Because she was Erika Nair. Timid. Anxious. Forgettable. She barely spoke up in class, let alone in the face of monsters.

And yet... something in her stirred.

Her phone buzzed beside her, a notification lighting up the screen:

🔴 KarinaMargiela is LIVE: "Justice for the Forgotten"

Curious, Erika clicked in.

The screen lit up with Karina's livestream—poised, elegant, and furious in a way that made her seem incandescent. She stood in a lush room draped with gold and marble, a fire flickering gently in the hearth behind her.

"...For years, no one investigated the Monclerchanteau estate fire seriously. No justice. No accountability," Karina was saying, her voice shaking with passion. "We were told to move on. But how can we, when girls are being kidnapped in the streets and these cultists are growing bolder by the day?"

Erika's breath caught.

"I am launching the Monclerchanteau Foundation," Karina continued, "to fund support for the victims of cult violence, to investigate the failures of law enforcement, and to bring back those who have been forgotten. Our first event will be a charity gala. One week from now. You're all invited."

"And I know what some of you are probably thinking," she said, folding her hands in front of her. "That it's only because the Monclerchanteaus were rich that people care. That because they were royalty, or because I'm from a powerful family, we're the ones who get headlines when something goes wrong."

She paused, her voice quieting. "You're not wrong. The world does pay more attention when people with money are involved. And that's part of what needs to change."

She stepped a little closer to the camera now, her tone urgent, intimate.

"The truth is, every victim matters. Every person stolen, hurt, or silenced by these monsters—whether they have money or not—they matter. No one should be forgotten. And no one should be written off just because they aren't in the spotlight."

Erika felt something tighten in her chest as Karina continued.

"This gala isn't just for Edel," Karina said. "It's for our lost friends and family. It's for the students at UCLA. It's for all the names we don't know yet. It's for the ones who were left behind while the rest of us moved on."

She lifted her chin.

"If you've ever felt like no one would listen to your voice, then I want to invite you especially. You belong at that gala. You matter. And this fight is for you too. Every dollar that gets donated to this charity will be matched for another dollar."

A QR code flashed on screen with a link to RSVP.

Erika's eyes widened. A gala?

The comments were exploding:

@glossyjen: "Let's go Karina!"

@honorableslayer: "If Edel's out there, I hope she sees this 😢"

@truthspreader22: "She's braver than our whole government. Respect."

@scarredwolf_01: "I don't really trust rich people, but you're one of the good ones. Thanks for not letting wealth cloud your humanity."

Erika sat frozen. Her stomach twisted in a knot of awe and intimidation. Karina was stunning, articulate, bold. Her dark blue eyes shimmered with purpose. A far cry from Erika, who still struggled to speak without tripping over her words in discussion groups and suffered from acne breakouts.

But something about Karina's voice—the conviction in it—pulled at her. For a moment, she imagined standing in that ballroom. Not as a guest, but as someone who mattered. Someone who fought for something.

Her eyes stung with tears she hadn't expected. Her thumb hovered over the RSVP link again, trembling.

She wasn't ready. Not yet.

But she wanted to be.

There was a soft knock at the door before it creaked open.

"Erika?" Aluna peeked inside the room, a steaming mug of tea in her hand. America followed behind her, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "You've been kinda quiet today. We just wanted to check in."

Erika minimized the stream on her laptop and sat up straighter. "I'm fine. Just... thinking."

America gave her a look. "You've been staring at the screen for hours. You okay, for real?"

Erika hesitated. "Yeah. It's just... Karina Margiela's hosting a gala. For the Masker victims. I was watching her livestream."

Aluna sat down on the edge of the bed and took a sip from her mug. "I saw that trending earlier. It's a big deal. You thinking of going?"

"I... I want to," Erika admitted, clutching the warm mug in both hands. "But I don't know. It's not really my thing. I'd be going alone, and I—" she shook her head, her voice growing smaller. "I'd just feel out of place. Like I don't belong. I've never even been to a gala. I just know it's something that rich people do. I don't even know what I'd do there."

"Hey," Aluna said firmly, nudging her with her knee. "Don't say that. You're smart and thoughtful and kind. That does belong. You're stronger than you might think."

America gave her a soft smile. "Honestly? I wish I could go with you. I've got that family thing that weekend, remember?"

Aluna groaned. "And I have my cousin's engagement party. The most annoying kind of mandatory."

"I didn't want to ask you guys to come," Erika mumbled.

"Well, we still would've said yes if we could," Aluna said. "But we believe in you. Ever since the attack, you seemed more determined. You'd wake up early just typing away and writing down notes. You're more productive than us! You get shit done!"

They were right.

But they didn't know everything.

She hadn't told them yet. Not about the dark web forums. Not about what she'd read. Not about Edel. Not about how badly she wanted to understand what was really going on—and maybe, just maybe, be part of stopping it.

She took a deep breath.

"Thanks," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I think... I think I'll go."

America squeezed her hand.

"We're proud of you," she said. "And we've got your back. Always."

Aluna clapped her hands together suddenly, breaking the quiet with a bright grin. "Okay, if you're even thinking about going, then we have some work to do."

Erika blinked. "What?"

"Clothes. Hair. Makeup," Aluna said, standing up and already mentally inventorying Erika's tiny closet. "You are not showing up to a high-society charity gala in your campus hoodie and sneakers."

"Not that there's anything wrong with them," America added diplomatically, sipping her tea. "But, yeah. You deserve to feel like you belong there."

"I don't even know what people wear to something like that," Erika said, her voice quiet.

"That's what we're here for," said Aluna, already opening Erika's closet doors with a dramatic flourish. "Let's go to the mall this weekend! There's one nearby with a lot of higher-end stores! We could find something classy and elegant there and hopefully... not break the bank."

"I have those rhinestone heels that hurt me but might actually work for you," America added. "Plus a few statement earrings. Karina-level sparkle."

Erika sat there, stunned, as the two of them busied themselves pulling items from closets, taking mental notes, and debating makeup palettes. A warmth stirred in her chest from their energy, their belief in her, their willingness to help her step into something bigger.

"You guys don't have to do all this," she said softly.

"Of course we do," said Aluna, turning to her with a determined smile. "You're our girl. If you're walking into a room full of millionaires and moguls, you're gonna own it. We're just helping you get there."

America gave her a gentle bump with her shoulder. "This is your story too, Erika. You're not just a side character. You're the main character! This is your moment!"

Erika swallowed a lump in her throat, followed by her opening her phone and pulling up the RSVP page. A flicker of confidence kindled in her chest—small, but steady. Maybe she could do this.

Maybe she could be more.

------

Edel sat perched on the edge of the polished granite kitchen island, a fork in one hand and a mug of black coffee in the other. Morning light filtered in through the high, narrow windows of the safehouse, cutting sharp lines across the brushed steel walls. Her breakfast—a perfectly seared ribeye with mashed potatoes and young asparagus—was an odd indulgence for someone used to living on the run, but she wasn't complaining.

She wore the new clothes Hugo had sent: sleek, black, and specially tailored to her frame, discreetly woven with protective tech—ballistic fibers, temperature regulation, biometric syncing. More gear was on the way, he had promised. For now, it was enough.

The safehouse itself was spacious, tucked high into the hillside, built more like a fortress than a home. Its design was utilitarian—concrete, steel, and glass. Efficient. Impenetrable. But cold. It was clear no one had lived here in years. Hugo had maintained it like a relic, never meant to be occupied—just ready, waiting, in case someone like Edel needed to vanish.

She'd already cleared the main room and set up her secondary workstation across the island. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keys of her backup laptop, lines of code cascading down the screen as she ran diagnostics and shored up her program. Fortunately, the remote backup she kept at Hugo's office had remained untouched, clean. It was just a matter of maintenance now—patching vulnerabilities, restoring old modules, cleaning up corrupted data.

Next to Edel on the granite island, a sleek matte-black drone rested in standby mode, its narrow wings folded neatly against its chassis. Hugo had sent it with the rest of the care package—a high-performance recon model, outfitted with encrypted surveillance tech, thermal optics, and real-time data streaming. From the comfort of the safehouse, she could monitor city activity without stepping outside.

She'd already programmed its flight routes—sweeps over key points downtown, the outskirts of UCLA, and several of the mafia's known hangouts. The drone wouldn't just act as her eyes; it would feed constant input into her algorithm, helping the program evolve, map risk zones, and improve predictive accuracy.

She needed that edge.

Every bite of her ribeye was eaten with one eye on her code and the other on the drone's diagnostic readout. Her algorithm was behind—days, maybe weeks. Missed maintenance cycles, corrupted subroutines, delayed bug fixes... all had weakened its core systems. That kind of lapse had cost lives at UCLA. She hadn't even begun to forgive herself for that.

The screen blinked with incoming packets from the drone's test flight. Coordinates. Movement data. Faces. Vehicles. Noise levels. All of it streaming into her system like blood into a beating heart. She silently watched it rebuild itself, piece by piece.

But the unease never left her.

No matter how reinforced the safehouse was, no matter how advanced the gear or clever the coding, she knew the mafia wouldn't stop. She was a target carved into Ebony's memory, and they always came back for unfinished business.

It was only a matter of time before they found her again.

A sharp ping broke the silence, slicing through the quiet. Edel glanced down at the burner phone lying beside her half-drained coffee mug. The screen lit up—Secure Line: HUGO.

She unlocked it, thumb skimming across the encrypted messaging interface. The message came in several rapid bursts, urgent and clipped.

HUGO: You're on the news.

HUGO: FBI officially looking for you. Public alert issued.

HUGO: Sent out a BOLO just earlier. Congratulations. More people are after you now.

Edel's breath hitched, already feeling her pulse start to climb.

Another ping.

HUGO: Also... Karina.

HUGO: She's hosting a charity gala next week in your name.

HUGO: I think she knows. She wants you to see it.

HUGO: I don't like it. The gala's a magnet. Everyone will be there, no doubt. And maybe worse. The mafia or the Maskers could hit the event just to flush you out. Even with Karina's army of cops and private security on standby, it's too high-profile. She's painting a target on herself.

Edel leaned back, phone still in hand, the words sinking in like stone.

HUGO: Don't waste time. If you're going to move, move before the gala. Don't let them dictate the timeline.

HUGO: Your supplies will arrive before then, but we're on a ticking clock. Get everything you need now.

Edel's fingers tapped out a quick reply:

EDEL: Understood.

She set the phone down, letting out a deep exhale.

Risking Karina was never part of the plan. Edel had expected attention eventually—just not this soon. For years, she'd slipped through the cracks without even bothering with a disguise. She hadn't needed one. The world had convinced itself she was dead. Who would believe that a Monclerchanteau could be walking among them, in a seedy area, no less?

Her platinum-white hair and violet eyes were unmistakable, bold enough to draw attention anywhere else. But this was L.A.—where surreal was standard, and the bizarre passed as background noise. Most people assumed she was just another eccentric girl playing dress-up with fake designer clothing. Imitating a dead dynasty. Cosplaying as dead celebrities. In a city of influencers and clout-chasers, who would question a Monclerchanteau lookalike?

That was the brilliance of it. Anonymity hadn't come from concealment—it came from the arrogance of disbelief. People didn't recognize her because they refused to. She had learned long ago that hiding in plain sight wasn't about changing who you were. It was about leveraging the world's assumptions. About letting people talk themselves out of the truth.

Still, she'd taken a calculated risk. Staying visible as her true self had been a message to her enemies as much as it was a tactical decision: She was alive. She was still a Monclerchanteau. And she wasn't afraid.

But the mask of disbelief was starting to crack.

People had begun to recognize her—really recognize her. Not just the hair or the eyes, but her jaw structure, the way she carried herself. The rumors weren't rumors anymore. And now, with the federal government actively searching, the veil of anonymity she once relied on was disintegrating fast.

She'd have to move carefully, think faster—and stay at least ten steps ahead of everyone chasing her. After all, everyone knew Edel was smart. They just didn't know how smart—didn't know she was a genuine genius, capable of reshaping the game entirely.

From here on out, she wouldn't merely stay hidden; she'd stay unpredictable. That was the only way to survive.

------

"So... we need a real vehicle," Charlotte said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I hate asking Iscar to ferry us around—it drains him. I just... can't drive." She directed the remark at Perchance and Tabo, glancing over Astrid as though she weren't there.

Astrid bristled but held her ground. "I can drive. I say we get an off-the-books used car—something like Edel's old van. With this cash, it's easy."

Charlotte caught Astrid's eye and offered a tight, dismissive smile, as if the suggestion hadn't come from her at all.

Perchance rolled his shoulders, eyes flicking between Charlotte's scowl and Astrid's slight annoyance at being dismissed. "Enough," he said, voice firm. "We've spent half the morning bickering! Astrid's right—we need wheels! Hot wheels! Iscar is cool and all, but man he's got a mean superiority complex against my magic. I'll come with you, Astrid. I haven't done full-on protection spells yet, but I'll do my best to keep you safe—my lady."

Astrid nodded gratefully, while Charlotte's lips pressed into a thin line, crossing her arms. "Fine," she muttered. "You clearly like Astrid better anyway."

Perchance smiled placidly. "I'm just being practical! Isn't this character development?" He turned to Astrid. "Shall we?"

Astrid slung her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go before she finds another reason to hate me."

"I might know a place where we can 'acquire' a car. Who'd ever commit GTA in broad daylight, right?" Perchance smirked.

Astrid chuckled, nudging him gently. "Lead the way, magic man."

He opened the door with a flourish. "Ladies first."

Charlotte glared after the door swung shut. "I know this sounds wrong," she muttered to Tabo, "but those two are going to get themselves caught—by the cops or the mafia. They're out buying cars when they probably can't even drive straight. And now we're stranded with half our cash gone, because they blew it on... God knows what!"

She ran a hand through her hair. "Edel told me to think like her, but I'm no genius. I can't drive or code an algorithm—I can barely cook a decent meal. This is a nightmare."

Tabo placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Hey," he said quietly, "We've got our heads and each other. Edel picked us for a reason. We'll figure it out—together."

Charlotte let out a shaky breath and met his calm eyes. "You really think so?"

Tabo offered a small, confident smile. "I know so."

"So what do we do now?"

He glanced toward the corner where Iscar sat, half-shrouded in shadows, quietly watching. "Well, we still have Iscar. And we know where the mafia's operating out of—Reaper Records. We can't take them head-on, but we can sabotage them. Hit their businesses where it hurts."

Charlotte's eyes lit up, a flicker of purpose returning to her expression. "I like that idea. Thanks, Tabo. I'm really glad you're still here... especially now that everyone else has run off. I can't trust Astrid or Perchance to actually help—not when they're out there doing their own thing like nothing's wrong. I mean, Astrid didn't get kidnapped by the mafia, but still. I expected more from Perchance. I thought he cared."

She gave Tabo a squeeze on the arm—unexpected, but sincere. "And I still can't believe you're here. You literally died, and you still stuck around."

Tabo rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. "Yeah, well... I'm here to protect you. That hasn't changed."

Charlotte let out a soft laugh, but her heart warmed at his loyalty. For the first time in hours, the tension in her shoulders eased. The fear, the frustration, the sense of being left behind—it all felt just a little lighter.

Together, they sat down at the battered table and unrolled a city map, scribbling plans on a piece of paper with various routes to Reaper Records, and all the little cracks in the mafia's front operations they could wedge themselves into.

------

Astrid leaned back in the driver's seat of the stolen black van, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily holding a cigarette out the open window. The breeze carried the faint scent of exhaust and smoke as the city blurred past.

Perchance stretched out in the passenger seat, legs propped up on the dashboard. "So," he said, grinning, "wanna hotbox it? I've got the stuff."

Astrid exhaled a curl of smoke, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "Tempting. But I've got a better idea."

Perchance raised an eyebrow. "Better than getting absolutely blitzed in a van we technically don't own?"

She shot him a sideways glance. "I remember something from Edel's old van. There was a photo—her, with another girl. Black hair, kind of elegant looking. I didn't ask at the time, but... do you know who that was?"

Perchance shrugged. "No clue. Could've been anyone. You know Edel—mysterious to the end."

Astrid went quiet for a moment, her cigarette burning low between her fingers. "It wasn't just anyone," she murmured. "It was Karina Margiela. I didn't realize it at first, but now I'm sure. The way Edel looked in that photo..."

Perchance side-eyed her, catching the faint edge of jealousy in her voice.

She flicked the ash out the window and continued, "I want to talk to Edel. Ask her what Karina really meant to her."

"You want me to use the crystal ball, don't you?" Perchance asked, already fishing around in his bag.

Astrid smirked. "You're a seer, aren't you?"

A soft glow lit up the van as Perchance cupped the ball in his hands, murmuring an incantation under his breath. After a moment, a hazy image of a dimly lit safehouse shimmered into focus.

"That's it. That's where she is."

Astrid crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. "Perfect. I'll go there tonight."

Perchance gave her a hopeful grin. "So... can we hotbox it now?"

She snorted. "I can't be high when I see Edel, silly. I'm a lady, remember?"

Perchance grinned wider. "A very cool, very chill lady."

She lit another cigarette and cracked a grin. "Damn right."

After securing a decent haul—some decent-quality drugs and a stockpile of canned food, instant noodles, bottled water, and toiletries—Astrid dragged Perchance into a nearby gas station bathroom to freshen up.

"Okay," she said, wrinkling her nose as she handed him a travel-sized shampoo. "No offense, but you smell like bong water and your hair looks like a rat's nest."

Perchance grumbled, clutching the toiletries like they were foreign objects. "I bathed last week."

Astrid raised a brow. "Gross. That's not something you brag about."

He sighed dramatically, but still shuffled into the bathroom. When he came out ten minutes later—cleaner, hair slightly damp, and smelling faintly of lavender—Astrid gave an approving nod.

"See? Not so bad, was it?"

Perchance scratched at the collar of the fresh shirt she'd picked out for him. "Weird. I feel... like a person again. Kind of."

Astrid offered a rare, softer smile. "Good. Someone should treat you like one."

Perchance blinked. That wasn't something he heard often—if ever. Most people either avoided him or tolerated him for his magic. But Astrid... actually seemed to care.

They returned to base in the van, rumbling to a halt outside the parlor just as dusk began to creep in. Astrid hopped out and strolled into the main room, calling out with a smug grin, "Honey, we're home! Missed us?"

Charlotte shot her an unimpressed look. "Took you long enough."

Astrid's gaze flicked between her and Tabo, then smirked. "Aww, were you two having a moment while we were gone? Like... doing the hanky panky?"

Charlotte's face stiffened. "Tabo," she said tightly, "Let's go finish our planning somewhere else."

Tabo blinked, but nodded, following her out of the room. He looked back once, shrugging slightly at Astrid.

When they were gone, Astrid's smile faded. She turned to Perchance. "She's still there, right?"

He nodded, already reaching into his bag for his crystal ball. "Still there. No movement."

"Perfect."

"Say, Perchance," she started, smirking a little. "Do you have something that'll get Edel... really excited for me? If you know what I mean."

"I don't know what you mean... Ohhhhhh I know what you mean," Perchance said as he came to a slow realization, eyes widening in surprise. "If you wanna get your freak on, just say so. How potent do you want it to be?"

"Very. Go big or go home."

Perchance whistled. "Damn, okay. You're not playing around."

Astrid smirked. "I don't plan to."

"Well... lucky for you, I got something hanging around that could do the job," he said, and he moved to a locked cabinet, withdrawing a sealed jar. Inside, nestled in velvet moss, was a strange vine. Its leaves shimmered slightly—green veined with deep crimson—and at its center, a single bud pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.

"This is Amaranthis lunara," he explained. "It's said to be very strong, full of magic, but I must warn you, I don't know its side effects."

"It'll probably be fine. Give it," Astrid demanded.

"I can crush it up and turn it into a capsule. All Edel has to do is take it like a normal pill, and I heard it'll tranform her into a beast... in bed, that is. It's viagra on steroids, basically."

"Perfect. Just what I needed. I'll see her tonight then," Astrid licked her lips in satisfaction.

"Best of luck. I hope the side effects aren't too serious because if they are... I wouldn't know how to fix it.

"Thanks, Perchance. I'll let you know how it goes," said Astrid as she walked out of the parlor.

"Spare me the details, at least!" Perchance groaned.

------

Edel worked deep into the night, the only light around her the pale glow of her screens. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, eyes scanning code and data—but something tugged at the edges of her perception. Movement. Shapes.

She paused. In the corner of her vision, strange, glowing faces flickered in the dark—phantomlike, with wide, grinning teeth and eyes that burned like embers. They hung there, weightless and watching, like the Cheshire Cat pulled from some fever dream. She froze, heart hammering. The Maskers.

She'd seen them before—at the Port of Los Angeles. That same eerie grin. That same haunting glow. But this time, she blinked, and they vanished. Maybe it was just fatigue, she told herself. Maybe.

Then the alarm blared.

Edel snapped to full alert, systems flashing red. Someone was on the property. She grabbed her weapon from the console drawer and rushed to the surveillance feed.

Astrid.

She stood at the gate, framed by the pale floodlights, looking around for Edel. She looked disheveled, windblown... and real.

Edel narrowed her eyes. It couldn't be. She was careful. No one should have found her—not even Astrid. Her voice crackled through the intercom.

"Edel. I know you're in there. I—I missed you. Please. Just let me talk to you."

Edel's jaw clenched. It had to be a trick. A disguise. A trap. The Maskers, or worse. Her finger hovered over the deny button, but something inside her ached. That voice. It sounded so real. And... she missed her. She missed Astrid's touch, her voice, the complicated way she made her feel things Edel had buried long ago.

Weapon in hand, she moved to the entrance and opened the outer gate.

Astrid stood there, hands up in surrender. "It's me," she said softly.

Edel's gaze was sharp, scanning every detail. The posture. The way her lip quirked nervously. Her scent. Everything. She studied her like a scientist examining a specimen. Looking for even the slightest inconsistency.

Minutes passed. Neither spoke.

Then Edel finally exhaled. "If you're real, how did you find me?"

Astrid's expression softened. "Perchance. He used his magic. No one else knows. I swear."

Edel's guard didn't drop completely—but something in her eyes shifted. A crack in the armor.

And then, without asking, Astrid stepped closer. Her voice was quiet, tentative. "I couldn't stand the thought that I might never see you again. I couldn't stop thinking about you. It was driving me insane."

Edel looked up, caught off-guard by the softness in her tone. Her breath hitched.

Then, naturally—almost inevitably—Astrid leaned in and kissed her.

And Edel let her.

It was sweet at first—gentle, practiced. But there was an urgency behind it. Edel didn't resist. She was too starved for affection, for anyone who didn't look at her with suspicion or hate. She leaned into it. Trusted it.

She didn't notice the tiny glimmer of powder Astrid slipped onto her tongue. Didn't feel the pill dissolve as they kissed. It was too small. Too quick.

Only when Astrid pulled away did Edel blink, her chest fluttering strangely.

"What... was that?" she asked, her lips parted.

"Just a kiss," Astrid replied innocently, brushing a hand down Edel's cheek. "You looked like you needed one."

But Edel's body was already reacting. A strange warmth spread through her core—her heart thudding faster. Her breath shortened. The image of Astrid seemed sharper now. Her voice sweeter. Her touch like balm.

Something inside Edel whispered that this woman cared more than anyone ever had. That maybe... she was the one who had always been there.

Astrid smiled as she watched the subtle shift in Edel's eyes.

She whispered, "I'm here now. And I won't let anyone hurt you again."

Edel sat down slowly on the edge of the large, white leather sofa, pressing a hand to her chest.

Something warm was building inside her—but not of fear or anxiety. No, it felt like something awakening, coiling low in her stomach and tightening across her ribs. Her breath grew shallow. Her skin burned faintly beneath her clothes. The scent of jasmine clung to Astrid like a memory Edel had never known she missed.

She glanced up—and saw Astrid not just as a woman, but as a vision.

The lines of her face were more defined, her lips redder, her curves plumper, her eyes impossibly green. Her presence filled the room like sweet perfume. Like something Edel didn't know she craved until now.

"You're... beautiful," Edel murmured, the words tumbling out before she could catch them.

Astrid tilted her head. "You never said that before."

Edel swallowed hard. "I didn't see it before. Not like this."

Astrid stepped closer, deliberately slow. Her hips swayed, knowing it was what she wanted. "You see me now?"

Edel nodded, unable to look away. "I don't want you to leave."

She reached out instinctively, her fingers curling around Astrid's wrist. Her mind screamed that this wasn't her. She didn't get attached like this—getting attached means getting herself and other people hurt. But her heart thudded with a new rhythm, like Astrid had pressed herself into its pulse.

Astrid leaned down and kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the shift in Edel's energy—the desperation, the longing, the dependency.

"Good," Astrid whispered against her lips. "Because I don't plan to."

Edel clung to her like she was the only anchor left in a sinking world. Somewhere, buried deep, a part of her questioned it. Wondered why her need for Astrid felt so sudden, so sharp.

But the rest of her didn't care.

She only wanted more.

She pulled Astrid down onto the soft sofa and roughly shoved her on her back, causing Astrid to yelp in surprise. Edel hungrily kissed Astrid like she was the only oasis in a hundred mile radius, her tongue sloppily dancing with Astrid's, then slowly moved her kisses away from her mouth and towards Astrid's jawline, neck, and ears, nibbling it a little to cause Astrid to feel hot to her core. Then she pressed her lips to Astrid's again, firmer this time, hands sliding beneath Astrid's bra to feel the soft warmth of her skin. Astrid shivered, arching up into the touch and moaning in pleasure.

Astrid's arms wrapped around Edel's back, drawing her even closer. "Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with need. "Don't stop."

Edel removed Astrid's skirt and moved her face down, lapping her up like a cat. Astrid ran her fingers through Edel's hair in pleasure before remembering she still had a mission to do. She reached for her phone in her purse and pressed record, ensuring that Edel's face was in full frame. Astrid made sure to exaggerate her moans and wrapped her legs around Edel's shoulders to capture the passionate moment at its fullest.

"Edel, I love you," Astrid declared, softly caressing Edel's head. Edel looked up, and Astrid noticed something strange: her purple eyes were unnaturally glowing, so much so that there didn't need to be light to see it. Astrid's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly dismissed it, assuming that it wasn't that serious.

Edel moved up from Astrid's grasp, loosening herself up in the process, and kissed Astrid deeply again. Astrid closed her eyes and let Edel have the illusion like she was in control. She allowed Edel to strip her off her clothes completely and do whatever she wanted with her, all while keeping the camera focused on Edel. Edel didn't seem to care, however. In that embrace, every thought of Karina, every doubt, every fear dissolved—leaving only the intoxicating certainty that Astrid was hers, utterly and irrevocably. A beast inside of her had awoken, and there was no use stopping it.

"Mmmh, Astrid..." Edel murmured, her voice low and husky, breath warm against Astrid's skin. "I want you..."

A slow, victorious smile spread across Astrid's lips. She leaned in, letting her words drip like honey. "You want me? Then you can have me."

Her fingers traced Edel's jawline, lifting her chin slightly. "Do you love me?"

"Yes," Edel whispered, eyes heavy, glowing faintly in the shadows. "I love you."

Astrid's grin widened with satisfaction—that was what she'd been waiting for. But it wasn't enough. Not yet. She needed more than Edel's surrender. She needed proof. She needed Karina to hear the words that would shatter her.

"Say it again for me, babe," Astrid purred, leaning in so their foreheads touched. "I want to feel it."

Edel nodded slowly, entranced. "I love you."

Astrid's eyes narrowed. "More than Karina?"

There was a pause—brief, almost imperceptible—but Astrid caught it. A flicker in Edel's expression. A stutter in the spell. Then:

"Yes," Edel said. "More than Karina."

Astrid's smile returned, this time curling with cruel delight.

"Good girl," she whispered, brushing her lips over Edel's. "Let's make sure she hears it too."

In their passionate kiss, Edel forcibly turned Astrid around so that she was on all fours, catching Astrid off guard and almost losing her grip on the phone. Just as she was about to readjust the camera angle, Edel deftly removed her pants and reached over to Astrid to pleasure her.

In between moans, Astrid taunted: "I'm sorry, Karina, but you've already lost. I have Edel wrapped around my finger, and there's nothing you can do about it."

Without warning, Edel inserted herself into Astrid, which was not something she anticipated.

Was this supposed to be one of the side effects? She thought.

"Ah! Hey, what are you–"

She stopped the recording and turned around to get Edel to stop, but she was overwhelmed by her roughness. Edel pinned her down and held her arms back, minimizing her movement. Astrid tried to fight back, but she was a lot weaker than Edel. Edel easily overpowered her, especially with the drug's effect on her. Astrid could do nothing but accept it, taking in groans and thrusts until Edel was done. For about two hours, all that was heard in the hideout mansion was the sound of skin and voices of ecstasy and pleasure.

Then, finally, Edel finished inside of Astrid, filling her stomach then ending in a deep bite to her shoulder and collapsing on top of her from exhaustion. Astrid couldn't feel her legs anymore as a result of having multiple orgasms. Her mind was numb, and for the first time in a long while, Astrid considered the consequences of her actions.

I really messed up... I didn't think she'd be like that. Could magic really do that? Please tell me I'm not dreaming.

Then, she passed out.

------

"Perchance, are you going to help us or just keep playing with that... thing?" Charlotte snapped, eyeing the strange furry object in his hands with visible disgust. "You've at least cleaned up a little, but I'm not about to thank Astrid for that."

Perchance flopped backward with a groan. "I liked it better when Astrid bossed me around. What do you want now, General Charlotte?"

Charlotte folded her arms. "We're going to spy on Reaper Records. See if we can sabotage the mafia's operations."

Perchance sat up like he'd been electrocuted. "What?! You want to go back there? After we almost died? Are you insane? No way."

"Oh, so you do have a braincell," Charlotte said dryly. "What do you suggest we do then? We don't have Edel, and without her, we're pretty much stalled."

"Anything but walk back into the jaws of death! Can't we find them somewhere else? A warehouse, a stash house—literally anywhere but their HQ?"

Charlotte gave him a pointed look. "Do you have a car to take us there? Oh wait—you let Astrid drive off with it."

Perchance's expression twisted with guilt and frustration. "It wasn't my idea. She's persuasive, okay?!"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "You mean she blinked at you twice and you folded like a wet napkin."

He crossed his arms, grumbling under his breath. "She has this insane magical ability where she's super good with words! You can't blame me!"

She ignored him. "Look, we don't need to storm the building. We just need intel. Iscar can help us watch from a distance—maybe even tap into their systems. But we need your magic for cover. You are still useful, aren't you?"

Perchance sighed, shoulders slumping. "Fine. But if I die, I'm haunting your closet."

Charlotte cracked a small smirk. "Deal."

Inside, Perchance felt a quiet sting. No one ever really treated him with respect unless they needed something. He was the comic relief, the magic guy, the guy who could peer into the past and present. Astrid had been the only one who spoke to him like a person—laughed at his jokes, got high with him, even helped him clean up when no one else cared. He missed her more than he expected.

He did feel closer to Tabo, especially after learning about his past with his dead mother. It made him see Tabo in a different light. But the weight of that secret—the truth he still hadn't told—sat heavy in his chest. As much as he liked having Tabo around, the friendship didn't feel entirely real. Not when it was built on something half-hidden.

"So... what are we doing? What's the plan?" Perchance asked, his tone flat, almost defeated.

Charlotte didn't seem to notice—or chose not to. "Iscar's going to get us there. We'll keep a safe distance and observe. Just watch who's coming and going from Reaper Records. Can you use your crystal ball to check what's happening inside?" she asked, already gathering her things. "Once we have a better sense of their operation, Iscar will take us out."

Perchance gave a slow nod, dragging his fingers through his hair. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say... boss."

The bitterness in his voice was subtle, but it lingered. He was already craving something—anything—to take the edge off.

Charlotte clapped her hands once. "Perfect. Then we should move now. We don't want to miss anything."

Perchance didn't reply. He just followed her out, the weight of being just a tool settling deeper in his chest.

------

The world folded in on itself with a whisper of shadows as Iscar dropped them off. One moment, they stood in the dusty living room of their safehouse, and the next, they were crouched behind the slanted ruins of an old billboard across the street from Reaper Records. The air shimmered faintly where the teleportation spell had settled—a ripple of darkness quickly swallowed by the daylight.

Iscar's voice echoed faintly in their minds. "You're on your own from here. Call when you're ready."

It was late afternoon—sunlight sharp and high in the sky, washing Reaper Records in a sheen of unforgiving brightness. The building stood like a fortress disguised as culture—dark glass, sleek lines, expensive graffiti art on the side to make it look edgy, clean, and legitimate. But behind those tinted windows was the mafia's beating heart.

"Perfect," Charlotte murmured, tugging her sleeves. "We're close enough. Perchance—use the crystal. I want to know what's happening inside. Especially if Ebony's there."

Perchance sat cross-legged behind a rusted rail, dragging the crystal ball out of his bag like a reluctant kid doing chores. "You could say 'please,'" he muttered, then sighed. "Whatever." His fingers moved in small, lazy gestures over the orb, and the surface began to ripple with smoke and light.

Beside him, Tabo had fished a battered old monocular from his coat pocket—something he'd swiped from Perchance's shelf days ago. He squinted through it, adjusting the lens with a gentle curse. "This thing smells like old socks."

"Shut up and use it," Charlotte said, scanning the area from behind her sunglasses. "If anyone looks like security or mafia muscle, mark 'em."

Tabo nodded, peering through the scope. "There's a guy out front wearing an earpiece, pacing... might be a lookout. Black SUV just pulled in... two more guys stepped out. They look loaded—guns, probably."

Perchance let out a low whistle. "Damn. There's a meeting going on inside. I see four people in one of the conference rooms—some kind of floor plan projected on the wall. One of them's definitely Ebony. Blonde, blue eyes, wearing all black, huge attitude."

Charlotte's eyes sharpened. "Good. Keep watching. See who she's talking to."

"Trying," Perchance mumbled. "She's gesturing at a map. Ports? Warehouses? It's too grainy... wait—she's yelling now. Someone messed up. She threw a drink. Whoa."

"Sounds about right," Charlotte muttered. "If we can figure out where those warehouses are, we might be able to intercept their supply runs."

Perchance squinted into the swirling crystal ball, his fingers tapping absently against the glass. "She's still all banged up," he muttered, almost to himself. "Bruised along the forehead, nose split, and she's holding her head like she's got migraines or something."

Charlotte leaned in slightly. "Ebony?"

"Yeah." Perchance tilted the orb, adjusting the angle. "It's from Iscar... must be. He got her good when we escaped the first time."

Tabo glanced over, adjusting the monocular again. "Then why isn't she dead?"

Perchance's brows pulled together. "That's exactly what I'm wondering."

He looked out across the street at the seemingly normal building. "Iscar could've ended her. Easily. She didn't even see him coming when he struck her. But... he didn't. Just roughed her up and left."

"Yeah," Tabo muttered, lowering the monocular and rubbing his jaw. "Maybe he didn't want her replaced with someone worse. Could be smarter to leave her damaged and in charge, rather than kill her and spark a power struggle."

He continued. "A destabilized mafia could be more chaotic than a wounded one. Iscar probably figured a fractured command would give us more time... more openings."

Perchance tilted the crystal orb again, watching Ebony limp into a back room, flanked by two guards. "She's not just hurt—she's paranoid. Keeps checking the windows, flinching at shadows. But she's still giving orders."

"She knows she's vulnerable," Charlotte said. "But she's not backing down."

Tabo reached for a notepad they'd brought, sketching a rough map of what they'd seen so far: guard positions, shifts, the front and back entrances. "This might be our best shot. She's weakened, and Reaper Records is running skeleton crew operations right now. We could slip in... gather intel, plant something, or screw up their next shipment."

"Still dangerous," Perchance said, biting at the edge of his nail. "We mess this up, and she won't be holding back next time."

"Which is why we won't mess up," Charlotte said sharply, her tone firm with resolve. "We hit them smart. Small sabotage. Ooh, I'm sounding more like Edel now, aren't I?"

Tabo nodded, then glanced to Perchance. "Can you track her movement for a little longer? We need to figure out her schedule, how often she leaves, who she talks to."

"Thanks, Perchance. We owe you," Charlotte said, her voice surprisingly genuine.

He gave a half-smirk, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, sure you do. Good thing Edel's family fortune is keeping me motivated, right? All I need is money."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Is that really all you need?"

Perchance shrugged, turning his gaze back to the orb. "It's what everyone assumes, isn't it?" His tone was light, but something hollow hid beneath it. "So I figured I'd lean in."

Charlotte didn't respond right away. The silence lingered for a beat too long before she quietly said, "Well... thanks anyway."

Perchance didn't look up. "Don't thank me yet."

Charlotte gave Tabo a nod, signaling it was time. "Alright," she said. "We've seen enough for today. Let's call Iscar."

Perchance stood up with a stretch, dusting off his pants. "Bout time. My brain's fried from scrying and spying."

"You've seen what you needed to see?" he asked, his voice low, detached, and echoing faintly as though coming from behind a wall of wind.

"We're ready to go back," Charlotte confirmed. "Thanks, Iscar."

He raised a hand, and with a rush of shadows and cold air, the three of them vanished from the street.

------

Back at the parlor, the room filled with warm sunlight as they reappeared. The faint scent of burning incense lingered, leftover from whatever Astrid had last done in the space. Perchance coughed once and flopped onto the couch, his body limp like a deflated balloon.

"That's enough action for one day," he mumbled.

Charlotte ignored him and turned to Tabo, rolling out their map again on the coffee table. "Now that we know Ebony's still healing, and we've tracked some of their main runners, we've got to plan our next moves smart. Disrupt one part of their operation at a time. We'll need a schedule. Targets. Times."

"Agreed," Tabo said, grabbing a pen. "I'll start listing the contacts Ebony is associated with. We need to know her plans"

Perchance closed one eye, staring up at the cracked ceiling. "Let me guess—I'm the designated spy again, huh? Just me and my good ol' trusty crystal ball?"

Charlotte didn't miss a beat. "You said it, not me," she replied with a sly smile, already outlining notes on the map with a piece of charcoal.

Tabo gave a short laugh. "Just keep tabs on Ebony. What she's doing, who she's meeting, anything. If we can catch wind of a plan early, we might have a shot at sabotaging it before it unfolds."

Perchance gave a loose shrug. "Yeah, alright. I guess I've got a role after all. Lucky me."

His voice lacked its usual flair, weighted by something heavier.

He reached under the couch, fingers brushing against the familiar crinkling of a bag tucked away in a crevice—leftover from the stash he bought with Astrid. He'd planned to save it for when they could laugh at the world together, but his chest felt hollow, his head buzzing with exhaustion heaviness.

"Just what I needed," he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible.

Neither Charlotte nor Tabo noticed. They were too caught up in plans, strategy, and the heavy work ahead. Perchance lined up the powder on the table into thin streaks, then inhaled. He exhaled slowly, then forced a grin. "Alright, let's get to it."