She stepped aside, and the door was opened for us.
There was no flourish to it—no announcement, no servant's voice to cushion our entrance. We were simply ushered in, as one might usher witnesses into a room already decided against them. The door shut behind us with a soft, deliberate finality, and with that sound the outside world was severed.
We sat.
Victoria first, composed as ever, her posture impeccable even under strain. Miss Lakshmi Silk Devi followed, hands folded neatly in her lap, eyes lowered in a manner that suggested discipline rather than submission. Miss Halle hesitated before sitting, her movements stiff, as though the floor itself might give testimony against her. Then there was myself. I sat last, too aware of my own presence, too conscious of how small I must have seemed in that moment.
Across from us were three women.
I recognized only one of them, and that alone unsettled me.
"She looks rather—" a voice began.
"Hm," another murmured in response.
The sentence was left unfinished, but its weight lingered in the air, heavy as cigar smoke. I lifted my gaze, attempting to match voices to faces. The woman who had spoken reclined slightly, her expression idle, her interest faint. The other did not bother to look at me at all.
"How are you, Victoria?" came a familiar voice from the far corner. "And Miss Heiwa as well."
Himitsu.
She occupied the shadows with ease, seated apart from the others as though distance were a privilege she could afford. Her tone was cordial, smooth enough to pass for warmth, and yet it carried the unmistakable edge of someone who had already measured us and found us lacking.
"And you two," she added, inclining her head toward Miss Lakshmi and Miss Halle, "welcome."
Of the remaining women, one was eating.
At first, I thought it improper—then I realized it was intentional. She ate roasted meat with methodical precision, tearing the flesh with practiced ease, pairing it with coarse bread as though this were not a meeting of consequence but a quiet morning meal. Himitsu poured her a glass of milk without being asked. The woman accepted it without acknowledgment.
She wore purple.
Not the bright vanity of youth, but a deep, imperial shade—muted, expensive, deliberate. She had not spoken a word, nor had she spared us more than a passing glance. The ease with which she occupied the space disturbed me far more than open hostility would have.
The moment stretched.
In that silence, I became aware of a scent—warm milk, old wood, ink, and something faintly metallic beneath it all. It stirred a sense of nostalgia I could not name, the sort that presses against the mind without offering memory. Around me, I noticed the others shift uncomfortably. Even Victoria, unflinching Victoria, watched the women across from us with narrowed eyes, her expression carefully blank.
"Heiwa," a calm voice said at last, "I heard you went to the capital to request aid."
The speaker lifted her teacup with unhurried grace. She had not yet introduced herself. That alone should have warned me.
"You chose an appropriate time," she added, pausing mid-sip.
"Oh—how rude of me." She smiled, setting the cup down. "You may call me Li Hua."
The room stilled.
Understanding struck a heartbeat too late. I straightened at once, lowering my gaze to the tatami mat beneath us. A regent. Of course she was. Power sat upon her as naturally as breath, unannounced and unquestioned.
"I appreciate your praise," I said carefully, each word dragged from me as though pulled against resistance, "but our efforts were for nought."
"Nonsense." Her smile did not falter. "An effort is always worthy of acknowledgment."
She studied me then—not as one studies a person, but as one examines a mechanism. "And who said you accomplished nothing?"
I looked up despite myself, confusion breaking through my restraint.
"The capital has already dispatched troops," she continued, tracing a finger idly along the mat. "They will arrive in two days."
Relief stirred, quickly smothered by reason. "They will miss the fighting," I said.
"True." Her gaze flicked briefly toward Victoria, then returned to me. "But that is not the point."
She seemed poised to say more. Whatever thought crossed her mind, she kept it there.
"Hm," Li Hua murmured instead. "A chimera engine."
The words were spoken with the same tone one might use to comment on the weather.
"Miss Lakshmi Silk Devi. Miss Halle." She inclined her head toward them. "Thank you for what you did."
Miss Lakshmi shifted, then bowed—precise, restrained, respectful without excess.
"I will see that you are rewarded," the regent added.
The woman in purple continued eating.
Victoria glanced toward her more than once, but said nothing. The silence surrounding that woman felt intentional, cultivated. She finished her meal slowly, wiped her hands with a cloth offered wordlessly by Himitsu, and only then lifted her gaze fully to us.
I could not read her expression.
The warmth in the room became more noticeable then. A corner glowed with red light, the soft flush of warmth pressing against the cold that still ruled the world beyond these walls. Winter remained outside—unyielding, patient. Inside, power gathered, unbothered by season or suffering.
I felt it then, keen and undeniable.
Whatever stood at the center of this experiment—whatever man, beast, or god it had birthed—its shadow had already reached far beyond its cage.
And we were sitting well within it.