Time/Date: Evening, TC1853.01.10
Location: Brenner Estate → Secret Meeting Location, Ring 5
Edmund Brenner stood in his private study, staring at the communication device on his desk like it was a coiled viper ready to strike. The crystal surface gleamed in the lamplight, innocent and ordinary. Just a tool. Just technology.
But what he was about to use it for was anything but ordinary.
Contact Serenya. Tonight.
His father's command echoed in his mind with the weight of absolute authority. The same tone Garrick had used when building the commercial empire. The same certainty that had turned grain into gold, farmers into merchant princes. That voice didn't allow for doubt, hesitation, or disobedience.
But this wasn't a business negotiation. This was asking his daughter—his biological daughter, the child he'd believed lost forever—to help commit murder.
Edmund's hand trembled as he reached for the device. Drew back. Reached again.
What have we become?
The thought came unbidden, unwelcome. Dangerous. Because if he let himself think too deeply about what they were planning, if he let himself see Mara as anything other than "the problem that needed solving," he might not be able to go through with it.
And if he didn't go through with it, his father would. With or without Edmund's help. The plan was already in motion, the pieces already moving. He could either be part of saving his family, or he could be the weak link that lets them all fall.
Selene, he thought with sudden, bitter anger. This is all your fault. Your jealousy, your schemes, your goddamned baby swap. We were fine before you dragged us all into your vendetta against your sister.
But even as the thought formed, Edmund knew it was a lie. A comfortable lie, but a lie nonetheless. He'd been complicit from the beginning. He'd known about Eveline's death—suspected, at least, even if he'd never asked the questions that might confirm his suspicions. He'd turned a blind eye to Mara's treatment, told himself it wasn't his business, that Selene knew what she was doing.
He'd chosen comfort over conscience. And now conscience was a luxury he could no longer afford.
The worst part—the part that made his stomach turn—was that he'd be asking Elara to do this. His daughter with Eveline. The baby he'd thought was being taken to safety seventeen years ago. The child he'd mourned in quiet moments when Selene wasn't looking, wondering what kind of person she'd become, hoping she was happy wherever Selene had sent her.
And here she was. Raised as Serenya Long. Living a lie. Trapped in the same nightmare web that had ensnared them all.
Does she even think of me as her father? Or am I just another conspirator to her now?
Edmund picked up the communication device with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else. Activated it. Entered the code Garrick had given him—a private channel, encrypted, untraceable through normal means. The kind of communication line you used when you didn't want any record of what was discussed.
The kind you used for crimes.
The device hummed softly, establishing a connection. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
"Hello?" Serenya's voice came through crystal-clear, carrying that peculiar quality her altered vocal cords gave it. Slightly musical. Carefully modulated. The voice of someone who'd learned to perform nobility so thoroughly she'd almost forgotten what authenticity sounded like.
Or maybe she'd never known. Maybe growing up as someone else had hollowed out whatever remained of Eveline's gentle warmth.
"Serenya. It's Edmund." He paused, unsure how to begin. How did you ease into asking someone—your own daughter—to help murder their... what even was Mara to Serenya? A stolen identity's replacement? An obstacle? Just another piece on a board full of lies? "We need to meet. Tonight. It's urgent."
The silence on the other end stretched long enough to make him wonder if the connection had failed. Then: "Does this have anything to do with the Amber Kiss investigation?"
Her voice had gone carefully neutral. The tone of someone who already knew the answer but hoped desperately to be wrong.
"In a manner of speaking." Edmund chose his words with the care of someone navigating a minefield. "But not over the communicator. Can you meet me at the old canal warehouse? The one we used for the autumn grain storage before we expanded to the new facilities?"
Another pause. Shorter this time. "When?"
"Two hours."
Enough time for her to leave the Long family compound without raising suspicion. Late enough that the tram lines would be less crowded, though the journey across three ring boundaries would still take time. Long enough for him to figure out what words could possibly make this ask less monstrous.
"I'll be there."
The connection cut with a soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet study.
Edmund set the device down and reached for the amber liquor on his desk. Poured three fingers into a crystal glass. Downed it in one burning swallow that did nothing to settle the sick feeling in his stomach.
Two hours.
Two hours to figure out how to convince Serenya—his daughter, Eveline's daughter, a girl who should have been raised with love and safety—to become an accomplice to murder. Though knowing Serenya, convincing might not be the hard part.
That's what seventeen years of living a lie did to a person. It turned them into something that could look at murder and see only logistics.
***
The canal-side warehouse district was quiet at this hour, the commercial waterway reflecting the last light of evening like tarnished silver. Most of the barge traffic had ceased with sunset, leaving only the skeletal night crews loading late shipments and the occasional patrol of district guards making their rounds with practiced boredom.
The warehouse itself sat at the junction where two smaller canals met, its weathered stone walls marked by decades of water-level fluctuations and the occasional winter flooding that plagued the Fifth Ring's lower elevations. One of the first properties Garrick had acquired in his initial expansion beyond agricultural trade—older than most of the surrounding buildings, maintained well enough to avoid attention from building inspectors but not so pristine that it looked actively used.
Perfect for conversations that needed to happen without witnesses.
Edmund arrived first, lighting one of the oil lamps near the entrance. The warm glow barely pushed back the shadows in the cavernous space, making the stacked crates and covered equipment look like huddled figures waiting in judgment. The smell hit him—old grain dust, canal water seeping through stone, machine oil from equipment long since relocated to better facilities.
Stop being maudlin, he told himself sharply. This is a necessity. Survival. Nothing more.
But his hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Footsteps on the wooden dock outside announced Serenya's arrival—lighter than he'd expected, quick and purposeful. Edmund turned as she entered, and what he saw confirmed what he already knew—this wouldn't be the hard sell he'd feared.
She wore simple traveling clothes in muted browns and grays—the kind of outfit that would let her move through the lower districts without drawing attention. Her silver hair (not Eveline's auburn, that had been changed, hidden) was bound in a practical braid rather than the elaborate styles she usually favored. But the violet eyes that met his—those artificially altered eyes that masked Eveline's emerald—carried no fear. No horror at what might be asked of her.
Instead, they held calculation. Cold assessment. The look of someone who'd already decided that survival trumped morality.
She looked like what she actually was: a ruthless young woman who'd do whatever it took to protect what she'd stolen.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—Edmund saw something else beneath that calculation. A flash of recognition. Of awareness. She knows I'm her father. Amara told her. And she's here anyway.
"Uncle Edmund." She used the family term automatically, though they both knew the relationship was far more complicated than that simple word suggested. A lie wrapped in courtesy. "What's this about?"
The casual use of "uncle" felt obscene given what he was about to ask. But acknowledging their true relationship would crack open emotions neither of them could afford right now.
"Close the door," Edmund said quietly.
Serenya hesitated, then complied. The heavy wooden door swung shut with a dull thud that seemed to seal them into a pocket of reality separate from the rest of the world. A space where normal rules and morality didn't apply.
"The investigation into the Amber Kiss incident is expanding," Edmund began, choosing his approach carefully. "The police have DNA samples. They'll be processed within the next week or two."
Serenya's face went pale. "I thought Selene was taking responsibility for that. That was the plan—"
"Selene can take responsibility for the drugging," Edmund cut her off. "But when those DNA results come back, they're going to reveal something far worse than a poisoning scheme."
He watched her violet eyes narrow. Not with horror. With sharp calculation, as she ran through the implications.
"The baby swap," she said flatly. No shock. No distress. Just a cold acknowledgment of a tactical problem.
"All three of them," Edmund confirmed, and something twisted in his chest at how easily he could say it to his own daughter. "Yours. Amara's. Mara's. The entire conspiracy exposed. Which means both the Long and Lin families will learn they've been deceived. That we've been harboring their stolen daughter."
"While I've been living under a false identity," Serenya finished, her voice steady. Too steady for someone just learning, their entire life might crumble. "Enjoying privileges I have no right to."
Edmund realized with a chill that she'd already thought through this scenario. Probably had contingencies planned. Serenya always had contingencies.
"Selene created this mess. I was a baby when the swap happened." But there was no real conviction in her words. Just the reflexive deflection of someone testing which excuses might work.
"You are no longer a child, and you have been enjoying the fruits of that deception," Edmund countered. "The Lin and Long families won't care that you were an unwitting beneficiary at first. They'll care that you've continued the fraud. That you've taken resources, training, and status that belonged to their true daughter. Not only that, but you have actually conspired to harm their daughter, even going to drastic measures to destroy her. Tell me, Serenya—" He paused, letting the weight settle. "—what do you think they will do to you?"
He watched her process this. Watched her run the calculations that had nothing to do with morality and everything to do with survival. Her hands clenched briefly at her sides before she controlled the gesture.
Does she see me at all? Or just another obstacle, another piece of the machinery that trapped her?
"What kind of steps?" Her voice carried no tremor. No fear. Just the flat tone of someone who'd already accepted they were about to cross lines.
The warehouse seemed to hold its breath. Outside, water lapped against the dock pilings with soft, rhythmic sounds that felt obscene in their normalcy. The world continuing its peaceful rhythms while they planned an atrocity.
"The current DNA samples need to be contaminated," Edmund said. Each word felt like a stone dropping into still water, ripples of consequence spreading outward. "Made unusable. When the lab discovers the degradation, they'll request fresh samples. Which gives us a window."
"A window to eliminate the witness." It wasn't a question. Serenya had arrived at the conclusion with cold efficiency.
Edmund felt something shift in his chest at how easily she'd said it. No euphemisms. No hesitation. Just ruthless pragmatism that somehow made this both easier and more horrifying.
She's Eveline's daughter. My daughter. And this is what we've made her into.
"Yes."
Serenya's violet eyes held his, and Edmund saw something in them that made his blood run cold. Not fear. Not horror. Something closer to... satisfaction? As if she'd been waiting for this moment. For permission to do what she'd perhaps wanted to do all along.
"I want you to help save yourself," Edmund said, though the words felt hollow now. He was the one rationalizing, making excuses. Serenya had already moved past that. "And the rest of us. Because when those DNA results are released, we all fall."
"Then we'd better make sure that doesn't happen." Serenya's tone carried finality. Decision made. No moral wrestling required. "What do you need from me?"
Edmund felt a chill at how smoothly she'd transitioned from hearing the plan to implementing it. No protests. No attempts to find another way. Just cold acceptance and immediate focus on logistics.
This is my daughter. This is what seventeen years of lies has created.
"Two things. First, access to the Lin family compounds that can contaminate DNA samples without detection. Something that degrades genetic markers but appears like a natural breakdown or improper storage conditions. The kind of thing that happens in poorly maintained evidence facilities or through simple human error in handling."
"Caelia keeps her medical access codes in her study," Serenya said without hesitation. "I can get them. What's the timeline?"
"Tomorrow night at the latest."
This was the part Edmund had been dreading. The point of no return.
"And the second thing—we need to know where Mara is hiding. Your connections to the Long family give you access to intelligence networks, tracking resources. Find her. Report her location to Father. And..." He couldn't quite meet her eyes. Couldn't look at Eveline's daughter—even through those artificially altered features—while he said this. "Help arrange the accident that will ensure she never makes it to that DNA retesting."
"An accident," Serenya repeated, and something that might have been dark amusement flickered across her face. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Gas leak," Edmund said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "Old building in the lower districts. Tragic but common enough that no one questions it."
"And you need me to find which building she's hiding in so you can blow her up." No judgment in her voice. Just a cold statement of fact. "Anything else?"
The casual way she discussed it—like arranging a business transaction—made Edmund's stomach turn. This is my child. My daughter. And I've asked her to become this.
"That's... that's all."
Serenya stood, moving toward the door with purposeful strides. None of the emotional shock he'd expected. Just efficient planning. "I'll have the contamination compound by tomorrow evening. And I'll start tracking her location tonight. The Long family intelligence network monitors movements in the lower districts. It shouldn't take long to find her."
She paused with her hand on the door latch, and when she turned back, her violet eyes were hard as winter ice. "But understand something, Edmund."
The use of his name—not "Uncle"—felt like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"I'm not doing this because you asked. I'm not doing it to save the Brenner family." Her voice dropped to something cold and precise. "I'm doing this because Amara and Selene's incompetence created this mess. Because their stupidity put everything I've built at risk. And because I learned a long time ago that the only person I can rely on to protect my interests is myself."
She yanked the door open. "If this plan fails—if any part of it exposes me—I won't go down for the Brenners. I'll bury you all myself to save what I have. Are we clear?"
Edmund could only nod, throat suddenly tight. She's telling her own father she'll destroy him if necessary. And she means every word.
"Good. Expect my confirmation tomorrow evening. And tell Garrick..." A cruel smile curved her lips. "Tell him I hope his plan is better thought out than the banquet scheme was. Because I don't clean up messes twice."
She left without waiting for a response, her footsteps fading into the night with the confidence of someone who'd never doubted their ability to survive—no matter who had to die for it.
Edmund stood alone in the warehouse, surrounded by shadows and the weight of what he'd just set in motion. His hands had finally stopped shaking—but only because he'd just encountered something more frightening than his own guilt.
Serenya's complete lack of it.
What have we created? he wondered, thinking of the girl who'd been raised as Long nobility. Who'd learned cruelty from Caelia. Who'd perfected it into something cold and calculated. Who'd just agreed to help murder another girl without a moment's hesitation.
What have I made of my own daughter?
Outside, clouds gathered with unnatural speed, and somewhere in the distance, a raven cried out—once, sharp and clear, like a warning no one would heed.
The conspiracy was sealed. The pieces were in motion.
And reality, as always, was listening.