A few meters away, Scarlet paused, her hand lingering on a dark cashmere wrap. Her eyes casually swept over the fitting lounge.
There, she caught sight of Ryan standing by the shoe boxes. Her brow didn't furrow nor, did her posture shift, but her dark eyes narrowed by a fraction. The young man standing there had a broader frame, a more mature jawline, and a completely different hair tone than the records in her memory bank. Yet there was a striking, familiar structure to his face—a shadow of a profile she and Rose had spent months tracking and logging during the early asset transport sweeps.
Rose noticing Scarlet's subtle pause stepped up beside her, her gaze following Scarlet's line of sight toward the dressing room.
"Recognize something?" Rose asked under her breath, her voice barely a murmur over the store's background music.
"A face from the old transport registries," Scarlet replied smoothly, keeping her eyes fixed on Ryan while turning a price tag over in her fingers. "The build is different, features are matured, but the resemblance is too close to be a complete random stranger. What do you estimate the probability of an unregistered subject walking about in a designer dresses in the exact same store as us?"
"Slim," Rose noted, her posture remaining totally unbothered as she glanced at Holly, who was currently laughing with the stylist.
"Either our luck is absurdly bad, or Vince Duchy's local net has far more holes than Bill Curt reported."
Across the small expanse of the luxury floor, Ryan didn't break eye contact for more than a second, playing off his brief glance as nothing more than a passing look at two attractive shoppers before turning his attention back to Holly.
Both sides remained still, scheming, scanning, and measuring the silence between them—neither fully certain if their cover had been blown, or if the next move would trigger a quiet confrontation right in the middle of the high-end department store.
Ryan's hand rested casually against the armrest of the velvet seat. Beneath his palm, his ability flared with a low, incognito vibration. The structural integrity of the chair's internal frame gave way as two medium-sized iron nails dissolved, creeping out from the upholstery like liquid metal before fusing together into a razor-sharp, whisper-thin blade tucked against his sleeve.
A faint, dangerous grin touched his lips. Raising his voice just enough to carry across the quiet lounge, Ryan declared,
"I have no desire to make war on anyone; I have inherited many wars to make new ones."
In the dressing stall, Holly paused mid-change. She peeked her head out from behind the velvet curtain, a mischievous spark in her eyes as she winked at him. "Oh I didn't know king Philippe the Second was around," she chimed in, letting out a bright, casual laugh.
But as her eyes locked onto Ryan, the lightheartedness vanished. The absolute stillness in his frame and the razor-thin tension in his posture hit her like a cold wave. Sensing the immediate threat, Holly's hand tightened on the polished frame of the dressing mirror. Instantly, a cool metallic sheen rippled across her skin as her hands transformed entirely into dense, reflective aluminum—matching the exact material her fingers rested upon.
Across the display aisle, Scarlet's dark eyes narrowed. Her right hand slid subtly beneath the lapel of her jacket, her fingers coming to rest on the grip of her concealed piece.
The senior stylist, completely oblivious to the tension forming around her, clapped her hands together with a professional smile. "Is there anything else I can assist you with, miss?"
"Actually, yes," Holly replied seamlessly, keeping her metallic hands tucked behind her back. "I'd love a recommendation on a scarf that matches this blue ensemble."
"Right away! I'll pull a few silk options from the front display," the stylist said warmly, turning on her heel and stepping out of the fitting lounge.
The second the stylist's back was turned, Scarlet let out a low, mocking hum. "Since when did you two start studying sixteenth-century Spanish history?"
She didn't get to finish the sentence.
Before the words fully left her mouth, Holly launched herself forward, her aluminum-coated fist blurring through the air straight toward Scarlet's face at incredible speed.
The air cracked with the sudden force of the strike, alas Rose moved faster.
In a lightning-fast reflex, Rose threw her right forearm up, catching Holly's metallic fist mid-air. The impact echoed through the lounge like a heavy hammer striking an anvil.
Rose scoffed with cold eyes as she held Holly's punch completely dead in its tracks. "A wall without strong defense is an invitation to its enemies—King Alfred the Great."
"Yeah right" Holly grit her teeth though not visible as the recoil from delivery such a strong punch dawned on her
"Then try defending this!"
Ryan snapped his wrist forward. The metallic blade he had synthesized shot from his hand like a bullet, slicing cleanly through the air. It screeched to a sudden, absolute halt a fraction of an inch from the bridge of Scarlet's nose, hovering in place as Ryan held it stable with his ability. His eyes burned with raw, unadulterated venom, staring straight into Scarlet's unblinking gaze.
Scarlet didn't flinch. Her hand remained glued to her holster beneath her coat, her eyes locked onto Ryan's as the sharp edge of the floating blade glinted under the boutique lights.
For three agonising seconds, the four superhumans stood frozen in a deadly, high-stakes standoff—fists locked, weapons drawn, and abilities flared.
"Click-clack. Click-clack."
The sharp, rhythmic heel-clicks of the returning stylist echoed from the main display corridor causing the tension to be snapped.
Rose released Holly's aluminum wrist, stepping backward into the shadows of the silk rack in one fluid motion. Holly pulled her hands back into her coat sleeves, her skin flushing back to natural tone as she smoothed down her dress. Ryan flicked his fingers, retracting the thin blade back into his sleeve where it vanished into his pocket, his venomous stare regained it's calm, unbothered expression as he sat back down on the plush bench.
"I found three wonderful options in silk!" the stylist announced cheerfully, stepping back into the lounge carrying a tray of vibrant scarves, completely unaware of what had happened, giving Ryan one final, cold, promises-of-war look before she and Rose turned, blending effortlessly back into the high-end retail crowd or so it seemed.