Rosalind reached the peak. Her fingers clawed at the metal, and her boots struck the glass. The ballroom sprawled and twisted, with only windows remaining at the group's feet. One crack, one chip, and they'd be sucked out, to a vacuum, to the throat to the void.
Rosa huffed, scanning the group, all present except one.
She peered down at the latch, the reflective liquid filling the tight space like lava. And Cassian fumbled heels, her sequinned dress jiggling like a demon-shaped treat.
"Hurry," Rosa snapped.
But she saw it—knew the outcome of the next second.
The void rose, hands, claws, howls.
Cassian's eyes met Rosa's.
And Rosa closed the latch.
Liquid rammed the steel, chromic blood, pooling at her feet, her arms grabbing, twisting, tightening, and sealed.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Monster or girl, she didn't know.
Crunch. Scream. Cry.
She knew.
But she didn't dare open it.
"Help." The siren drowned, "Please, open up."
The group stared at Rosa, like the villain she was, Cass's fangs jittering, her heel ready to move.
"Go ahead," Rosa said, "call me what I am." She pressed the metal, forcing the hinge to remain sealed.
Cassian went silent, words, insults, and slurs on the lips around her. She knew, she knew it well. Not everyone had what it takes. They didn't know what she did.
Then, slam, Rosa's feet shifted again, the metal buckling, howls of laughter, menace. Fingers pried a gap, a sliver of flesh painted, nailed, scaled skin, reaching the light.
"You call yourself a doctor," the voice laughed, "look at the monster among you."
Rosa leaned all her weight down, her entire force fighting the thin fingers.
"Someone, fuck. Help me." Rosa ordered.
But nothing, they just watched.
"You stupid bastards. Do you think now is the time for morals?"
But even Lucien looked at her and gave her that look. She was the villain, the evil witch who took lives, not saved them.
The voice laughed, giggled, and mocked.
"What's wrong, darling? did you think they would follow you? Rosalind the general, Rosalind the betrayer."
Her boots slipped, her heart pounding. She mustn't; she couldn't let go. She had to stop it and protect them no matter the cost. She had to fix this.
Then, sweat betrayed her grip like oil—her hand slipped, and the latch snapped open like a trigger.
"No!" she screamed.
Suddenly, Cass vaulted the metal with a snarl, her burning green eyes stabbing toward the creature.
"Stop wearing her skin," Cass shouted.
She kicked the latch shut, and Lucien finally decided to help. Then, they closed the seal again.
"Traitor", the steel roared, "are we not blood?"
"No", Cass hissed.
Cassian's voice screamed after that, begging, cries, then laughter, insults, and sobs again.
Rosa knew what it was; she knew, Cassian didn't survive, the moment it grabbed her—the moment Rosa chose to close that door.
Glass rippled, words left unsaid, something on the other side mirroring their stance. She wiped the chrome away, the window streaking with her too-stained hands.
The group collectively slumped.
She waited for the voice to snarl, to mock, to call her a butcher.
But the fragment said nothing.
Even Echo was silent. And somehow, that was worse.
Then—
A crack.
Bone against glass.
Steam cooking diamond.
Marshal collapsed—his knees struck, Lorelai sliding from his arms.
"Marsh—" Rosa said. Then: "Brother!"
The word tasted sick. Unearned.
He flinched—not from the name, but from trying to rise.
His arms trembled. His teeth clenched. The inquisitor, she had forced him to be, tried to lift Lorelai.
Bone creaked, flesh growled, a spark of Shadow's core.
But his body dropped again. Harder this time.
Cracked.
Broken.
Melting...
He didn't cry out.
Not once.
Not even when he crumbled.
"Stop it." Said Lucien, "You're falling apart."
Marshal's growl didn't waver. His muscles refused to yield—until something shattered.
Like a vase. Like diamond.
Unbreakable, until it wasn't.
Lorelai flopped onto the metal.
Knee leaked crimson.
Rosa's tail tightened, her tattoo flaring hot again.
"Keep watch," She said.
Lucien's eyes met hers, the exact words he told Marshal, imprinting her skin.
She wasn't a maiden. Not delicate.
"He will recover," she said.
She couldn't look her brother in the eye saying that, she didn't dare to.
But she stood, finally, as Lucien crouched beside Marshal.
The man would recover—because he had to.
But she couldn't wait for him to stand. Wait for Shadow's snarl.
Lucien knew enough, just the bits she divulged.
Her eyes flicked toward Cass. Still, quiet, staring into nothing.
It was irking, yanking her tail.
Rosa had let her sister drown, and she had done the final blow.
"With me," Rosa said.
Cass flinched—then looked up. Too analytical. Too empty. Like a machine learning how to hate.
"Come," Rosa said, urging the girl away from that haunted latch.
Rosa didn't wait, walking, pacing, marching ahead, and behind the siren, reluctant at first, trailed behind, her steps slow.
She half expected the girl to stop entirely, or in fact not even move from the spot. It took a thorn not to turn and check, to walk pretending those heels didn't want to stab her back.
Cass had the right to shout, scream, pull Rosa's hair, and demand why. Instead, the siren matched her pace, scanned her surroundings and watched for threats.
It was odd how it made Rosa shiver—green eyes like sensors, heart forged of iron, veins of circuits.
It was familiar, too familiar.
A cord in her frosted chest, that hated that time.
Maybe if her eyes were blue, her hair white… is that how Rosa looked those years ago?
Was that when the scholar turned into a general?
Cass's eyes side-swiped Rosa a look.
"You're staring," it said.
Rosa cleared her throat, but Cass's expression only became more critical.
Hells, what could she even say? Did the girl even want to hear? Was she projecting?
Then, lips moved.
"You don't have to pretend," Rosa said.
A brief twitch moved in the girl's face, a fragment of a wound. Rosa knew that feeling, knew that pride.
Cass's fangs parted, just for a second, an inhale of breath, pupils dilating, before—
"Blasted men." Amara moaned.
Cass's expression stiffened, froze, thawed to a blank canvas, then she increased her pace.
Amara tightened a hand on Cass's arm.
"Where are you going?" Amara said, "Don't you think it's a bit reckless to run off on your own?"
Cass said nothing.
"The devil himself, girl, are you trying to take Lorelai's footsteps. To be another failure."
The Siren showed a hint of fangs at that.
Amara scoffed, "Is that any way to regard you're mother?"
"You're not my mother," Cass said—cold, not loud.
Amara slapped the girl. Hard. Sharp. Enough for Rosa to see the flush of blood, pooling in the girl's cheeks.
"I brought you from that, father of yours, higher than market value, mind you. And this is the way you treat me." Amara raised her hand again, "You dare disobey—"
The hand swung, but Rosa's fingers caught it. Blue eyes met gold. And Amara didn't falter this time. Lips spelling monster, villain… bitch. But Rosa's fingers only tightened.
"Aren't you ashamed?" said Rosa. "You call yourself mother, yet slap them like slaves."
Amara scoffed, "What is this now? You might be a general, but didn't you know a woman can do what she wants with her assets? This is none of your business, Lady Sylvain."
Cass stared at Rosa, mind whirling, likely putting the pieces together. Yes, Lady Sylvain, as in, deposed daughter of Empress Sylvain.
But who gave a fuck about that right now.
Rosa tightened her grip, Amara making a face, like she knew it hurt, but fought it anyway. The Wendigo was far better when she didn't know she was right. As demeaning as it was, Rosa held no power in demon ownership and asset management.
But she stepped closer, nose to fang.
"The name is General, and you rat, do you think laws matter now?"
Rosa bent her fingers, Amara daring to resist, hissing her breath.
"You always found your way around rules, Lady Sylvain. Maybe you can ask your mother to clean up your shit. The Empress does like to lick her children's arses after all."
Rosa surged Hemarite and snapped.
Amara screamed as her wrist hung loose, her tears drooling around her snarl.
"You Valkar are all the same! A bunch of sex hungry beasts, with too much power."
Rosa cracked her bones. She should have done this hours ago. She raised her fist.
However, unexpectedly, Cass stepped in. Green eyes flaring with intent to stop her.
"Out of my way!" Rosa snapped, "I'll show her the so-called power we beasts wield."
Cass pressed her lips. "Doctor,"
Rosa flinched, "I'm not— "
"Even you couldn't get away with murdering her." Cass finished. "She is part of the circle."
Rosa stared at the girl, then back at the filth behind her.
"Fuck." She said. "FUCK!" she shouted.
Cass lowered her arms, "Kill one of the circle and the circle will kill you."
Rosa batted her temple "Of all rats, she. Works for them."
It was insane to think how many times she almost killed the woman, how many times she had nearly marked herself. It was an ongoing effort, even the monarchs seemed to struggle with. Kill one of the circle, and they will know it was you. No matter the armour or the soldiers, death is silent, bloodless, and swift.
Then, Rosa heard boots.
Voices.
"Oh, finally, more survivors," huffed Amara. "Maybe I'll find some less barbaric company,"
No.
Rosa's gaze swept the newcomers—smiles too clean. Weapons too military.
And then she saw it: an Eitherite melter clipped to the belt of a demon with too many teeth.
Cass edged behind Rosa's shadow, her scales dimming, her fangs baring with instinct.
She knew what came next.
Salvagers don't carry anti-material rifles.
Pirates do.