They dressed her in silver.
Not white — the Order did not believe in innocence.
Only precision. Only obedience.
Only blood, if the music demanded it.
Evelyn stood before the long mirror, hands shaking as she tied the final ribbon at her throat. Velvet. Midnight blue.
"I won't do it," she whispered.
From behind her, Madame Lys stepped forward, brushing her shoulders like a mother might.
"You will," Lys said softly. "Because you were born for this. Because she trusted you to finish what she began."
"She wanted to leave."
"And she failed. But you can still make her sacrifice mean something."
Evelyn stared at her reflection — a perfect assassin in a ballerina's disguise.
Her eyes burned with a fury she had no place to show.
Not yet.
Her target was simple.
A man known as "The Clockmaker."
A genius in micro-surveillance. A traitor to the Order. He had vanished five years ago — until last week, when his name showed up on a ledger.
Now he was hiding in an abandoned casino near the docks.
And Evelyn had been sent to silence him.
But she didn't go alone.
She brought a note.
Hidden beneath her glove, sealed in wax.
If something happens to me… go to the girl with the storm in her eyes. She's the one they never saw coming.
She signed it with a name no one knew was hers: Eve Dusk.
The casino was dust and ruin.
But the stage still worked.
She walked across the faded marble, passing broken tables and spilled memories.
Then she heard it — a soft tick-tick-tick.
She followed it through a rusted corridor, past torn curtains and old blackjack signs…
And found him.
Bent over a table, still building clocks.
He didn't look up. "I wondered when they'd send you."
"I didn't come to kill you," Evelyn said. "Not yet."
He turned — and his eyes widened.
"You're her sister."
Evelyn raised the blade.
"Don't make this harder."
He didn't beg.
He only said: "Then make sure she never comes here."
But Evelyn hesitated.
She remembered her sister, dancing in the rain, laughing in stolen moments.
The girl she left behind.
The girl she swore to protect.
"No," Evelyn whispered. "No more blood."
But the Order had followed her.
They always did.
Gunfire exploded behind her.
She took the bullet meant for the Clockmaker.
And as she fell, she dropped the note.
The Clockmaker picked it up with trembling hands — and vanished before the second shot came.
Evelyn lay on the floor, eyes wide, breath shallow.
She heard Lys's voice as the world dimmed.
"Leave her. She's done enough."
They didn't bury her.
They preserved her.
As a warning. A treasure. A secret.
A failed daughter of the Velvet Order.
But Evelyn hadn't failed.
She had left behind the truth.
She had pointed the way.
To Isabella.
Back in the present, Isabella stood before the glass coffin, hand trembling as it pressed against the surface.
"You were always the one protecting me," she whispered.
Madame Lys watched her quietly.
"She chose her death. Now you must choose yours."
But Isabella didn't move.
She looked down at the velvet ribbon on Evelyn's neck.
Midnight blue — and just slightly torn at the edge.
Just enough to hide… a seal.
She ripped it off.
Inside was a name.
One the Order had erased from every record.
But now… it was back.
Isabella turned to Lys.
"You made a mistake," she said coldly. "You preserved your own destruction."