A sleek, black automobile with brass accents glided to a silent stop on the gravel road in front of a massive warehouse in the suburbs of Reed. Five men stepped out, wearing dark, leather coats.
The one who seemed like the supervisor, a lean man with a scar above his right eye, raised a hand.
"This is it,"
he said, his voice low.
"Calvin's Warehouse."
He gestured to two of the men.
"Get the explosives. The rest of you, with me."
The two men who remained drew out small, silenced brass pistols. They moved with a practiced quiet, their leather boots making little sound on the gravel.
Two security guards on patrol duty saw them coming and approached cautiously.
"This is private property,"
one of the guards said, his hand moving towards the sidearm on his hip.
"What's your business here?"
The supervisor didn't answer. The guards, seeing the pistols, moved to draw their weapons, but before they could, the two men fired. A pair of gasps followed as the guards fell quickly, their bodies hitting the ground with a soft thud.
One of the men took a ring of keys from a guard's belt and quickly unlocked the massive steel doors to the warehouse. The doors groaned open on massive hinges, revealing a large space filled with rows upon rows of exotic and luxurious automobiles. Each one was a masterpiece of chrome and brass, likely costing millions of Orns.
The men dragged the guards' bodies inside, tossing them behind a stack of crates. The other two men returned with several wooden crates, each marked with a bright red warning label.
"Get them planted,"
the supervisor ordered.
One of the men stared at the expensive vehicles.
"Boss, we gotta take one. Just one."
"We leave with nothing. A stolen automobile leaves too many traces. It's not worth it."
The supervisor said.
The men sighed in disappointment but followed the order, swiftly moving through the rows of cars, carefully placing the dynamite. A timer was set on one of the crates, the small, mechanical clock counting down from one minute. As the last tick of the timer echoed in the vast space, the men hurried back to their vehicle and sped away, the tires kicking up a cloud of gravel.
In the automobile, the supervisor pulled a large, clunky box from beneath his seat. He flipped open the top, revealing a small speaker and a microphone. A crackling sound filled the air as a voice answered.
"Is it done?"
"Yes, boss, the job is done. We've planted the dynamite in Calvin's Warehouse."
"Well done,"
the voice replied, calm and collected.
"Were you noticed?"
"I doubt it, boss. The area was cleared."
The supervisor said.
" The dynamite should go off any time no–"
He was cut off by a powerful rumble that shook the ground.
"Was that it?"
the voice asked.
"Yes, boss,"
the supervisor replied, his voice filled with adrenaline.
"That was it."
"Get back to base. Quickly. Before the security teams track your whereabouts."
The supervisor cut the connection and tossed the box to the side.
"Floor it!"
he yelled to the driver.
************************************************
Around the same time, in the manor's living quarters, the children were lounging around lazily, the silence of the room punctuated by the distant hum of the ventilation systems. It had been three weeks since the Baron's revelation, and the tension had settled into something uncomfortable. Beatrice was no longer in her wheelchair. The hole in the wall was now a smooth, but slightly discolored, patch of white.
"Its still hard to believe that someone like Emmett is part of a Baron's family,"
Felix said, breaking the silence. He was lying on a plush sofa, his hands behind his head.
Eta looked up from a book she was reading, her voice flat.
"His surname is Thorne. What did you expect? "
"He sure doesn't act like it,"
Theta said with a laugh, her eyes mocking as she glanced at Emmett, who was standing near the window.
"Don't dwell on the matter,"
Emmett said, his voice low and distant.
"It makes me uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable?"
Felix said, sitting up.
"What's uncomfortable about it? We could use it to our advantage. If you were actually to rise to power, we could all find a way to escape the Baron's grasp."
Corbin scoffed, not looking up from the book he was reading.
"That's impossible. It's Baron Calvin himself who is orchestrating this whole thing. He's just going to use Emmett for his own benefit. The moment Emmett is no longer useful, he'll be gone."
Emmett let out a weary sigh.
"Just stop,"
he said, his voice with a finality that made them fall silent.
They sat in a quiet for a while, until Felix broke it again.
"Hey, do you have a middle name?"
Emmett turned slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"Members of a barony often have one. The middle name is always something grand and aristocratic,"
Felix replied, a mischievous smirk on his face. The others began to press him to tell them.
"Don't bother me,"
Emmett said, turning his back to them.
"Come on, what is it?"
Briar asked, her eyes filled with a teasing light.
"Just tell us, and we'll drop it."
Emmett let out a defeated sigh and turned back to them.
"Fine. Just so you'll leave me alone."
He took a deep breath.
"My middle name is Cogsley."
Silence.
Then a single, quiet chuckle from Eta broke the quiet. Then another one from Felix. Then a full-blown roar of laughter from all of them. Even Beatrice, Briar, and Rhys couldn't hold back. Corbin stared at him, his face a mask of disbelief.
"What kind of a stupid name is that?"
Corbin asked, his voice laced with mocking disbelief.
"What were your parents thinking?"
Emmett ignored him, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He crossed the room, turned on the box-style TV in the corner, and the screen crackled to life.
A reporter in a flying airship was hovering over a scene of chaos. Smoke and flames billowed from a massive, skeletal building.
"Urgent Transmission!"
the reporter said, his voice urgent over the sound of crackling fire.
"The Reed district is in chaos after a massive explosion at one of Baron Calvin's storage warehouses. There are speculations on the cause, but the damage is catastrophic. The warehouse, which contained millions of Orns worth of valuable automobiles, is a total loss."
The laughter died in their throats as they stared at the screen, their minds struggling to process the image of the burning building. People were running in the streets below, and the air filled with the sounds of screaming. They watched in horror, their taunts now forgotten. They all wondered if the Baron had seen the news.
In the Baron's study, he stood facing the large window behind his desk, looking out over the city. A faint glow in the distance, the raging fire in the suburbs, caught his eye. A small, brass radio receiver on the desk crackled with the sound of the news report. The door burst open, and Carolyn and Charolette rushed in, their faces etched with worry.
"Calvin, have you seen the broadcast?"
Carolyn asked frantically.
"One of your warehouses has exploded!"
The Baron didn't turn around.
"I know, Dear"
he said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
He slowly turned, his expression unreadable, and looked at the two worried women.
"What are you going to do?"
Charolette asked, her voice trembling.
The Baron looked at her, then his gaze shifted to Carolyn, his eyes cold.
"I'm going to investigate this matter."