The brakes hissed.
Not loud, but sharp enough to signal something was wrong. The train shouldn't have stopped.
The conductor's voice crackled a weak excuse overhead, claiming technical difficulties. No one looked convinced. Parents hugged their children tighter and the religious started praying.
Seraphina's fingers tightened around the edge of her seat as she stood, the crisp fabric of her coat folding like origami over her newly chosen outfit — dark pants, weather-ready boots, a fitted high-necked shirt designed more for mobility than appearance. Her hair was pulled back, tight and purposeful. Running-for-your-life chic.
"Kael," she said quietly.
He didn't answer, just followed her gaze.
The woods had crept closer here. Dense, clawing branches framed the train like a hunter's snare.
And there, to the right—half-shielded by birch and frost—stood a man dressed like a forestry officer. Except real officers didn't wear high-polished military boots or whisper into earpieces. His hands twitched, not with cold, but anticipation.
"Ridiculous," Seraphina murmured.
Kael, seated across from her, barely tilted his head. "You see them too?"
"Oh yes." Her voice was cool and measured, like an appraisal. "Woman behind the bush—foundation too smooth, eyeliner unbothered by travel. Boot knife, right side. She's holding her breath."
Kael clicked his tongue. "Sloppy. Lazy. Arrogant."
"Caldris nobility in a nutshell," she replied, tone clipped.
Another figure shifted farther down the train. One seat forward, someone loosened their coat just enough to reveal the glint of a concealed weapon.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed.
The other passengers were silent—either unaware, or wise enough to act like it. No one made eye contact. A few had already opened books they weren't reading, turned on music they weren't listening to. Complicity by stillness.
Seraphina smoothed the lapels of her coat, slow and precise. Brushed imaginary lint from her shoulder.
"They literally sent fools to kill me," she said at last, voice laced with dark amusement.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Do we run?"
She glanced at him. "No. We move. Let's show them what a villainess really looks like."
And just as the first bullet cracked the silence—
Seraphina was already gone from the window.
⸻
Flashback — Age 12
The ballroom glittered, filled with nobles and hollow praise. Seraphina's debutante ball — her first formal step into the viper pit.
Someone handed her a goblet of wine. Sweet. Too sweet.
She drank it anyway.
An hour later, she crossed the ballroom and stood before Lord Petyr Feran, the only one avoiding her gaze.
"Would you care to know what poison tastes like?" she asked, voice silken and sharp.
Gasps rippled. She smiled, and listed — for the entire room — his family's unpaid debts, smuggling accusations, and his sister's broken betrothal.
When she was done, she placed the empty goblet in his shaking hands.
"Next time," she murmured, "try something more exciting."
He died of a "heart attack" three days later.
She never touched wine again.
⸻
Back in the train scene, that memory could flicker through her mind just before she says:
"They literally sent fools to kill me."
"They're not even spread out," she said now, stepping off the train. "No flankers. No snipers. Just little roaches crawling out of their dirt holes."
Kael moved beside her, watching one of the men fumble with a comm bead.
"Ready?"
"I'm bored," she said. "Let's get this over with."
⸻
The confrontation didn't last long.
One man stumbled from the trees, pointing a weapon that shook in his grip.
"You're not welcome here, Lady Vaelmont."
"Former lady," she corrected, tilting her head. "It's amazing you know my face, but not your place."
She flicked her wrist. A sleek silver capsule dropped from her sleeve and burst on the ground—non-lethal gas, heavy and disorienting.
Kael moved like a shadow, swift and surgical, disabling one after another.
Seraphina stepped over a groaning man and turned his collar. The mark beneath: House Thorne.
"Of course," she muttered. "Vipers don't change skin. They just crawl through new mud."
She stood at the center of the chaos—four assailants writhing or unconscious—and looked up at the dense canopy of trees.
No rage. No fear. No regret.
Just the cold click of something long dormant… snapping into place.
⸻
Flashback – Age 6
She had cried, once.
Not when she scraped her knee, or got knocked down during etiquette lessons, or bled through her silks after a fall.
No, it was after she saw her mother wrap Evelyn in a warm embrace.
A sprained ankle, a dramatic wail—and yet, Evelyn had arms around her in seconds.
That night, Seraphina whispered:
"Why doesn't anyone protect me?"
Her mother didn't scold. She just smiled and smoothed Seraphina's hair.
"Because no one protects a sword, dear. They just swing it… until it breaks."
She hadn't cried again.
⸻
Back in the present, Seraphina wiped her hands with a silk cloth, let it fall over the mercenary's chest like a shroud, and stepped back onto the train.
The conductor was nowhere to be seen.
Coward.
Kael followed in silence.
Neither spoke as the train rumbled forward. The skyline of the Capital shimmered faintly in the distance—silver and glass against the haze.
From here, it looked divine.
But Seraphina knew better.
The moment she was gone, their incompetence would fester. The economy would tremble. Their polished illusions would crack under pressure. Petty rivalries would metastasize into open blood feuds—because she wasn't there to stitch their fractures shut with a smile and a threat.
They thought they'd cut her out like a rot.
But she was the spine.
They just severed their own backbone.
She leaned her head against the glass. Cool. Still.
Just like her.
They didn't know it yet, but every deal she had brokered came with a blade buried beneath it. Every alliance was laced with poison. Every name she whispered in favor came with a failsafe if they ever turned on her.
Whispers buried in bank vaults. Secrets tied to sealed letters. Sabotage hidden behind signatures. Her enemies weren't just people—they were systems. Systems she designed to collapse without her.
Seraphina had built this empire like a game of knives.
Balanced on blood, secrets, and silence.
And now?
She'd simply stepped away from the board.
Let them scramble.
Let them bleed for her throne.
Let them claw at each other over her ashes.
She turned back to the window, expression unreadable as the city blurred behind them.
And then—just before the forest swallowed it whole—her lips curled.
A slow, cold smirk.
This empire is nothing without me.
And the next time they hear my name…
It'll be the sound of their own undoing.