I woke up in a bed that wasn’t mine, in a house that wasn’t mine.

  The pale dawn light filtered through the window, washing the room in a cold, almost unreal hue.

  It took me a moment to remember I was no longer Lyss, but Doctor Caroline Schulz.

  The device that reshaped my face and modulated my voice still clung to my skin like a second, invisible layer.

  A faint tingling on my cheeks and a subtle warmth behind my ears reminded me it was there, working in silence.

  It was strange—knowing the face I would see in the mirror wasn’t mine, yet my mind still tried to connect every expression to my own reflection.

  I couldn’t help but think of the training with my mentor back in Seravenn, when she taught me that a disguise didn’t end with clothes or skin, but with the breath, the gaze, the way your shoulders responded to every step. “If your body believes you are someone else,” she had told me, “your mind will believe it too. And if your mind believes it… no one else will have a choice.”

  When I turned to see if Velka was still beside me, the bed was empty.

  An unfamiliar aroma drew me downstairs.

  The air smelled of spices, butter, and strong coffee.

  Velka stood in the kitchen, wearing long satin pants and a black tank top that outlined her figure.

  I, on the other hand, was still in one of Caroline’s nightgowns, barely covering my thighs.

  —Good morning, sleepyhead —Velka said in a calm, neutral tone, not looking back—. Susanne always does the cooking. You’ll have to learn her dishes, her little touches… it’s part of your mask as much as your name. Come, taste this.

  I walked over, embarrassed by my attire. Velka raised an eyebrow and smirked.

  —Well, Caroline… if poor Silas could see you. Here I am, your improvised “wife,” and you’re gifting me such an… enchanting view.

  —Velka… —I murmured, uneasy.

  —Don’t worry —she said softly—. You know I’m not here to take advantage. But this will be necessary. We’ll have to kiss sometimes, share touches… and nothing more. I promise I won’t cross any lines, but the mask demands we both play our part.

  I sighed, sitting down as she poured me coffee and a plate of Eiswacht food that smelled warm and potent.

  When I tasted it, I found a spicy undertone that reminded me of the burn of resentment.

  —It’s good… very different from what we make in Seravenn.

  —I know. Susanne —or me, I suppose— always made sure to give it that touch. A little fire, a little warmth… for her dear Caroline. —She smirked, then added—. Oh, and before I forget: there’s a science cocktail this afternoon. Caroline and Susanne were invited. It’ll be a perfect chance to observe, learn the manners and customs here… and prove we’re the perfect couple.

  The thought tensed me. Pretending to love Velka in front of strangers felt harder than facing a Dominus. She seemed to read it in my eyes.

  —I know it stings a little, Lyss. It’s hard for me too. But we’ll only do what’s necessary. Nothing more. —She touched my hand gently—. And don’t worry—you’re the goddess of resentment. You know how to keep control.

  I nodded, feeling a little steadier.

  We finished breakfast and went upstairs to get ready.

  We showered separately, then Velka helped me choose an elegant, understated dress, tailoring it so it looked like Caroline’s and not mine. She applied my makeup with care, adjusted my hair… and when I looked in the mirror, I saw a woman of Eiswacht, not a spy from Seravenn. Velka smiled and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, part of the act we were playing.

  —Ready, Caroline. Let the show begin.

  We stepped out onto the cobblestone street, our footsteps echoing in unison.

  Eiswacht unfolded before us: cold, magnificent, with men in grey overcoats and top hats, women in long skirts and immaculate hairstyles, all with a composure bordering on inhuman.

  The morning fog curled around black stone and iron buildings, while steam machines hissed at the corners, mingling with the murmur of a language I still wasn’t fully familiar with.

  Velka took my arm with a playful confidence that, despite myself, was infectious.

  —Today, my dear, is a fine day for Caroline Schulz and Susanne Weber to show how perfect they are together. And who knows… —she added with a conspiratorial smile—, maybe you’ll even make me fall for you for real.

  I felt a strange warmth in my chest, though I hid it behind a faint smirk.

  We walked to the tram stop.

  A dark steel vehicle with clean lines awaited us.

  It wasn’t like Seravenn’s automated transports—here, the tram was driven by a man in uniform and cap, his gaze fixed ahead as he handled the levers.

  Inside, the silence was almost reverent.

  No one spoke; only the soft clatter of iron wheels on rails and the distant hum of the city could be heard.

  We took our seats, and through the windows, the streets paraded past: black iron lampposts, solemnly waving flags, small cafés, and gleaming shopfronts.

  The order of Eiswacht was overwhelming, almost suffocating.

  Velka glanced at me from the corner of her eye, and for a moment, her usual smirk softened—as if to make sure I was okay.

  Finally, we arrived at the main avenue where the cocktail would be held.

  The building was an architectural gem: tall columns, wrought iron with delicate reliefs, and windows so spotless they reflected everything like a mirror.

  Velka took my arm and, in a gentle voice, said:

  —Don’t worry. As long as we follow the rules and you don’t forget who you are, everything will be fine.

  I drew in a deep breath, absorbing every one of her gestures, and nodded.

  It was time to go in.

  The hall was lit with a deceptive warmth, crystal lamps suspended from a ceiling of black beams, golden light reflecting off the glasses and the polished buttons of uniforms. The air smelled of spiced wine and polished wood, mingled with a floral perfume that seemed to drift above the crowd. A string quartet played in one corner, its notes as measured as the guests’ steps.

  Velka —or rather, Susanne Weber— moved with ease among the groups, greeting people with smiles and handshakes as if she had truly known them for years. I stayed to the side, just as Caroline Schulz’s role required: discreet, reserved, observing more than participating.

  Eiswacht had its own social choreography. No one interrupted anyone; conversations were precise, almost ceremonial. The men wore straight-cut suits in dark tones, the women dresses with clean lines and heavy fabrics that fell with calculated gravity. Every gesture —from raising a glass to nodding— seemed rehearsed.

  I was just getting used to pretending I belonged there when a tall man with blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard approached. He wore a badge from the Eiswacht Technical University on his lapel, and his eyes had that inquisitive gleam of someone who lived for ideas.

  —Doctor Schulz —he said, inclining his head slightly—. I’m glad to find you here. I read your latest paper on integrating runic matrices into cooling systems. Brilliant.

  I swallowed. Caroline’s dossier mentioned that work, but not the details of how it had been written.

  —Thank you —I replied with a restrained smile—. It was… a demanding project.

  —Like everything you do —he added, stepping half a pace closer—. I suppose Susanne must be proud.

  —She always is —I said, using the phrase as an anchor to keep myself in character—. Speaking of her…

  The murmur of the room shifted ever so slightly, and then I saw her. Velka was approaching with a glass in her hand, her smile flawless, but her eyes measuring the scene like a blade sizing up a cut.

  —Well, Markus —she said, her voice soft but with an edge—. What a surprise to see you here. I didn’t know Caroline would be catching up with old friends tonight.

  She placed a hand on my back, light but firm. Markus returned the greeting, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

  —Always a pleasure, Susanne.

  Velka held his gaze a second longer than necessary before shaking his hand with a confidence that left no room for argument.

  —The pleasure’s mine —she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

  Markus excused himself with a brief bow and disappeared into the crowd. Velka took a sip from her glass before glancing at me sideways.

  —You know what Susanne’s like —she murmured—. She doesn’t like to share conversation more than necessary.

  I tried to smile, but the way she had stepped between him and me still lingered in my mind. It was an act… wasn’t it?

  Velka merged back into the conversations, and I stood there, taking in the frescoes that adorned the walls: scenes from Eiswacht’s history, where figures of iron and flesh stood amidst smoking factories and watchtowers. Here, industry wasn’t just a resource —it was a religion. And we were intruders in a temple of steel and discipline.

  A sudden clinking of glasses rippled through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention. An older man, his beard perfectly trimmed and his uniform adorned with silver epaulettes, stepped into the center of the room. His deep voice carried with an almost hypnotic authority.

  —To Eiswacht… and to the future our hands forge —he declared, raising his glass.

  The chorus of voices answering “To Eiswacht” was unanimous, powerful, as precise as a well-calibrated machine. In each attendee’s eyes there was a spark of devotion, not lit by faith in gods, but in gears and steel. I felt like I was being watched, even when I wasn’t.

  Velka returned to my side without speaking at first. Then, in a low voice, she let slip words that sank into my stomach like lead:

  —Here, everything is seen… and everything is remembered.

  I turned to look at her, trying to read whether it was just a warning or a genuine gesture of care. But her expression was unreadable — a perfect balance between Susanne and the woman I knew.

  And for a moment, I had the unsettling certainty that this balance could shatter at any time.

  A few hours earlier…

  Elsa Vogt—or rather, Caelia—adjusted the dark, understated uniform she had been assigned for her role as security supervisor. The fabric was thick and rigid, designed not for comfort but to project authority. In the locker room mirror, her reflection returned a flawless figure: hair pulled back into a low bun, jacket perfectly tailored without a single wrinkle, and a posture that commanded respect. Only in the depth of her eyes could one glimpse the sharp edge of mistrust.

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  It had always been that way. Caelia never fully trusted anyone—not even the reflection staring back at her.

  That night, she wouldn’t be at a cocktail party or trading rehearsed smiles. Her role kept her in the control and communications room of Eiswacht’s civil security: a fortified chamber, lit by panels of smoked glass where maps and routes floated in pale light. The clockwork mechanisms within the devices ticked softly, blending with the low hum of the magical energy feeding the systems.

  On the walls, banners bearing Eiswacht’s emblem hung like silent judges. Discipline seemed to permeate the air itself, almost like a metallic scent clinging to the skin.

  Every so often, an officer would approach to request her approval on a protocol or report an adjustment in the patrol schedules. Elsa always responded with measured calm, her voice precise, her movements exact. The perfect image of a woman in complete control of her environment.

  Yet, between blinks, the glow of the screens sometimes revealed a deeper weariness. Inwardly, Caelia thought of the other three: Velka, masking tension behind her humor; Neyra, whose composure sometimes faltered; Lyss… the goddess of resentment, forever walking the fine line between fear and fury. Each of them in their own setting, each carrying their own mask.

  At exactly nine o’clock, a young officer—his uniform still crisp but his expression uneasy—approached to point out an irregularity in the convoy routes. Elsa neither frowned nor raised her voice. She moved to the console and began issuing orders with surgical precision, correcting the deviation without so much as glancing up. Every word carried the weight of someone who knew a single misstep could cost lives.

  When the incident was resolved, she allowed herself a slow breath. She moved to the reinforced window overlooking the central plaza: pale streetlamps standing in perfect alignment like soldiers, trams gliding by in flawless synchrony, and beyond them, the sharp silhouettes of watchtowers against the sky. It was a landscape far removed from Seravenn—more rigid, less human… yet in its coldness lay a beauty that was almost hypnotic.

  She adjusted her jacket again, like someone tightening an invisible suit of armor. Tomorrow, she would have to meet with other liaisons and supervisors. Every look would be an examination, every handshake a negotiation disguised as courtesy.

  Caelia was ready. She always was.

  But as she turned away from the cityscape, she couldn’t help but wonder how the other three were faring.

  Caelia adjusted her jacket one last time and stepped away from the reinforced window. Outside, the city lights aligned like rows of cold stars over a sea of steel. In the distance, one light stood out among the rest: a glint reflected in the glass of an administrative building.

  There, Lena Bauer —Neyra in another name, another skin— was looking at herself in the mirror of her office. The reflection returned the image of a meticulous woman, dressed in a dark skirt suit and a light blouse buttoned up to the collar. Her hair, pulled back into a perfect bun, tightened slightly at her scalp —a physical reminder of the mask she had to wear all day.

  The office was arranged with the same precision as the rest of the city: folders sorted by color, coded reports, a desk lamp spilling warm light over columns of figures. Through the window, the ghost tram wound its way in the distance like a thread of metal stitching the shadows of Eiswacht together.

  The air was heavy with the scent of fresh ink and strong coffee, the bitter drink Lena was supposed to favor according to her cover file. With each sip, Neyra felt a faint echo of a moment in Seravenn —Velka making a joke that nearly made her spit out her drink. That spark of memory was a luxury she couldn’t allow herself for long.

  Her day had been filled with meetings: with financial analysts, the division director, and engineers involved in the final phase of Project Aurora. Conversations always seemed to orbit around budgets and balances… until, in one of them, an engineer casually mentioned “unofficial adjustments” with the faintest of smiles. Neyra stored the comment away like someone tucking a key into their pocket without yet knowing which door it might open.

  At times, her mind drifted to her companions: Velka, who could laugh in the face of a storm; Lyss, with a fire that could either burn or sputter depending on the wind; and Caelia, unshakable as a wall. All of them were here, in the same city, playing at being someone else, each with their own disguise and their own risks.

  Near the end of the day, a colleague with polished manners approached to speak about a budget adjustment. Lena answered with the expected composure, measuring each word, letting courtesy flow like a slow, controlled river. She was a good listener —too good, perhaps. And as she listened, she was quietly mapping relationships and potential weaknesses.

  When she left the office, the night’s cold struck her like a damp, icy glove. She walked with a steady step across the cobblestones, her dark leather bag hanging from her arm, feeling the city’s iron discipline wrap around her. The streetlamps cast perfect shadows, patrols marched in unbreakable synchrony. Everything seemed immutable… but Neyra knew that even iron, given enough pressure, could break.

  Back to the cocktail entrance

  The icy night air hit us like a slap the moment we stepped out of the hall. Behind us, the murmur of glasses and polite conversation faded away, replaced by the echo of our footsteps on the stone pavement. The golden glow of the chandeliers was gone, replaced by pale streetlamps casting long shadows, while mist coiled between the buildings like a silent veil.

  Velka let out an almost imperceptible sigh.

  —Too much theatre for one night —she murmured, without relaxing the perfect smile she still wore for anyone who might be watching—. Let’s take advantage of the fact that it’s not late. We need to stock the pantry… Caroline and Susanne don’t live on air.

  Around us, Eiswacht displayed its nocturnal choreography: patrols in flawless formation crossing the avenues, late trams gliding without a single step out of place, and couples walking arm in arm with an elegance that seemed legally mandated.

  The shop was only a few blocks away, a rectangular building with a plain fa?ade and wide windows. A guard in a dark grey uniform stopped us with his gaze, assessing us, before inclining his head and letting us pass.

  Inside, the silence was dense, almost as rigid as outside. Shelves lined with surgical precision displayed glass jars of preserves, metal tins with austere engravings, and identical labels, all perfectly aligned to face forward. There was something unsettling about that perfection, as if any disorder were an act of subversion.

  Velka pushed a small cart, placing items with precise, deliberate movements.

  —In Eiswacht, if you don’t have everything in order, you don’t exist —she whispered—. And if you exist outside the order… you don’t last.

  I stopped in the coffee and spice aisle, looking over black and silver bags stamped with official seals. A deep aroma filled the air, mingled with the smoky scent of cured meats. Luxuries in Seravenn; here, just part of the weekly shopping.

  That’s when I saw him. A man in a long coat and wide-brimmed hat, at the far end of the aisle, watching us. He wasn’t pretending to browse; his gaze was fixed directly on us, cold and calculated. I forced myself to pick up a box of tea as if nothing was wrong.

  Velka, without turning, said quietly:

  —Don’t get distracted. Choose what Caroline would choose.

  We kept moving, and in every aisle we took, he seemed to be at the other end. Never close enough to speak, but never far enough to lose sight of.

  At the register, the cashier —a pale-faced woman with an automatic expression— scanned the items without looking up. Outside, a patrol passed slowly in front of the store, the metallic strike of their boots marking the silence. For a moment I thought they’d come in… but they kept walking.

  When we stepped outside, the man in the coat was gone. Velka said nothing, though I saw her eyes sweep the pavement and the shadows of the nearby alleys.

  The walk back was quieter. The city felt even bigger and colder than when we had arrived. Velka carried the bag in one hand, and with the other she held my arm. It wasn’t an exaggerated gesture, but in the middle of that hostile world, it felt like an anchor.

  —Not bad for your first day as Caroline —she said, with a smile barely visible—. I almost believed your lie.

  I didn’t know if she said it to tease me… or to make sure I stayed in character.

  The streets of Eiswacht’s capital lay under a mantle of shadows and golden lights, the air thick with that sense of order and discipline that clung to every corner. Inside the house we now pretended to call our own, the tension wrapped around me like a second skin. Still wearing a nightgown that barely covered my thighs, I heard the phone ring.

  Velka, who was leafing through some papers, motioned for me to answer.

  —Yes? —I said, keeping my voice calm.

  —Dr. Caroline Schulz? This is Elsa Vogt —said the voice on the other end, polite but cold—. I saw your name and Susanne’s on the staff list. I need to arrange a meeting so we can work more efficiently on the project. Lena Bauer will be present as well.

  —Of course —I replied, keeping my voice neutral—. Would you prefer we meet here?

  —Yes, I think your home would be a suitable place —Caelia’s voice said without hesitation—. We’ll be there in an hour.

  When I hung up, I noticed a small vase I could’ve sworn I hadn’t moved. A shiver ran down my spine. Without a word, I looked at Velka and gave her a slight gesture to keep up the act.

  Velka, used to situations like this, smiled as she skimmed a paper as if it were nothing more than a grocery list.

  —Who was that, darling? —she asked in that sweet, calm tone that swayed between tenderness and pretense.

  —Someone named Elsa Vogt —I said, as if it were trivial—. She wants to arrange a collaborative plan for the Aurora Project.

  —Oh, then we’d better set the table —Velka said with a playful tone that barely masked the tension—. And as much as I love how you look, you’d better put on something more suitable for our guests.

  I went upstairs to change, choosing a dark dress I adjusted the way she’d taught me. When I came down, I heard her voice from the kitchen, warm but with the precision of someone performing on stage.

  —keep an eye on the food please. Take it out of the oven when the bell rings, please. I don’t want it to burn.

  —Of course, —I replied with a smile I barely held—. I’ll take good care of your delicious cooking.

  The doorbell rang a moment later. I opened it to find Caelia and Neyra there, their faces perfectly composed.

  —You have a lovely home —Caelia said, with the flawless composure of Elsa Vogt.

  —You should give me your architect’s contact —Neyra added, as poised as Lena Bauer.

  Velka appeared then, descending the stairs with that natural elegance that made her seem every bit Susanne. She took my hand like a proud wife and said:

  —Please, make yourselves comfortable. Dinner is ready, and I won’t let you leave on an empty stomach.

  For several minutes, every word was part of the performance: compliments, rehearsed smiles, measured gestures. Until Caelia, after inspecting the house with the eyes of someone who knows how to uncover even the faintest whisper, closed the front door with a sharp click.

  She turned to us and said quietly:

  —There’s nothing. We can speak freely.

  As if those words were an invisible key, the tension snapped. Velka slipped off her heels with an exaggerated sigh. Neyra leaned against the wall, rolling her shoulders to ease the stiffness. I leaned on the table, feeling my own voice return to me.

  —Did we do well? —I asked, my tone no longer trying to mimic Caroline’s.

  —Quite well —Neyra replied with a faint smile—. For a moment, I thought you really were in love with Velka.

  —Fingers crossed that happens —Velka laughed, that teasing spark in her voice always ready to cut the tension.

  Caelia nodded and asked for the reports. Neyra spoke first, then Velka and I shared how we’d been adapting, how people looked at us, and how much we’d managed to integrate. Caelia also gave us her updates and reminded us of the rules: daily transport at six a.m., codes for speaking without giving ourselves away, and a cabin on the outskirts as a meeting point if things went wrong.

  —Remember —Caelia said seriously—. Even if you can use limited magic here, ours leaves traces. Be discreet.

  Velka sighed but smiled wearily.

  —But first, please, eat. I didn’t cook all this for it to go to waste!

  Caelia chuckled softly, a glint in her eyes.

  —I’m not leaving without trying it. It’s been a good first day, all things considered.

  Neyra nodded, her iron composure intact.

  —Thank you. It’s been a pleasant evening, and your cooking… very good, Velka.

  Velka blushed faintly and lowered her gaze.

  —I’m glad to hear it.

  Caelia stood and looked at us firmly before adding:

  —By the way, there was a car following us. When we leave, we must act as if nothing is wrong.

  Velka’s arm tightened slightly around me as we both nodded.

  —We will —I murmured.

  Velka walked with them to the door, her expression the perfect blend of polite grace and quiet authority.

  —I'm glad this meeting helped strengthen our collaboration —she said as they reached the entryway.

  —You’ve been excellent hosts —Neyra added with a serene smile—. I look forward to working together soon.

  When the car’s lights finally vanished down the street, Velka’s posture shifted. The subtle stiffness in her shoulders eased, and her fingers absently removed one of the earrings she’d worn for the role. She turned to me with a pride that didn’t feel entirely like an act.

  —You did well, love —she murmured—. Soon it’ll feel as natural as breathing.

  —That sounds a little unsettling —I teased softly—. But… thank you.

  Velka exhaled, letting the weight of the evening melt from her frame.

  —We’d better sleep. Tomorrow, the real game begins.

  Upstairs, I changed into the nightgown, the room now quiet except for the muted hum of the city beyond the window. Velka was already in bed, lying beneath the covers, her silhouette relaxed yet still carrying the edge of vigilance.

  When I slipped under the sheets beside her, she reached for my hand without a word. It wasn’t part of the act now—just a simple, human gesture. I took it without hesitation, understanding that, whatever the theater of our roles demanded, this small connection helped her rest.

  I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of her grip settle into my skin. For that moment, beneath the masks and the steel, we were still human.