The carriage rolled steadily up the eastern hills, leaving the harbor’s warmth and noise behind.
They had secured the property months before arriving in preparation for what they were about to do. They would need distance from the town. Distance from prying eyes. A place close enough to their target to move quickly, but far enough to vanish if necessary.
The deed had come through Astrid.
She had mentioned it almost absentmindedly after Violet mapped the region.
“I may already own something there.”
The explanation had been simple.
A wealthy young man. A fractured family relic. A restoration. Payment offered in land rather than coin.
Astrid had accepted.
Then forgotten.
She had stored the deed inside her storage ring and moved on with her life, never imagining she would stand before it.
More importantly, she had told no one.
Not their aunt.
Nor a single colleague.
Not because she was cautious.
Because she genuinely forgot.
Which made it the safest place on the island.
The road narrowed as the carriage climbed. The sea unfolded behind them in molten bands of light. Citrus trees lined the path. The town of Morrow shrank below, orderly, peaceful, unaware.
When the carriage stopped, Violet stepped down first.
And froze.
In front of them stood what the previous owner had apparently called a “cabin.”
It was not a cabin.
It was a restrained estate.
Two stories of white stone sat embedded into the hillside, ivy carefully trained along its edges. Tall arched windows reflected the descending sun. A wide eastern balcony overlooked the open horizon unobstructed, deliberate.
Built for dawn.
A small fountain murmured quietly in the courtyard, its water spiraling through carved stone.
Violet stared at the structure.
Then slowly turned to Astrid.
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“You repaired a relic,” she said carefully, “and he gave you this?”
Astrid followed her gaze, genuinely assessing the building as if she were evaluating a schematic rather than a home.
“It was a complicated restoration,” she said. “The internal lattice had collapsed. There were layered ancestral sigils. Most restorers would have destabilized it further.”
Violet blinked once.
“Astrid.”
“He was quite emotional about it.”
“Astrid.”
She paused.
“Yes?”
“You own a mansion.”
A small crease formed between Astrid’s brows.
“I suppose,” she said after a moment. “Technically.”
Violet exhaled slowly, somewhere between disbelief and admiration.
“You forgot you owned a mansion.”
Astrid did not appear embarrassed.
“I forget many things.”
The breeze moved through the hills, lighter here, cleaner. From this height, Morrow looked almost unreal, a town devoted to tomorrow.
Violet studied the estate again.
Secluded. Elevated. East-facing.
Perfect.
“Good,” she said quietly.
Astrid leaned over the long wooden workstation near the tall eastern window, the fading afternoon light spilling across the metal pieces laid neatly before her.
In her hands rested a pistol.
Not a simple weapon — its surface was threaded with narrow lines of carved runes, delicate and precise, forming a rhythm of sigils along the barrel and grip. Astrid wiped the metal slowly with a soft cloth, her motions steady and practiced.
Every few passes she would pause.
A single rune would glow beneath her finger as she activated it, testing the enchantment buried within the weapon’s lattice. The pistol gave a soft mechanical click each time, confirming the structure held.
Satisfied, she moved to the next.
Beside her sat an organized stack of completed weapons.
A second stack waited to be cleaned.
An open crate on the floor revealed even more, knives, pistols, spare components, ammunition etched with the same careful symbols. It was obvious she had been working for hours.
Perhaps longer.
The quiet concentration of someone who had simply forgotten to stop.
The door opened.
Violet stepped into the room, and she looked like someone who had just escaped the sun after a full day of punishment.
Her pink dress clung slightly to her from the heat, her hair damp against her neck. She didn't even glance at Astrid as she passed her.
She walked straight through the room and into the adjoining bath.
A moment later—
Splash.
Astrid glanced once toward the doorway.
Then calmly returned to the pistol in her hands.
Cloth against metal.
Rune activation.
Soft click.
Minutes passed.
Eventually Violet emerged again, hair still wet, looking far less miserable than before. She dragged a chair over and dropped into it with the slow relief of someone whose bones had finally cooled.
Astrid finished wiping the pistol before speaking.
“Why do you trouble yourself so?” she asked evenly.
She set the weapon aside and reached for the next, Violet’s rifle-shotgun hybrid resting across the table.
“You do not like people,” Astrid continued, inspecting the weapon’s barrel. “Just like me.”
She ran the cloth along the engraved channel that housed the firing sigils.
“So I doubt you are doing it to socialize.”
She activated a rune. The weapon gave a low hum.
“And we have been here for two weeks without incident.”
Another rune pulsed.
“That suggests they did not track us here.”
Astrid wiped the stock with slow precision before finishing her thought.
“Why are you forcing yourself so much?”
Across the table Violet exhaled dramatically, letting her head fall back against the chair.
“The home is only as safe as the owner makes it,” she said lazily.
She wiped a bead of water from her neck.
“And I am doing exactly that.”
Astrid continued polishing the weapon but tilted her head slightly, listening.
“You can never be too careful,” Violet went on.
A faint smirk appeared on her lips.
“Besides… I’m becoming cozy with the town’s women.”
Astrid paused for the briefest moment.
“Why.”
Violet stretched her legs out in front of her, clearly enjoying the cool air of the room.
“So they can tell me whenever someone new arrives in town.”
She opened one eye toward Astrid.
“Making the town’s folk my eyes and ears.”
