Steam curled in lazy spirals from mugs and bowls, mingling with the savory scent of roasted root vegetables and smoked meat.
Spoons clinked against ceramic, bread was torn by hand, and plates were cleared with a hunger sharpened by adrenaline and exhaustion.
For a few rare minutes, the conversation had been replaced by the primal comfort of hot food and shared silence.
Now, that silence lingered—not awkward or tense, but heavy, like the exhale that follows a near-death escape.
Aldrich leaned back in his high-backed chair, posture slack but eyes alert.
He dabbed a corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin, wiping away a streak of mustard with the absent grace of an old ritual.
In his other hand, he cradled a steaming cup of black coffee, fingers wrapped around it like a priest holding confession.
"Alright," he said, his voice low and measured. "Let's lay it out. No more half-pieces. What do we actually know?"
Celine exhaled quietly and set her porcelain teacup down with a soft clink."The mana engine shouldn't have failed. Calder said the containment array was triple-redundant—physical locks, magical failsafes, and neural overrides.
Yet the explosion bypassed all three."
Norman nodded while still chewing, washing down his last bite with a swig of water."There was a glyph at the front engine room, just above the conduit hatch.
It turned the mana-core into a pressure bomb. Thing was rigged like an open drain—no elegant routing, no camouflage. Just raw feed into the core."
He swallowed, then added, "And yet it worked. Makes me wonder if the failsafes weren't that complicated to begin with."
Calder, seated across from him, furrowed his brow and pushed his empty bowl aside."What do you mean? Are you saying you saw the mana-core? With your own eyes?"
"Yes." Norman nodded, licking his fingers clean."Glowing like a pulse-wound. The glyph felt slapped on—cheap, like someone used tack glue and called it a day.
Nothing elegant about it. That's why I was able to disable it."
"That's not possible!" Calder's face twisted in disbelief.
He slammed his palm flat against the table."The mana-core is housed in the rear engine compartment, buried beneath reinforced alloy plates and interlocking mechanisms.
You'd need to tear through half the train to even get a glimpse of it, let alone interact with the core directly."
Norman paused, then turned his gaze toward Aldrich."You saw it too, right?"
Aldrich gave a slow, deliberate nod."Just like he said. Open view. No shielding. Just... there."
"But that doesn't make any sense!" Calder's voice cracked, rising with frustration."The real core is encased—two inches of alloy, crisscrossed with anti-tamper glyphwork, filtered through neural triggers.
You shouldn't have felt its heat, or mana, or anything. It's sealed tighter than a noble's wine cellar."
A long silence settled over the table once more. This time, it crackled with tension. Even Mrs. Brunswick paused in her work behind the counter.
Aldrich stared into the dark surface of his coffee, brows knit in thought.
For a moment, he was motionless—like a machine idling in contemplation.
Then his gaze sharpened, and something flickered behind his eyes.
A thought, unspoken until now, finally took shape.
"Wait," he murmured, almost to himself. "Maybe we're talking about the wrong core."
Calder blinked, thrown. "Come again?"
Aldrich leaned forward slowly, setting his cup down with deliberate care."We've been assuming we were dealing with the mana-core. The main engine. The one every schematic and field manual points to.
But what if... it wasn't that core—or engine—at all?"
Freya leaned in. "You mean some kind of... add-on modification?"
"No," Aldrich said, eyes narrowing. "I mean another engine entirely. Another core. One not listed in any standard blueprint."
Celine's lips parted, her voice hushed."You're suggesting they installed an entirely separate engine on that train?"
Calder paled, his hand curling into a fist. "But there are no other designs of engine out there.
And even if there were, any modification to the propulsion matrix would need approval. It'd come through my desk. I would have known."
Aldrich gave him a long, steady look."Unless someone made sure you didn't."
Speechless. Face stony. Calder felt a chill ran down his spine.
"Well," Norman added, "we still have an engine and a core that haven't exploded. Why don't we check it out?"
"Where are they?" Calder snapped to attention. "We leave right now."
Aldrich turned to Freya."I believe they are already in the custody of Rosenvale Station. Is that right, my lady?"
Freya nodded."The guards retrieved it yesterday, after they rescued the stranded passengers."
Calder pushed back his chair with a harsh scrape and stood."Mrs. Brunswick," he called toward the kitchen arch.
The woman looked up from where she was wiping the counter behind the deli case. Her sleeves were rolled up, arms dusted with flour and spice."Yes, my dear?"
He hesitated, just a moment—long enough for the tension in his shoulders to settle into something more personal."Can you look after Enya while I'm gone, please?"
Mrs. Brunswick's face softened."Of course. I'll keep her close and fed. Not a soul will get near her without my say."
Enya sat upright."You're leaving? Father?" Her voice was small, rough with fatigue.
Calder knelt beside her. The anger and confusion that had been burning behind his eyes only moments ago softened.
"Just for a bit," he said. "We need to check something important. But I'll be back before you know it."
Enya looked at him, her lip trembling slightly, but she nodded."You promise?"
"I do." Calder gently squeezed her shoulder. "And while I'm gone, you listen to Mrs. Brunswick. She's in charge."
The deli owner gave a firm nod, folding her arms."Don't worry about her. This deli's a fortress when I need it to be."
Calder stood again and turned to the others."If there's another engine design, I want to see it with my own eyes."
Aldrich adjusted his coat collar and gave a low hum of agreement.
Freya rose with a practiced motion, Celine followed silently, and Norman swiped the last crust of bread from his plate before trailing after.
Outside, the air had grown colder, the skies a dull pewter.
The Reinhart automobile waited just beyond the stone steps, its polished frame slick with mist and mana condensation.
The engine rumbled low, like a beast restless in its cage.
They all climbed in without a word.
Then, with a twist of the ignition glyph and a pulse of mana from the control rune, the car jolted forward—headlights cutting through the fog as they sped down the road toward Rosenvale Station.
Behind them, Mrs. Brunswick stood in the deli doorway, arms crossed and eyes sharp.
Enya pressed her forehead to the glass, watching the vehicle vanish into the fog, lips moving in a whisper only she could hear.
"Father, please come back soon…"
Rain started to fall again in Rosenvale.
It tapped ceaselessly against the tall, narrow windows of Commander Vale's office—more percussion than ambiance, like the slow march of inevitability.
Lanterns burned low in the corners, casting their flickering light across piles of blood-stained gear, damp uniforms, and handwritten reports stacked like barricades against sleep.
Vale sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, forearms tense and ink-stained.
A black military jacket, bearing the insignia of Rosenvale Command, hung behind him on the back of his chair like a ghost still watching.
He read slowly, methodically, as if willing the scattered reports to rewrite themselves into something that made sense.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. The circles beneath his eyes were so deep they cast their own shadows.
Then—a soft knock came at the door.
He looked up, already knowing it wouldn't be good. "Enter."
The door creaked open, and a young guard stepped in—breath fogging slightly in the office's cool air.
"Sir," the guard said, saluting quickly. "You asked to be informed the moment they arrived."
Vale's hand stilled over the papers. "Which 'they' are we talking about, Corporal?"
The guard swallowed. "Representatives from House Vermont and House Ashbourne, sir. Together."
Vale's eyes narrowed.
"Together?"
"Yes, sir. Arrived not more than five minutes apart. They're waiting in the south lobby. Both… demanding answers regarding the deaths of their kin aboard the train."
A silence stretched in the room, taut as drawn wire.
Vale slowly stood, shoulders straightening with the weight of command. "And they know about each other?"
"They do now. Lord Vermont nearly called for a duel right there in the hall. We had to post two full squads just to keep them civil."
Vale let out a long breath and moved to the coat behind his chair, shrugging it on with practiced economy.
"Tell Sergeant Kael to prep the north conference room. Quiet guards only. No uniforms with crests. I want neutrality, down to the tea leaves."
"Yes, sir."
"And Corporal—" Vale paused, leveling his gaze at the young man. "Double-check the names on the casualty manifest. If either house was misreported, I want to know before we open that door."
The guard saluted again. "Understood, Commander."
As he left, Vale turned back to his desk and gathered the top reports into a single leather-bound folder.
He stared for a moment longer at the names—Ashbourne, Vermont. His jaw tightening.
When nobles showed up in person, it wasn't for justice. It was for leverage.
Vale straightened his collar, he sighed, a grim certainty settling in his gut.
Things were about to get very messy.
Then—he picked up his pace to the conference room.