The silence in Seraphina's office at Sterling Tower was no longer serene. It was the frigid, humming silence of a machine that had malfunctioned. It had been four days since the gala. Four days of damage control, of terse reports, and of a simmering, volcanic rage.
Her plan, her perfect, elegant plan, had shattered.
She stared at the after-action report from Dr. Wu, its clinical language a stark testament to her humiliation. 'Subject displayed unexpected cognitive resistance to the primary auditory stimulus. Counter-frequencies consistent with archived anomalies from Subject LM were detected. Post-hypnotic suggestion failed to implant.'
Elara hadn't just resisted. She had fought back with a weapon Seraphina hadn't even known was on the board. A weapon that came from the Icarus Archive. The ghost in the data had come back to haunt her.
And Kian... her brother had known. He must have known. He had allowed her to walk into a trap. He had watched her fail, had let her expose her methods. He had made a fool of her in front of the entire organization.
The door to her office slid open, admitting a flustered-looking Elias Qian and a pale, tense Dr. Valeria Wu. They stood before her desk like recalcitrant children awaiting punishment.
"The two of you," Seraphina began, her voice deceptively soft, a stiletto wrapped in velvet, "presided over two of the most catastrophic security and operational failures this project has seen since the Berlin incident. Explain yourselves."
Elias Qian flinched, sweat beading on his upper lip. "I was compromised," he stammered. "An anonymous threat. They knew about Veridian Holdings. I panicked. I was trying to protect the project..."
"You were trying to protect yourself," Seraphina corrected, her voice turning to ice. "Your panicked, clumsy attempt to scrub your own history from the data center exposed a high-level security flaw and alerted my brother to an external threat he is now using as an excuse to tighten his grip. You have become a liability, Elias."
She turned her cold gaze to Dr. Wu. "And you. You, with all your data and your projections. You assured me the subject was pliable. You assured me the sequence was flawless."
"My report noted the anomaly," Dr. Wu defended herself, her voice tight with professional pride. "I recommended caution. A recommendation you chose to dismiss as irrelevant."
Seraphina stood up and walked around her desk, circling them like a shark. "Do not deflect your failure onto me, Doctor. Your job is to provide perfect tools. The tool you provided was flawed. The subject resisted. The failure is yours."
It was a lie, and all three of them knew it. The failure was Seraphina's. Her hubris had been the critical flaw. But in her world, blame was not a thing to be accepted; it was a weapon to be wielded, a tool to reassert dominance.
"The board is... displeased," she continued, stopping in front of them. "Confidence in my leadership of this division has been shaken. Confidence in my brother's sentimental, erratic methods is also at an all-time low. The project is seen as unstable."
[VISUAL CUE: Seraphina stands between the two of them, her white suit a stark contrast to their dark, nervous attire. She looks completely in control, a predator reasserting her dominance over the pack.]
Just then, a holographic display shimmered to life on her desk. A secure call. The insignia of The Phoenix Circle—a single golden feather—glowed in the air. The face that appeared was that of an elegant, silver-haired woman in her late sixties, her expression severe, her eyes holding an ancient, aristocratic power.
Madame Isolde. The head of the European branch. A woman who had been on the project's oversight council since its inception with their father.
"Seraphina," Madame Isolde's voice was cultured, with a faint French accent, but it carried the weight of absolute authority. "We have just seen a most... troubling piece of journalism. An article about Liana Meng."
Seraphina's blood ran cold. The detective's work.
"It is a sentimental piece of tabloid nonsense," Seraphina replied, keeping her voice even.
"Do not insult my intelligence," Isolde's voice snapped. "It mentions Liana's 'secretive patron' and her 'close friend, Dr. Wu'. It is a signal. A warning shot. It means someone on the outside is digging, and they are getting close to names. Close to us. This, combined with the fiasco at the gala, suggests you have a leak. It suggests you have lost control of the narrative."
"The situation is being managed," Seraphina said through gritted teeth.
"Is it?" Isolde countered. "Your brother coddles the asset. You fail to secure her. Now, the project's foundational secret is being threatened by journalists. This is unacceptable. The council has made a decision. We are activating an external contractor to... sanitize the situation."
Sanitize. A clean, clinical word for assassination.
"That is unnecessary," Seraphina protested. "My own people can handle—"
"Your people have failed," Isolde cut her off coldly. "The contractor will handle the journalist and her source, the detective. Your new task, Seraphina, is to focus on the primary objective. The asset. The council wants results, not excuses. You will secure Elara Meng, by any means necessary. If your brother continues to be an obstacle... you are authorized to remove him as a factor. Permanently. Do you understand?"
The line went dead.
A new, terrifying silence filled the room. The game had just been escalated beyond her control. An external killer was now in play. And she had just been given a direct order—a license—to go to war with her own brother.
She turned back to the two trembling figures before her. Her earlier anger was gone, replaced by a chilling, renewed focus.
"The old plan is dead," she announced, her voice flat and final. "We are moving to a new protocol. Phase Three. Forget subliminal suggestion. Forget recruitment. This is now an acquisition."
She looked at Dr. Wu. "You will prepare a full sedative and transport protocol. We will extract her."
She looked at Elias Qian. "You will divert a significant, untraceable amount of capital from the foundation's operating budget into a new holding account. For logistics and external assets. And you will do it without my brother noticing."
Her failure had not broken her. It had liberated her. The pretense of subtlety was over. The council wanted results. She would give them results.
"You both owe me a debt of failure," she said, her voice a deadly whisper. "You will repay it with perfect, absolute obedience. Or you will be 'sanitized' along with the rest of the loose ends. Is that clear?"
They both nodded mutely, their faces ashen.
"Good," Seraphina said, turning back to her window on the world. "Now get out. I have a war to plan."