Blake's concerns were something Emily could understand. She too, once a mere mortal, had faced circumstances beyond her control. Unable to promise him what he feared would never occur, she could only offer reassurance.

"Although there are things I can't remember," she began, "those who possess extraordinary abilities defy natural laws, choosing not to succumb to the fates of life and death. However, nature still enforces a balance, I suspect... perhaps what Michael mentioned as the ‘threads of fate’?"

Blake, intent, considered her words. "You mean, those who misuse their powers will face repercussions?"

"Perhaps," Emily said lightly. "Fear might deter them from committing harm, don't you think?"

He found solace in this perspective, hope flitting across his expression. "I hope so."

Emily gently shifted the topic. "How much farther until we reach Liberty City?"

"Not much longer," Blake remarked, giving the horses a swift flick of the reins. "If you could recall some sort of instantaneous travel spell, that’d be helpful."

"You're quite the opportunist," Emily teased, "but keep it up, and you might end up catching a chill again."

"No, no," Blake protested playfully, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Mercy, Lady Sorceress."

"Are you mocking me?" she retorted with playful tension in her voice.

"Not at all," he said, his eyes on the road ahead, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Feigning irritation, Emily landed a soft smack on the back of Blake's hand. He didn’t flinch, allowing her touch to linger, his skin tingling where she’d made contact.

"Does it truly hurt?" she asked, her voice now sweet and teasing.

After a pause, Blake murmured, "Not really."

Emily laughed, a light, cheerful sound. "Thought so," she said before stepping back inside the carriage.

The wagon continued its jostling path over the snow-packed road.

---

Inside the palatial halls of the Washington Palace, the return of the tracking butterfly a day prior had seemed to signal a successful mission. Michael, the advisor, had thought the matter resolved and allowed it to slip from his focus. Thus, when the President's wife summoned him today, it was with some irritation that he went.

"Mere mortals," he muttered under his breath, "getting tangled over trivial matters."

"What is it you require of me?" he inquired as he entered her chambers.

A person of modest stature, the First Lady promptly informed him, brows furrowed with worry. "Advisor, the men we sent earlier... they’ve all perished."

"How could you botch something so important?" Michael's demeanor soured instantly. Jack was recognized by natural law as the President, and as long as he lived, it limited any attempts to support the Vice President.

But his lifespan was running thin.

Unperturbed by withholding criticism, the First Lady composed herself and attempted a more placating tone. "Their bodies, Advisor... they exhibit peculiar traits. We were hoping you could investigate."

Michael's impatience simmered beneath his stern exterior. "What's so unusual—?" His words faltered, eyes catching sight of the bodies before him. Despite the fire having marred their features beyond recognition, he discerned traces of residual mystical energy.

"Did anyone witness the act?" Michael pressed on, his demeanor shifting to one of urgency.

The First Lady signaled a guard forward, who briefed him. "Reports suggest that the target was accompanied by a woman when lodging at the motel."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "What did she look like?"

The guard hesitated briefly. "Young and adept in martial arts."

"That's all?" he murmured, speculating the presence of a practitioner, but from the residues, deducing not an ethereal powerhouse.

"There’s no need to send more people their way," Michael concluded. "With her presence, they'd only march to their own doom."

Frustration edged the First Lady's voice. "Advisor Michael, we can't let Jack remain alive, or else—"

"There's nothing to fret over. He will return," Michael assured, authority in his voice, "and by then, I will deal with the woman. Once she's out of the picture, the rest won’t pose a threat."

Despite his words providing no immediate solace, the First Lady swallowed her protests, left with Michael’s dismissal as he strode from the room.

---

Three days later, Emily and Blake arrived in Liberty City, though they didn't immediately present themselves in public. Opting for discretion, they settled at a modest inn before Blake entrusted Emily with delivering a letter to Darren. "If he sees this, he’ll come," Blake instructed, lowering his voice. "Tell him to come alone."

Emily nodded solemnly.

"Be careful," Blake advised, exhaling sharply, "and thank you."

Emily met his gaze steadily. "Don't worry. I'll scout around first and return by nightfall. Meanwhile, remain here."

Blake coughed, slightly taken aback. "Ahem, ahem!"

Feigning concern, Emily tilted her head. "Caught a cold?"

"No, just a tickle in my throat," he played along, understanding her playful jest, a slight smile resolving his façade of surprise.

After bantering him into good spirits, Emily caught his light-struck eyes with hers, brimming with good-natured mischief, before leaving to gather information.

---

The Defense Tower’s exterior betrayed nothing of the intrigues within its walls. Even the guards outside appeared indifferent, yet Emily did not pass unnoticed. Circling the entrance thrice without concealing her presence, she soon realized they had marked her for observation.

Resolute, she approached them with a straightforward query, "Is this where I can find Darren?"

One of the guards, hands deep in his pockets, cheerfully extended the charade. "Looking for someone, miss?"

"Yes," she responded. "I'm here for my sister—an employee recently hired to work under Darren's directives. I'm to take her back."

Her poised and gentle appearance, combined with her honest demeanor, prompted a moment's hesitation in the guard. "Sorry, but you've got the wrong place. No new hires here."

"Is this not under Darren’s jurisdiction?" she persisted, curiosity lacing her inquiry.

"The lands are, but we haven’t expanded staff," the guard replied, stamping his feet in growing impatience.

"Then I must inquire elsewhere," Emily said, her calmness masking bold determination.

Seeking refuge to pass the remainder of the day, she patronized a small café, eavesdropping on the fervent discussions circling the advisor. Imagination flourished with tales of miracles: withered trees blooming thrice, resurrecting breath blown into the long deceased.

The debate soon turned towards the disputed succession, revealing how public favor leaned towards the younger Vice President, noted for his intellect by none other than the Advisor himself.

Emily wryly acknowledged this insight. Jack’s observations rang true: a gullible populace, easily swayed by the charlatanry of Michael, a potential scourge if left unchecked.

As dusk draped the city, Emily slipped silently inside the Defense Tower.

Rectilinear in design, Darren's office lay predictably along its main axis. Utilizing concealment and dexterous movement spells she'd recently honed, she infiltrated with effortless agility.

Darren was absent.

Considering her next steps, Emily deftly rifled through his desk. Well-thumbed tactical guides bore marks of frequent usage. Beneath the desktop, she uncovered a false compartment, containing—not secret messages—but instead a collection of detailed figurative illustrations.

Most observers might blush or incredulous at the content; Emily’s curiosity led to no such embarrassment. Instead, she found a clever half-medallion within the back cover, hinting at a cleverer decoy.

A sharp rap of footsteps echoed from the hall outside; swiftly, Emily restored everything as it was, but not before placing Blake's letter prominently on the surface. Then she was gone, alighting to a hidden perch above as Darren entered.

Expression cautious, Darren’s gaze fell on the letter. Frowning, he scrutinized its contents. Each reading deepened his alarm. Comprehension dawning, he swiftly cast the parchment to the candle flame, watching it vanish to ash.

Emily, satisfied by his discretion, emerged as Darren exited, instructing his subordinates of his outing with unflappable nonchalance. "Mind the fort; I won’t be long."

His staff, unaccustomed to his need for followers, adhered without question, granting Darren the solitude he required.

Emily tailed him quietly, ensuring his intentions were true, his actions discreet. Reassured after evasive circuits around the city, her confidence held as they at last reached their rendezvous—an unremarkable inn.

"Darren, here," Emily called gently, beckoning him over the back fence and into the courtyard they now claimed.

Bitter cold deserted the streets, the inn’s void of life, their sole accommodation deserted, save for flickering shadows beside them. Darren hesitated. "Is the President really here?"

Emily gave no answer, signaling instead with a light tap against the door of the eastern quarters, following the coded knock they’d agreed upon.

Inside, the darkness peeled open to a solitary flame, Blake’s face emerging from its glow as the door swung wide. His gaze alighted on Emily, then to Darren, favor washing over him as tension ebbed away.

"Come in quickly," he urged, ushering the strategist into their haven.