Diana's brow furrowed, confusion creeping into her features. 

"He's not coming? Did something go wrong with the plan?"

The man remained calm, his tone matter-of-fact. 

"Lady, he is still a Holmes after all."

She stood up slowly, her movements deliberate as she crossed the room toward the window. The dark city sprawled below, oblivious to the machinations that were unfolding within its walls. Diana stared out for a moment, her thoughts weighing heavily on her shoulders.

"Well then," she said, her voice cold and steady, "we're going with Plan B."

A slight nod from the man, his face betraying no emotion. 

"Understood."

Diana's eyes followed the man as he made his way toward the door. The silence in the room felt thick, heavy, as if the air itself was holding its breath. She let out a soft sigh, barely audible.

"He's going to understand," she murmured under her breath, the words tinged with both resolve and an undercurrent of something darker. 

She stood still for a moment, a slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips. 

"At this point," she continued, her voice gaining a quiet but firm strength, "let's make it seem intentional."

In truth, that was her strategy — or at least, what she let Felix believe. Diana had no grand scheme, no meticulously crafted plan. She was simply observing, waiting, and reacting. Every move he made, every decision, she watched closely, making it appear as though it was all part of a carefully orchestrated sequence. Slowly, doubt would begin to creep into his thoughts. He'd start questioning everything — his own instincts, his choices, even his intentions. Diana had no need to control his every move; all she had to do was give him the illusion that she did. That was the power she held — the power of uncertainty, the power of making him believe he was walking into her trap without realizing that, in truth, there was no trap at all. It was all in his mind. And that was where she thrived, in the delicate dance of manipulation without lifting a finger.

Suddenly, a soft knock echoed through the room.

"Lady Moriarty, may I come inside?" came the quiet voice from the other side.

Diana's gaze shifted toward the door, and without hesitation, she replied, "You may."

Finn stepped into the room, his footsteps firm and deliberate. His presence was always reassuring, yet today, there was something heavier about the air between them.

"Why are you here again?" Diana asked, her voice laced with an indifference that masked the familiarity she felt with him.

"Lady Moriarty…" Finn began, his tone hesitant, as if he were bracing himself to speak the words he knew would be rejected.

Diana already knew what he was going to say. She had always known.

"No, I won't" she cut him off, before he could even form the full question.

Finn froze, caught off guard. They had known each other since childhood, grew up side by side in a world of shadows, but still, she surprised him with every word. Diana was the only person Finn had, and he was the only one she truly trusted. And yet, despite their bond, she still couldn't let herself escape this life.

"But… you can escape this hellish life your father gave you. I can help you. You won't have to kill anymore…" Finn's words came out almost pleading, but Diana remained unyielding.

She moved closer to him, her presence both commanding and unsettling. Her gaze locked with his, deep and unwavering, as she peered into his green eyes. There was an undeniable connection between them, one forged in blood and survival, yet it was also an unspoken tragedy — a bond that neither of them could ever truly escape.

Finn couldn't tear his eyes away from hers, captivated by that intense shade of red — scarlet, like blood spilled across the ground. It was a color that reminded him of all the lives they had taken together. And yet, despite everything, he couldn't look away.

"Finn," Diana spoke his name softly, breaking the fragile silence between them. She reached up, her fingers brushing gently across his cheek. The touch was tender, yet it carried the weight of everything they had done. Finn didn't flinch or pull back. Instead, he leaned into her touch, tilting his head toward her hand — his heart betraying him. The same hand that had killed countless people now caressed his skin, but he didn't feel fear. Instead, he felt something far more complicated — desire, longing, and an aching sorrow that he couldn't quite name.

"I was born to end this rivalry, Finn," Diana continued, her voice softer now. "I can't escape this fate."

"Lady Moriarty…" Finn murmured, his voice filled with quiet anguish.

"You were born lucky, Finn. You can feel emotions. You can understand them. But I…" 

Diana's voice faltered slightly, a rare crack in her otherwise impenetrable exterior. 

"I can't. I really can't."

Finn's expression softened. A deep sadness washed over him, the kind that came from seeing someone you cared for trapped in their own self-made cage. He had always hoped, always wanted, to pull her out of the darkness. But he knew — he had known for a long time — that she was too far gone.

"If we only had been born in a different situation, would things have been better?" 

Finn whispered, almost to himself.

"Maybe… who knows." 

Diana's response was fleeting, almost indifferent, but there was a hint of something behind it. Regret? Hope? It was hard to tell. 

She slowly withdrew her hand from his face, the moment passing between them like a fleeting shadow.

"How's the plan proceeding?" Diana asked, changing the subject with ease, as if the intimate exchange they just shared hadn't occurred.

"Everything is as planned," Finn replied, his tone shifting back to business, though his eyes still carried the weight of their conversation.

Diana nodded, her expression unreadable. She had her own role to play, and there was no turning back now. The rivalry would end on her terms, and if that meant sealing her fate, so be it. She had never been one for sentimentality, and she never would be. In the end, she knew the only thing that truly mattered was the power she held — and the legacy she was determined to leave behind.

Finn stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed or what to say. He had always been there for her — since childhood, since the very beginning of this dark path they had walked together — but now, in moments like this, he felt like an outsider in her world.

"May I bring you something to eat, Lady?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"No, thank you" Diana replied curtly, her gaze fixed on a distant point, as if the world outside her thoughts didn't matter at all.

"But… you know you're gravely underweight." 

Finn pressed, his worry deepening. He couldn't ignore how frail she looked lately, how the fire that had always burned so fiercely within her seemed to be dimming. Or… was it just an impression of his?

"It doesn't matter." Diana said, her voice sharp, as though she were trying to cut through his concerns with a blade. She didn't need anyone to worry about her, and she didn't want to hear it.

"But—" 

Before he could finish, Diana interrupted him with a cold finality.

"Finn, I understand your concerns, but nothing about my health regards you. You exist only to help me kill."

Her words hung in the air, cutting through the tension between them like a sword. Finn's breath caught in his throat, the sharpness of her statement landing heavy on him. He had always known this to be true, at least in part, but hearing her say it so plainly left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had tried for so long to reach her, to break through the walls she had built around herself, but he knew deep down that he would never be the one to pull her from this darkness.

He froze for a moment, his expression betraying the hurt and confusion he could never fully voice. But he knew. He knew what she was, and what she had become. He was a tool for her, nothing more. And she would never let him be anything else.

"I'll take my leave then," he said quietly, his voice stripped of any previous warmth, now resigned to his role in her world.

"Update me if anything happens," Diana replied without looking at him, her tone businesslike, as if their exchange had been nothing more than a simple transaction.

"Understood," Finn muttered, his heart heavy, before he turned and walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. 

Diana stood still for a moment, her thoughts a tangled mess of resolve and sorrow. She didn't have the luxury of softness, of emotions like Finn clung to. She had a mission, a path laid out before her, and no one — no one — was going to stand in her way.

Finn walked slowly through the dimly lit corridor, his footsteps heavy with the weight of his own thoughts. Every step felt like a reminder of the world he could never escape, the world he had become trapped in — his own feelings of helplessness gnawing at him. He reached his room and opened the door, the familiar scent of stale wood and dust filling his lungs as he stepped inside. 

With a sigh, he let the door close behind him and sank onto the bed, his body going limp as his mind became consumed by one person: Diana. She was the only constant in his life, the one who had pulled him from the depths of despair. But why couldn't he save her? The question echoed endlessly in his mind.

He had never allowed himself to feel this way before — this overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Since when had he started to hope for something more than this, something better? Something for the two of them? Was it foolishness? Was it a dream he had no right to have?

When did he start feeling this way?

His thoughts drifted back, to the time before everything changed. Finn had once lived a simple life. He was born into a humble family, but it had been enough. Despite their modest means, things had always worked out. That was, until tragedy struck. His mother's health had slowly deteriorated after she gave birth to him and his twin brother. Finn could still remember the look in her eyes as she became weaker and weaker, the toll it took on her body, her spirit. She passed away when he was still young, and soon after, their father, crushed by grief and guilt, had turned to gambling and drink. 

Finn could still hear the angry, slurred words of their father as he came home late at night, blaming his sons for their mother's death, for the tragedy of their lives. It wasn't long before the alcohol claimed him too, and he died in a drunken stupor, leaving Finn and his brother to fend for themselves on the unforgiving streets.

They had begged for food. Stolen from others. Slept in alleys, shivering under the cold rain. They had nothing but each other. But even that wasn't enough to survive.

That was when she appeared — Diana. She was only seven years old, yet there was something in her eyes that made her seem far older, far wiser than anyone Finn had ever known. She came to them, offering a way out of the nightmare they were living, a promise of something better. A home. Food. Warmth. A roof over their heads.

But there was a catch. 

She demanded loyalty. Royalty. They had to swear it to her, no questions asked.

At the time, Finn had been taken aback. She was younger than him, and yet, here she was, speaking of royalty, of power, like it was something that came naturally to her. He had never seen anyone like her — so sure of herself, so capable of commanding the world around her. His curiosity had led him to accept her offer, though he hadn't truly understood the gravity of it at the time. But somewhere along the way, that curiosity turned into something more. 

They swore their loyalty to her, and from that moment on, their lives had a new purpose. They began training, learning what it meant to serve her, to help her build her empire, to be worthy of her, even though they were not allowed to meet her again, just yet.

Not everyone could handle the weight of it. Finn's twin brother had struggled, unable to endure the demands placed on them. On a bitter, cold winter day, his brother had died, his body too weak to continue.

That night, everything had shifted for Finn. 

He had always admired Diana from a distance — seen her as something beyond his reach, someone untouchable, even though she had saved him. But after his brother's death, something inside him broke.

Finn stood alone, the rain soaking through his clothes, but he barely felt it. His eyes were fixed on the grave before him, the cold, damp earth where his brother now rested.

Suddenly, he heard the faintest sound — footsteps approaching through the rain. It was a skill he had honed over the years, one he had mastered during his training: the ability to hear things others would miss. He tensed, his hand instinctively going to the knife at his belt, but when he turned, he was met with an unexpected sight.

It was Diana.

She was only nine now, still young, yet there was something in the way she moved, something in her presence that made her seem older than her years. It was as if time had slowed for her. Her scarlet eyes, the same cold, unwavering red that had once pulled him from the depths of his misery, looked at him with an intensity that never faltered. 

"Diana —" he began, his voice hoarse from the weight of everything he had been carrying, but she immediately cut him off.

"Shhh," she whispered, a finger pressed to her lips. "I snuck out to see you. Don't make any noise."

Finn blinked in surprise. Diana, sneaking out? This wasn't the detached, regal girl he had grown up with. She was supposed to be untouchable, someone whose every action was calculated, every move deliberate. The fact that she was here, in this moment, felt… different. 

"Snuck out?" Finn repeated, still puzzled. "Since when do you sneak anywhere?"

Her gaze softened for a moment as she gave a small, almost sad smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Don't be too sad for your brother, please," she said, her voice softening as if trying to ease the weight of grief she knew he carried.