Swan’s office was a shrine to himself.

Velvet curtains draped high. Feathers lacquered and displayed in glass. Halo-credits mounted in gilded frames, paraded as if they were art instead of currency.

Swan’s office was a shrine to himself.

Velvet curtains draped high. Feathers lacquered and displayed in glass. Halo-credits mounted in gilded frames, paraded as if they were art instead of currency.

The air smelled of spiced wine and polished wood. Sweet enough to mask the rot beneath.

Luma stepped inside. Her robe tied neat, glow dim but steady. She held herself small, every warning from the other girls stitched into her posture.

Swan turned from his desk, smile spreading wide. Teeth too polished. Wings flaring in a practiced display meant to impress—though his eyes betrayed the hunger beneath.

“Ah,” he crooned, voice smooth as silk. “My little bat arrives.” His tone lingered on the word bat like it was both insult and indulgence. “Do sit. This is your new beginning.”

He gestured toward the low table already set: wine poured deep, fruit sliced into gleaming crescents.

Luma hesitated. The glass shimmered red. She remembered the whispers. Don’t drink. Don’t look.

Her wings shifted. Glow flickered faint. But she obeyed—lowering herself into the seat across from him.

Swan leaned in. Talons resting lightly on the rim of his glass.

“Do you know what they’re calling you already? An angel. A jewel. A flame the district will burn itself to touch. You’re mine now, little bat.” His smile thinned, sharp as talons. “And soon, the Aviary will sing your name.”

His words dripped like honey. His eyes clutched like claws.

Prism’s grin was back, jaw splitting as she sprawled across her chair.
“He’s laying it on thick. Bet he’s already counting how many lords will pay to watch her glow.”

Amaya didn’t move. Her eyes stayed sharp as a blade on the holo feed. She studied Swan’s posture, the tilt of his head, the greed bleeding through his feathers.
“Listen to him. He doesn’t see her as talent. He sees her as currency. A commodity to auction.”

Rue stood behind them, arms crossed, silent. Her eyes burned violet in the glow, fixed not on Swan but on the trembling bat across from him. Shadows bled down her arms, restless, hungry, waiting.

Amaya’s gaze flicked sideways at Rue. She didn’t comment. Not yet.

The holo showed Swan lifting his glass, smiling wider.
“To your future, little bat.”

Luma’s fingers tightened on her robe. She didn’t move to touch the glass.

Swan rose smoothly, sweeping a wing toward the inner door.
“Come,” he crooned. “See where you’ll belong.”

Luma followed, robe clutched tighter around her, each step heavier than the last.

The suite opened into a chamber drenched in velvet. Silks draped the bed canopy, crystal lamps glowing warm, a balcony carved with feather motifs. Too lavish. Too perfect.

It looked less like a home and more like a cage gilded for display.

“This is yours now,” Swan murmured, brushing past her, talons skimming the frame of the bed. “Every luxury. Every comfort. You’ll never want again… so long as you keep shining for me.”

Luma’s glow flickered faintly, the weight of his words sinking sharp.

In Silk Trigger’s comm room, Prism shifted uneasily in her seat. She glanced at Rue’s back — stiff, controlled — then back at the feed.

“Alright, Boss…” Prism muttered, trying to soften the air. “We’ve seen enough of bird-boy’s nesting habits. Want me to cut the feed? Get us all a breather?”

Her claws danced over the controls, ready to flick the holo off.

Rue’s voice cut cold across the room, sharp enough to still the air.
“Did I tell you to turn the feed off?”

Prism froze, slit jaw twitching. She looked back at her commander, shock flashing across her sharp grin.

Rue didn’t even glance at her. Eyes locked on the holo, her voice dropped lower, harder.
“This stays on. Twenty-four seven.”

Prism leaned back slowly, muttering something low under her breath, but she didn’t touch the controls again.

Amaya set her cup down with deliberate calm, eyes narrowing slightly. She wanted answers — every inch of her training told her Swan was only half the story here. But she knew better than to ask outright. Rue would never talk willingly. Not yet.

So she folded her hands in her lap, watching her commander watch the bat.

And she waited.

The suite glowed with too much warmth, every lamp dripping with gold light. Luma stood stiff at the door, robe clutched tight, her glow faint as candlelight.

Swan crossed the room without a sound, talons clicking only once against the floor before he stretched himself across the silk-covered bed. He reclined like he already owned the space, wings draped casually, eyes glittering with hunger.

Luma froze, every muscle tightening. Her glow flickered harder, like it wanted to vanish entirely. Slowly, she edged back a step, then whispered, voice trembling:
“I… I will not sleep with you.”

Her body braced for the blow.

But Swan only laughed, soft and velvety. His beak clicked once as he sat up, eyes sliding over her.

“Oh, sweet little bat…” he murmured, rising from the bed. He circled her slowly, voice dripping honey. “You… as ravishingly, as goddessly beautiful as you are… you are not my type.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice until his feathers brushed her ear.
“Besides… this glow of yours… it is pure innocence. And I will not, under any circumstances, see it tarnished.”

He drew back, smiling wider as he crossed to the window. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, sharp and deliberate.
“I see now why Spice kept such a hold on you.”

In Silk Trigger’s comm room, Prism nearly fell out of her chair. Her jaw split wide, laugh bursting raw and loud.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaat?!” she barked. “A thirty-something-year-old virgin? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

She cackled, slapping the console, tail thumping hard against the wall.
“That bird’s running a gilded cage for a nun!”

Amaya didn’t so much as blink. Her gaze flicked from the holo to Rue, and for the first time, Rue glanced back. Just for a heartbeat.

The room stilled.

Amaya’s fingers twitched against her comm, silent words sliding across a private channel:
—What is she to you?—

Rue didn’t reply. Not aloud. Not through the comm. Her silence was enough.

Prism was still snorting, muttering under her breath about getting snacks as she finally pushed to her feet.
“Popcorn. Definitely popcorn. Maybe jerky. Hell, this needs a drink too…”

Her laughter rattled into the galley, oblivious.

The comm room fell quieter. Just the hum of the holo, Swan’s velvet voice bleeding faint around the edges.

Amaya leaned back in her chair, eyes steady on Rue. She set her empty cup down with deliberate calm, the porcelain click loud in the hush.

“You’ve seen traffickers before,” she said, voice low but edged. “Seen worse than Swan. You never flinch.”

Rue’s jaw tightened. She didn’t look at her.

Amaya studied her profile. Then, softer but sharper, she pressed:
“What makes this girl different?”

The words hung. Heavy.

Rue’s violet eyes flicked toward her, just once, and the look was enough to chill the air. A warning.

But Amaya didn’t drop her gaze.

The holo’s light flickered across them both — Swan circling Luma, voice velvet, promises dripping honey.

Rue turned away, arms crossing tighter. Her silence said everything she wouldn’t give voice to.

Amaya let it stretch, her lips curving in the faintest smirk. She’d gotten no answer, but that told her more than words ever could.

Swan glided back to his desk, every step calculated, feathers catching the lamplight like polished lacquer. He drew open a drawer and lifted a narrow lacquered case, placing it on the table between them with reverence.

“Your promotion,” he said, talons stroking the case, “comes with responsibility. A proper contract. Security for you… and for me.”

The lid snapped open with a click. Inside, sheets of ivory parchment gleamed, edges gilded with gold filigree. A vial of shimmering black ink pulsed faintly, alive with enchantment. The quill beside it was too fine — a feather stripped from some bird of prey, barbed at the tip.

Luma’s glow flickered, her breath quickening as she stared at the pages.

Swan slid one forward, the ink already rippling across its surface, forming letters she could not quite read. Binding words. Oaths woven into law.

“All I require,” Swan crooned, “is your mark. A signature. Your place in the Aviary, secured forever.”

He leaned closer, eyes catching hers, his voice dripping velvet.
“With this, you will never want. You will never be lost again.”

In the comm room, Prism returned with a bowl of popcorn, still chuckling under her breath.
“Let me guess — he’s about to drop papers, huh? Bet it’s gilded to hell. Oh look, I was right.” She tossed a kernel in her mouth, grinning.

But Rue didn’t move.

She stood behind them, arms folded, eyes locked on the feed. The air in the room grew heavier, taut as wire.

Prism blinked, grin faltering. “Uh… Boss?”

Amaya’s gaze cut sideways, sharp, then back to the holo. One hand brushed the comm switch, instinctive. The other stayed calm in her lap.

“Rue,” she murmured low, steady. “Hold.”

Rue’s jaw tightened. No reply. No need. Her silence was iron.

Luma froze, her glow flickering faint as Swan’s words sank into her chest.

Never be lost again.

Her throat tightened.
“What… what do you mean, lost again?”

Swan’s smile widened, feathers rustling with delight. He tapped a talon against the parchment, then leaned back, almost theatrically.

“Ah, then let me tell you a little story.”

With a flick of his hand, a holo-screen shimmered to life behind him. Grainy at first, then sharpening with cruel clarity.

The holo sharpened.

The orphanage.

Sagging rafters, rusted beams. Wire beds lined in rows, floors cracked and bare.

And there—tiny frames of her.

A glowing toddler with too-white fur and molten-gold eyes, coaxing flowers from tin cans.
A child dancing barefoot in the shadows while the others mocked.
A girl clinging to the ceiling rafters, hiding from fists and jeers.

Swan’s smile spread, talons tapping the parchment like a drumbeat.
“See? Even then, you glowed. They hated you for it. Mocked you. Beat you. But still—you shone.”

He leaned forward, feathers trembling with false pity.
“Tell me, little bat… how many nights did you beg to be found? To be seen? To be wanted?”

Luma’s breath caught. Her glow flickered dimmer.

Swan’s tone dropped, velvet and cruel.
“You were lost. A trinket gathering dust in a gutter. Forgotten. And now—” he tapped the parchment harder, the ink rippling like a pulse, “—I give you a place. A name. A future where no one dares to ignore you again.”

His eyes gleamed, hunger unmasked.
“Sign, and you will never be lost again.”

In the comm room, Prism crunched loudly, shaking seaweed seasoning over her popcorn like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Called it,” she mumbled through a mouthful. “Contracts. Knew it.”

Rue didn’t move. Arms still folded, eyes locked on the holo, silence wound tight as wire.

Amaya didn’t take her gaze off Rue this time. Her voice was a blade wrapped in calm.
“He’s not just binding her body. He’s binding her name.”

Rue’s jaw ticked once, the only sign she’d heard.

“A little glowing thing,” Swan purred. “Too white for comfort. Too gold-eyed for trust. Growing weeds in a place where neon and tech reigned. Dancing when she should have bowed.”

He circled the table, voice velvet over knives.
“No one wanted her. She was feared, discarded, left to rot. Until the day…” he paused, talon tracing the frame of one picture where she perched in the rafters, thin and trembling. “Until the Agency came knocking.”

Luma’s breath hitched, her glow dimming as shame and memory crashed over her.

In the comm room, Prism jolted forward, popcorn scattering.
“Wait, wait, WAIT—what the fuck?!” Her slit jaw split wide in disbelief. “That’s the orphanage! I thought they burned that place down! How the hell does he have this footage?!”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowing at Rue.
“Boss… is that where the Agency found you?!”

Rue didn’t answer.

Her jaw locked. Shoulders squared. The air tightened, heavier with each breath. The holo shivered faintly, static crawling its edges, but she gave it no outlet.

Prism’s grin faltered. She sank back into her seat, suddenly aware of the silence pressing in.
“…shit.”

Amaya rose slow, steady. One hand brushed Rue’s forearm, unflinching. Her voice was calm, deliberate, steel-wrapped.
“Rue. Hold.”

Rue’s violet eyes stayed fixed on the holo. Wide, burning, raw. Swan’s smug feathers. Luma shrinking in her chair. The orphanage walls she thought she’d buried forever...

On-screen, Swan’s feathers gleamed in the lamplight as the holo shifted — rafters collapsing, wire beds twisting in fire.

“The Agency burned it down,” he said smoothly, like a bedtime story. “Locked the unwanted inside. Every little monster too strange, too dangerous, too different… perished in ash.”

The screen sharpened — cries, fire, metal beams falling.

Luma gasped, hands flying to her mouth as tears blurred her glow.

Swan’s eyes softened cruel.
“But you, little bat… you survived. Aging out at just the right time. Slipping through the cracks. Surviving on scraps and petty heists until betrayal caught you again.”

The holo flickered. New footage seared across the screen.

Spice’s den...