Final Flashback

One week ago, Karl perched on a table like it was his throne. It wasn’t the grin that caught her attention—it was the size of him! His legs didn’t quite reach the floor. His bandaged shoulder curled slightly, still aching beneath the fabric. For a moment, the rage and fire melted away, revealing just a kid. Something stirred in her chest, small yet dangerous. It wasn't softness, nor forgiveness, but memory. Of being young, angry, and utterly alone.

She sat down quietly, not beside him, but close enough.

“It seems like you followed me,” he said. The smile faded, replaced by something sour—fear sharpened into anger. Aurora understood.

“Maybe I did,” she said, setting down her tray. She took a bite, forcing it down, eyes flicking to his wounded side.

“Karl…” He looked at her, guarded, no mockery. She had almost forgotten, lost in everything, that he was a kid—a reflection of her own past at the Academy, friendless and isolated.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out softly, but not weak.

“For what?” he asked, eyes testing. “You didn’t do anything.”

She met his gaze steadily, understanding him better than he did. “But you think you did.”

He didn’t flinch, chewing slowly, weighing whether to flip the table or not. She let silence stretch without defense or retreat. She just gave him her presence. And slowly, to her surprise, something shifted. His shoulders eased, not much, but enough.

“Do you think…” he started, then paused. “I shouldn’t have destroyed that store?”

Aurora swallowed, wiped her lips. “I don’t think you wanted to. I don’t think you meant to.”

Karl stared at his food, then up at her. His voice dropped low. “Am I a bad person?”

Snowglobes shattered behind her eyes—screams, a family scrambling from his fury. She wiped her mouth again.

“No,” she said. “You’re not a bad kid.”

He looked down.“You don’t know the things I did,” Karl muttered thinly. “If you did, you’d call me a bad kid.”

Aurora shifted, voice light. “You mean murder? Destruction? Chaos?” Karl blinked, looking at her. “Stealing. Rioting. Burning buildings,” she continued. “Karl, I’ve already assumed you’ve done all of it.”

Then, a pulse of red energy scraped at her senses. Her head snapped toward the door as Kristo entered, grabbing a tray, and sitting between them without a word. He didn’t look at either of them. Just ate. Karl watched and frowned.

“You’re not gonna say anything?”

Kristo didn’t pause. “Do you want me to?”

“I thought you’d… I don’t know. You’d tell me I’m bad. Dangerous.”

“You are,” Kristo said calmly. “So am I.” He pointed at Aurora with his fork. “So is she.”

That shut Karl up. Kristo sipped something steaming.

“Difference is, I know when I’m about to explode. And I choose not to.”

Karl scoffed. “That’s stupid.”

Kristo shrugged. “Maybe. But I haven’t had to apologize during breakfast.”

Karl stared, unsure whether to laugh or bite him. Then, just barely, he smirked. Aurora smiled too, despite herself, as she watched quietly. She realized then that she didn’t need to be the person Karl trusted most. At least, not in this moment. And for the time, she forgot Milo and Selus. She could breathe.

Or so she thought.

The last arrival made her catch the breath of the room as she came in—eyes landing on Karl, Aurora, then Kristo. The air cleared as she sat, one leg crossed elegantly. Her eyes sharp and amused scanned the table. Kristo didn’t look up, eating steadily.

“Are you three playing family?”

Karl smirked, innocence gone, armor back on. “Wouldn’t you be interested?”

Aurora watched Karl puff up, slipping back into performance. Samantha smiled sharp and slow. Samantha’s attention drifted to Kristo, amusement flickered. He hadn’t looked at her. She moved closer, one hand on his shoulder, then the other. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered something Aurora couldn’t hear.

Kristo stopped chewing, set down his fork, turned slowly—not angry, just sharp and measured. His eyes locked on hers. “Don’t.”

Samantha blinked, smiled. “Still pretending I don’t get to touch you?”

Kristo picked up his fork, resumed eating. Aurora knew—he felt it. Not extreme, but violated. Samantha traced fingers along his cheek, kissed it.

Aurora tensed, about to intervene. But Kristo grabbed her shoulders, pushed her away—firm, precise.

She’d crossed a line.

Her eyes widened just a beat. Then twinkled with a too-knowing smile. She turned to Aurora, who was still chewing. “So we meet again,” she teased.

Her smile faded. She looked Aurora up and down like a blemish on silk. “It’s amusing seeing you go after everyone out of your league.” The words could have cut, but Aurora simply swallowed, wiped her lips. Fingers interlaced, smile sharpened.

“Yes, we’re playing family,” she said, leaning forward. “And you’re interrupting.”

Karl blinked, then laughed hard, delighted. Even Kristo looked at her mid-chew, watching. Samantha paused, then laughed too—but hers was too light, too sweet. Music with a serrated edge. Aurora didn’t flinch, just smiled sharper.

The delight drained from Samantha’s eyes, replaced by something darker, bare. “Don’t forget,” she whispered. “I tried to warn you. About Milo. About everything.”

“Samantha, that’s enough.” Kristo glared.

“Well then,” she said, smoothing sleeves with practiced grace. Her gaze landed on Kristo—then Aurora—and twirled. “You really think he doesn’t know what you’re doing?” She smiled too sweetly, but her flickering eyes said otherwise. “Everyone thinks they’re the exception. That’s how he plays it.”

Aurora flipped around.

“Who?”

But she saw no one. Samantha was already gone, singing, “I’ll see you again.” Karl laughed, leaving the table. Aurora and Kristo stared at each other.

—----------------------

It took Aurora and Kristo thirty seconds to see the scene had changed. The nobles, the soldiers were dead. Who had done this? And so quickly? Neither spoke. Aurora’s breath caught. Kristo turned his face away. They didn’t describe what they saw – didn’t name it. But the silence was loud. Even the shadows recoiled. And in the middle of it, shimmering with uncanny beauty was Samantha.

Milo’s army of servants, castoffs, and forgotten people now clearly had the advantage. Her white coat was soaked through. A slow shimmer of red caught in the rising moonlight. She looked up, smiling faintly, bathed in what she’d done. Then she saw him.

Her posture shifted. She didn’t run to him or speak. She simply turned elegantly toward Milo, like someone waiting to be seen. “I did it,” she said, breathless. “I risked everything. I killed your enemies.”

Milo said nothing. He stepped closer slowly. And then, he looked at her closely.

“I see…” His voice was quiet. “You…missed the point.” He scrutinized the brutal way she had killed everybody. “And worse, you made this into a show…hosted in this theater.”

Samantha’s smile faded, fingers curled at her sides.

Milo tilted his head slightly. “But you misunderstood one thing.” He didn’t look at Aurora. He didn’t need to. “She never looks at me when she chooses to do anything.” He moved past the blood without stepping in it. Every word was sharp as bone. “She doesn’t do it for me. She doesn’t confuse performance with truth.”

The wind stirred the edges of her coat. “You think you’ve transcended. That you’re clean, sharpened. But perfection—” His voice dipped. “Perfection is another kind of weakness. A mask. Just like your revered beauty.”

Samantha said nothing. But the gleam in her eyes faltered. He continued. “I was wrong about you. I’m sorry.” He left Samantha behind, blood-slick, radiant, and quietly erased.

“I suggest you don’t appear before me again.”

Samantha stood in the snow. Her lips parted, like she might speak, but nothing came. One hand rose, slightly, then curled into a fist. The ash touched her lashes. She didn’t blink. He didn’t look back. Everything she’d done was for him. And still—he walked away.

She glared at Aurora, her nose flaring. The only reason he chooses you is because…

Her eyes were piercing.