It was rare that Alaric would be called to see his parents bwithout something happening beforehand. Nerves stirred in his mind, his wings hanging heavily behind him as he made his way over to the sunroom they often spent their afternoons in. 

   Earlier that day was Rosaline's personal meeting with the King and Queen for tea. She indeed was charming, but probably not enough to charm Eliza. She was quite the talker, to be fair, so the meeting couldn't have gone well, as much as he wouldn't want to say it. 

   Dread hung like stones in his stomach as he paused in front of the door, sighed, then knocked before he entered. 

   "You asked for me?" he called, as his mother paced the room and his father sat in a chair, absently drumming his fingers against his arm and staring out a window. Neither of them were looking at him, so he slumped his posture and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. 

   "Wimsey, that girl you wanted to marry," said Queen Eliza, pausing. "Is dead."

   The word echoed through the room, which fell eerily silent as if the whole world paused at the mentioning. Even King Edrich's tapping had ceased. 

   Dead. Nausea gripped Alaric's stomach, and he hunched forward a fraction, his wings jolting. "I'm sorry?" He managed to get out. 

   "Don't make me say it again," Eliza replied, resuming her footsteps. "I'm as surprised as you are. The whole damn Kingdom is." Surprised wasn't quite the word, but still, she continued. "She kind of just collapsed midway through the meeting. Wasn't a pretty sight at all, but the medics took her away right after." A wave of dizziness washed through him, and he thought he might be sick. She paused. 

   "That was some very expensive carpet she ruined with her tea."

   "And when was this?" Alaric asked, after a moment, blinking rapidly. The Queen shrugged. "About an hour ago. I just got the news earlier that she's gone."

   "Why are you so calm about this?" Alaric snapped. "She died. A human life just got taken for whatever reason, and you're acting like this doesn't matter. Isn't our whole thing about valuing our lives?" His wings twitched with agitation at the realization. "It's her status, isn't it? That she wasn't the wealthiest in the Kingdom? That she did art instead of whatever nobles do?" He was breathless by the end, his palms sweating.

   "It doesn't matter how I act here. Just that the public thinks I feel sorry."

   "But you don't care? Not in the slightest?"

   "Well, we would need to find someone else, so the people don't panic too much. And it needs to be quick, so no non-believers might try to do anything." The Reflectives. She bounced her wings absently, disinterested. 

   Alaric opened his mouth to argue, but caught sight of his father, shaking his head. Don't argue with her, he seemed to say. Alaric grimaced and stared at the ground, gripping the doorframe.

   His one shot at a decent life was gone. But how did she die? Why?

   "What caused her death?" he asked slowly, clearing his throat. The Queen shrugged. "They don't know yet, they say it definitely doesn't seem like an illness. Or maybe it was, who knows?" She paused, looking him up and down. "I don't know why I'm still entertaining this, and you look like you're about to be ill, so go do that elsewhere." She waved her hand, disgust written in the crease between her brows and press of her lips. Alaric blinked dumbly, then breathed a tiny sigh as he left. 

   Adrian, he thought. I need to see Adrian. 

   Alaric stormed through the halls, ducking his head away from the line of unsettling portraits and all the way to his room. He flopped forwards onto the bed as the door fell shut behind him, tugging off his glasses and tossing them haphazardly to the side. 

   Adrian wasn't going to be off for another while, so he'll have to wait. He bit back a groan, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

   What to do now? It's not like I know anybody.

   Mum knew Dad because he worked here. Maybe that's a place to start?

   He looked up, and the first thing he saw was the vase from the ball. He walked over to it and twirled the poppy in his hand. It was fake, but he still liked watching how the petals shone in the sunlight. He closed his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. 

   I don't think I want to start.

   Maybe I can wait just a little longer.

❦

   Alaric perked up when he heard a knock on the door. He slammed the book on his lap shut just as Adrian opened the door and opened his mouth to speak. He paused. 

   "Shit," said Alaric, frantically opening the book again. "Shit. I lost the page." Adrian laughed, shutting the door with a click. 

   "Sorry I didn't see you much yesterday," he said, shifting his weight and shoving his hands in his pockets. "How'd the meeting go? Do you know?" Alaric sighed, falling on his back, then winced at the discomfort of his wings beneath him, moving to lean on his elbows behind him instead. "You haven't heard? He said, and Adrian tilted his head to the. Alaric rubbed his eye. "She's dead. She died this morning." Adrian blinked. "I'm sorry?" 

   "Yep." He sat up properly with a sigh. "She just... Collapsed, apparently." Adrian paused, blinking rapidly as Alaric moved to the edge of the bed. Adrian sat beside him. 

   "Damn," he said, at last, running a hand through his hair as his voice dropped. "This was today?" Alaric nodded, then filled him in on his talk with Eliza earlier that day. Adrian stayed silent throughout it, only the occasional nod and eyebrow raise serving as response. 

   A small part of him in the back of his mind felt relieved that things could be put off. He pushed the thought away.  

   "That's... Terrible," he said, cringing. "That doesn't really sound like illness, though, does it?"

   "It could be, but I'm not sure," Alaric agreed. "I just wish I could help, or do something. I hate just sitting here." They sat in uncertain silence until Adrian spoke. 

   "Do you think the Reflectives are still out there?" he asked.

   "Doubt it. Why?"

   "Dunno. Dad said there's no way to know, given how underground they are."

   "You're saying it was their fault?" Adrian shrugged. 

   "It would be convenient." He paused. "And there's Amelia."

  "I don't want to jump to conclusions," Alaric said. "We don't know any of this yet."

   "Just saying. Just because everybody's forgotten about them doesn't mean the others aren't still out there." He paused. "Amelia is a Dietz."

   There were a million and one possibilities. 

   Alaric stood up, pushing his glasses back into place. He stretched his wings out behind him. 

   "C'mon. I've got an idea."

❦

   Alaric pushed open the large, gilded double doors to a section of the library. A sign above them read SCARLET KINGDOM ARCHIVES in bold cursive. 

   "Are you sure we're meant to be in here?" Adrian asked. "Well, am I allowed here?"

   "Nobody really goes to this part of the palace, anyway. I doubt anyone'll even notice," Alaric replied, crossing his arms. "Rereading some stuff from back then couldn't hurt."

   Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked through this part of the library. They had been in here once or twice when they were younger, but soon figured out that long rows of shelves, no matter how many, don't help very much in any game of hide-and-seek. Still, the high ceilings, elaborate arches, and billions of books lining the walls were oddly comforting. 

   Alaric glanced past several shelves, skimming through the categories and time periods, before finding one that contained news articles from about a decade ago. He kneeled, narrowing his eyes as he flipped through different years and topics. 

   "What year did you say this was?" Alaric called, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He nudged the side of Adrian's thigh when he didn't respond, and he jumped, blinking dumbly at him. Alaric chuckled. "What year was this?" Adrian stammered. 

   "Twelve years back." Alaric couldn't help a small smile. 

   "That was 'twenty three, then..." he muttered, sifting through several folders filled with countless old and slightly crumpled prints. It took him several long minutes to find anything. 

   He pulled out a paper and began mumbling to himself, skimming the first page. The headline read, "Breaking News: Leaders of the Infamous Reflectives Caught After Anonymous Tip. Remaining Members May Still Roam Your Neighborhoods". 

   "You were right," he remarked, then continued quietly reading to himself. He flipped to the next page, then the next. 

   "So?" Adrian pressed when Alaric reached the end of the section. His stomach twisted as he lowered the paper. 

   "There's one guy, it looks like. Do you recognize the name Volney Abernathy?" Adrian shrugged. 

   "Dad might've mentioned the name once, but I'm not sure."

   "Ah. Says he was in the plans the person turned in, but he was never caught. Only the Dietzes." The two leaders.

   Alaric sighed, pushing himself up from the ground with the paper in hand. "There's nothing else that's useful," he said. "The rest is just crap."

   "I don't remember ever hearing about them again," Adrian noted, stretching his arms over his head. "Dad was pretty paranoid about them when they adopted me. But nothing came."

   Damn, Alaric thought to himself. Adrian was adopted roughly seven years ago, and the incident was twelve. 

   Five years. Five years, and Clarke was still afraid?

   "I don't think I've heard about them after that, either," he said. "Mum's basically forgotten about them since it was so long ago. I suppose twelve years of peace is enough for a Kingdom to forget about a disbanded group." His wings twitched at the possibilities. "Likely. Likely disbanded group. It never explicitly stated they'd fallen apart, either."

   "Oh, look," Alaric said, squinting at the portrait of Elke Dietz, beside Emil. "Amelia and her mum look pretty identical, huh?" Adrian knelt down. 

   Same eyes- serene, yet alert, Amelia's blue as the sky. Same nose, same thin lips and eyebrows, same cheekbones. The only main difference was in the age and hair- Amelia's was much lighter, like her father's, and was parted at the side rather than the middle. 

   Innocent looking people, leading a criminal organization.

   And Amelia as their daughter. 

   "I just wish I could know more." Adrian put a hand on his shoulder. 

   "I'm sure they'll figure it out eventually, yeah?" Alaric hesitated, then folded up the papers and stuck them in his pocket. 

   Rosaline seemed so happy, he thought to himself. She didn't deserve to have her life taken away like that.

   I need to figure out what happened to her. I can't give up until then.

   "...Yeah."

   This will be his new purpose. His new goal. His last reason to live, now going beyond Adrian's contract.

❦

   Adrian made his way up the creaky stairway of his own home and found his room.

   I need to clear my mind.

   Windowsills were perpetually littered with small vases and cups for yellow flowers, and the bed was never quite made, but it was certainly his. Untouched books and stray papers covered his desk from the times he had attempted to properly learn to read and write, but he had given up after a while as he had bigger things to worry about. At least, that had been his reasoning for the past few months. 

   But he brushed right past all of them as if they never existed, stopping at the guitar propped up on a stand, and his collection of exactly three and a half picks (he had broken one and lost the other half about a year ago). He swept up the guitar- who he had named Delilah, as all wonderful things deserved names-  and a pick, and sat down on the bed. 

   He hummed softly as he strained his memory to get the chords right to an old song, Hark, Fair Delilah, the first song his mother had taught him to sing.

   He didn't have to strain much, though, as he was well familiar with the song, albeit a bit rusty. But something just felt off. 

   He paused to tune each string, but nothing was particularly wrong. He tried playing again, and something was still weird. 

   Maybe it's my voice, he thought. I am tired, to be fair. He ditched the humming, and it was still wrong. 

   He played the melody over and over, slow and fast. Hell, he even tried playing it backwards, but that didn't really help. 

   He suppressed a groan of frustration as he put her away, and the pick beside its deceased brother.

   I'll try again tomorrow, he thought to himself as he flopped on the bed, his eyes growing tired but not quite closed. 

   Oh, well. 

❦

   "Uncle?" she called as she stepped into the bar. 

   It was a rather bland place, filled with drunks of all sorts and muted chatter. Old photos and posters littered the walls, crinkled and yellowed with the years they spent in neglect despite being such a common sight. Several mysterious stains that nobody seemed to know the origin of resided among them. 

   The place reeked of cheap alcohol and sweat, the atmosphere heavy with the noise that came with crowds and drunkards.

   However, it was the perfect place to blend in. 

   "What's a pretty thing like you doing around here?" a stranger called- a man who looked to be in his fourties, waving a mug of beer. The girl ignored him, pushing past the ugly sight. His friends laughed dryly at her reaction, uttering some teases or remarks she didn't bother trying to comprehend. 

   And there he sat, in the same corner he usually did, holding a tattered newspaper. 

   "I see it worked," he told her. "Well done." She masked a smile, fighting to keep her expression blank as she gave a curt nod. He looked up to meet her eyes, weary with age and years upon years of hiding and- admittedly- fear. 

   "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree at all, does it?" A grim smile spread through his features. "You're truly as brilliant as your mother."

   This time, she allowed herself a small smile.

❊