Shiori Taira stood in a posture that managed to be both defiant and terrified. Her grey suit was flawless, the cut severe, but her hands—clasped tight behind her back—betrayed the subtle tremor of adrenaline. The room's black light leeched the color from her face, leaving her eyes pale and almost luminous.
Hazel hovered at the far end of the table, shoulders rounded, eyes locked on the blueprints rolled under Shiori's arm.
Jane broke the silence first. "You have two minutes, Miss Taira. Then I ask my own questions."
Shiori blinked, steadied herself, and spoke.
"I need you to steal something." She let the words settle, as if expecting them to shatter. "It's called the Arcana Bridge. Lancaster Industries developed it. You can see the technical specs—" She set the blueprints on the table and slid them forward with both hands, careful not to let her knuckles betray the white-knuckle tension.
Owen reached for them, but Ellen got there first, flipping the top page with surgical precision.
"It's a synthetic leyline generator," Ellen read, eyes skimming the technical diagrams. "Compact. Portable. Looks like they use a cluster of hybrid crystals instead of conventional flow stones. That's ambitious."
"More like suicidal," Owen said, not hiding his skepticism. "These things rupture if you feed them wrong. You're hiring us to steal a bomb?"
Shiori shook her head. "It's not a bomb. It's… a key. The Bridge lets anyone—human or Feran, mage or null—channel mana through the device. Instant spellcasting. No years of training, no bloodline requirements. Just the push of a button."
"Sounds like the kind of thing people kill for," Jane said. Her voice was even, but Owen heard the shift: the job had gone from routine to mythic in one sentence.
"They already have." Shiori's jaw tensed, her eyes hardening. "Lancaster is planning a demonstration next week. It will change the contract structure for every magical worker in the city. They want to sell it as 'equality,' but it's just another leash. Whoever owns the Bridge owns everyone who uses it."
Owen leaned forward. "Why you? Why not your father, or the Taira Board?"
A pause. Shiori's gaze went to the floor, then back up, steelier. "My father is already negotiating to buy the prototype. He doesn't want it destroyed—he wants it for himself. I want it out of circulation. For good."
Jane raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself. "You're hiring us to destroy your own family's payday."
"I'm hiring you to prevent another generation of slavery," Shiori said, voice low and trembling. "Last month, three of my Feran friends at St. Gregory's were expelled. No reason given. Last week, Minerva Lancaster forced two others to sign loyalty contracts—under threat of 'scholastic probation.'" She said the words like they were poison. "If they roll out the Bridge, everyone without old money or a bloodline gets collared."
Hazel spoke up, her voice barely audible. "You're not the first client to talk justice. What's in it for you?"
Shiori hesitated, then answered. "Blackmail. I need leverage on Minerva Lancaster. She's the one pushing the project through. I want you to find the prototype, but also anything that can be used to shut her down—permanently. There's a secondary folder in the contract with all her known aliases and likely dirt."
Ellen closed the blueprints, eyes never leaving Shiori's face. "You want us to kill her?"
"No," Shiori said. "Just end her career. Her voice. If she vanishes, another will take her place. If you discredit her, the project stalls."
Owen noticed the way Shiori's knuckles whitened every time she spoke Lancaster's name. He filed it away for later.
Jane gestured at the contract folder. "You know what a black-tier job is, Miss Taira?"
Shiori nodded, though it was clear she'd never actually seen one before. "It means you can use any means necessary. No witnesses, no footprints, no reversals."
"And you understand that if the Board finds out you hired us, they'll erase you from their collective memory?"
"I'm not afraid of being erased," Shiori said. "I'm afraid of being useless."
A silence again, heavier this time.
Ellen broke it by opening the blueprints again and spreading them across the table. "There are inconsistencies," she murmured, running a finger along the margin. "The security array is good, but there are redundancies—double guards, triple wards, and this hallway is a kill zone." She traced a narrow corridor, the runes etched in bright red. "Looks like they expect company."
"They always do," Jane said, smiling faintly.
Hazel peered at the pages, her hand hovering just above the paper. "These wards—they're not normal. They're… hungry."
Ellen nodded. "Mana siphons. They drain you before you even get close to the vault."
Hazel bit her lip, staring at the runes. "If I'm reading this right, the siphons connect to a subbasement. A battery. If you overload it—"
"It blows," Owen finished.
"Or it could blow the whole block," Ellen added, the edge in her voice almost excited.
Jane looked at Shiori. "You want the Bridge destroyed, but if we trip this system, we're talking mass casualties. Collateral."
"I trust your judgment," Shiori said, but there was a tremor in her resolve. "If you can disable it safely, do so. If not… do what you must."
Owen tapped the table. "I don't buy it. Why risk your own people, your own standing, for three Ferans you could replace?"
Shiori's eyes narrowed. "Because someone has to. And because if I don't, I'm just another Taira. You wouldn't understand."
Owen felt the sting, but Jane interrupted before he could retort. "We'll take the job," she said. "But the fee just doubled. If we all die, I want our ghosts to haunt your father's mansion in style."
A flicker of relief crossed Shiori's face, gone so quickly that Owen wondered if he imagined it.
"Done," Shiori said.
Jane signed the contract with a single prick of her thumb. The paper shimmered, absorbed the drop of blood, and pulsed once. The terms were now binding—magically, legally, fatally.
Ellen slid the blueprints to Hazel, who examined them as if they were a map to her own grave. Owen watched her eyes track the lines, saw the way her shoulders hunched further.
Hazel spoke, so quiet it was almost lost in the obsidian hush. "There's something else here. The power grid… it's not just for the device. It's tied to the AI core. If you unplug the Bridge, the whole system might wake up."
Jane's eyes widened. "Like a golem?"
"Worse," Hazel said, voice hollow. "Like a ghost with a thousand teeth."
Jane laughed, loud and sudden. "Best job we've had in months."
Owen sat back, folding his hands. "When do we start?"
Shiori drew a breath, finally allowing her shoulders to relax. "Tomorrow night. That's when they move the prototype. You'll find it at the Lancaster Vault, in their megaplant in the Industrial District. All the access codes are in the folder."
Jane nodded, then leaned forward, her gaze locking onto Shiori's. "Final question. Are you prepared to see what happens when the leash breaks?"
Shiori hesitated, then nodded, more certain than before. "I was born on a leash. All I want is to see the other side."
Jane grinned, sharp as a wolf. "You might get your wish, kid."
She closed the folder, pocketed the blueprints, and stood. The rest of UMBRA followed suit, each member pocketing a fragment of the plan, a splinter of the possible future.
Shiori bowed, formal and slow, then backed out of the room, leaving the scent of ozone and raw nerves behind.
As the door slid shut, Ellen murmured, "She's young."
"Not for long," Jane said.
Owen watched the door, thinking of all the ways a plan could go wrong.
Hazel's whisper, almost a prayer: "She reminds me of Mouse."
For a moment, nobody disagreed.