The room was colder than Evelyn expected.
Not temperature-wise—emotionally.
Halcyon representatives sat on one side of the studio, three of them, dressed in neutral tones that looked intentionally unremarkable. They didn't smile when she entered. They didn't frown either. They watched. Closely. Like people who had already made a hundred decisions today and were prepared to make a hundred more without explanation.
No assistants were allowed to enter with their models.
This was between the models and Halcyon.
"Evelyn Hart," one of the representatives said, glancing at her tablet. A woman, mid-thirties, sharp eyes, hair pulled back tightly. "Step forward."
Evelyn did.
The studio was simple—white walls, clean floor, a camera set up at one end, a long mirror running along the opposite side. No music. No audience. No applause waiting at the end.
"This is not a runway," another representative said. A man this time. Calm voice. Measured. "This is assessment."
He nodded once.
A Milan coordinator handed Evelyn a garment bag.
"Change," the woman said. "You have five minutes."
Inside the bag was a structured outfit—tailored, modern, unforgiving. Clean lines. No room to hide flaws.
Evelyn didn't rush. She changed carefully, checked the fit, adjusted nothing that didn't need adjusting. When she stepped back out, the room felt smaller.
"Position," the man said.
She stood where indicated.
"Walk," the woman said. "No music."
Evelyn inhaled once, then moved.
Not fast. Not slow.
Controlled.
She imagined the Hart mansion halls—the way she had learned to move quietly, precisely, never drawing attention unless necessary. She used that. Let it shape her steps.
Halfway through, the woman raised a hand.
"Stop."
Evelyn stopped instantly.
"Turn," she said.
Evelyn turned.
"Look at the camera," the man added.
She did.
Not defiant. Not submissive.
Present.
The silence stretched.
"Again," the woman said. "This time—reset."
Evelyn nodded and returned to the starting point.
They put her through it again. And again.
Then posture assessment. Stillness tests. Expression control. A short on-the-spot interview that wasn't really about answers—it was about how she handled interruption, redirection, pressure.
"Why Milan?" the woman asked suddenly.
Evelyn didn't hesitate. "Because they invest before they own."
A pause.
The man made a note.
"Final task," he said. "Impromptu branding."
A folder slid across the table.
Evelyn opened it. Halcyon brief. Minimal information. No prep time.
"Two minutes," the woman said. "Convince us you belong on our brand without speaking."
Evelyn closed the folder.
She stood still.
Counted her breath.
Then she stepped forward and did something none of the others had done that day.
She stopped trying to impress them.
She relaxed her shoulders. Adjusted her stance. Let herself exist in the space instead of performing for it. She met their eyes one by one—not challenging, not pleading.
Just there.
When time was called, no one spoke immediately.
"Thank you," the woman said eventually. "You may go."
Evelyn nodded once and left without looking back.
She didn't wait for anyone.
The moment she exited Milan's doors, she flagged a cab.
"Address?" the driver asked.
She gave it.
As the car pulled into traffic, she finally let herself breathe.
Her phone buzzed.
Liora: Everything okay?
Evelyn: First round done. Heading home.
Liora: Proud of you.
Evelyn smiled faintly.
She didn't notice the woman standing across the street.
Talia watched the cab disappear into traffic, her jaw tight.
She hadn't planned on staying this long. Hadn't planned on seeing that.
Evelyn Hart wasn't supposed to be this composed. This unaffected.
She turned sharply and headed back inside Milan.
Straight to the restroom.
The moment the door locked behind her, Talia pulled out her phone and dialed.
"Answer," she muttered.
It rang once.
Then—
"What?" a man's voice said. Low. Irritated.
"The plan failed," Talia said, pacing. "Your men were arrested."
Silence.
Then a slow exhale. "They won't talk."
"You don't know that," Talia snapped. "If this comes back to me—"
"It won't," he said calmly. "They know better."
She stopped pacing. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because," he said, "I made sure their families are taken care of."
Her breath caught. "That's not—"
"They won't confess," he repeated. "Not after what I've done for them."
Talia pressed her fingers to her temple. "Halcyon is watching everything now. Milan is watching. Cross is watching."
"Then don't panic," he said. "We move to phase two."
"And if she advances?" Talia asked.
A pause.
"Then we make sure she doesn't finish," he replied.
Talia swallowed. "You promised this wouldn't come back to me."
"And it won't," he said. "As long as you do exactly what I say."
The call ended.
Talia stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Then she washed her hands, fixed her expression, and walked back out like nothing had happened.