The fallout from the gala was instantaneous. By dawn, the "Blue Diamond Incident" was the only thing the underground elite talked about. Elara sat in the center of the grand library, the blue dress replaced by her working clothes—denim and a paint-stained apron.
The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Killian was pacing, his phone buzzing incessantly with reports of market shifts. Jace was sharpening a set of throwing knives on the mahogany table, the rasp of metal on stone setting everyone's nerves on edge.
"The Iron Family has declared a 'Hostile Acquisition' of the Vance assets," Killian said, his voice cold enough to freeze the air. "They aren't just coming for our stocks. They are coming for the lab. They want the map, and they want the Muse."
"Let them come," Jace chuckled, testing the edge of a blade with his thumb. "I haven't had a decent workout since the alleyway."
"This isn't a street fight, Jace," Alistair intervened, looking up from a tablet displaying the mansion's thermal security grid. "The Irons use heavy mercenaries. E-pulse tech. If they hit our grid, the restoration lab's climate control will fail. The Orchid's Heart will crumble into dust within ten minutes of exposure."
Elara stood up, her heart hammering. "I'm nearly finished with the third layer. If I lose that work now, it's over. The map will be unreadable forever."
Killian stopped pacing and looked at her. For a moment, the cold CEO mask slipped, revealing a raw, protective instinct. "Silas, take her to the vault. It's reinforced against EMPs. The rest of us will hold the perimeter."
"I'm not hiding in a box while you guys fight," Elara snapped.
"You aren't hiding," Silas said, stepping out of the shadows and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "You are protecting the objective. If the painting dies, our leverage dies. Move."
As Silas led her down to the deep sub-levels, the first explosion rocked the estate. The lights flickered, turning a warning red.
Inside the vault, the silence was deafening. It was a high-tech bunker filled with the Orchids' most prized artifacts. Elara set the painting on a temporary easel, her hands trembling.
"Silas," she whispered as he stood by the heavy steel door. "Are they going to be okay?"
Silas didn't turn around. "Killian has the strategy. Jace has the hunger. Alistair has the tech. Min-ho... well, Min-ho is currently redirecting all satellite surveillance to blind the attackers. They are the Five Orchids, Elara. They don't lose."
"But they're fighting for me," she realized aloud.
"No," Silas finally turned, his dark eyes burning. "They are fighting for the future you represent. But I... I am just here for you."
Before she could respond, the vault door groaned. A muffled thud echoed from the other side.
"They're in the vents," Silas growled, drawing a heavy-caliber pistol from his holster. "Stay behind me. Don't use your Sight unless I tell you. It drains you too much."
The ceiling panel hissed open. Two men in tactical gear dropped down, their movements robotic and precise. The Iron Family's "Automated Soldiers."
Silas moved with the speed of a landslide. He didn't just shoot; he used his body as a shield, keeping himself between the gunmen and Elara. The sound of gunfire in the small vault was ear-splitting.
Elara felt the familiar itch behind her eyes. The Sight. Against Silas's warning, she let the amber glow take over. The world slowed down. She didn't see the men; she saw their weaknesses—the frayed wiring in their tactical vests, the slight delay in their mechanical joints.
"Silas! The knees!" she shouted. "Their armor is layered, but the joints are exposed!"
Silas didn't question her. He dropped low, sweeping the legs of the first mercenary and delivering a point-blank shot to the exposed hydraulics. The man collapsed with a spray of sparks.
But the second mercenary was already leveling his weapon at the painting—the leverage.
"No!" Elara lunged forward, not thinking of the danger.
She felt a surge of energy, a golden thread snapping from her fingertips toward the mercenary. It wasn't a physical blow, but the man staggered back as if hit by a psychic wave. His visor cracked, his internal systems haywire from the sheer force of Elara's will.
Silas finished him with a crushing blow to the helmet.
Silence returned to the vault, save for the heavy breathing of the two survivors.
Silas turned to her, his eyes wide with shock. Blood was trickling down his arm, but he didn't seem to notice. "What... what did you just do?"
Elara slumped against the easel, the world spinning. The amber glow in her eyes faded, leaving her nearly blind in the dim light. "I... I don't know. I just wanted him to stop."
The vault door hissed open. Killian stood there, his suit torn, his face covered in soot, followed by a frantic Min-ho.
"The perimeter is clear," Killian began, but he stopped when he saw the downed mercenaries and Elara's state.
He rushed to her, catching her before she hit the floor. "Alistair! Get down here now!"
Min-ho knelt beside them, his face pale. "She used it, didn't she? The Source... it's waking up inside her."
Killian pulled Elara into his chest, his heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ear. "It doesn't matter. She saved the map. She saved us."
"I didn't do it for the map," Elara whispered, her voice fading as sleep claimed her. "I did it for my guards."
As she drifted off, she felt five different hands reaching for her—Killian's grip on her waist, Silas's steady hand on her shoulder, Min-ho brushing her hair back, and Alistair's cold fingers checking her pulse as he arrived.
The siege was over, but the true war—the one for Elara's soul—had only just reached its turning point.