Luelle
The old bicycle creaked lightly with every turn of the wheels, a tapestry of sound that set Luelle's teeth on edge as much as the pang of why she needed to use it. Every time she looked down at the frame, the worn and flaked green paint and the dour colours seemed to taunt her. Her father had believed it was the ideal detail for her cover, supporting her being an unpretentious first-year student. But must it have been on this bike? Her jaw tightened, the rough terrain jarring the handlebars and nearly throwing her off her bike again.
The events of the day whirled in her mind, taking her mind momentarily off the grating squeak of the bike. James and Aria had welcomed her into their fold, and their banter had taken her by surprise. James's infectious enthusiasm and ability to bring people out had melded perfectly with Aria's mellow, calming presence. She hadn't had to manoeuvre much; they had embraced her of their own accord, and the warmth of their acceptance had left a curious, brief ache in her heart. She never had friends before, just the people her family had employed around the house, and then her Nanny, who raised her.
James and Aria had both been on her list—essential players only she could go about finding. She experienced a fleeting swell of satisfaction at their easeful day, but it was quickly muted by her father's voice repeating in her brain: "Relationships are developed through patience, Luelle. Watch supply and demand, adjust, and never let your emotions dictate your strategy." He had a way of turning wins into lessons. And now as she pedalled harder, both to outrun the squeaking and to run away from his voice in her head, she could only wonder how much more of herself she had already buried in the weight of this mission.
And then there was Ethan. Her thoughts turned to him as if by a force of nature. He was her opposite in every conceivable sense — witty, brilliant, and always besting her on every front imaginable in ways that both drove her to distraction and mesmerized her, and he doesn't even know that. Her feelings for him were a complication she couldn't afford, an unknowable variable in her plan. And still, though she did her best to push him out of her mind, his presence clung to her, like the ever-present hum of a tune she couldn't erase.
The bicycle jolted again, and she had to concentrate on the road ahead. She gripped the handlebars harder and muttered under her breath about the contraption being so vital to her disguise that even her father had approved of it. The wind pulled at her hair as the trees began to thin, opening up the wide expanse of the school's grounds ahead of her. The sun simmered lower, pushing long shadows across the path.
James and Aria. Ethan. Her mission. Her father's expectations. They were all threads in a giant tapestry she was attempting to weave, and she had to keep them from somehow tangling. The bike trembled a bit as she leaned, pedalling her legs in measure. The squeak of the chain followed her like an annoying song she couldn't shake, mirroring the hum of urban din that surrounded her. Colours of the sunset draped themselves across the cracked pavement and long shadows of a world she would be required to navigate with precision.
Her thoughts wandered as she rode, the wind tugging at her hair in unruly wisps. She was returning to the small apartment carefully selected to match her new identity. It was an unimpressive structure on a residential street, with exterior features dulled by age, the aroma of cooking from neighbouring units wafting through the halls. It was perfect — ordinary, believable. The sort of place you wouldn't give a second glance. To the outside world, Luelle was just another student, the daughter of widowed mother struggling to keep ends meet. The invention, like the apartment itself, was another little pitched piece of her father's grand plan.
Her father. Mr. Brendon Mars to everyone else, a force cloaked in mystery, but to her — a faraway presence, dominating yet intimidating. She wasn't resenting him, not in the strictest sense. He had prepared her so intensely that there was no room for failure. She knew what loyalty meant, what ensuring the future of the Dominion was all about. But there were times, like when her thoughts started to drift around this area of life, when the weight of it all felt heavy on her chest, like it was going to crush her under all its expectations.
The apartment building came into view as she turned a corner, tightening her grip on the handlebars. Her cover story was air-tight: a bursary from Mr. Mars, a benevolent employer looking after the child of his servant girl, Mrs. Stone. Of course, Luelle had never known her real mother; she had died giving birth to her. Stone. The name seemed foreign to her, a spectre of a life she had never lived. It was her mother's name that she now had, the last link between her and the woman she had never known. It worked in this case, anchoring her identity in a lie so mundane, no one would think to interrogate it.
The woman portraying Luelle's mother was called Evelyn—an unyielding, practical sort with as dependable a presence as a clock that sounds off with an audible tick. Evelyn had always been in Luelle's life, as long as she could remember, and all the girders of change that seemed to enter in the encoding of each new year she entered. Her hands had scars from years of labour, and her movement had the brisk efficiency of someone who had no time for nonsense. But it was in the quieter moments, in the small gestures, that she vaguely became the mother Luelle never had.
Evelyn was never overly affectionate, but she had her ways of showing care — a cup of hot tea sitting on the counter after a long day, a blanket draped over Luelle's shoulders when she was up late studying. Her words were often clipped, her tone brisk, yet there was an undeniable warmth below the surface. The hint of a smile she issued when Luelle unknowingly echoed one of her mantras, the way her brow knotted with concern when Luelle came home looking spent — those were Evelyn's signposts of concern. She was a stabilizing presence for which there was no overlooking. Her voice was firm yet soothing and her touch, though sparse, held an unspoken promise.
Luelle often asked herself whether Evelyn looked at her as anything more than a task, more than the girl she'd been paid to protect, take in and raise. Did even in faint measure Evelyn think of her as a daughter? Or was this role just another face in the thick disguise they wore to the world? There were moments when Luelle experienced a twinge of yearning, a desire for something more—a connection she envisioned her real mother might have provided. But even with the wish for more, she recognized that Evelyn had done everything she could and perhaps more than was asked of her. And while Evelyn's care was subtle and sporadic and occasionally distant, it was sufficient to faintly fill the void where a mother's love might exist.
When she reached the building, she stopped the bike and allowed her foot to sink to the ground while she looked up at the windows. From the outside, she could see herself as a character in another person's fiction, her life serving as a performance written by someone else's hand. But no matter how much she hated the deception, she knew there was no other way. This was her mission, and she was going to make it happens. She sighed lightly, propped the bike against the wall, and went inside. As she jumped up the stairs, the distant creak they made hummed in her ears, and she forced herself to focus on the task ahead. There would be new challenges to come tomorrow, new people to connect with." For now, though, she allowed herself to fall into the identity the world thought she was: just a girl, returning to a small apartment and a mother who awaited her.
Ethan
Ethan tapped his fingers across his car's dashboard, watching Luelle struggle with her bicycle at the school gates. Even from afar, the sound of the rusty bicycle was barely audible over the sounds of students leaving the premises for the day. He leaned in, watching her jaw tighten and her mumble before she finally hopped on and pedalled off. "Why does she feels she has to ride on that thing?" he said under his breath, starting his car and then gingerly trailing her as she swayed down the street.
The bike was more than old; it was pitiful, an unassertive pile of crud that felt out of character for someone as canny and self-assured as Luelle. There was something contradictory in everything about her. She was too observant, too measured in the way she moved and spoke. He had tried to brush it off before, thinking he was overthinking things, but the nagging feeling just wouldn't go away. She was a lot more than she looked like.
Ethan trailed at a low key distance of several car lengths. He opened his window a fraction, the evening air chilling his thoughts as he kept his eyes on her trembling figure in front. The steady squeak of her bike led him on, the faint soundtrack to his circling suspicions.
His thoughts drifted back to the stories he had heard growing up—the Crimson Dominion, a domain that thrived on loyalty, secrecy, and power games. His parents had been clear: The Dominion was no one to mess with. And as a man who was part of its shadowy world, Ethan realized that he should never allow himself to become too close to anyone. And here he was, trailing after a girl who somehow had a way of snagging his focus no matter how hard he tried to make himself scarce.
Luelle took a right onto a quieter street of old apartment buildings, and Ethan eased off the gas. His heart raced as he saw her look back over her shoulder and her eyes darted to the street behind her. Was she bemused to be being followed? She didn't brake but tightened her grip on the handlebars, her posture changing just a bit — more focused, more intentional.
She knows how to cover her ass, Ethan thought grimly. He parked at the corner, far enough away to stay out of sight, and killed the engine. He could just see her bike from here as she neared a nondescript building at the end of the street. It was unremarkable, perfectly ordinary — much like her. He felt his frown deepen as he gripped the steering wheel tighter.
She swung off the bike and leaned it against the building's wall, her motions swift and habitual. She vanished inside without so much as looking back, leaving Ethan sitting there quiet. He looked at the building again, forced the image of her walking through those doors into his head and compared it to the girl who had always held in portions of herself at school. He took his phone out and entered a quick note for himself: "Luelle. Apartment. Investigate further."