Kieran
"What? You failed!" Kieran's voice sliced through the room like a whip, keen and heavy with rage.
The operative before him shrank, spine rigid, eyes fixed on the ground as if he couldn't abide to meet Kieran's murderous glare. "The timing was off," the man said, the words trembling on his lips as if the aborted effort were heavy. "Rowan jumped in… and there was this girl. She had shouted for him just before — "
Kieran banged his hands against the desk, and the operative fell silent immediately. There was a sound, in the dark room, shadows flying against the wall with the flickering of the single light baulking along the wire. "A girl? What girl?" Kieran growled, the sound dark and dangerous.
"She looked… normal," the operative stuttered. "I didn't see her very well. She kept them from the moment just long enough for the moment to pass."
Kieran sat back in his chair, his jaw locking and his mind whirring. Nothing special, his operative had said. But this failure felt anything but routine to him. The car had been lined up beautifully, the timing flawless, the approach measured to the second. And still, Ethan was walking around unscathed. "His mouth twisted with frustration, a sneer pulling at the corner of his lips.
"The next time, it won't be so messy," Kieran finally said, his voice cold and measured. "I wouldn't care who intervenes — girl, boy, goddamned army. No one stops us next time. Do you understand me?"
The operative nodded rapidly, muttering his agreement while Kieran waved him off with a flick of his hand. When the operative's door shut, Kieran leaned in, steepling his fingers, peering into the gloom beyond his desk. His next steps were already taking shape in his mind: visualising each detail, each counteraction.
Ethan was a liability to all that The Eclipse stood for. His position as the regime's eventual public face, its intended head, made him an ideal target and the living embodiment of everything Kieran hated about the regime. It wasn't just necessary to take him out — it was inevitable.
The girl's name hung with that thread, the unwelcome string of Kieran's thought. Who was she? And how had she managed to sabotage his carefully planned scheme? Ordinary or not, she would be accounted for.
"Let them think they're safe," he mumbled/sneered, his voice laced with contempt. "It will make it easier to surprise them."
He leaned back in his chair, the tension easing a bit in his jaw as he picked up a phone. The earlier failure had annoyed him, but he knew that annoyance alone would not fix his problems. He needed intel — intel that could provide insight into Ethan's patterns, his weaknesses.
He punched in the number, his fingers working automatically. After two rings, a voice picked up, hushed and as though it was doing just fine.
"Kieran."
Kieran took a long breath, allowing it to hang before continuing. "Tell me what you've seen."
There was a pause. A faint rustling, as if the caller had changed locations to avoid being overheard. "Ethan is the same," the voice said. "He always does the same things. School, training, home. No unnecessary deviations."
"Predictable isn't helpful," Kieran said brusquely. "Patterns can be controlled. I need weaknesses."
Another pause. After that, "Rowan is everywhere with him. Sometimes Aria too. They surround him like a buffer — not deliberate but sufficient to become a problem."
The desk released Kieran's drumming fingers. Rowan again. Earlier, the boy had been a blockage, and now he's a palpable presence. And then there was Aria — young, reckless, yet fiercely defensive.
"We'll make do without them," Kieran said dismissively. "Tell me about today. What happened?"
This time there was a longer pause, as if the spy wasn't sure whether to say anything. "An attempt was interrupted by a girl."
Kieran gripped his phone more tightly. "Describe her."
"I don't know much. She had been near Aria's group for some time — quiet, not attracting attention. But today, she saw something we weren't expecting."
A slow, delighted smile broke over Kieran's lips. "Interesting." His voice moved lower, pensive. "Find out who she is. If she's a threat, I'd rather have her gone before she becomes a problem."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Removing her would raise suspicion if she's close to Rowan and Aria."
Kieran's laughter turned into pointed irritation. "Then be smart about it. No loose ends."
The silence on the other end was confirmation at all. Then there was a muted "Copy," and the line went silent.
Kieran let out a breath, staring out the window into the shadows. Ethan may have been on autopilot, but the people he had gotten himself mixed up with were proving themselves to be wild cards. And that girl — whoever she was — had piqued his interest.
She wouldn't be a mystery for much longer.
Luelle
Luelle glided through the halls of her father's estate, her steps light yet deliberate. The earlier tension clung to her like a damp, heavy shirt caught in the wind. She had successfully deterred Ethan from stumbling into a potential disaster, but uncertainty gnawed at her: who was behind it, and would they strike again?
Arriving at her father's private study, she found the golden light at his desk casting flickering shadows around the room. He sat in his familiar chair, poring over reports with a dull intensity, not needing to look up to acknowledge her presence.
"Report." His tone was neutral, yet she sensed the underlying demand for precision, clarity, and strategy.
Luelle inhaled deeply before speaking. "Something felt off today. Ethan nearly walked into an ambush—but it was subtle." She maintained a steady voice as she recounted the parked car at the intersection, which had lurked like prey waiting for the perfect moment. "Soaring doesn't seem like a coincidence. The occupant of that car had been lying in wait, they tried to stage a hit and run."
Her father set down his pen, fingers steepling as he processed her words. "And he didn't notice?"
"No," Luelle replied, shaking her head slightly. "Rowan intervened just in time—for my sake."
Her father finally met her gaze, his expression inscrutable. "You intervened."
"I had to," she insisted.
A moment of silence stretched between them, and Luelle wondered if her father might reprimand her for acting so swiftly. But then he nodded once, his sharp eyes briefly glinting with approval.
"They're watching," he said at last, leaning back in his chair. "Whether this was a botched effort or merely a test of Ethan's awareness, it indicates they're not finished. You must stay close to him without raising suspicion."
Luelle quelled the flicker of nerves that surfaced at the thought. "I've been positioning myself around Rowan. It's the simplest way to remain in Ethan's orbit without it feeling forced."
Her father took a deep breath, assessing her intently. "Good. Keep watching, but don't assume this was their only attempt. If someone is orchestrating this from the shadows, they won't rely on a single strategy."
A spark of determination ignited within Luelle. The enemy remained faceless, and their motives unclear, but she refused to wait idly for another strike. Whoever was targeting Ethan was careful and patient—yet so would she be.
She straightened her posture, determination coursing through her veins. "I'll find out who they are," she declared, her voice steady. "And I won't let them get to him again."
Her father's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of pride mingling with the ever-present caution. "Remember, Luelle, you're not just protecting Ethan. You're safeguarding our family's legacy. Every move you make could have consequences beyond what you can foresee."
"I understand," she replied, the weight of his words echoing in her mind. "But waiting for them to strike again isn't an option. We need to be proactive." She paused, considering. "What if we set a trap of our own?"
Her father raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you have in mind?"
"We could create a scenario that draws them out. Perhaps feign a public appearance or an event that would attract attention—something that could lure them into the open. If they think Ethan is vulnerable, they might take the bait."
He nodded slowly, contemplating her strategy. "Risky. But if done correctly, it could yield valuable information about their methods and motives."
"I can gather intel on potential weak points—who might be watching, who could be an ally," she suggested, excitement bubbling beneath her calm exterior. "If we can identify even one of their associates, we can start to dismantle their operation."
Her father leaned forward, his interest piqued. "You'll need to tread carefully. This isn't just a game of chess; it's a battle for survival. One misstep, and it could cost you everything."
"I'm willing to take that risk," Luelle replied fiercely. "I won't let fear dictate my actions."
He studied her for a long moment, the silence thick with unspoken thoughts. Finally, he sighed and released a small smile. "Very well. But you will have to keep me updated at every turn. We cannot afford to act impulsively."
With a nod of agreement, Luelle felt a surge of adrenaline. The plan was risky, but the potential rewards were promising. As she turned to leave the study, her father called after her.
"And Luelle," he said, his tone serious once more. "Be careful. The shadows are deeper than they appear."
"I will," she promised, her heart racing with both excitement and anxiety. The game was afoot, and she was ready to play.
Brendan Mars
Brendan Mars was sitting in his dimly lit study, the toil of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders like a shroud that refused to lift. The reports piled high on his desk were clamoring for his attention, their urgency a constant reminder of the responsibilities that came with his position. Yet, despite the pressing demands of the moment, his mind wandered restlessly elsewhere, caught in a web of thoughts that seemed to pull him away from the reality in front of him. He thought of Luelle, her voice echoing in his mind.
"Ethan literally walked into an ambush," she said, her tone calm and measured, as if she were recounting a mundane occurrence instead of a life-threatening situation. Her detailed account painted a vivid picture of the parked car, its engine deliberately idling, and how her timely interference had derailed whatever dark design had been in motion. What flowed from her lips was sharp and exact, the crystal-clear result of years of rigorous training and preparation. Yet, in the way she articulated her thoughts, Brendan could not help but see traces of her mother reflected in her eyes—the same quiet determination, the same unwavering steadfastness that had defined her mother's spirit.
Luelle paused, waiting for him to respond, her eyes fixed on his face as if she were searching for an answer to an unspoken question. Brendan leaned back in his seat, studying her with an intensity that felt almost palpable. She possessed her mother's fierce fire, but it was tempered with something colder—a steely resolve that he had inadvertently instilled in her. He had raised her in the shadows of a world that demanded sacrifice, had shaped her into something that the Dominion might need: a defender, distant and faceless, willing to lay down her life for a cause greater than herself. And yet, in doing so, he had placed an insurmountable distance between them, a chasm that had often felt unbearably wide.
But in his heart, he had convinced himself that it had been necessary.
Brendan's eyes softened momentarily as he was transported back to those early days—the moment when he lost his wife, the woman who had been his partner, his confidante, his everything. Luelle's birth had been both a blessing and a tragedy, a bittersweet arrival overshadowed by the heartbreak of her mother's untimely death. He had loved her—deeply, fiercely—and the loss of her had left a wound that never truly healed. Luelle's mere existence was a constant reminder of that love, but also of the sacrifice that had come along with it. She was a living testament to the life they could have shared together, and that thought both warmed his heart and filled him with an indescribable ache.
"I had to," Luelle said, breaking the silence that had settled between them, her voice steady and unwavering. "Ethan would have gone right into it, unaware of the danger."
Brendan sighed, shaking himself free from the weight of his memories. "You acted without hesitation," he said, his tone neutral but thick with layers of unspoken approval. He admired her courage, but it was tinged with concern.
"I did nothing that would attract attention," she replied assuredly, her confidence palpable.
"You don't know that," Brendan countered, the gentle tapping of his fingers on the desk punctuating his words. "The perpetrator behind this—whoever that is—was calculated. This wasn't reckless. It was controlled."
Luelle stiffened slightly, her gaze narrowing as she peered at him, processing his words. "So then that means they'll try again," she stated, a note of urgency creeping into her voice.
"Yes," Brendan replied firmly, the weight of the truth settling heavily in the air. "And next time, you might not see it coming."
She didn't hesitate at the warning. Instead, she straightened, determination binding her like a steel cord. "Well, then I have to get closer to him," she asserted, her voice ringing with conviction. "I have to predict their moves before they do something irreversible."
Brendan gazed at her closely, thousands of thoughts racing through his mind like a tumultuous storm. She was so much like her mother, yet the path she was now choosing was one his wife would never have envisioned—a path he had been forced to pave alone. "You're going to put yourself in front of them?" he asked softly, searching for any hint of doubt in her expression.
"Isn't that the point?" Luelle fired back, her tone urgent and direct, as if challenging the very foundations of his protective instincts. "Isn't that why I've been trained? To protect him?"
Brendan leaned forward, his eyes darkening even as pride flickered in his chest like a candle in the wind. Her conviction was unquestionable, but her attachment to Ethan—her emotional investment—was a dangerous element he could not afford to dismiss. He cared about Luelle deeply, but he seldom expressed it openly, fearing that any display of affection might weaken her resolve. He had protected her from the harsh realities of the world, trained her to be invisible, and in so doing, he had maintained a careful distance, a necessary sacrifice if she was to perform her role without hesitation or question.
"Oh, then make sure no one sees you coming," he said finally, his voice softening, even as the weight of his expectations remained heavy on his shoulders.
"I'm not going to let them," she replied firmly, meeting his gaze with unwavering determination.
Brendan nodded, allowing a flash of approval to cross his face. "Go."
As Luelle turned and exited the study, Brendan sank back in his seat, his gaze fixed on the door long after she had walked through it. His love for her was immense—more profound than he could possibly articulate. But he understood that love alone was not enough in the perilous world they inhabited. The distance he maintained was not born from a lack of investment; it was the armor she required to survive. If she were to look to him for reassurance, she might falter under the weight of her burdens. And he could not be the father she deserved—not if it would compromise her role in this dangerous game.
His daughter—the child he had so long protected from the world—was now walking straight into the blaze. And now, no one, not even he, would be able to stop her.