The warehouse was nothing like Alfreda remembered.
It used to be their hideout as kids. A place for secrets and sleepovers, giggles and make-believe kingdoms. Now? It smelled like betrayal, metal, and expensive perfume.
Alfreda moved like a phantom through the corridors, gun in hand, breath locked behind her ribs.
She didn't knock.
She kicked the door open.
Celeste didn't even flinch.
She sat at the head of a long table like a queen in exile, black silk robe sliding off one shoulder, long legs crossed, a crystal glass of wine in her hand like blood on ice.
"Well," Celeste purred, sipping slowly, "if it isn't my favorite corpse."
"You lied to me," Alfreda whispered, eyes burning. "You let me believe Nathaniel betrayed me."
"I did more than that," Celeste said, rising. "I planned your death. Paid for it in full. Watched the fire consume your body—or so I thought."
Alfreda's hand shook. "Why?"
"Because you were always in the way," Celeste snapped, stepping forward, heels echoing off the concrete. "Mom loved you more. Dad gave you everything. And then he fell for you, too."
Alfreda blinked. "Nathaniel?"
"Oh, sweet sister," she sneered, "did you really think he was ever yours? He was mine first. Mine before he looked at you like you were made of gold and fire. Mine before he started calling you home."
"You're sick."
"No," Celeste whispered. "I'm evolved."
She moved closer, circling Alfreda like a predator.
"I gave you a chance to die beautifully, in a blaze of tragedy. You ruined that. Now you come back, clawing through the past, thinking you'll get revenge? You're ten steps behind, darling."
Alfreda raised her gun. "And you're still flesh. Bleedable."
"Shoot me," Celeste said, spreading her arms. "Right here. Do it. Kill the last piece of your family."
Silence.
And then—
Gunfire.
Not from Alfreda.
From behind.
The bullet whizzed past her head, embedding into the wall beside her.
Alfreda dropped low, rolled, and fired back.
The room erupted.
Men poured in from the shadows—Celeste's guards, masked and brutal.
Alfreda took two down before they touched her. A third tried to grab her arm—she shattered his jaw with the butt of her gun. Blood sprayed. Screams echoed.
She was the devil in red again—fighting like the fire never touched her.
Celeste retreated to the far end, untouched, still sipping wine as chaos unfolded.
Alfreda made it to the exit, breath ragged, clothes torn. One last look over her shoulder.
Celeste winked.
"You were always too soft," she mouthed.
Alfreda vanished into the storm.