I almost made it to the door.
Almost.
"Augustus."
Lady Mirage's voice was calm, pleasant—and completely non-negotiable.
I stopped mid-step.
Every instinct I had screamed politics. The dangerous kind. The kind that smiled while sharpening knives.
"Yes, Lady Mirage?" I replied, turning with what I hoped passed for respectful composure and not a teenager who knows he's about to be dissected conversationally.
She rose from her seat with unhurried grace, smoothing the sleeve of her robe as if we were about to take a leisurely stroll through a garden instead of a verbal minefield.
"Walk with me," she said.
Not a request.
A command.
Drust was already turning away; the discussion finished in his mind. Lenna glanced at me once—just once—eyes sharp, measuring. Alfred looked sympathetic. Arial looked worried. Victoria looked amused, as if someone else's suffering was an educational experience in a way.
I followed Lady Mirage.
Of course I did.
...
We exited the meeting hall and moved into one of the inner corridors of the estate—wide, elegant passages lined with reinforced windows that looked out over training fields and administrative wings. Servants and guards instinctively kept their distance. No one lingered near a branch head unless they wanted their future rearranged.
Lady Mirage walked at an easy pace, hands clasped behind her back.
I matched it.
Silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Intentional.
"So," she said eventually, eyes forward, "you survived an escalating dungeon anomaly, a boss beyond your means, internal injury, and an assassination attempt—all in the same month of your awakening."
"…When you put it like that," I said carefully, "it does sound Incredible."
She smiled.
"Dry humor," she noted. "Your father had the same habit."
I blinked. "My father?"
"Oliver," she clarified. "Before experience beat it out of him."
That… explained a lot, actually.
We walked a little farther.
Lady Mirage stopped near one of the windows.
She didn't look at me at first.
She looked outward.
"So tell me, Augustus," she said lightly, as if commenting on the weather, "what do you intend to become?"
There it was.
I resisted the urge to answer too quickly. Fast answers were for people who hadn't learned to be afraid yet.
"…A Survivor," I said.
She laughed. Soft. Amused.
"A sensible goal," she admitted. "A long-term one."
She turned then, silver-black hair catching the light, eyes sharp enough to cut through pleasantries.
"I didn't ask philosophically," she continued. "I asked literally."
I weighed my words.
"I haven't planned that far," I said truthfully. "Plans have a habit of getting me stabbed."
"Mm," she hummed. "And yet you've stood in front of the patriarch of Ironcreed Family, walking beside a branch head, something even elders rarely get to do."
She tilted her head.
"You don't drift into situations like this, Augustus."
I kept my gaze forward. "Sometimes you trip very hard in the right direction."
Mirage smiled again. This one was slower.
"Do you want a seat?" she asked suddenly.
I blinked. "A… seat?"
"A branch head's seat," she clarified. "Eventually. Power. Authority. A voice in family decisions."
She gestured faintly around us. "This estate is not inherited by accident. People aim."
Ah.
So this wasn't idle curiosity.
"No," I said.
The word came out clean. Immediate.
Mirage raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No," I repeated. "I don't."
She studied my face, searching for the usual tells—hesitation, ambition, resentment.
Found none.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Most people lie at that question."
"I'm not most people," I said. "And I don't want to rule anything. I want to avoid being ruled by it."
Her eyes sharpened. "Careful. That sounds dangerously like you are above all that."
"I assure you," I replied, "I'm very interested in not dying."
She laughed again, this time more openly.
"You're either refreshingly honest," she said, "or hiding something very well."
"Both," I said.
She accepted that with a nod.
"Then let me rephrase," Mirage said. "You don't want the seat. But would you support someone who aims even higher?"
I already knew where this was going.
"Yes," I said. "If they're competent."
"And if they're Lenna?"
There it was.
Clean. Surgical.
No theatrics.
I didn't answer immediately.
Mirage didn't rush me.
I considered Lenna: her discipline, her ambition, the way she treated people as resources but never wasted them. The way she watched the battlefield like a chessboard, she was already several moves ahead.
"Yes," I said finally. "I would."
Mirage nodded slowly. "Why?"
Because she'll survive longer than I will, I almost said.
Because she attracts attention, I can hide behind, something within me whispered unhelpfully.
Because she scares people who would otherwise come for me, another part of me added.
But none of those were answers Mirage would accept.
"She's qualified," I said instead. "And she understands cost."
"Cost?"
"She doesn't confuse sacrifice with virtue," I said. "She knows when not to pay."
Mirage watched me closely.
"That's not the answer of a subordinate," she said. "That's the answer of a partner."
I winced internally.
"I don't see myself as her equal," I said carefully.
"No," Mirage agreed. "You don't."
She paused, then added, "That may be the only reason this isn't already a problem."
I frowned. "A problem?"
"Perception," she replied. "People notice closeness. Especially between heirs."
She resumed walking, and I followed.
"You question her," Mirage continued. "she tolrates you. You adapt at a pace that complements hers."
She glanced sideways at me.
"But you don't challenge her authority."
"I'd lose," I said simply.
She smiled. "You're not wrong."
We passed a pair of guards. They bowed deeply to Mirage, barely sparing me a glance.
"Tell me," she said, "how do you define your relationship with Lenna?"
That question was more dangerous than the last one.
"We're teammates," I said. "For now."
"For now," Mirage echoed. "That's evasive."
"It's accurate," I replied. "She doesn't trust easily. I don't attach easily. We work because our priorities align."
"And those priorities are…?"
"Survival," I said. "Growth. Efficiency."
Mirage stopped again.
"You didn't say loyalty."
I met her gaze. "Loyalty comes after proof."
Her lips curved slightly. "Spoken like a man who's been betrayed."
"Spoken like someone who reads history," I corrected.
She studied me for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, she sighed.
"Augustus," she said, tone softer now, "you remind me of someone."
I tensed. "That's rarely good news."
"Drust," she said. "Before the world convinced him he had to choose a side."
I frowned. "He chose something he didnt like."
"Yes," Mirage agreed. "And it cost him."
She looked out the window again.
"You're trying very hard not to be pinned down," she said. "No declared ambition. No open allegiance. No obvious weakness."
I said nothing.
"That's intelligent," she continued. "But it's also temporary."
I glanced at her. "Why?"
"Because people will decide your role for you if you don't," she said calmly. "And their decisions are rarely kind."
I exhaled slowly.
"I don't intend to oppose or support Lenna for the next matriarch's position," I said. "If that's what you're asking."
Mirage nodded. "I know."
"Then what are you asking?"
She turned fully toward me now.
"I'm asking whether you intend to bind yourself to her future," she said. "Or merely orbit it."
I thought about that.
About the Chosen I hadn't met yet. About enemies that moved in shadows. About staying unimportant.
"I intend to survive," I said carefully. "If her future allows that, I'll walk alongside it. If it doesn't—"
"You'll step away," Mirage finished.
"Yes."
She considered that answer.
Then she smiled—sharp, approving, dangerous.
"Good," she said. "That's the correct answer."
I blinked. "It is?"
"For someone like you," she said. "Unconditional loyalty would make you predictable. And predictable pieces are easy to remove."
She resumed walking, signaling the conversation was nearing its end.
"One last thing," Mirage said casually. "People will talk."
"People always do," I said.
"Yes," she replied. "But they'll be watching how Lenna talks about you."
That made my steps slow.
"…How so?"
"If she defends you," Mirage said, "you become an asset."
"And if she doesn't?"
"You become expendable," Mirage said pleasantly. "Either way, your position clarifies."
I swallowed.
We reached a junction where our paths diverged.
Mirage stopped.
She turned to me one final time.
"For what it's worth, Augustus," she said, "I don't think you're aiming for power."
I stayed silent.
"I think you're aiming for space," she continued. "Room to move. Room to breathe. Room to choose."
She smiled faintly.
"Those are the most dangerous ambitions of all."
She stepped away, leaving me alone in the corridor.