The morning air moved lazily across the wide front yard, carrying the faint scent of dew and roses trimmed perfectly along the paths.
Most of the maids were already at work, sweeping, dusting, arranging flowers, and polishing the stone benches, their movements careful, almost mechanical, as if each breath itself might betray their awareness of the looming presence of something or someone far beyond ordinary.
Amelia worked quietly near the entrance steps, her hands moving deliberately over the broom handle, every motion measured, as if even the simplest sweep of dust could be an act of concealment, a rehearsal of reflexes honed long ago.
Her veil hid the sharpness in her eyes, but beneath it, the muscles along her back and arms remained coiled, prepared, ready for whatever might come.
A sudden cry from a maid broke through the morning calm, loud and urgent, snapping attention like a whip. "Assembly in front of the house! Quickly! All of you, move!"
The sound carried across the yard, sharp enough to make some maids pause mid-task, their hands frozen, and even Amelia's fingers gripped the broom handle a little tighter.
The maids moved quickly, almost running toward the driveway, skirts brushing the stone paths in uneven swishes.
Amelia stepped into line with them, veiled and silent, blending into the moving crowd but still separate, still observing. Five minutes passed as they waited under the soft sunlight, facing the long driveway, the quiet anticipation in the air heavier than the morning mist.
The polished stones gleamed faintly under their feet, and even the neatly trimmed hedges seemed to lean forward as if expecting something.
A long black car rolled to a halt at the entrance, its surface reflecting the soft sunlight in dark, glassy streaks.
The doors opened smoothly, and a small figure stepped out, her movements calm, precise, and deliberate.
Though no taller than Liora, every inch of her posture spoke of authority and control, as though the world itself bent slightly to accommodate her presence. Behind her, the tall butler shadowed her steps, eyes careful, body rigid, moving as though the girl alone could summon danger from the air.
She handed her small bag to him with a simple, disinterested motion, her gaze scanning the garden with a calm, sharp intelligence that made every maid instinctively bow their heads lower.
Her name was Ekaterina Vasilievna Volkov, and though small, she carried herself like a queen surveying her domain.
Each step she took along the stone path was deliberate, almost exaggerated, the tip of her shoe brushing against the edge of the path with calculated care, as if even that slight motion was a display of dominance.
The maids instinctively moved aside, not from fear of her size, but from an understanding of the sharpness in her eyes, the quiet cruelty in the small curve of her lips.
Natalya rushed forward, bowing low, her hands pressed respectfully before her. "Welcome, Miss Ekaterina. Everything has been prepared for your visit, and Liora is ready to meet you—"
Her words halted as the girl raised a hand lazily, turning her attention to the fine details of her nails, brushing lightly across them, inspecting the polish with boredom so complete it seemed almost cruel. Only after a long pause did her eyes lift, scanning the older woman briefly before returning to the horizon.
"Where is Liora?" Her voice was soft, almost musical, but carried a cold edge that could slice through any hesitation.
"In the garden, Miss," Natalya replied immediately, voice quick, almost faltering. "She waits for you there."
Ekaterina moved past without another word, brushing against Natalya's shoulder, ignoring the bow entirely, her small smirk just noticeable enough to unsettle the onlookers.
The maids all bent their heads lower, and her gaze lingered on them for a single, calculating moment. The smirk widened faintly, as though she had already judged them, measured them, and found them acceptable or amusing.
A soft snap of her fingers brought her butler closer. "Tell them to get ready," she said, voice low and filled with quiet authority, yet teasing in a way that suggested danger hidden beneath playful intent.
The butler bowed and departed immediately, leaving the garden feeling slightly smaller, the air heavier with expectation.
Her small footsteps moved across the stone path toward the center of the garden, eyes scanning every flower, every hedge, the neatly arranged stone benches.
Not a single detail escaped her notice. Liora waited near the circular stone bench, standing perfectly still as if carved from marble, the breeze tugging slightly at her hair but leaving her calm and unreadable.
Their eyes met, the two girls silently acknowledging a shared understanding
they were cold, precise, dangerous, and neither would show weakness.
"You haven't changed," the newcomer finally said, her tone soft yet razor-sharp.
"Neither have you," came the measured reply.
A faint laugh, small and dangerous, slipped past pale lips. "Good. I like people who don't soften with time. Everyone else becomes weak."
"Soft people break," the other said quietly.
"That's why I don't keep them around," came the simple, confident response. Fingers brushed nails, the gesture almost lazy but sharp.
Liora stepped aside, gesturing toward the small gazebo. "Sit," she said simply.
Seating herself like a small queen, Ekaterina crossed her legs, back straight, head held high. Liora mirrored her, calm and controlled, eyes flicking only once to the approaching shadows moving along the edge of the garden.
A snap of fingers summoned four silent figures, two men and two women dressed in tight, black uniforms designed for movement, their faces unreadable, their steps precise, carried the long, veiled objects like extensions of their own bodies.
The maids shifted uneasily in line, whispers running along the ranks like a low, anxious wind. Amelia's veil hid her face, but her senses were alert, every muscle waiting, her posture calm and fluid, a silent storm beneath still waters.
The voice cut sharply across the garden. "All of you, here. Now."
Every maid stiffened, some taking tiny, hesitant steps forward.
Amelia moved with quiet precision, her eyes flicking over every movement of the four dark figures, every shadow and glint of steel. Past instincts, honed through years she could never reveal, whispered to her, reminding her of old games, old dangers, old rules of survival.
Objects were revealed—a long crossbow, gleaming faintly under the morning light, precise and deadly. Amelia recognized the shape instantly.
She had faced setups like this before, though not here, not now, not in veiled disguise.
"First one, step forward," the calm, playful voice announced.
A maid froze, then stepped slowly to the designated spot. An apple was balanced on her head, the distance to the crossbow seemingly endless, her legs trembling slightly.
"Don't move," the command whispered, soft and sharp, almost a warning that made the air itself tense.
The shot came. The apple split in perfect halves. The maid jumped back, shaking but unharmed.
"Second one," the voice said.
Amelia stepped forward, veiled, calm, ready. No apple this time. A knife was raised. Every muscle in her body tensed imperceptibly, yet she appeared still.
The knife flew. Amelia moved just an inch—barely noticeable and the weapon passed harmlessly by. The silence that followed was heavy, almost unbearable. Shock flashed across the faces of the four figures, no one expected her reflexes, her training, her precise control.
The next game began even more dangerously. Four of the figures attempted a coordinated task and failed almost instantly, their movements slightly off. A sharp, irritated voice broke the tension.
"Useless!" The words cut like a whip, as seated on the chair rose slightly, her attention flicking toward the chaos. Liora's calm voice intervened, low and steady. "Stop. You are frightening the maids."
The command carried weight. The four silent figures froze, every action checked.
Amelia's veil hid her eyes, but every instinct in her body stayed alert, ready, anticipating the next move, the next test, the next edge of danger that these small girls had planned.
Even in the calm that followed, the air was thick with anticipation. The first two games had ended, the third loomed, and Amelia's body remained ready, senses sharpened to the tiniest whisper of movement, the faintest shift in air, the smallest flicker of steel.