ENDURE

Simone: Hey, it's Simone Montgomery. We met on Coronado Day. I know I'm a little late but I'm hoping that you're still a Superfan. And still like whiskey. Simone: And also that you're free tonight. Or sometime this week?

Avery: Give me an hour to get prettied up and I’ll see you there?

“The family operates on data, not guesswork.” Fumiko’s voice drops—quiet enough to maintain privacy, precise enough to be heard clearly. “I’ve isolated fifteen unauthorized transmissions originating from Row’s End between 0200 and 0430 hours over the past week. Ten contain interference patterns matching those disrupting our secure channels.” She shifts exactly five centimeters toward the display counter, creating additional distance between herself and Avery. “Our intelligence indicates three specific coordinating points in Row’s End where transmissions intensify. Locations 17-B, 22-F, and 34-C.” A deliberate pause. “Though I doubt you’ve been briefed on these designations, given your… operational status.” Her gaze drops pointedly to the watchbox in Avery’s hand. “If you’re genuinely interested in contributing beyond courier assignments, perhaps request a formal briefing from Father. Though I understand he’s particularly occupied with kagehito who’ve demonstrated consistent operational precision.” The barb is delivered with such clinical detachment it could almost be mistaken for a neutral observation—almost. “Du Bois involvement is currently calculated at 73.2% probability. The remaining percentage accommodates potential outside influence. We pursue confirmation, not speculation.”

“Whether people think my talents are wasted playing passenger pigeon doesn’t matter. Yours are obviously wasted crunching numbers. And before you say ‘it’s important work that needs to be done,’ it’s important work that can be done by people who weren’t trained like you were.”

minho doesn't flinch when she says it again. his name. hajoon. but something flashes behind his eyes. not fear. just… weariness. a bone-deep, soul-heavy kind of ache that settles somewhere below his ribs and makes the night feel heavier than it already is. her anger rolls off her in waves, messy and raw. he doesn't meet it with more fire. doesn't snap back, doesn't try to defend himself the way he probably could. he just watches her and fuck, it hurts. not because she's wrong. because she isn't. there were people he left behind — physically anyway — but they kept him anchored here like invisible shackles all the same. "i didn't leave you. i left them," he insists, holding her gaze, the intensity in his eyes seeming to beg her to believe his words. he doesn't elaborate on who they are. he's sure it goes without saying. "you think i didn't try?” he asks then, voice low now, quieter, but sharp around the edges as he focuses on her questions, "you honestly think there's anywhere to go they can't reach?" it's not an excuse. just a fact. like gravity. like death. his jaw tightens, the tension subtle but there. his gaze lifts to meet hers — steady, unflinching, something like fire banked behind his eyes. "i didn't leave the island," he says after a beat, voice softer but no less certain, "because there's still people here who deserve to get out." he doesn't say who. doesn't say why. just lets the words sit there, solid as stone. he shouldn't be saying this much — not to anyone, let alone another kagehito. but there's something about avery. maybe it's the history. the fact that they came up in the same shadows, shaped by the same hands. or the way she'd never quite fit into the puzzle like the others did. or maybe it's the way her anger doesn't feel like a weapon. not aimed at him, not really. no matter what it is exactly, it slips through his armor before he can stop it. and he doesn't take it back.

She sets her jaw and shakes her head, having to take another couple of steps backwards again to put distance between them. “You can’t white knight people who don’t want to be saved. Fuck — none of us can be white knights to begin with.” Avery’s fists ball at her sides, even if the angry energy ultimately goes nowhere; she doesn’t want to fight him. “So I’m gonna say it again: leave.”

And with that he takes her lead, "Morning," the words leave his lips before he gives her a small nod, almost as if this was a normal occurrence for them, "yeah, definitely didn't mind being away from all that" just the thought of what had happened made him shiver, the lack of safety he felt increased and with it the paranoia had come back even if he was trying to fight it every single day, trying his best to keep those thoughts away, "then, c'mon, I need a coffee and you look like you could use one too" he offers, trying to ease the conversation into a better, safer topic, him and Avery were far from best of friends, but Conrad had never been one to judge anyone, nor was he ever directly rude to anyone that didn't outright deserve it and just for this morning he figured having some company wouldn't kill either of them. "I know a really good place and I need a smoke too so let's get out of here"

Falling into step as they head towards the end of the hall, she’s already pulled her ornate cigarette case out of her back pocket, a flash of silver as she turns it in her fingertips, the only indication she’s still feeling some kinda way as the rest of her body assumes its usual swagger. “Where are ya thinking?” It’s a lame excuse for conversation, but it’s the best Avery can come up with.

he hears her before he sees her — drunk footsteps, sloppy cadence, the low hum of someone trying to walk straight and failing. any other night, he'd have slipped back into shadow, let them stumble past, none the wiser. but he's tired, more focused on getting home than on which drunkard is in this alley with him, trudging ahead until she says it. that name. his real one. minho freezes. it's nothing dramatic, just a small stillness that settles in his bones. the kind that only comes when you hear something you were sure no one remembered. no one should remember. the kind of stillness that means sensing danger. he exhales through his nose, slow and steady, raising his head to meet her gaze with the kind of calm that's practiced, precise, masking the way her voice stirred something cold in his gut. "careful," he says, tone almost light, almost teasing, "saying that name out loud? you might get fined. or burst into flames. hard to say which is worse." his gaze flicks over her — swaying slightly, hand half-heartedly reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. "you look like shit, by the way," he adds, voice low but not unkind. just observant. familiar. like he knows exactly what she's made of despite tonight's condition. because he does. "any chance you've had enough to drink for me to convince you you're hallucinating?" he tilts his head, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, "ghost of kagehito past or whatever." he doesn’t step closer — keeping a safety distance between them seems like a wise choice, whether she's drunk or not — but he doesn’t back away either. he keeps her in his line of sight, balanced on that fine edge between i don't want trouble and i will fight you if i have to. "so," he says, quieter now, the humor thinning just slightly, "what’s it gonna be, avery?"

Despite herself, Fumiko shoots her ‘sister’ a glare—ultimately unbecoming, yet ultimately deserving. She ignores the abhorrent sobriquet, and instead graces Avery with an explanation, despite thinking she certainly doesn’t need one. The woman’s always been a bulldozer. A loudhailer. An outsider. “I’ve intercepted rogue signals from the station,” she starts simply enough, “not quite intelligible—both from the intentional obfuscation of the frequencies and the use of codewords. But they’re nothing like I’ve encountered in the years I’ve been in charge. I’ve also gone through archival broadcasts and found no similarities, patterns, or callbacks.” Fumiko finally turns to Avery, brows low and chin tilted down in scrutiny, “And I’ve considered the possibility that it could be a mutiny, a sub-shadow directive. It’s highly unlikely. I doubt my hypotheses are incorrect.”

“Okay. Cool,” she replies flatly, tone unimpressed. “That sounds like a great list of who it isn't. When do we start getting the list of who it might be, instead?”

“I’m surprised they haven’t assigned a shadow directive for you—regarding the Premier and Vice Premier.” Fumiko is sure that Katashi will receive one, if he hasn’t already. At a time like this, the best of the kagehito would be corralled and tasked to see this tragedy through, down to the last detail. It’d be a pity if Avery isn’t a part of that. Perhaps, that’s what she wants to know, too. “This is the entire family’s topmost priority. Banking affairs have been delegated to myself and Dimitri, while all kagehito conduct reconnaissance across the island.” A beat. “And no. It couldn’t have been from the inside. You should know that I’ve been picking up disruptions at the station. Our frequency should be undetectable, and is.” Fumiko lets the implication linger for a moment, before she sighs, “I assume it’s them. I don’t think there’s much to argue against my hypothesis.”

Fin.

A high school geometry teacher. Not a chance in the depths below nor the skies above is this person telling the truth, but Josephine gives them a single nod of acknowledgment in return, anyway. Lies don’t bother her, anyway. Especially in a time like this, where getting to know your fellow citizens wasn’t exactly at the top of her priority list. Instead, she thinks fast (or, as fast as she can), eyes darting toward the wide sprawl of Old Town. People were running in all sorts of directions, yes, but even amid the chaos, Josephine knew they needed to do something other than take part in it. “The tram doesn’t look like it’d take us out of here—but I know a shortcut, if you want to get away from all this, yeah?” THE END.

Avery St. Martin. A sibling on paper, but nothing more. Truly, it doesn’t concern her. It doesn’t concern anyone, not even Avery herself. It’s a common practice in their family: a belief—a method, if you’d like—to keep their stronghold. But Fumiko would be lying if she denied feeling a sliver of something unpleasant toward her ‘sister.’ She can’t quite place it—where the feeling sits, why she feels it, or even when it started. But it’s all there. Perhaps it’s because she’s too much of a… civilian. Their family is a champion of timeless etiquette; they possess a sort of unnameable yet powerful grace where they go. Or, at least, they should. In Fumiko’s eyes, Avery doesn’t rise to their standards. And it’s a pity. That’s why she doesn’t spare a glance at her ‘sister.’ Instead, she remains still as she stops at a row of timepieces encased in glass. “‘Busy’ is one word for it,” she replies, mulling over the taste of civilian-speak on her tongue. “Given all that’s happened, I doubt any of us aren’t busy.” She staves off a little prickle of irritation underneath her cheeks; they burrow in her muscles like mites. “Do you truly address Mother and Father like that?” The words come out smooth, soft, almost lazy. Whether it’s a complaint or a taunt, Fumiko herself doesn’t know. Maybe it’s a genuine question, too.

“Kind of embarrassing, isn’t it? That we weren’t the ones who got to off the premier?” It’s a test, like it always is. Prodding, questing. She studies Fumiko’s face but doesn’t expect to find anything in those planes of fine porcelain. We didn’t do this, did we? There’s no way. Too sloppy. Too obvious.

Something in Josephine stills at Avery’s grin, at how easily she explains the geometry of an assassination. Her eyes follow Avery’s gestures: bullets, stampede, smoke break. Like plotting points on a map where someone just died. She shakes her head at the offered cigarette, but stays where she is, caught between curiosity and caution. “That’s quite the equation,” she says quietly, eyes catching on the Midnight Decree matchbook. Blue performs there—headlines some nights, though she never talks about the crowds in detail. The connection makes Josephine’s world feel suddenly smaller, more dangerous. “Though I have to wonder what makes someone good at calculating angles like that.” She doesn’t reach for the cigarette case, keeps her hands loose at her sides. Ready to run, ready to stay—she hasn’t decided which yet. “Must be an interesting line of work.” Somewhere in the distance, sirens start to wail. But here, in this pocket of manufactured calm, Josephine finds herself studying this woman who treats murder like mathematics, wondering what other equations she knows by heart. “Let me guess—you’re in risk assessment?” The question comes out drier than intended, almost sardonic. “Or is that the kind of thing I shouldn’t ask while we’re standing between the bullets and the stampede?”

“If you don’t like the company, I can find another food cart to squat behind,” Avery offers simply and without judgement or malice; she’s not here to make anyone more uncomfortable.

"And well - if you need anything else, I'll be here for the rest of the morning"

FIN.

"And you, Ms. St. Martin?" The drop of formality was coated with another challenge, though this time she wasn't sure exactly what that challenge was. The sudden formalities? Daring her to correct the prefix? "Are you going to Old Town too? See your taxes at work and listen to recycled speeches?"

You didn’t pay! The man driving the trolley shouted back, but Avery was already lost in the festival day crowd.