I reached across the table, my fingers brushing against Kyle’s rough, calloused knuckles, smelling the sharp tang of copper and ozone that lingered on his skin. He turned his hand over instantly, lacing his fingers through mine with a warm, grounding pressure that cut right through the chill of the morning air. On my other side, Lyra shifted closer, her shoulder pressing firmly against mine, radiating a heavy, magnetic heat that smelled faintly of burnt ozone and sweet cinnamon pastry. Across from us, Kevin sat back with his arms crossed over his chest, the leather of his tactical vest creaking as his sharp eyes casually tracked the street outside, a faint trails of smoke drifting from his clutched synth-cigar while his heavy mag-cannon remained tucked out of sight beneath the bench.
“So,” I said, my voice smooth and purring, letting my gaze drift over my newly formed, deeply unhinged squad. “Since we officially own enough offshore capital to fund a small private army and possess a data drive containing every dirty secret of the Walser Royal Institute’s elite… what’s our actual opening move?”
Kyle’s smirk sharpened into something distinctly dangerous. He reached into his leather jacket pocket and pulled out the encrypted data-drive he had swiped from the main server monolith, tapping the cool, metallic edges against the worn wooden table with a sharp clack-clack.
“Well, boss,” Kyle murmured, his voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial hum that vibrated gently through the air. “When I was downloading their financial ledgers, I didn't just find Vance’s accounts. I found the master directory of the other seven black-site academies operating across Europe and North America under the exact same Reclamation umbrella.”
The other Tiara sat up straight, her ruby eyes flaring with a sudden, sharp light as her gaze locked onto the drive. “Sister facilities?”
“Sister facilities,” Kyle confirmed, tapping the drive again. “All funded by the same corrupt board of directors, all holding dozens of displaced transmigrant anomalies just like us, and all sitting on massive, un-audited vaults of magic-tech resources.”
Kevin let out a low, gravelly whistle that vibrated deep in his chest, a dark, battle-worn grin spreading across his face as he exhaled a thick cloud of spicy, roasted synth-cigar smoke. "Seven more vaults? Sounds like seven more paydays. I'm starting to really like this company culture."
A heavy, electric silence settled over our corner booth, thick with the static crackle of residual magic. The ambient chatter of the bistro and the clinking of porcelain plates faded into white noise as a collective, feral grin spread across our little group. When you trap apex predators in a cage, the last thing you should expect them to do is settle down.
Lyra swallowed her bite of pastry, a slow, predatory light dawning in her golden eyes. She reached out with her free hand, slamming it flat on the table right beside the data-drive with a dull thud. “So what you’re saying is... we’re not fugitives on the run.”
“No,” I said, a dark, wicked smile spreading across my face as I squeezed Kyle’s hand, met Lyra’s intense gaze, and caught Kevin's knowing, amused nod. “We’re casting a hostile takeover across the entire dimensional grid.”
The other Tiara let out a low, triumphant laugh that echoed off the glass, lifting her steaming espresso cup in a mock toast. “To corporate restructuring, lethal polycules, and completely ruining the global magical economy.”
"And to overtime pay," Kevin chimed in, clinking his heavy ceramic mug against hers with a loud, metallic thud.
“To premeditated mayhem,” Kyle grinned, joining the toast with a light click of his cup.
I raised my espresso, letting the dark, bitter liquid wash over my tongue, hot and rich, as the final pieces of our new empire fell into place beneath the humming thrum of my spatial energy. The Walser Institute was just the warm-up act.