As the carriage glided smoothly through the cobbled streets, Lucius leaned against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of steel and stone. He scoffed under his breath, the corners of his lips curled in faint amusement.
"You know," he murmured, "when I was a kid, I read in old history books that there used to be things called 'cars'—machines that moved without horses."
Liam, seated across from him with arms folded neatly, exhaled a slow sigh. "Probably just a myth. But if technology like that once existed, then rebuilding the world into what it used to be may still be possible."
Lucius turned his gaze from the window and regarded the boy across from him with mild curiosity. "What about you?" he asked without much thought. "You seem a little too young to be working under someone like Margaret. Shouldn't you be in school or something?"
The question, though innocent, hit a nerve.
Liam's expression hardened. He met Lucius's eyes with a cold, steady glare. "Don't pry," he said flatly. "You don't even know history. Yet you want to know other people's."
The silence that followed was thick, but Lucius remained unbothered, his expression unreadable. Whatever tension hung in the air quickly dispersed as the carriage slowed to a graceful halt.
They had arrived.
Margaret's main atelier stood before them—a grand structure adorned with carved arches and soft lantern lights glowing behind large, frosted windows. The shop exuded elegance and artistic flair, a place where fashion was not simply crafted, but conjured.
The trio stepped down from the carriage, one after the other, and entered through the polished doors, leaving the street behind and stepping into Margaret's world of silk, shadow, and secrets.
As they stepped inside, Lucius and Nai were immediately greeted by a breathtaking display of elegance. The boutique was a gallery of color and craftsmanship—gowns shimmered under the soft golden light, detailed with threads of silver, delicate lace, and gemstones that sparkled like starlight.
Nai's eyes widened in awe as she wandered further in, her fingers lightly grazing the fine fabrics. "This is Margaret's actual shop?" she whispered, half to herself. "She has to be a sorceress or something!"
Lucius chuckled under his breath, folding his arms as he observed the room. "She's a Force-wielder, alright," he muttered.
Margaret was nowhere in sight. Liam, already heading toward the office on the third floor, had left them to explore on their own. Lucius continued browsing casually, until his gaze landed on a lone customer standing near the back, staring fixedly at a gown in one of the more isolated alcoves of the shop.
Strange... he thought, eyes narrowing. I thought the shop was supposed to be closed to the public.
Curious, he stepped forward.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Lucius called gently. "Have you seen Marg—?"
The woman turned.
Lucius froze. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth, staining her chin, her eyes vacant and unfocused.
"Ma'am... you're bleeding—" Lucius took a cautious step back, his voice now sharp with alarm. "Liam! Hey! Someone down here is hurt!"
But Liam was upstairs, behind closed doors—out of earshot.
Nai came rushing down the stairs, eyes darting toward Lucius. "What's going on?!"
"She's bleeding—" Lucius began, not taking his eyes off the woman.
But before he could finish his sentence, the woman lunged. Her form twisted unnaturally, a guttural sound escaping her throat. Nai gasped, frozen in shock as the horror unfolded.
"Lucius, behind you!"
Too late.
"ARGH!" Lucius cried out, instinct taking over as he shoved the woman back. He reached for the revolver at his side and fired—once, twice, again—until the chamber clicked empty and the woman collapsed, motionless.
Blood pooled on the polished floor. The boutique, moments ago a sanctuary of beauty, now echoed with the haunting silence of death.
Lucius stood trembling, panting heavily, staring at the fallen body. The smell of gunpowder and iron hung in the air.
Nai slowly stepped beside him, wide-eyed. "Lucius... what was that?"
Lucius didn't answer.
He just kept staring.
To be continued.