CHAPTER 148
THE FIXER OF WINTERS COMPANY
Realisation struck her mid-step.
Delimira stopped.
The air shifted with her.
Conversations behind them faltered—then died.
The infected felt it first. They always did. Rage had sharpened their instincts, even as it hollowed them out. Several of them took half-steps back, their chitin armour scraping stone, hands tightening around weapons they barely remembered earning.
Delimira didn’t turn.
Cyan bled into her eyes.
Hans felt it ripple through the crowd—recognition without understanding. Power like that didn’t need a name to be feared.
Zilong stiffened.
Chris swore under his breath.
This was no warning.
This was intent.
“Damn it!” Hans cursed. “Just go away.”
She ignored him. A green sigil unfolded above her palm—clean, precise, wrong. It didn’t carry her mana. That made it worse.
“Who do you work for?” She asked. Calm. Too calm. “Parv?”
She tilted her head, just slightly.
“No. That doesn’t fit.”
The sigil, rotated once. Then again.
Aimed.
Locked at him.
Hans felt his stomach tighten. He remembered that aura, that murderous intent.
He calculated the odds.
Distance: irrelevant.
Line of sight: unnecessary.
Countermeasures: unreliable at best.
Homar Garuda didn’t hunt bodies. He hunted certainty.
Once the mark settled, the arrow would follow from half the world away.
It always did.
“Answer,” she said.
He swallowed. “Every time, every fucking time.”
The sigil—metal scraping stone. A pressure he had felt before.
“How?” he asked, carefully. “Do you have that?”
Her gaze hardened. “Those are not the words I want to hear.”
He cursed.
Made his choice.
“Ask your mother.”
Her eyes flickered.
He didn’t press. Didn’t explain either. Just watched.
“Why do you think,” he added, softly, “I call only you Lady?”
The sigil hesitated.
Just enough.
“My mother?” She said slowly, “The Winters company?”
She paused. Suspicion sharpened her voice.
“What evidence do you have—”
“Evidence?” Hans cut in.
He took a step further.
“Mark me with that,” he said quietly, “and lose your father again.”
The sigil calmed. Not gone—contained.
“She found us,” he said, “The Ateliers. Proposed a transaction.”
He held her gaze.
“Bring her husband back.”
Something flickered. Fast, gone.
He leaned into it.
“And you standing here?”
His voice hardened.
“You are putting the deal at risk.”
“What are you getting out of it?”
Her voice was flat. Empty.
Stolen story; please report.
The sigil flared again.
Turned.
Locked.
“That threat stopped working,” he said, “ the moment you hesitated.”
A pause.
“But if you must ask—”
He met her eyes.
“Revenge.”
Her gaze narrowed. Not anger. Assessment.
He knew those eyes.
She looked past him. At Zilong.
“You felt it.” He said, “from the start.”
The sigil dimmed— further.
“He is him?” She continued, “My father.”
Hans didn’t argue.
“Then understand this,” he said, “stay, and you fracture what your mother built.”
Silence.
“Leave.”
“No.”
Her scales caught the light—iridescent now. No restraint left.
“I must be a part of this.”
Hans exhaled slowly.
The sigil wasn’t aimed at him anymore.
“What’s the pay… Say it plainly,” she pressed. “No riddles. No leverage.”
Hans watched her a moment longer than necessary.
“You won’t like it,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he replied.
“If you want to be here,” he said at last, “you must do with my terms.”
She studied him.
Then nodded once.
“We free them.” Hans continued. Quieter now. “And whoever did this doesn’t walk away.”
“And Eclipse?”
“A tool.”
Her expressions tightened. “And the infected?”
Hans exhaled through his nose.
“They’re part of the contract.”
He glanced behind, toward the waiting crowd.
“I don’t leave jobs half-finished.”
Her eyes narrowed, something didn’t sit right.
“You keep saying the word,” she said, “Atelier.”
She frowned.
“Just what are you?”
“Not your history teacher.”
He turned away before she could again, pacing toward the waiting crowd.
She watched his back moving farther, her questions unanswered.
“Sorry,” she said quietly, falling in step beside Chris. “For dragging you into this.”
“Don’t be.” Chris replied, his eyes never left Theodred, “the question is—do you trust him?”
“No,” she shook her head once, “trust is for fools, a shaky foundation.” She said, “mutual self-interest. That’s a solid bedrock.”
They walked in silence.
Delimira’s gaze stayed fixed ahead.
That wasn’t how that knight fanatic was supposed to behave.
Ahead, Hans slowed.
Zilong was waiting.
He didn’t look angry.
Which was worse.
Whatever understanding Hans thought he’d reached—
Zilong had reached something else entirely.
That wasn’t how you should’ve handled it, his voice cut in, sharp and controlled. You’re putting my daughter in danger.
I’ve known her, much more than you. Hans answered. Endanger? NO.
He slowed, just enough to glance back.
She is capable, he continued, more than you think.
A pause.
But she is a variable. He admitted, One I can’t control. At least not while wearing this face.
Then it’s not your decision to make.
Hans didn’t answer immediately.
She lived for one thing once, he said at last. Walked away before it destroyed her. Now it’s back in front of her.
He looked back—too long this time.
I can’t rob her of this chance,” Hans realised. Taking that from her would break more than it protects.
Zilong bristled. “ You don’t know what we’re walking into.”
Neither do they, Hans replied. “ That’s the truth.”
He stopped.
So here’s mine, he added. If this goes wrong—I carry it.
Zilong didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
Beyond them, the infected shifted—restless, uncertain. Rage that had once kept them standing was thinning, leaking away with every passing moment.
Whispers started.
Doubt followed.
A man near the front dropped to one knee, retching.
Another laughed—too loud, too sharp—then stopped when no one joined him.
Off to the side, Eclipse stood apart—sealed behind their soundproof barrier, untouched by the mood bleeding through the crowd.
That worried Hans more than the infected ever could.
"Look at them,” Xandor murmured.
He didn’t point. He didn’t need to.
“They were held together by rage,” he continued, “Strip that away and you’re left with…nothing.”
“Atelier’s doing,” Bryan said, “He wants them believing Parv is behind this.”
Xandor smiled faintly, “Of course he does, that’s our presence speaks, at least for these cave men.”
Adrian frowned, “If your doubts are right? He is Parvian—why not use the main force?”
Xandor glanced at him. Patient. Almost indulgent.
“Because if this fails, and we step on someone’s tail that we shouldn’t,” he said, “Parv can deny it ever happened.”
Bryan nodded, “No witnesses. No blame.”
“And without Samson,” Xandor added, “Parv is just ornamental.”
Adrian clicked his tongue, “So winning doesn’t matter?”
“NO,” Xandor pressed.
He turned, gaze hardening.
“Anfaleen has nine lives. We killed him several times—that stain of mine needs to be erased once and for all.”
Bryan leaned in, “And the Node?”
“It’s tempting?” Xandor admitted. “Even if it makes us a target.”
A pause.
“A sitting duck on a powder keg,” he added, “Atelier promised us that much.”
Adrian grimaced, “And the sword?”
Xandor’s smile returned. Thin.
“It will need to go where it needs to be,” he said, “I only need to know where that is.”
They looked ahead, Theodred stepping in.
“We have two more capable hands,” he announced. “That’s enough.”
He gestured ahead.
“We move.”
The infected stirred—hesitant, then louder.
Zilong didn’t join them.
His glare promised this wasn’t over.
Hans winced.
“Father and daughter,” he muttered. “Always complicated.”
Zilong’s voice cut in, low and final.
She stays off the front. If she moves toward the core, I pull her out. No discussion.
Hans nodded.
“Fine.”
Delimira was already watching him.
He held her gaze a fraction longer than he should have.
This is going to cost me.
He turned away.
