Damon stepped through the tall double doors into the dining hall, only to be greeted by an all-too-familiar silence.
"You're late again," came the even, cutting voice from across the room. "That's the third time this week."
His mother, Lady Morrigan, didn't raise her voice. She never needed to.
"Yes, Mother," Damon muttered, brushing the sleep from his eyes.
He took in the room, its structure more ritual than routine. Three long wooden tables stretched from wall to wall, polished by time and discipline. At the far end, bathed in the warm yellow glow of a crystal chandelier, sat nearly thirty children, his siblings, all of them.
Boys and girls, aged somewhere between ten and sixteen, lined the benches in organized silence. Some hunched over their steaming plates, eating methodically. Others leaned in to whisper behind cupped hands, trading glances and subtle grins as the attendants, tall women in sleek black suits, patrolled the aisles.
And at the center of it all sat Morrigan, regal in her crimson blouse and tailored black pants. She wasn't an imposing figure by size, slender, poised, with snow-white hair tucked neatly behind her shoulders, but her presence was undeniable. Her golden eyes were calm, but sharp. Watchful. You didn't need to hear her footsteps to know she was in the room. You felt her.
Damon lowered his gaze and made his way to the center table, slipping into the empty seat beside Fin.
Compared to the others, Fin looked fragile. Pale skin, chestnut hair curled neatly behind his pink-framed glasses, blue eyes already buried in the pages of a leather-bound book.
Without looking up, Fin smiled. "Morning, Damon. You overslept again, didn't you?"
"You could've woken me," Damon muttered. "That book was in my room."
"I know." Fin turned the page with deliberate grace. "But then how would you learn?"
Damon let out a long sigh and sank into his seat. Across from them, Vincent leaned forward, smug, of course. The devil always looked smug.
Damon ignored him. His eyes dropped to the food.
He froze.
It wasn't breakfast. It was a banquet.
Beef brisket. Medium rare steak, glistening in its juices. Deviled eggs, perfectly halved. Smoked sausages. Mashed potatoes with creamy sauce. Peas. A small fruit salad. It was decadent, too decadent.
'This isn't right. Not for a Tuesday.'
He glanced down the table. No one else looked surprised.
Then it clicked.
'Training must start today.'
He picked up his fork, cut into a sausage, and took a bite. The flavor bloomed instantly juicy, rich, layered with herbs. For a moment, his guard slipped. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he realized he was smiling.
That's when Vincent spoke.
"Glad to see you enjoying yourself, dear brother," he said with that ever-present smirk. "Be sure to eat plenty."
The fork froze halfway to Damon's mouth.
His eyes narrowed. Vincent's tone was too casual. Too inviting.
He looked down at the food again. Still steaming. Still perfect.
'No. He wouldn't… Not in front of Morrigan. Not with the attendants watching.'
But Vincent was still watching him. Still smiling. And that alone was enough to make Damon's stomach twist.
He needed an out.
Turning to his left, he spotted Josh, round-faced, curly-haired, and forever hungry. The perfect scapegoat.
"Hey, Josh," Damon said, flashing his most innocent grin. "You want some extra?"
Josh blinked, surprised. "Wait, seriously? Can I have it?"
"Of course. We're brothers, aren't we?"
Josh beamed. "Thanks, Damon!"
Damon passed the plate over, resisting the urge to pat him on the head for his noble sacrifice. He leaned back with satisfaction, shooting Vincent a look of silent triumph.
But Vincent's smile didn't change.
In fact… it deepened.
'Why are you still smiling…?'
Then Morrigan rose from her seat, placing her cup down with a quiet click.
"Finish your meals, children. Those scheduled for training will follow Vincent to the sensory chamber for affinity testing. The rest of you, don't forget your language and botany classes."
A collective groan rolled across the room like thunder.
With a nod to her attendants, Morrigan turned and walked out, Castiel and Jacob trailing after her. The hall settled into a restless quiet.
Then Damon felt it.
A hand, firm and heavy, gripped his shoulder.
He turned slowly.
Vincent stood behind him, dirty blond hair falling slightly into his sharp green eyes. He was smiling like a boy about to commit arson.
"Have mercy," Damon said quickly, voice tight.
"Mercy?" Vincent chuckled darkly. "You're not that lucky."
'I really hate this guy.'
***
Elsewhere…
Flip—
A black-gloved hand turned the page of a report. The movement was practiced, elegant, unhurried.
"You're letting Vincent get away with it again?" Rosa's voice cut through the stillness. She stood by the tall window, glasses catching the morning light. "He used a pain enhancer from my med kit. I'm almost certain he laced Damon's food."
"He didn't go overboard," Morrigan replied, eyes still on her file. "He never does."
Rosa sighed. "He's completed five missions already. Technically perfect, but his clients loathe him."
"He keeps the others sharp. Fear does that."
"I'd be happy to discipline him, if needed," Diana added. The red-haired second attendant stood with her arms folded, her tone flat and unreadable.
"That won't be necessary," Morrigan said. She reached for a different file and handed it to them. "Something more important needs your attention."
Rosa scanned the top page. Her brow furrowed. "Koinonia. Multiple child abductions. All from single-father homes. All vanish between school dismissal and parental return. No sign of forced entry."
"The pattern is escalating," Morrigan said. "And no one's doing a damn thing about it."
Diana's eyes didn't move from the report, but her jaw tightened. The paper trembled faintly in her hand.
She didn't need to read further. She remembered Koinonia.
She remembered the screams. The flames. Her father's body, limp in her arms. His smile, even as the soldiers dragged him away for what she'd done.
With a sharp breath, she clenched her fist—and the file turned to ash.
A wave of heat rippled through the air. Jacob, standing by the door, flinched.
"Use deadly force if necessary," Morrigan said, unfazed. "Just keep collateral to a minimum. It's almost July, we don't need the churches sniffing around before the summer festival."
"Why aren't they involved already?" Rosa asked. "Surely this threatens festival security."
Morrigan allowed herself a faint smile.
"That's exactly why I'm sending Castiel. And I suspect our 'guest' in the holding room knows more than he's letting on."
Rosa and Diana exchanged a glance.
"It will be done," they said in unison, vanishing into the shadows.
****
Damon jolted awake, heart racing.
He gasped. Looked around.
'Where the hell…?'
He was standing. On grass. Surrounded by trees and soft sunlight. A bamboo fountain tapped rhythmically nearby, echoing through a sprawling, pristine garden.
Birds chirped overhead. The breeze carried a scent like honey and lavender.
It was beautiful. Surreal. Peaceful, even.
He took a few steps forward, still dizzy. His fingers brushed against a low-hanging flower.
Then a voice drifted in, quiet and calm.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Damon turned.
An old woman sat beneath a wisteria tree, sipping tea from a porcelain cup. Her hair was pale and long, her face stern yet oddly familiar. Black eyes like bottomless wells studied him without judgment.
He stepped back, instinct prickling.
"Who… who are you?"
The woman didn't move. "Relax, child. I'm not going to bite."