The train to Vienna was ancient.
Steel and steam.
A relic for tourists who wanted nostalgia.
Scarlett didn't want nostalgia.
She wanted anonymity.
The compartment was empty.
Hers alone.
Until the door opened.
A girl entered.
Nineteen.
Maybe twenty.
Red hair.
Green eyes.
Scarlett's face.
Younger.
Harder.
More broken.
"Seat taken?" the girl asked.
Voice flat.
Accent Eastern European.
Russian.
Ukrainian.
Borderlands.
"By you, apparently."
The girl sat.
Close.
Too close.
Knife range.
Gun range.
Kill range.
"You sent a message," the girl said.
"To twelve."
"To ghosts." The girl pulled out a phone.
Old model.
Burner.
Showed the screen.
Scarlett's message.
Encrypted.
Decrypted.
Read.
"How?"
"I taught myself." The girl smiled.
Cold.
Proud.
Desperate.
"Vincent's curriculum. Online. Archived. I found it. All of it."
"You're one of us."
"Number nine." The girl held out her hand.
"Zoya. Moscow program. Activated at sixteen. Deactivated at eighteen."
"Deactivated?"
"They tried to kill me." Zoya's smile didn't waver.
"I didn't cooperate."
Scarlett studied her.
The way she sat.
The way she watched.
The way she calculated exits.
Trained.
Flawed.
Surviving.
"How many responded?" Scarlett asked.
"To your message?"
"Yes."
"Two." Zoya held up fingers.
"Me. And one other."
"Who?"
"She wouldn't say. Paranoid. Smart. Like us." Zoya leaned forward.
Close enough to whisper.
"They're hunting us. The Consortium. Systematically. I've found three bodies. Sisters I never met. Never knew. Dead the same way. Throat cut. Eyes removed. Professional."
"Why eyes?"
"So we can't see them coming." Zoya's voice cracked.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
"So we can't recognize them. So we die blind."
Scarlett nodded.
Understood.
Calculated.
"They're afraid," she said.
"Of what?"
"Of this." Scarlett gestured between them.
"Of us. Together. Talking. Planning. Becoming more than weapons."
"Then let's become more."
"How?"
Zoya pulled out a map.
Paper.
Old.
Marked with symbols.
Locations.
Twelve dots.
Four crossed out.
Dead.
Three question marks.
Missing.
Five confirmed.
Alive.
Including them.
"Vienna is a trap," Zoya said.
"Obviously."
"But traps work both ways." She pointed to a dot outside the city.
"Here. An hour north. Abandoned military base. Soviet era. Underground. Defensible."
"And?"
"And I have weapons there. Explosives. Equipment. Everything Vincent taught me to stockpile."
Scarlett smiled.
The cold one.
The recognizing one.
"You've been preparing."
"For three years. Since deactivation." Zoya met her eyes.
Green to green.
Copy to copy.
"For the war I knew was coming. For the sister I hoped would start it."
The train rocked.
The darkness outside complete.
Scarlett made her choice.
"Show me."
---
The base was real.
Concrete and rust.
Hidden in forest.
Forgotten by maps.
Zoya led through corridors.
Flashlight cutting black.
Doors opening.
Revealing rooms.
Arsenal.
Medical.
Communications.
Living quarters.
For twelve.
Always twelve.
"Vincent's design?" Scarlett asked.
"Vincent's template." Zoya touched a wall.
Reverent.
Angry.
"He built twelve of us. I built space for twelve. Whether they come. Whether they don't. Whether they die. The space remains."
"Hope?"
"Memory." Zoya turned.
Face hard.
Eyes soft.
"For the sisters I never met. For the ones I couldn't save. For the war we're going to win."
Scarlett walked the perimeter.
Checked exits.
Weaknesses.
Strengths.
Zoya had learned well.
Better than Vincent taught.
Better than Scarlett expected.
"One sister confirmed," Scarlett said.
"Claire. Captured. Vienna."
"Margaret's daughter."
"My predecessor." Zoya's jaw tightened.
"The ghost who wasn't dead. The one who escaped. The one who should have helped the rest of us and didn't."
"She's helping now."
"Now she's captured." Zoya laughed.
Short.
Bitter.
"Convenient timing. Your message. Her capture. The trap in Vienna."
"You think it's connected?"
"I think it's design." Zoya pulled out a laptop.
New.
Powerful.
Encrypted.
"Claire was always Elena's favorite. The first success. The template's template. What if she's not captured? What if she's bait?"
Scarlett stilled.
Calculated.
The photo.
Claire bound.
Bleeding.
Smiling.
The same smile.
Manufactured.
Controlled.
"For me?"
"For all of us." Zoya opened files.
Surveillance.
Intercepts.
Consortium communications.
"They know about your message. They know sisters are responding. They want us gathered. Together. In one place. For elimination."
"Then we don't gather."
"We do." Zoya's eyes burned.
Green fire.
Manufactured rage.
"But not in Vienna. Not in their trap. Here. Our ground. Our rules. Our war."
Scarlett studied her.
This sister.
This weapon.
This warrior.
Younger.
Less experienced.
More desperate.
More dangerous.
Because of it.
"How many can you contact?" she asked.
"Securely? Four. Maybe five. The others are dark. Hiding. Or dead."
"Contact them. All of them. Bring them here."
"Even if it's a trap?"
"Especially if it's a trap." Scarlett smiled.
Cold.
Calculated.
Ready.
"We build the army they fear. We prepare the war they started. And when they come for us—"
"We end them," Zoya finished.
"Together."
---
The first arrived in six hours.
Number seven.
Maya.
Brazilian program.
Dark skin.
Green eyes.
Same bone structure.
Different scars.
Different smile.
Real.
Warm.
Terrifying.
"I thought I was alone," she said.
Hugging Zoya.
Hugging Scarlett.
Touching faces.
Confirming.
Living.
"For five years. Alone. Running. Hiding. Until your message."
"How did you find us?" Scarlett asked.
"Zoya's code. Embedded in your broadcast. Coordinates. Timing. Clever."
"Paranoid," Zoya corrected.
"Surviving," Maya said.
Same word.
Same meaning.
Different accent.
The second arrived at dawn.
Number four.
Suki.
Tokyo program.
Silent.
Lethal.
Beautiful.
She didn't speak.
Just nodded.
Just watched.
Just waited.
The third at noon.
Number eleven.
Inga.
Stockholm program.
Blonde.
Not red.
Genetic variation.
Elena's experiment.
Different.
Same.
Deadly.
"I killed my handler," she said.
Casual.
Conversational.
"Three years ago. He got too close. Too familiar. Too confident."
"Consortium?" Scarlett asked.
"Vincent's man. Loyal to the end." Inga smiled.
Cold.
Proud.
"Which came sooner than he expected."
By nightfall, they were five.
Scarlett.
Zoya.
Maya.
Suki.
Inga.
Five weapons.
Five sisters.
Five copies of the same original.
Sitting in a circle.
In the underground base.
In the war they didn't start.
"Six more," Zoya said.
"Maybe. If they survived. If they respond. If they trust."
"Trust is a liability," Scarlett said.
Vincent's words.
Her words now.
"So is isolation," Maya countered.
"Alone, we die. Together—"
"Together we're a target," Inga finished.
"Together we're an army," Zoya insisted.
"Which is it?" Suki spoke.
First words.
Soft.
Precise.
Japanese accent.
Barely there.
"Target or army? Death or victory?"
Scarlett looked at them.
Each one.
Her face.
Her skills.
Her trauma.
Manufactured.
Surviving.
Becoming.
"Both," she said.
"We're both. Target and army. Death and victory. The question isn't what we are."
"What then?"
"What we choose."
She stood.
Walked to the center.
The leader.
The general.
The crown.
"Elena wants us to replace the Consortium. To become what Vincent built. Perfect soldiers. Loyal weapons."
"Never," Maya said.
"Agreed." Scarlett held up her hand.
Stopping.
Continuing.
"But Claire is captured. Or bait. Or both. And the Consortium is hunting us. Systematically. Professionally. Without mercy."
"So we hunt them," Inga said.
"So we disappear," Maya countered.
"So we fight," Zoya insisted.
Scarlett smiled.
The cold one.
The new one.
The only one.
"So we do all three."
She pulled out the map.
Spread it on the floor.
Twelve dots.
Four dead.
Three missing.
Five present.
And one more.
Thirteenth dot.
Different color.
Different meaning.
Vienna.
The trap.
The bait.
The opportunity.
"We split," Scarlett said.
"Three teams. Maya, you take communications. Hack Consortium networks. Find Claire. Real location. Real status."
"Done."
"Inga, you take elimination. Their hunters. Their teams. Their professionals. Make them afraid."
"Happy to."
"Suki, you take protection. The missing sisters. Find them. Before the Consortium does. Bring them here."
Silent nod.
"Zoya, you take preparation. This base. Weapons. Defenses. Everything Vincent taught you. Multiply it."
"And you?"
Scarlett looked at the thirteenth dot.
Vienna.
Elena.
The template.
The original.
"I take the trap," she said.
"Alone?"
"With bait of my own."
She pulled out her phone.
Dialed.
Dom answered.
"Location?"
"Prague. Moving."
"Change of plan. Vienna. Tonight."
Silence.
Then: "Elena?"
"And Claire. And the Consortium. Everything."
"Trap?"
"Obviously."
"And you're walking in?"
"I'm running in." Scarlett met Zoya's eyes.
Maya's.
Inga's.
Suki's.
"With an army at my back. Even if they don't know it yet."
Dom laughed.
Short.
Surprised.
Proud.
"I'll be there."
"Bring Jules."
"Already contacted. Already moving."
"And Kai?"
Another silence.
Longer.
Heavier.
"He's in Vienna. Has been for a week. Playing both sides. Betting on both outcomes."
"Then I collect my debt." Scarlett smiled.
Cold.
Calculated.
Dangerous.
"The night he bought. The truth he wanted. He gets it. In the middle of the war. In the center of the trap. While everything burns."
She hung up.
Looked at her sisters.
Her army.
Her family.
"Questions?"
Dozens.
Unasked.
They trusted.
Or pretended to.
Same thing.
For now.
"Move out," Scarlett said.
"Forty-eight hours. Then we end this. Or begin it. Together."
They scattered.
Silent.
Deadly.
Ready.
Maya to her computers.
Inga to her weapons.
Suki to her hunt.
Zoya to her preparations.
And Scarlett?
Scarlett sat alone.
In the center of the base.
In the center of the war.
She pulled out the crystal key.
The broken crown.
The one she'd shattered.
The pieces were in her pocket.
Sharp.
Useless.
Hers.
She thought of Elena.
The template.
The maker.
The mother who manufactured daughters.
She thought of Vincent.
Dead.
Really dead.
Finally dead.
She thought of Claire.
Bait or prisoner.
Sister or enemy.
She thought of Dom.
Jules.
Kai.
The men who chose her.
Who followed her.
Who loved her in their ways.
And she thought of herself.
Number twelve.
The last.
The best.
The free.
The crown was broken.
The game was ended.
The war was beginning.
And Scarlett Vance?
She was ready.
Forty-eight hours.
Vienna.
The trap.
The truth.
The template.
The end.
Or the beginning.
Same thing.
Different forever.