Anika’s final words hung in the air, a blunt execution order echoing through the vaulted hall. The two syndicate guards flanking Corvo moved first, their heavy-gauge sidearms snapping up. One aimed at Bram, the other at Saskia. Their movements were fluid, practiced, devoid of hesitation. Saskia didn’t hesitate either. The cheerful maid, ‘Meike’, evaporated. In her place was a coiled wire of lethal intent, every muscle tensing, every instinct screaming. A silver serving tray, laden with untouched confectioneries, sat on a nearby side table. It was heavy, ornamental, and now, a weapon. Her hand shot out, not in a swipe, but a controlled, explosive grab. The tray became an extension of her arm, shimmering. The guard targeting Bram took a step forward, his weapon whining as the capacitors charged. Saskia didn’t wait. She moved low, a blur of motion, swinging the tray with devastating force. It caught the first guard under the chin with a sickening thud, snapping his head back with a wet crack. The discharge scorched a black scar across the ceiling tiles, then clattered to the floor as he crumpled, pupils unreactive. The confectioneries flew, a sugary shrapnel shower. The second guard, momentarily stunned by his comrade’s collapse, barely registered Saskia’s next move. She didn’t recover the tray. Instead, her other hand snatched a heavy, ornate corkscrew from a neglected wine cart, its polished steel glinting. Before he could reorient his weapon, she was on him, ducking under his arm. The corkscrew plunged upward, finding the soft tissue under his ribcage. He made a choking sound, a surprised gurgle, as the sharp point pierced deeply. His fingers went slack around his grip, his frame shuddering before slumping limp. He slid to the marble floor, leaving a widening scarlet stain. The entire brutal dance took less than three heartbeats. The salon went dead silent. Anika backed against a side pillar, pale and clutching her hem. The remaining syndicate enforcers, Corvo included, had their weapons raised, but they were frozen, witnessing the impossible. This wasn't a maid. This was something forged in the brutal underbelly of the Conglomerate, something they knew too well. Bram Vossen stood utterly still, his gaze fixed on Saskia. The usual placid emptiness of his eyes was gone, replaced by an intense, burning clarity. There was no terror, no revulsion, only a profound, almost primal fascination. He watched her, not as a victim, but as a predator recognizing a kindred spirit, a dangerous, elegant creature unleashed. Saskia didn't acknowledge his gaze. Her focus was absolute, her breath even despite the exertion. She moved, sweeping the second guard's dropped weapon from the floor with a clean kick, sending it skittering toward a marble column. Corvo snarled, snapping his men out of their stupor. “Get her! Don’t let her near the heir!” Just as Corvo’s remaining two guards surged forward, gears groaned within the bulkheads. The massive blast doors, usually reserved for city-wide security alerts, began to activate. Fenja, standing near a discreet control panel, her face grim and set, hammered a sequence of commands into the wall-mounted console. The doors, made of reinforced durasteel, began to retract, but not fully. Instead, the two halves slammed inwards, telescoping towards each other with bone-crushing speed. One of Corvo’s men, caught off guard by the sudden automation, found himself directly in the path of the closing doors. He had just enough time for a horrified cry before the durasteel panels met, pinning him with a wet, sickening crunch. His carbine clattered uselessly as his body went still, folded grotesquely into the impossible gap. Fenja didn't flinch. She met Corvo's furious gaze across the room, her eyes hard as ice. “Through the conservatory! Now!” Saskia barked, her voice stripped of its saccharine cheer, raw and urgent. She clamped a hand around Bram’s wrist, hauling him toward the reinforced partition that divided the floor from the sprawling glass arboretum. Bram offered no resistance, allowing himself to be pulled, his gaze still locked on Saskia’s ruthless profile. Corvo, momentarily thrown by the sudden loss of two men and the unexpected brutality of the head housekeeper, recovered quickly. “After them! Don’t let them seal it!” he roared. His remaining men sprinted toward the portal, but Saskia was faster. As she and Bram burst through the automated glass doors, she slammed her palm against the biometric panel beside the frame. A series of deep thunks echoed as heavy, internal durasteel shutters deployed, followed by a soft, confirming hiss. The biometric locks engaged, sealing them within the humid, verdant space, a temporary sanctuary from the encroaching assassins. Corvo reached the reinforced glass, pounding on it with a frustrated roar. The impact barely registered against the thick, blast-proof pane. He glared in through the glass, his face contorted with rage. Saskia, pistol now in hand, faced him, balanced on the balls of her feet. She didn't bother to smile. Then static crackled from overhead grilles. Corvo’s voice hissed through the vents across the damp glass dome. He had patched into the internal intercom system. “Well played, Meike. Or whatever your real name is,” Corvo’s voice oozed, laced with a malicious triumph. “You’re good. Better than I remember. But you’re also predictable. Always running to protect the weak. Always the family girl, aren’t you?” Saskia’s grip on the disruptor tightened. Her eyes narrowed, knowing what was coming. It was always Kobus. “Five minutes, Meike,” Corvo continued, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “That’s all you have. My men in the lower sectors have a very special visit planned for your little brother. If you’re not out here, with the mute heir delivered to me, within five minutes… well, let’s just say Kobus won’t be needing his expensive medicine anymore. He’ll be joining his mother. And it’ll be all your fault.” Five minutes. A transit car to the under-levels took twenty at full burn. Kobus was cornered in a bed he couldn't leave. Beside her, Bram moved. He stepped away from her, towards a large, ornate planter overflowing with vibrant, artificial flora. With a strength Saskia hadn't seen him display before, he shoved the heavy planter aside. Beneath it, hidden flush with the floor, was a hardwired terminal, its screen dark. His fingers, steady and deliberate, began a rapid sequence of input, bypassing security protocols, digging deep into the Vossen network. Lines of code, glowing green, scrolled rapidly across the screen. He worked with an intensity that belied his usual placidity. After a tense minute, the screen flashed, confirming an override. He had accessed the lower sector communication grid. He looked up at Saskia, his gaze piercing. His lips parted, and a rough, unaccustomed sound escaped them. It was his voice, raspy and unused, forming a single, urgent question. “Where?”

Silver Trays and Corkscrews