The transfer form sat on Ravos’s desk, its digital seal blinking like a persistent blister. He meant to abandon Oshal and exile himself because Nimoe had convinced him his presence invited sabotage. Cold bile rose behind Tamsia’s teeth. Passive monitoring had expired; she would dismantle Nimoe in front of the entire Echo-Net audience.
Her eyes narrowed, the sapphire irises hardening to chips of glacier ice. Ravos would not leave. She would ensure Nimoe was not only exposed but publicly flayed on the Echo-Net, her reputation reduced to digital ash. No mere reassignment could save her from Tamsia’s wrath now.
“Tamsia? You alright?” Ravos’s voice, a low rumble, pulled her from her internal maelstrom. He stood by the small refresher, wiping a red smear where hard-light shrapnel had grazed his cheek. “You’ve been staring at that spot on the wall.”
Tamsia blinked, her mask snapping back into place. A wide, innocent smile bloomed. “Oh, just daydreaming about the Azure Gala’s new centerpiece design, Ravos! So many iridescent flora to consider. It’s all so wonderfully distracting!” She twirled, a vision of bubbly enthusiasm, effectively pulling his attention from the incriminating request that still lay within her peripheral vision. “I’m going to pop to the powder room. All this design work is making my hair feel… weighty!”
Ravos gave a soft, almost imperceptible shake of his head, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Don’t get lost in the western annex, Tamsia. Those halls are a labyrinth even for Guild veterans.”
“Never!” she chirped, already halfway out the sanctum door. The moment it clicked shut behind her, the smile vanished. Her stride became purposeful, echoing through the polished corridors of the executive wing. She knew exactly where she was going, and whom she expected to find.
The private restroom was a chamber of cool, crystalline surfaces and misted honeysuckle. Nimoe was there, just as Tamsia had anticipated, reapplying a meticulous layer of gloss to her lips. She met Tamsia’s gaze in the mirror, her own eyes devoid of their usual saccharine sweetness. The innocent rival act, it seemed, was finally shed.
“Took you long enough, Tamsia,” Nimoe purred, turning to lean against the marble counter. Her voice was low, stripped of its previous feigned fragility. “I thought after the Prism Room… incident… you might finally understand your place.”
Tamsia strolled to the basin beside her, adjusting the tie of her scarf, her movements slow and deliberate. “My place? Oh, dear, did I misplace it again? I’m always doing that, aren’t I? So scatterbrained.” She giggled, a light, airy sound that grated against the sudden tension in the room.
Nimoe’s smile tightened, a predator’s baring of teeth. “Don’t play coy. We both know what’s happening. Ravos is mine. And soon, everything else you think you hold dear will be, too.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “The Azure Gala is just days away. A perfect stage. You’ll find yourself utterly alone, a laughingstock on the Echo-Net, your Guild status revoked faster than you can say ‘Oops, my mistake.’”
“Oh my! Such drama!” Tamsia gasped, her eyes wide with what seemed like genuine awe. She pulled a delicate, pearl-encrusted compact from her pocket, popping it open to examine her reflection. “And all before my morning tea! You are full of surprises, Nimoe. But dear me, your complexion seems a touch… flushed. Are you quite well?”
Nimoe’s eyes blazed. “I’m making Ravos my puppet, Tamsia. He’ll look at you with such cold disdain, you’ll shrivel. And when I’m done, the Guild will cast you out. An Echo-Net cancellation, orchestrated by me, will ensure you’re never allowed to craft so much as a basic light-glyph again. Your entire life, undone.” She leaned in, her breath hot against Tamsia’s ear. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Tamsia met Nimoe’s gaze in the compact mirror. Her own smile was unwavering, impossibly bright. She uncapped her lip tint, a vibrant cerise, and meticulously applied it, tracing the full curve of her mouth. The movement was slow, almost sensual, utterly unhurried. “Such passion, Nimoe. It’s almost… inspiring.” She paused, tilting her head. “But darling, are you certain you’ve considered all the variables?” She pressed her lips together, blotting the excess on a tissue, before meeting Nimoe’s glare directly. “Because darling, your little threats? They just aren’t landing for me.”
The sheer, vacuous cheerfulness, the complete disconnect between Tamsia’s outward demeanor and the venom Nimoe had just spilled, was profoundly unsettling. Nimoe physically recoiled, a flicker of genuine shock crossing her features. It was not the reaction she expected. Tamsia simply giggled, adjusting her scarf once more.
At that precise moment, a low whirring sound emanated from Tamsia’s shoulder bag. Glim, her mechanical shimmer-mink, detached itself from the hidden compartment, its optical crystals glowing with an urgent, azure light. It scampered onto the vanity, depositing a small, intricately carved data-slate at Tamsia’s elbow. The refitted resonance plating had done its job. The slate thrummed with raw data, fully decrypted.
Nimoe stiffened, recognizing the distinct chime of decrypted data. She had seen that specific data-slate model before in Guild R&D schematics. Her bravado faltered. “What is that?”
Tamsia picked up the slate, her knuckles staying deliberately loose. The display flickered, displaying the Vaelian insignia alongside Guild schematics. Nimoe hadn't just probed; she had sold. The file detailed a complete transfer of Oshal Luminary Guild’s shield-generator access keys. Not a breach, but a deliberate surrender of crucial infrastructure. And the accompanying Vaelian communiqué was chillingly explicit: *mobilization tonight*.
“Oh, this?” Tamsia chirped, flipping the slate idly, as if it were a fashion accessory. “Just some… creative insights for the Gala, Nimoe. You wouldn’t understand. It’s all very high-level.” She subtly angled the slate, ensuring Nimoe couldn't decipher the full text, but enough of the Vaelian insignia and key phrases were visible to drain the color from Nimoe’s face.
Nimoe stared, her mask utterly shattered, replaced by a ghastly pallor. “No… that’s impossible.”
Tamsia’s smile tightened, the sweetness now curdling into something truly terrifying. “Impossible? Oh, darling, in this city, anything is possible. Especially when you underestimate your competition.”
A sharp click echoed through the room as the door swung inward. Ravos stood in the threshold, his gaze sweeping the room. He took in Nimoe’s pale, trembling form, her wide, horrified eyes fixed on Tamsia. Then he looked at Tamsia, who stood there, perfectly poised, a vacant smile plastered on her face, Glim silently whirring beside her.
Nimoe, seeing her opportunity, let out a piercing, hysterical sob. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor, dramatically clutching her head. “Ravos! She… she’s been tormenting me! Whispering terrible things! I just wanted to… to refresh my face, and she followed me in, saying… saying…” Her voice broke into ragged gasps, her eyes filling with performative tears that spilled down her cheeks.
Ravos’s expression hardened. He took one step inside, his eyes fixed on Tamsia. His voice was low, cutting through Nimoe’s sobs with cold precision. “Tamsia, we need to talk about your behavior immediately.”