Money, Power, Fame, Pleasure. Most people spent their lives chasing one of the four. Elysia Snowdrift found them all to be crude, unproductive distractions. She desired only one thing: efficiency. The ruthless, elegant allocation of resources not equally, but where they would contribute the most. It was her mantra, the quiet, unassailable principle upon which the prosperity of Cape Lumous was built. While Elodie played queen and others played warrior, Elysia pulled the economic strings. She was the true power in the city.

  Viola Reddington was playing her favorite sonata, a piece of music so exquisitely structured it was practically a mathematical proof of beauty. But Elysia couldn't enjoy it. The notes were a discordant mess in her mind, drowned out by the echo of Justine Veilstorm’s whispered threat. The Chief of Police had cornered her by the fountain, her words a stiletto knife pressed against the city’s throat. She knew too much.

  Elysia took a steadying sip of wine, cursing herself. She shouldn't have had so much, but who could say no to Vinalia’s vintages? Her mind felt fuzzy when she needed it to be a razor. How could she have miscalculated Justine so badly? She’d always assumed the Chief of Police could be bought, that her ambition was for wealth. But no, Justine wanted power.

  A flicker of genuine respect sparked in Elysia’s mind. People who want money are people who don’t know what they truly want. Money is just an option, a tool. A person with purpose desires what money can do, not the money itself. Justine wanted to lead the City Defense Force. It was a clean, ambitious goal. Elysia respected that.

  Of course, she had agreed on the spot. It was the only efficient move, the one that bought her time and prevented a catastrophic public scene. If Justine had gotten on stage and announced that the city’s coins were a fraud, the shared illusion that gives money its value would have shattered. Panic, riots, a total collapse of the economic system, it would be the very definition of inefficiency.

  But in every crisis, there is an opportunity. And Elysia knew precisely how to seize it.

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  This was the perfect excuse to finally deal with Valery. Yes, Valery was her sister, and yes, she was a competent defender of the city. But she was also a political obstacle, a sentimentalist whose cautious nature was a drag on Elysia’s grander plans. Valery held tremendous influence and often disagreed with her, forcing Elysia to waste precious time convincing her. Sometimes, she couldn't be convinced at all. Elysia wanted to merge the Defense Force with the Attack Force, to once and for all cleanse the wasteland and begin redevelopment. It could be done in half the time if the two forces worked together. But Valery, ever the pragmatist, insisted on keeping fighters back, always planning for a siege that would never come.

  Now, Justine's threat was the lever she needed. She would frame it as a necessary evil, a political sacrifice for the good of the family. Valery would push back, of course. She enjoyed her power. But her loyalty to the city and, more importantly, to the Snowdrift name, was her greatest weakness. Elysia would explain the devastation a financial scandal would wreak. She would paint a picture of chaos and ruin, and Valery, to protect the people from the truth and the Snowdrift name from disgrace, would fall on her sword.

  The public justification was already in place. Elysia had already set the stage by subtly convincing Valery to arrest Aziza Tanzanight, a move she knew would be politically radioactive. She could now frame it as a grave error in judgment. As part of her apology to the Tanzanights, Elysia would announce, Valery will be stepping down. It was perfect. She could remove Valery, install Justine as an accomplice who could no longer threaten her, and make amends with the increasingly powerful Tanzanight family all in one elegant, efficient maneuver. With the political board reset, she could finally push forward her plans for the wasteland.

  A sense of calm returned. The music of the violin once again sounded beautiful. Her secret, the careful, calculated manipulation of the city’s currency, was safe. No one would be the wiser. Everything was going to be okay.

  It was only then, as she allowed her gaze to drift across the crowd, that a small, uncomfortable detail snagged in her mind. That little Petalcrest brat, Lilirose. During her tense conversation with Justine, the girl had been standing quietly nearby, pretending to admire a floral arrangement. But her eyes had been fixed on them, wide and unnervingly attentive.