Andrei

It was shortly after eight in the evening when Sinclair returned to the base. As anticipated, she cursed and stomped loudly against the ground where she knew the hatch to be. Everleigh was awake from her nap by then, and she must have been feeling invigorated because instead of mocking me or showing off, she guided me through the process of opening the way.

Sinclair descended the stairs at a rapid pace, and the room rumbled when I closed the door.

"I got what we needed," she said. "Among other things."

Her cold fingers brushed against my hand, and then something round—long and with weight—pressed into my palm.

"Stole this before I knew anyone would need it."

"Is that one of Zacharias Vonsinfonie's canes?" Adeline asked.

"Aye," Sinclair replied.

Exploring the cane with my fingers, I traced the relief pattern along the length. Symbols—no, Symphonic notes. I traced them again, and again, and again…

"The cursed canticle," I said.

"That's the name of the last song Sebastian composed with Zacharias before he—before they stopped performing," Everleigh commented.

I ran my hand over the smooth, faceted stone. "What colour is the topper?"

"Blue," they all three answered at the same time.

"I remember seeing this one," I said. "In the stand."

Sinclair confirmed that was indeed where she'd pilfered the relic from, and she further confessed to also stealing yet another ring that was too big for her fingers.

"The psychologists at the lair have a term for your behaviour, Sinclair. I believe you may be a kleptomaniac."

"That's a good thing, right?"

It both was and it wasn't, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

I thanked her for the gift with a hug and kiss on the head, and we all moved to the couches. While I'd at first dismissed the idea of using a cane to assist me when Jakob had suggested it, I did appreciate the way it felt, and it could be helpful in detecting changes in ground elevation. We had plans to walk to Leberecht, after all.

"So, I had a weird night," Sinclair said once we were settled. "My father and my mother were casually waiting for my unsuspecting arse over at Alexander's."

"How incredible!" Adeline squealed.

"Rhydian brought your mother here?" I asked.

"Wait, you lot know Rhydian?" Everleigh snorted when she laughed. "Those were the days. That one wanted me dead so badly."

"No kidding," Sinclair replied. "And here I thought he and I had nothing in common."

If the dirgist reacted to the jab, I remained none the wiser. And although I was thinking it, I didn't bother to add that if Rhydian Sinclair had achieved what he truly wanted, Everleigh Gloom may have spent the last several years of life in a silver cell, and she and I may have become acquainted much sooner.

"Back-track, please," I said. "Why were Rhydian and your mother at Alexander's?"

"An excellent question, Father Strauss," Adeline interjected.

The cushion shifted beneath me when Sinclair adjusted her position on the couch.

"I may have forgotten to mention that Alexander knows them both. It's a long story that I don't fully know, so. We talked for a minute. I was in a hurry to get back. That's basically it."

Not only had Sinclair met her mother for the first time, but it was the first time she'd had the opportunity to speak with Rhydian while not in the midst of dealing with an immediate threat. I had a hard time believing that was basically it. There were two simultaneous probabilities at play: she was tight-lipped because of Everleigh, or she was still processing. Most likely both.

In any case, we would have time to speak on the matter later. Night had fallen, and since Leberecht was only a five, perhaps six hour walk from where we were, there was no sense leaving yet. Dawn was the plan.

"While the idea of traveling to Leberecht is rather exciting," Adeline said, "if it's all the same to you, Enforcer Rhian, I'd prefer to stay here, explore the base, and tinker with the mysterious contraption. If Sebastian returns, it may be best if one of us were here to receive him."

"Do whatever you want, lass." Sinclair's arm nudged mine when she shrugged. "As long as you're trusting this one not to kidnap or kill you."

Everleigh sighed. "I guess we're still doing this."

"We are."

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"I'm not going to hurt Abby Blaze," Ever finished.

Sinclair's concern was justified, of course. Everleigh had admitted duplicity. She'd confessed to considering throwing us to the wolves—her precious Abby Blaze included. But, I was still betting that as long as Sebastian needed us, Everleigh Gloom wouldn't harm us—all long enough, hopefully, for us to determine on which side of the board she would ultimately end up.

For now, we all, except Everleigh, required a proper sleep. After saying goodnight, we each retreated to our rooms, me and Sinclair in the first master suite, Everleigh in the next, and Adeline alone in the bunk room designed for twelve.

We were approximately four hours into our journey to Leberecht when Sinclair finally broached the topic of her parents.

"My mum seems nice," she said. "Cheerful, wholesome, all that shite."

"I see," I said. "You must take after her in looks, then."

Sinclair sniffled. Not because she was crying, but because it was cold. There was no snowfall that day, at least. As I'd hoped, she chuckled in response. "But I reckon I've got Rhydian's smile, even though I've never seen it. And get this—I've got a sister."

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

"Truly? Well, don't tell Riz," I replied.

"Right." She sniffled again. "Likes a good Strachan, that one."

The sun was strong that day despite the brisk temperature. I confess: I didn't miss the splitting headache that came with the first few hours of bright sun exposure.

"Strauss," Sinclair said.

"Yes?"

"You know what you told me about your parents? About what they were doing, and how you were never meant to end up at Palisade?"

I nodded.

"Rhydian said the same thing to me. That they were meant to collect me and Gus afore conscription, but something bad happened. How old were you when your parents died?"

"Six, maybe seven. Why?"

"So, I'd have been around seven, eight."

Sinclair sniffled again, and I took her hand, carefully building up my own body heat to transfer to her instead. I felt the snow melt under every step I took henceforth.

"You don't think...?"

"I don't know," she said. "When I asked what went wrong with the job, he wasn't keen on talking about it. Clammed right up. Even Evelyn looked awkward."

If what Sinclair was suggesting were true, then my parents were killed while on a mission to apprehend her, and our threads were entwined long before we'd even met. Considering everything I knew already, it made sense. And if Rhydian were as close to my parents as I suspected, it's possible he carried the guilt of their deaths, and Sinclair and I were reminders of what he perceived as his failure. Pure speculation, but father and daughter were cut from a similar, avoidant cloth, and I knew daughter well.

"If it's true, Sinclair, I don't blame you."

"Well, that's good, Strauss. Because it'd make no bloody sense if you did."

I turned my head in her direction with a slight smile. "Thank you for telling me."

"Aye."

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Sinclair squeezed my hand. "There was something else Rhydian said."

"Oh?"

"He wants us to go back to the lair with him."

"He mustn't know about the Anima yet. That could complicate matters."

"Well, it had better not. Where I go, you go. The end."

I squeezed her hand in return. "So this leaves us with three options, perhaps four. We agree to help Sebastian and we do things his way. Assuming he can get past what I did, we agree to join your father and do things his way. We decide neither, and do things our way. Or..."

"...we see if we can't combine efforts and somehow still do things our way."

"In essence, yes. If Sebastian wants us to lead his resistance..."

"…and my father wants me to help lead whatever the fuck he's got going on..."

The thought percolated as the wind picked up around us.

We both knew it would be difficult, perhaps even impossible, to convince Rhydian Sinclair to work with Sebastian Vonsinfonie. Of course, we could present him as Vincent Delestade and he would never need to know. But we still hadn't heard Sebastian's story or his full proposal. So for now, we walked. Another hour, almost two before we approached the gate in the mountain. Where getting Michael out of Leberecht was concerned, we had no plan, but as Sinclair had proved time and time again, no plan is the best plan.

Sometimes.

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