I found myself in the backstage storage room where we’d been keeping Elvina since her failed assassination attempt.
She was still bound—hands secured behind her back with rope that showed signs of careful maintenance. Her ankles were tied together in a way that allowed minimal movement but prevented running, dark hair hanging in limp strands around her face—unwashed and tangled in ways that spoke to days of neglect.
Her emerald eyes, once so sharp and calculating when she’d lorded her power over me in the tower, now carried a hollowness that was almost painful to witness, like looking at someone who’d had their interior life scooped out and replaced with simple survival instinct.
She wore the same clothes from the night of her capture, torn and stained, her posture radiating defeat so completely she seemed to take up less physical space than her body actually occupied.
The moment she saw me enter, she reacted. Not subtly. Not gracefully. No, her entire body snapped tight in an instant—every muscle pulling taut like a wire drawn too far.
It wasn’t even a choice, not really. It was instinct. The kind that bypasses thought entirely and goes straight for the spine, the nerves, the places where memory and fear tangle into something automatic.
Her breath caught—audibly, sharply, like someone preparing for a blow. When she finally managed to speak, her voice came out trembling in a way that bore no resemblance to the cruel confidence she’d once wielded like a weapon.
"Are you—" she swallowed hard, the motion visible in the dim light, "—are you going to send me back to Madame Seraphine?"
The terror in those words wasn’t subtle, wasn’t masked behind bravado or dressed up in defiance—it was raw, trembling, and so painfully sincere it practically reached out and grabbed me by the throat.
I felt it land, heavy and undeniable. I recognized it immediately as the perfect psychological pressure point I’d been hoping still existed because fear this absolute, this visceral, could be leveraged in ways that mere intimidation never achieved, because it bypassed rational thought entirely and went straight to the desperate animalistic instinct that lived at the core of every traumatized individual.
"That depends entirely on you," I said with calculated honesty, keeping my voice even and free of the cruelty she’d likely expected. "I need information from Madame Seraphine about the Ivory Gambit’s operations—detailed, actionable intelligence about their illegal activities, their vulnerabilities, their secrets. And you, Elvina, are going to help me get that information."
I watched her process this, saw confusion flicker across her features as her brain tried to reconcile what I was saying with whatever expectations she’d built up during her captivity.
"I don’t—I don’t understand," she stammered, her eyes darting between me and the floor as though she couldn’t decide which was safer to look at. "How could I possibly help? She hates me now. I failed the assassination, failed to kill you like she ordered, and she—" her voice cracked, "—she’ll punish me. Severely. If I go back, if she gets her hands on me again, she’ll make an example of what happens to slaves who disappoint her."
"Oh, I’m fully aware," I said with the kind of casual acknowledgment that made her flinch in response. "But here’s what I’m offering in return, you help me extract the information I need from Seraphine, and in exchange, I guarantee you never return to her control. You stay with my crew in a capacity that won’t involve the kind of systematic abuse you’ve been enduring under her care."
I leaned forward slightly, making sure she was tracking my words despite her obvious fear. "You’ll have value here beyond just being a captive we’re waiting to dispose of. You’ll have a function, which in this city is about as close to safety as people like us ever get. But more than that—" I let a small smile curl my lips, "—you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you helped destroy the woman who hurt you."
Her confusion deepened, brow furrowing in a way that made her look younger than she actually was, more vulnerable. "But I still don’t understand how," she insisted, her voice carrying a note of genuine bewilderment. "Even if I wanted to help—and I’m not saying I do, I’m not saying anything—what could I possibly do? Walk up to her door and knock? She’d kill me the moment she saw me, or worse, drag me inside and—" She broke off, unable or unwilling to articulate whatever horrors her imagination was supplying.
I began pacing the small room with my hands clasped behind my back, because movement helped me think and added a performative element that kept her attention focused.
"We’re going to use you as an actor in an elaborate performance," I explained, warming to the topic. "A carefully orchestrated play designed to lower Seraphine’s guard, to create an opportunity where she feels secure enough to let information slip or to position herself in a vulnerable way we can exploit."
I stopped pacing then, turning to face her directly. "For this to work, you need to convince her that you’re still loyal despite everything that’s happened. That you want to return to her service, that you have valuable information or capabilities that make keeping you worthwhile rather than simply disposing of you as a failed investment. You’ll need to perform submission and contrition so convincingly that you fool one of the city’s most cunning operators, someone who’s spent years reading people and identifying deception."
The color drained from Elvina’s face as she processed this task. "You want me to—to go to her? To face her directly? To act like I still—" She was hyperventilating now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, panic slowly creeping into her expression. "I can’t. I can’t. You don’t understand what she’s like, what she does to people who fail her. The things she—" Again that inability to finish, the words dying in her throat.
I crouched down in front of her, bringing myself to her eye level before my voice took on a sharper edge. "I’m not minimizing how difficult and dangerous this will be. I’m not pretending it won’t require you to relive trauma deliberately, to put yourself back in the presence of your abuser and perform for her entertainment. This is asking you to do something genuinely horrifying, and I won’t insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise."
I paused, letting that honesty sink in, then continued with the part designed to hook her. "But this is your chance to hurt the woman who’s hurt you. To take power back by turning her own expectations against her. Every moment you spend convincing her you’re broken and loyal, you’ll secretly be gathering the weapons we need to destroy her. That’s not just survival, Elvina—that’s revenge. The kind that actually matters because it’s not just emotional satisfaction, it’s tactical victory."
I stood, resuming my pacing. "More than that, success means you prove your value to my crew in a way that can’t be dismissed or overlooked. You’ll be someone who contributed to taking down a major player in the city’s criminal hierarchy. And while I won’t promise you freedom—I’m not that generous and also you tried to kill me, let’s not forget—there’s a slim chance, emphasis on slim, that you could earn yourself a real position here. Something with actual purpose and maybe, eventually, something approaching autonomy."
Elvina stared at me with those hollow eyes. I watched her internal struggle play out across her features—terror warring with desperation, survival instinct battling against the spark of something darker.
"What if I fail?" she asked quietly. "What if she sees through the performance and realizes I’m working with you?"
"Then you’ll probably die in an extremely unpleasant way," I said with brutal honesty, because sugarcoating reality helped no one. "Seraphine doesn’t strike me as the forgiving type, and discovering you were part of an infiltration attempt would make her vindictive in proportions I’d rather not imagine. But here’s the thing—you’re probably going to die anyway if you stay here indefinitely. Eventually my crew will decide you’re more liability than asset, or you’ll try to escape and get caught, or some other scenario will arise where keeping you alive becomes inconvenient." I shrugged. "At least this way you have agency in your fate, and a chance—however small—at something better."
The hours that followed were a masterclass in psychological manipulation and coaching, breaking down exactly what Elvina would need to do, how she’d need to perform, what words would carry weight with Seraphine based on everything we knew about the woman’s psychology and motivations.
I didn’t spell out the full plan—some details needed to remain compartmentalized for operational security—but I gave her enough framework to understand her role and why it mattered.
We discussed her approach, the right balance of contrition and utility, how to frame her failure as something Seraphine could exploit rather than simply punish, what information she could offer that would seem valuable without revealing the details of our actual operation.
I coached her on body language, on vocal inflection, on the thousand tiny details that separated convincing performance from obvious deception. She was a quick study when her survival depended on it, absorbing information with the desperate focus of someone who’d just realized this might be their only path forward.
"You understand," I said after what had to be the fourth hour of drilling scenarios, "that you’ll be reliving trauma deliberately. Putting yourself back in a psychological space where Seraphine has power over you, where you’re the frightened slave begging for mercy. That’s going to hurt, Elvina. It’s going to activate every protective instinct telling you to run or shut down or fight. You’ll need to override all of that and stay in character."
She nodded slowly, her expression showing the first hints of something beyond pure terror—a calculating quality, cold and focused, that reminded me uncomfortably of the person she’d been in the tower before I’d broken her.
"I know," she said quietly. "But you’re right about one thing. There’s a part of me—small, buried deep, but still there—that wants to see her suffer the way she’s made me suffer. If I can contribute to that, if I can be the weapon that destroys her..." She met my eyes directly for the first time since I’d entered. "Then maybe it’s worth the risk."
I smiled, recognizing that spark of vindictive desire and knowing it was exactly what I needed to make this work. "Good. Channel that. Let it fuel your performance without letting it show through. Seraphine needs to see the broken slave she created, not the person calculating her downfall."
A sudden knock at the door interrupted our session, sharp and authoritative. Just then, Brutus’s voice rumbled through the wood. "We’re ready to begin."
I sighed—long, theatrical, the sound carrying my exhaustion from the hours of intensive coaching and my anticipation for what came next. I turned back to Elvina, who’d tensed again at the interruption.
"I have some clients to attend to," I explained, moving toward the door as I did so. "This conversation isn’t over—we’ll finalize the details of your approach tomorrow, go through more scenarios, make sure you’re as prepared as possible. But for now, I need you to rest, process everything we’ve discussed, and start mentally preparing yourself for what’s coming."
I paused with my hand on the doorknob, glancing back at her one final time. "Think about what I said, Elvina. About revenge, about purpose, about the chance to matter in a way that transcends just surviving. This is probably the only opportunity you’ll ever get to actively participate in your own salvation rather than just being a passive victim of circumstance."
Her response was barely audible, more breath than voice. "I’ll do it."
"I know you will," I said with satisfaction, then opened the door and stepped out into the backstage where Brutus waited, leaving Elvina alone with her thoughts and her slowly crystallizing determination.
Because sometimes the best weapons weren’t the ones you forged yourself.
Sometimes they were the ones your enemies had already created, just waiting for the right moment to be turned against their makers.
And Elvina—broken, desperate, burning with that tiny spark of vindictive rage, was about to become the most devastating weapon in my arsenal.