They continued lunch in the park because no one had the energy to move yet.
The argument with Silver still hung in the air like a bad smell.
Not loud anymore.
Not fresh.
Just there.
Silver had taken himself off toward the tree line, back half-turned to them, arcbracer raised. Pale blue light flickered across his face as he swiped through files, his expression smooth and unreadable.
Ray noticed first.
She leaned back on the fallen tree, sandwich in one hand, eyes narrowing.
“Ha,” she said. “See? Didn’t take him long.”
Mezzo looked over.
His ears went flat.
“The bastard is already digging up dirt on us.”
Arcade lifted his head from his enormous lunchbox. “Oh, brilliant. Love that. Nothing says team bonding like a privileged little creep building blackmail folders before dessert.”
Hughes sighed and set his mug down on a stump.
“Typical noble,” he said.
Ray pointed with her sandwich. “Thank you.”
Hughes raised a hand. “Not defending him.”
“You’re about to.”
“I’m explaining him,” Hughes said. “Different thing.”
Arcade snorted. “Sounds suspiciously like defending a spoiled brat.”
Hughes glanced toward Silver, who was now scrolling through what looked very much like the Knights’ personnel profiles.
“Look,” Hughes said, lowering his voice. “He’s trained to this. Nobles do it to each other all the time. Weaknesses. Favour records. Family debts. School scandals. Who slept with who. Who owes who. Who said the wrong thing at a dinner forty years ago.” He shook his head. “Not saying it’s right. I’m saying if we don’t bring him down to our level fast, he’s going to be a problem.”
“He’s already a problem,” Mezzo muttered.
“Aye. And if he keeps acting like he’s still in the Royal Quarter, he’ll become a dangerous one.”
Celeste looked between them, unease pinching her face.
“He is new,” she said softly. “Maybe he’s nervous.”
Ray stared at her.
“Celeste, he called my conditioner habits suspicious.”
“He was technically wrong about that,” Celeste admitted. “You smell very nice.”
Ray blinked, briefly derailed. “That’s not—thank you, but that’s not the point.”
Arcade stabbed his fork into his food. “He’s going through our profiles. Right now. In front of us.”
Hughes rubbed a hand over his beard. “From what I saw of Silas back in the day, kindness wasn’t exactly thick on the ground around that family.”
Ray frowned. “Silas is his grandfather, right?”
“Aye,” Hughes said. “That’d be him.”
The mood shifted.
Even Topsy stopped chewing for half a second.
Hughes looked toward Silver again, older memories settling across his face. “Rumours were rampant back then. Some of them ugly. Some probably true. If even half of them were, I can see why the lad’s defensive.”
Arcade’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t Hybrids banned from the Council?”
“They were,” Hughes said. “Mostly. Officially, unofficially, legally, socially—take your pick. Silas’s hybrid reforms changed that.”
Mezzo snorted. “Out of the goodness of his heart, was it?”
Hughes laughed once. “Not even if Motherlight herself descended with a receipt.”
Celeste tilted her head. “Then why?”
“So Silver could inherit,” Hughes said. “Simple as that.”
The others went quiet.
Hughes continued, voice low and steady. “Silas wanted a male heir. Unfortunately for him, the acceptable ones had a nasty habit of getting assassinated, disgraced, disinherited, or otherwise removed from the board.”
Mezzo’s ears perked. “That’s a lot of otherwise.”
“With nobles, otherwise does a lot of work,” Hughes said dryly. “In the end, the only direct descendant left with enough bloodline weight was Silver. Umbranox’s son.”
Celeste looked toward the tree line.
Silver stood very straight beneath the branches, light from his arcbracer reflecting in his eyes.
Hughes went on. “So Silas polished him. Made him presentable. Took away the horns and wings, or hid them well enough that polite society could pretend not to see. Suppression runes to make sure he couldn’t use mana. Public image cleaned up until he looked like proof that Hybrids could be made stable if only the right Purebloods were in charge.”
Mezzo’s expression darkened.
“That’s why Pitch called him a poster child.”
Celeste’s eyes widened with sudden understanding.
“Oooooh,” she said.
Then her face fell.
“Oh. Oh, the poor dear.”
Ray looked at her incredulously. “He is currently investigating us like we’re tax fraud.”
“Yes, but in a sad way.”
Arcade groaned. “Celeste.”
She was already half-standing. “I should talk to him.”
Hughes lifted a finger. “Probably not about this.”
Celeste paused.
“Maybe something else,” Hughes said. “Ease him in before he digs up that speeding ticket I had two hundred years ago.”
Mezzo turned slowly.
“Jeez, you’re old.”
Hughes bonked him on the head with a spoon.
“Less of the old, pup.”
“Ow! I’m injured!”
“You were healed.”
“My feelings weren’t.”
“Tragic.”
Celeste hesitated, watching Silver standing alone beneath the trees.
Then she set her lunchbox down and jogged after him.
“Silver—wait.”
He stopped just short of the corner, posture stiff, shoulders squared like he was bracing for another strike.
His arcbracer dimmed at once.
Too quickly.
Celeste slowed, careful. “Are you… alright?”
Silver exhaled through his nose. “Perfectly fine,” he said coolly. “I appear to be surrounded by gremlins who take great delight in ganging up on me. An adjustment, I suppose.”
Celeste winced. “They can be… intense. I can tell them to be more forgiving if you want.”
He inclined his head slightly. “You would have my gratitude. I swear that Rox has it out for me.”
Celeste grimaced. “Oh—Ray? Yeah. Pray she never punches you. She really hurts when she does.”
Silver’s lip twitched. “Perish the thought. I’d rather not touch her at all. I have no idea where she’s been.”
Celeste blinked.
Then, without missing a beat, launched in cheerfully.
“Oh! She bathes a lot actually. Loves a good soak in the tub. I keep having to borrow her conditioner because mine runs out and she buys the really nice kind. It smells like cinnamon and cedarwood, I think. Or possibly burnt orange. I’m not very good at recognising fancy smells. I once thought perfume was soup stock because the bottle looked like—”
Silver turned his head slowly.
His tail flicked once.
Then again.
The irritation was unmistakable.
Celeste stopped mid-sentence.
“…Sorry,” she said softly. “Sometimes I can’t take a hint when I should stop talking.”
Silver’s smile sharpened by a fraction.
“Remember what I said?” he asked. “Inside voice, please.”
Celeste immediately lowered her volume, as if someone had physically turned a dial in her chest.
“Right. Yes. Sorry.”
She mimed zipping her mouth shut.
Silver watched her do it.
For one brief, strange second, something like satisfaction crossed his face.
Then he stepped closer, adjusting his cuff with careless elegance.
“And while we’re improving survival skills,” he added, “stand straighter when speaking to nobles.”
Celeste blinked and instantly straightened so hard her shoulders nearly touched her ears.
“Like this?”
“Less hostage, more commander.”
She adjusted again.
Silver sighed. “Better.”
Celeste smiled, pleased to have passed whatever test that had been.
Silver looked back to his arcbracer.
“Speaking of survival skills,” he said lightly, “your files are fascinating.”
Celeste’s smile faded. “My files?”
“Sweettooth’s databanks, mostly. A few Council fragments. Some recovered Zygurr administrative debris.” His tone stayed breezy, but his eyes did not. “Your data is odd.”
Celeste tilted her head. “I have data?”
Silver stared at her.
“Yes, darling. Most people do. Usually not enough to make three clerks weep blood, but there we are.”
Celeste shifted awkwardly. “Oh.”
Silver flicked his fingers and projected a small set of records between them.
“Any clue why your age changed from fifteen to eighteen?”
Celeste stared at the glowing text.
Her ears lowered.
“No.”
“Or why your birthday is listed here as the First of Velmara, but in a previous entry it’s the Fifteenth of Embrith?”
Celeste’s face went blank with confusion.
“I don’t have a clue.”
Silver raised one elegant brow.
“It had government clearance.”
Celeste looked up quickly. “Silver, please, I honestly don’t know.”
He studied her.
Hard.
A faked digital identity usually made people sweat. Bargain. Deny badly. Offer favours. Give up something useful.
Celeste just looked frightened and bewildered, like someone had told her she had accidentally stolen a post office.
Silver lowered his voice.
“A faked digital ID is bad, Celeste. Very bad. Think of the implications.”
She swallowed. “The implications being… paperwork?”
His expression flattened.
“No. The implication being fraud. Classified access. False citizenship records. Military appointment under questionable identity. Potential imprisonment, if someone wished to be dramatic about it.”
Celeste went very pale.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I didn’t do any of that.”
“I’m not saying you did.” Silver’s tone softened into something almost kind. Almost. “I’m saying someone did. And if the wrong people learn that before you understand it yourself, they’ll take pieces out of you until they find someone to blame.”
Celeste hugged herself. “Maybe I could ask Lady Umbranox about it. She seems to know things.”
Silver blinked.
That was not the answer he had expected.
“No,” he said slowly. “Perhaps not immediately.”
“But she might be able to help.”
“She might.” He smiled. “Or perhaps she might see it as a line to cross. Understand?”
Celeste nodded, then immediately looked uncertain.
“No,” she admitted. “Sorry. I don’t think I do.”
Silver stared at her.
Celeste rushed on, voice still obediently quiet. “I mean, if something is wrong with my records, I should probably ask someone who knows records, shouldn’t I? Unless the line is literal. Is there a records office line? Because I can wait in those. I’m quite good at queues, except when there are loud clocks.”
Silver opened his mouth.
Closed it.
For once, the prepared sentence died before reaching his tongue.
Most people, by now, would have understood the shape of the threat.
Most people would be offering him something.
Loyalty.
Secrecy.
A favour.
A promise.
Celeste just stood there, hands clasped, sincerely worried about administrative procedure.
It was like trying to fence with a curtain.
Silver let the projection vanish.
“Never mind,” he said.
Celeste frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“If my birthday is wrong, which one do I use for cake?”
Silver stared at her again.
Then looked briefly toward the sky, as if asking any listening deity why they had personally chosen violence.
“The one you prefer.”
“Oh.” Celeste considered that seriously. “That’s nice.”
Silver rubbed his temple.
“Stars,” he muttered. “You are irritating.”
Celeste’s ears drooped.
“Sorry.”
He glanced at her.
Her apology was immediate.
Automatic.
Unstrategic.
And somehow more inconvenient than guilt.
Silver looked away first.
“Don’t be,” he said, too sharply to sound gentle. “Just… try not to announce your possible crimes to the first noble who smiles at you.”
Celeste nodded earnestly. “I’ll try.”
“Good.”
She hesitated.
Then gave him a small, careful smile.
“Um. Well. If you ever need to talk—or if the team doesn’t want to talk to you—you can talk to me.”
Silver’s expression flickered.
Only a little.
Then the mask slid back.
“How generous.”
Celeste didn’t seem to hear the edge.
She simply smiled again, turned, and walked back toward the others.
Silver stood alone for a moment, watching her go.
Not strategic.
Not suspicious.
Just there.
The arcbracer on his wrist glowed faintly.
Profiles still open.
Weaknesses still waiting.
“…Stars,” he muttered to himself. “She is irritating.”
Celeste had barely made it back to the fallen tree before her arcbracer chimed—three quick notes, urgent but not panicked.
She glanced down. “It’s Plum.”
She tapped it. “Hi—oh. Someone’s… here?”
The others looked up.
Celeste listened, ears drooping a little.
“At the Egg Tree? Again? We really need to name that thing.” A beat. “Right. Uh-huh. A woman. Wants help with something private.”
Arcade snorted from the bench. “We’re not a charity.”
Plum’s voice crackled back, dry as ever. “She’s willing to pay a lot.”
Mezzo was on his feet instantly.
“We’ll take it.”
Ray shot him a look sharp enough to cut bark. “You don’t even know what the job is. For all you know it’s a death trap.”
Mezzo clutched his chest theatrically. “Then I shall die heroically. And with style.”
Skye raised a hand, already halfway to his bag. “Can I bring my good cards this time? I found some new ones in that shop near the docks.”
C.H.I.P. stomped past with a cheerful whirr, clearly in favour of any plan that involved movement.
Hughes pinched the bridge of his nose. “I swear, we cause more damage than we prevent.”
Celeste lifted both hands, trying to corral the chaos.
“Okay—okay—so is that a yes?”
There was a beat.
Then, overlapping:
“Sure.”
“Why not.”
“I’m bored.”
“Do we get snacks?”
“I already grabbed my coat.”
Celeste smiled despite herself.
“Right then. Knights of Clawdiff—Lets do our best.”
Lumina groaned softly. “Oh stars. I really hope that’s not our catchphrase.”
Silver rejoined them slowly from the tree line, arcbracer now dark, face restored to bored elegance.
“What have I missed?”
“Private job,” Arcade said. “Possible death trap.”
“Excellent,” Silver sighed. “And here I was worried the afternoon might be restful.”
They were already moving—grabbing gear, checking runes, arguing about who forgot what—as Celeste headed for the path back toward the tree.
Whatever waited for them this time, one thing was certain:
It wouldn’t be quiet.
