Inside the black limousine, the world felt insulated and luxurious.
The interior was spacious, with buttery black leather seats that moulded to her body as she sank in.
A mini-fridge hummed softly in the console, stocked with chilled water, sodas, and even small champagne bottles—its door a sleek panel that opened with a touch.
Ambient lighting ran along the edges, casting a soft blue glow, and a partition separated her from Harlan up front, though she could lower it with a button.
The windows were tinted dark, keeping the outside world at bay, and the ride was smooth, the engine a low purr.
Seraphina leaned back, her heels resting on the carpeted floor.
She reached into a hidden compartment in the armrest—where she kept personal items—and pulled out her golden hand pipe.
It was a beautiful piece, about 4.5 inches long, crafted from fumed glass with a golden sheen that shimmered under the light.
The fuming technique had given it an opalescent quality, colours shifting from gold to reddish hues as resin built up over time.
The bowl was detailed with subtle engravings, like a coiled cobra or brick pattern, making it look more like jewellery than a smoking device.
She packed it with her herbal blend—mild, aromatic, not harsh like tobacco—and lit it with a small lighter from the same compartment.
As she inhaled slowly, the smoke filled her lungs smoothly, a calming ritual.
Her eyes, big and blue, turned cold— the warmth from Callista fading into a steely gaze.
She exhaled through the window crack, watching the smoke curl into the drizzle outside.
[Time to switch. The girl with Callista was fun, but now... 'The Eye' needs to see clearly. Family first, but carefully.]
Harlan glanced in the rear view, his salt-and-pepper hair neat, his expression professional but with a hint of surprise.
[Miss Voss... she was all giggles and kisses with that Thorne woman earlier. Like a kid on a date. Now, smoking with that ice-cold look? She's got layers. Dangerous ones. Better not ask.]
The limo glided through the city, from the glittering hotel district to rougher edges.
Seraphina smoked steadily, her breath deep and measured, the pipe warm in her hand.
She stared out at the passing lights, thoughts racing.
[Birth family... poor, struggling. Debts? I'll fix it. But show no weakness.]
Harlan knew the spot— a dark alley on the slum's edge, narrow and muddy from the rain, where the limo could park without drawing eyes.
The slums were a maze of cramped buildings, peeling paint, and overflowing gutters, the air thick with damp earth and faint garbage smells.
Streetlights flickered weakly, casting long shadows on potholed roads.
As the limo stopped, Nadia waited— one of her maids, stealthy and quick, holding a large black umbrella.
She was in her late twenties, with short dark hair and a no-nonsense expression, dressed in black to blend in.
[Boss looks cold tonight. That pipe means business. Hope the family's worth it.]
Seraphina stepped out, heels sinking slightly into the soft ground.
Nadia covered her immediately, the umbrella shielding the drizzle.
Harlan stood behind, tall and steady, his coat spotted with rain.
[She's like a ghost in this light. Cold as ice.]
Seraphina took another drag from the pipe, her gaze fixed on the house ahead—a small, dirty shack in the row of tight homes.
The structure was cramped, walls thin and stained, roof leaking in spots where rain dripped steadily.
Inside, through a grimy window, a dim yellow light glowed.
Her family sat at a small, rickety table:
Elowen, weary but kind-faced, stirring soup.
Darius, protective and broad-shouldered, frowning at papers (debts?).
Elias, clever with sharp eyes, was reading a book.
Finnian, adventurous, fidgeting.
Little Liora, innocent, drawing on scrap paper.
Seraphina watched, smoke exhaling slowly, her eyes cold as steel.
[They look so fragile. Debts hang over them like a noose. But they're mine.]
She finished, handing the pipe to Nadia. "Keep it in the car." Nadia nodded, tucking it away.
Seraphina licked a mint sweet from her pocket—cool and fresh, masking the smoke— and spritzed perfume, floral and sweet, lingering on her skin.
She walked forward, heels clicking on uneven ground, Nadia and Harlan behind like shadows.
The house had no front light, and the door was in the dark. Seraphina knocked firmly—three sharp raps.
Inside, the family froze. Elowen gasped, "Debt collectors!"
Darius grabbed a chair leg, protective. "Stay back!"
Elias peered out, clever eyes narrowing.
Finnian stood, adventurous but scared.
Liora hid behind her mother, wide-eyed.
The door creaked open, Darius ready. "Who is it?"
Seraphina stepped closer, into the light spill.
Elowen saw first—her face lit up, tears welling. "Seraphina? My baby?"
The brothers stared, shock turning to joy. "Sis?"
Darius dropped the chair, hugging her tight.
Elias smiled cleverly, "It's really you." Finnian whooped adventurously.
Liora peeked, "Pretty lady?"
Seraphina's cold eyes softened, tears mixing with rain. "It's me. I'm home."