The door opened without warning.
Not slammed. Not announced.
Just—opened.
Aster Roth stepped in first, like he had always been there and the room had simply remembered him.
Ludwig followed. Quiet. Heavy. Present in a way that didn't need attention to exist.
The air shifted.
Subtle.
But enough.
Ishtar noticed first. Of course.
Her posture didn't change, but something in her focus sharpened.
Octave leaned back slightly, already recalculating.
Aglaë lowered her gaze for half a second, then lifted it again, steady.
Mia didn't move.
She watched.
Aster took in the scene.
Table. Food. Positions. Faces.
He didn't smile.
But something in his eyes acknowledged it.
Progress.
Danger.
Both.
"Interesting," he said softly.
Not to anyone in particular.
Which meant everyone.
Ludwig crossed the room without a word.
Straight to the counter.
Checked the knife. The window. The door behind them.
Habits.
Always habits.
Then he stayed there. Still. Listening to things no one else could hear.
Aster moved closer to the table.
Not sitting.
Never sitting unless he chose to anchor something.
His gaze landed on Mia.
Stayed there.
Long enough to be deliberate.
Short enough to not be invasive.
"You found a rhythm," he said.
Not praise.
Observation.
Mia didn't answer immediately.
Didn't need to perform for him.
"Something like that."
Aster tilted his head slightly.
As if listening to something under her words.
Inside her words.
Octave broke the silence first.
Because of course he did.
"We were discussing childhood trauma over breakfast. Very nourishing."
Aster's eyes flicked to him.
A hint of amusement.
"Ah. A classic."
Ishtar snorted quietly.
Aglaë almost smiled.
Then—
Aster turned his head, just slightly.
Not toward them.
Toward the wall.
Toward nothing.
"ODIN."
His voice didn't rise.
Didn't need to.
A pause.
Then the screen at the far end of the room flickered to life.
Black.
Static.
Then image.
A newsroom.
Clean. Polished. Controlled.
A presenter speaking with the kind of calm that hides something rotten underneath.
"—and in what is already being called one of the most unexpected returns in recent pop history—"
Mia didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
The image shifted.
A stage.
Lights.
Too perfect.
Too familiar.
And then—
Her.
Same face.
Same hair.
Same eyes.
Same everything.
Smiling.
Not her.
Aglaë's hand tightened around her cup.
Ishtar went completely still.
Octave didn't move at all.
Which was worse.
"After months of silence," the presenter continued, "Mia Valen appears to be preparing a major comeback, with sources close to Eternals Echoes Entertainment confirming—"
The clone turned slightly toward the camera.
Perfect angle.
Perfect timing.
Perfect control.
"—that a new project is already underway."
Silence in the kitchen.
Heavy.
Dense.
Wrong.
Inside—
Something snapped.
Not loud.
Not violent.
But precise.
Mircalla.
Awake.
Alert.
Focused.
That's not possible.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Something colder. They replaced us.
Lilith didn't growl this time.
She watched. Measured.
Noire leaned forward, curious.
Oh… this just got interesting.
Carmilla recoiled.
No… no, this isn't right…
Bébé didn't understand. Which was almost worse.
Blanche just looked. Mirror. Silent.
Mia stayed still.
Eyes locked on the screen.
Taking it in.
Every detail.
Every micro-expression.
Every lie.
Aster watched her.
Not the screen.
Her.
"Tell me," he said quietly.
No pressure.
No softness either.
"What do you see?"
Mia didn't answer right away.
Her jaw tightened.
Just slightly.
Then—
"That's not me."
Simple.
Clear.
True.
Aster nodded once.
Expected.
But Mia wasn't done.
Her gaze didn't leave the screen.
"That's what they needed me to be."
Now—
Aster smiled.
Just a fraction.
Ludwig finally turned.
Looked at the screen.
Then at Mia.
"Then they made a mistake," he said.
Flat.
Certain.
Mia didn't look at him.
Didn't look at anyone.
"They made something that doesn't evolve."
On the screen—
The clone smiled again.
Perfect.
Empty.
In the kitchen—
Something shifted.
Again.
This time—
toward war.