Belmont

I clutched my phone tightly, its edges biting into my palm, and let out a whimpering sound. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over the scattered papers and half-empty coffee cups on the table in front of me. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Completely sure, Bel. They've left town. Dominic and the others searched the entire block," muttered Mass on the other end of the line, his voice muffled with exhaustion. 

"Fuck." 

My gaze drifted to the rain streaking down the large, arched window. The city lights outside blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, distorted by the downpour. 

"We were too late," he grumbled, his voice crackling slightly through the connection. "It's fine, but call Marianne. I think she's onto something big. Lu sent Gaston because you were busy," I said, pacing back and forth across the worn wooden floorboards. The faint creak with each step only heightened my frustration. 

 "Gaston? Isn't he Lumiere's little secretary?" he said with disdain. I could almost see Mass rolling his eyes, his annoyance tangible even over the phone.

"Yeah, so get over there already, for fuck's sake."

 "You can count on me, Bel," he said, a hint of resolve creeping back into his tone. I paused in front of the window, watching a flickering streetlamp struggle against the wind. A faint smile tugged at my lips. 

"I know, man, that's why I want you there."

"I'm already on my way," he replied, and the call ended with a soft click.

An hour later, I burst into Clock's office, nearly slipping on the polished marble floor. The dimly lit space was vast, with towering bookshelves that seemed to scrape the ceiling. The scent of aged paper and cigar smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of rain that had clung to my clothes. 

"Theodor!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the cavernous room. 

Lumiere sat in one of the high-backed leather chairs near the fireplace, swirling a glass of deep red wine. The firelight cast warm, flickering shadows across his sharp features. He looked up at me with an amused smirk. "Theodor? I haven't heard that name in centuries." 

"You don't need to get used to it," Clock muttered from behind his desk, his voice low and gravelly. The faint glow of an antique desk lamp illuminated his figure, casting a long shadow across the intricate Persian rug beneath him. 

"Can you listen to me?" I exclaimed, throwing my arms out in exasperation. "We've taken Paris!"

Clock stared at me, wide-eyed. "How?"

 I leaned against the edge of the desk, trying to catch my breath. "Marianne's tip was right. Masson took down Calvos." 

"Masson?" Lumiere hissed, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. "What was he doing there?"

I turned to him, startled by his sudden intensity. His usual composed demeanor cracked, revealing a flicker of something darker. "I thought Gaston needed backup." 

"It was his mission," Lumiere growled, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the armrests of his chair.

"So? The point is that it's done. It's over, Lu. Paris is yours," I said, my voice rising in frustration as I glanced between him and Clock. 

"Gaston wouldn't have managed it alone," Clock interjected, rising from his seat. He moved with deliberate precision, leaning casually against the edge of the desk. His coat, trimmed with fur, framed his broad shoulders as he lit a cigar with an ornate silver lighter. "It was a good call, Bel." 

Lumiere, however, was far from appeased. He stood abruptly, the wine glass shattering in his grip. "Where's the prince?" he demanded, his voice cold and dangerous. 

"Dead," came Marianne's voice as she entered the room. The soft click of her heels on the marble floor echoed faintly. She stood in the doorway, her figure silhouetted by the dim hallway light. 

"How?" Lumiere growled, his anger barely contained. 

"According to Julienne, he took his own life," she replied, stepping further into the room. Her coat was damp from the rain, and her hair clung to her cheeks. She spoke with a detached calm, but the tension in the room was palpable. 

Lumiere's growl deepened, and without another word, he stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. 

"What's his problem?" I muttered to Clock. "Shouldn't he be thrilled? We have Paris."

Clock cast a quick glance at Marianne, exhaling a stream of smoke. "It's wearing on him that we aren't equals."

 "He and you?" 

Clock nodded, his expression unreadable. "I suspect his plan was to kill the prince himself and take his power." 

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I groaned, running a hand through my damp hair. Doubts bubbled up again, unwelcome and persistent. "He needs to tell us stuff like this! How the hell are we supposed to know what he's thinking otherwise?" 

Marianne crossed the room, her boots silent against the rug, and placed a hand on Clock's arm. "Do you really trust him with that kind of power?" she asked softly.

Clock chuckled, the sound low and almost bitter. "Haven't I already said France is his if he wants her?" 

"Then why doesn't he trust us?" I whined. 

"Because you've been apart for too long," Marianne said, leaning into Clock's side. The warmth between them was a stark contrast to the tension that had filled the room moments before.

"And because he feels the pressure," Clock muttered, his gaze fixed on the swirling smoke of his cigar.

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice quieter now.

Clock straightened, his coat rustling softly. "Everyone came here because of me and you. Do you think they'll suddenly accept him as their leader?"

Marianne sighed, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the desk. "They have to."

The castle stood atop a gentle rise, its stone walls weathered and gray against the pale gold of the early morning light. Beyond the battlements, the French countryside sprawled in every direction—a patchwork of lush green fields, wildflower meadows, and dense forests that stretched to the horizon. In the distance, a narrow river wound its way lazily through the landscape, glinting like molten silver beneath the sun. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming lavender, carried on a soft breeze that rustled the trees. Birds chirped in the hedgerows, their songs a delicate counterpoint to the distant murmur of villagers already beginning their day.

Everything moved so damn fast after Calvos death, and everyone worked like animals to keep our advantage. The serenity outside the castle walls was a cruel contrast to the chaos within—grinding gears of strategy, barking orders, and the relentless drive to stay one step ahead. Even the land, with its deceptive calm, felt like it was holding its breath, as if it, too, awaited the clash that was sure to come.

"Three days?" Alex groaned, exhausted. 

 "You've earned it," I grinned. 

 Alex threw himself back into the grass, rubbing his face. "I've earned three fucking weeks!" 

 "Pfft, get off your high horse, man," I laughed, giving him a playful punch. 

 He let his arms drop above his head, and I sighed at the broad, smug grin spreading across his face. "I deserve more. Gaston wouldn't have pulled it off without me." 

 "We know." 

 He shook his head and sat up, resting his arms on his knees, staring at me intently. "Then explain to me why he gets all the glory, and I get three fucking days off?!" 

 I took a deep breath and sat down beside him. "It's a game. Everything's part of Lumiere's plan."

 "So we're just pawns in his game," he muttered. "As usual, then." 

 "Got a better suggestion?"

 "What about you and Clocksworth? Are you just pieces on his little board too?"

 "Careful, Alex," I warned in a low voice. "Don't say things you'll regret." 

 He mumbled something inaudible and rubbed his forehead. "I just want to know I made the right choice coming here. Otherwise, I might as well have stayed with that other idiot." 

 I placed a reassuring hand on his knee. "You made the right choice." 

 "I hope so." He sighed and rested his head on my shoulder. "I'm just so tired, so damn worn out." 

 "We know. That's why you got some time off." 

 "Thanks," he muttered sarcastically. 

 "Do you regret it?" 

 He fumbled to pull a crumpled cigarette pack from his jeans pocket. "Not yet." 

 "You know we like you." 

 "We?" He laughed, giving me a questioning smile. 

 "Me and Clock." 

 "I knew you two were close, but damn," he teased, and I let him have his fun. 

 "That's what happens when you've been through a lot of shit together." 

 He lit a cigarette and shrugged. "Wouldn't know anything about that." 

 "You and Dominic seem pretty tight, though." 

 He nodded slowly, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the little boy still inside him. "We are." 

 I snatched the cigarette from his mouth and took a drag. "We're friends." 

 He frowned and retrieved the cigarette. "You and me?" 

 "I've got your back." 

 He nodded slowly, lowering his gaze to the grass. "Why?"

 "Because I've been where you are," I laughed and ruffled his hair. "Besides, I've always wanted a little brother." 

 He was quiet for a long time, clearly unsure how to respond to my words. Finally, with great effort, he muttered a low, "Thanks." 

It wasn't much, but it made me smile because I knew it came from the heart. "Don't overthink Lumiere and his plans. Just do what they say and wait." 

 "For what?" 

 "For Clocksworth's orders." 

 "So there's another game board," he smirked, looking at me with interest, and I responded with a wink. 

 "Call it plan B."

Clocksworth

"Alive, Gaston! A L I V E!" 

 "I didn't make it in time, Monsieur," he muttered, staring down at his hands. 

I sat behind my desk, watching Lumiere pace the room as he berated Gaston. "Didn't make it!?" he exclaimed irritably, throwing his arms wide. 

 "Masson got there right after me. I don't know how he moved so fast, but before I could stop him, the prince saw him and shot himself in the head." 

 "You hear that, Clocksworth? He's too much of a liability. We can't keep sending him on missions like these!" Lumiere growled, his irritation sharpening each word. 

 "Lu, calm down." 

 "Calm down? You need to toughen up, clockmaster, and tell Belmont he can't make these kinds of decisions on his own!" 

 I stood up so fast my chair crashed against the wall with a loud thud. "What the hell do you mean by that, Lu?!"

 "You've gone soft. Weak, and you don't see what needs to be done anymore!" he snapped back. 

Leaning across the desk, I locked eyes with him, my voice a low roar. "You don't have a damn clue what it's like to be sent on a mission like that! You've always been safe behind stone walls, never having to make a single decision in the heat of battle." Spit flew as I barked the words across the desk. 

 "I'm only asking them to do their jobs!" he hissed through clenched teeth. 

 "And so am I! The mistake wasn't theirs, Lu. You should've told us why you wanted him alive!" I took a deep breath, dropping my gaze for a moment to calm myself. "You need to inform us of those details, Lu, if we're going to work toward the same goal." 

 I looked up at him again, holding his gaze for a few tense seconds before he turned sharply and left the room. With a sigh, I sank back into my chair, pulled a whiskey bottle from the desk drawer, and tossed it to Gaston. "You all right?"

 I felt his hesitant glance and didn't blame him. Why should I care? 

"I should've stopped Masson." 

 I let out a short laugh. "Sure, but how? He's faster than any of us, isn't he?" 

 Gaston nodded thoughtfully. "He acts purely on impulse." 

 "And that, my friend, is both a blessing and a curse." 

 He twisted off the cap and took a swig. "We're hardly friends," he muttered before taking another. 

 "You saved Lumiere's life." 

He met my eyes and nodded before handing the bottle back. "That makes you my friend," I said with a smirk and gave him a playful wink. 

 He let out a bitter laugh, glancing at the door. "Are you sure he'd agree with that?" 

 "Agree with what?" 

 "That we're friends, you and I." 

 Pouring myself a drink, I tossed the bottle back to him and leaned back in my chair. "Lumiere or Belmont?" I asked with a grin. 

 Catching the bottle midair, he gave me a crooked smile. "Start with Lumiere."

 "Lu and I are brothers, Gaston," I said, draining my glass before continuing. "We've rarely seen eye-to-eye—not for hundreds of years—so this is nothing new." 

 "He might ask me to pick a side," he muttered, avoiding my gaze. 

 I shrugged. "Probably." 

 He fidgeted with the bottle's label, clearly wrestling with unspoken thoughts. "You should talk to him," I said. 

 "He needs to cool off first." 

 "I meant Belmont," I clarified. His eyes widened in surprise at the mention of the name. 

"Why? He hates me." 

 I shrugged again and leaned forward. "Everyone changes." I paused for effect and smiled. "Even you." 

 He nodded and sighed deeply. "I'm trying."

 "I've noticed." Rising, I patted him on the shoulder as I passed. The kid was young and had made plenty of mistakes, but if he proved his loyalty, he deserved a chance. "Be patient, Gaston. He'll see it too—eventually." And with that, I left him alone in the room, completely unaware of the spark I had just ignited within him.