"And now he outranks you."
The words landed like a slap, but Ophelia didn't flinch.
She'd had enough fights with the other students—over grades, over shoes, over relevance—to have endured far worse. At least Lucius didn't throw perfume bottles.
"Well," she said, shrugging, "there's nothing I can do about it. Mother's not happy, and I have to take her anger, but what do you want to know?"
Lucius didn't smile.
He rarely did.
Instead, he leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his knees again—an echo of earlier, except this time his tone had cooled.
"What was Misty preparing him for?"
"I already told you—she was grooming him for someone important." Ophelia crossed her legs, a little faster than usual. "A private contract. Long-term. Something discreet but strategic."
"Do you know with whom?"
"Mother never told me names." She hesitated, then added, "But there were conversations. Half-calls. She made sure he stayed… untouched. It was part of the value."
Lucius's eyes narrowed just enough to register.
"But…" Ophelia trailed, playing with the cuff of her sleeve. "It wasn't Count Velloran. He was supposed to be just a renter for a while."
Lucius didn't speak.
But the air changed.
"You know," she continued, casually, "like a trial run. Not a final contract. Just enough to make sure Lucas wouldn't break under pressure."
Her tone was still light, but the room felt colder now.
"He had a different name back then," she added. "Honestly, I thought the first buyer would be a woman. She had a very odd name, but then…"
Lucius didn't interrupt. Didn't move.
Ophelia laughed softly. "Then Misty talked with Odin and asked him to leave me be—the lady I am—and use Lucas for Faceless Agatha instead. She told him Lucas could do something I couldn't. Can you believe it?"
Lucius's hands tightened slightly on the edge of the folder.
"Who are Odin and Faceless Agatha?" he asked, keeping his tone even.
Ophelia shrugged, like she'd been asked what flavor macaron she liked best.
"Well, Odin is a code name. Misty once said he's my biological father. Some mafia king. She was drunk when she told me, so maybe it's just a dramatic nickname for someone rich and awful."
Lucius stared.
She didn't notice.
"And the other one—Faceless Agatha?" She waved her fingers. "It's not a person. Or maybe it is. I don't know. Misty used to talk about it all the time when Lucas wasn't around. Mostly in that tone she uses when something's so secret it makes her feel important."
Lucius didn't speak.
Ophelia leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice with the enthusiasm of someone sharing gossip, not betrayal.
"She'd say things like 'Agatha's watching,' or 'the contract depends on Agatha.' I thought it was a codename for an old girlfriend at first, which would've been hilarious. But then she got serious. Started changing locks. Rotating phones. Paying people in cash."
She paused, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
"Anyway. I stopped asking. I figured if I wasn't getting sold, I didn't need to know the buyers."
Lucius's eyes were fixed on her now, cold and calculating, like he was no longer talking to a teenager—but to a trigger. One left in the open too long.
"You're sure she used both names in the same conversation?" he asked.
Ophelia nodded. "Multiple times. She said Odin wanted me. But Agatha had already written Lucas's name in ink. I assume that's metaphorical. It would be weird if someone actually wrote on him"—
Lucius cut in, quiet and sharp.
"Did she ever say why Lucas?"
Ophelia tilted her head. "Because he was the rare kind. She said that's what made him valuable. That, and the fact that no one knew what he really was. Not even him."
Lucius exhaled—quiet, controlled.
Ophelia grinned. "That must be why you're so curious about him, huh? He always made people nervous, even when he didn't speak. He had that creepy stillness. You know the type."
Lucius didn't answer. Didn't need to. He closed the folder slowly and stood.
"You've been… surprisingly helpful," he said.
Ophelia preened slightly. "I try."
He was already moving toward the door.
"Your Highness?" she called after him. "If you find out who Agatha really is—"
Lucius paused.
"Let me know if she ever bid for me too."
—
Lucius didn't speak again as he exited the side parlor.
The door clicked shut behind him, soft and final.
Two guards fell into step behind him without a word as he moved down the corridor—not toward the school's exit, but toward the car waiting in the rear courtyard. His hand was still on the folder, but he hadn't looked at it since she started talking.
He didn't need to. He had memorized every line from it.
Odin.
Faceless Agatha.
Names that sounded like bad theater in Ophelia's mouth, dressed in schoolgirl gossip and wrapped in self-centered anecdotes—but Lucius knew better. Knew that those names were never meant to be spoken in daylight, let alone tossed around like fashion brands in the middle of an academy's side parlor.
He had seen both names before.
Faceless Agatha—listed once, without detail, buried deep in the final clause of a contract that should never have existed. Not a person, not officially. Just a codename. A fallback clause. A ghost stitched into the bottom of a deal signed in desperation, with the kind of legal authority only people like Misty could buy and only the Crown could bury. The second buyer. The last owner. If the first failed to produce a viable heir by Lucas's twenty-fifth birthday, Agatha would take over. No renegotiation. No exit. No oversight.
And Odin?
He'd heard that name whispered in a debrief three years ago, back when he was still monitoring trans-border asset laundering and private trade markets tied to the black-ring economy of Saha. It had surfaced once, then vanished—just long enough to make the report unusable in court but dangerous enough to file under restricted classification. A fixer. A handler. Or, more likely, a title passed between men with too many knives and not enough conscience.
If Misty called that man her daughter's biological father, Lucius wasn't sure if she was trying to be cruel or clever. Maybe both.
The car was waiting exactly where it should be, engine humming low, black windows gleaming against the overcast afternoon.
Lucius stepped in without looking back.
The moment the door closed, the folder settled on his lap, and the engine pulled away, he spoke.
"Secure channel. I want Caelan now."
The aide nodded without asking why. No one in that car needed to be told that if Lucius Thorne was asking for the Emperor on this line, it meant a name had returned from the dead.
The call connected on the second ring.
"Lucius," Caelan's voice answered, calm but alert. "Tell me it's not as bad as the code implies."
Lucius leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, tone low and composed.
"Ophelia Kilmer just confirmed the two names from the recovered contract. She named Agatha. She also named Odin. Freely."
Caelan didn't speak for a beat.
"How much does she know?"
"Nothing," Lucius said. "She thinks she's being clever. She doesn't even understand the gravity of what she said. To her, Odin is just a dramatic nickname for some mafioso Misty used to sleep with. And Agatha? She thinks it's a codename for a buyer. Possibly a woman. Possibly a myth. Her words, not mine."
"Is it a myth?" Caelan asked.