Twilight: Immortal Dusk

Buffalo, New York – The New Cullen Estate

Erie County slumbered beneath a pristine quilt of snow, the land glazed in silence save for the murmured winds curling through bare-limbed trees and frost-coated pines. The Appalachian foothills loomed in the distance like ancient sentinels watching over the world in breathless stillness. Nestled at the forest's heart, half-lost among towering oaks and a hush of white, the Cullen estate stood like a Tudor dream made manifest—three stories of elegant stone, timbered grace, and secrets too ancient for any registry to trace.

The Packard approached like a whisper on velvet, the massive black touring car gliding down the gravel drive, wheels crunching softly over the snow-dusted path. Its sleek, mirrored chassis gleamed even under the dull winter sun, a phantom of affluence and mystery. As it slowed to a halt before the arched entryway, one could almost hear the estate holding its breath.

Then—

Thump.

Then another.

And a muffled voice from the magically minimized trunk: "I swear on Merlin's left bollock, Hadrian, open this damned box before I sing the entire Fae War Ballad in Elvish—including the bawdy tavern verses."

In the front seat, Hadrian adjusted his gloves, his emerald eyes flashing with amusement. He looked like he'd been carved by Renaissance sculptors and raised by the storm gods of old, a vision of charm and mischief encased in wool and tailored confidence.

He smirked. "She's bluffing."

Beside him, Daenerys raised one perfectly arched silver brow, her violet eyes fixed ahead with the air of a dethroned goddess only slightly inconvenienced by the mortal realm. Snowflakes clung to her platinum waves like the world had decided to crown her. The fur collar of her coat brushed against her pale cheek, and she barely suppressed a yawn.

"She's not bluffing," Daenerys drawled, voice soft but laced with fire. "Caitriona's already humming backup."

From the manor steps, Carlisle Cullen descended with the grace of someone who'd known kings and buried empires. Tall, striking, with the kind of jawline that made poets weep, he exuded calm and quiet command. His long coat swept behind him like a shadow with intention.

Emmett, broad-shouldered and grinning like a schoolboy who'd found a sledgehammer, popped the trunk with a flourish. "You might want to stand back," he said over his shoulder.

A shimmer of emerald mist poured out like smoke from a spell gone right. The suitcase trembled, hissed, then sprang open with the dramatic flair of a magician's final trick.

Caitriona emerged first, barefoot despite the snow, her tousled raven hair adorned with moss and frost-touched violets. Her green wool coat shimmered faintly, embroidered with living vines that curled and stretched as she moved. She looked like a forest sprite who'd stepped off a Gaelic tapestry.

Esme Cullen gasped in delight, placing a gloved hand to her cheek. "Good heavens. Are those... mosses in your hair, dear?"

Caitriona's brogue was thick and soft as she offered a shy smile. "Only the friendly ones, missus. The ones what sing lullabies."

Esme's laughter rang like a chime. "You're enchanting. You must meet my greenhouse."

A blur of motion announced Elspeth's arrival. She launched herself from the trunk like a bullet with flair, landing in the snow with a booted stomp. Her leather aviator's coat flared behind her, and her pinstriped trousers tucked into combat boots made her look like Amelia Earhart crossed with a Highland tempest. Her blonde curls danced in the wind.

"Buffalo," she muttered, eyes narrowing as she surveyed the estate. "I smell bears. Big ones."

Rosalie crossed her arms, eyeing Elspeth like one might a spark near a petrol spill. She wore her disdain like a diamond tiara. "And you must be the hurricane."

Elspeth grinned, sharp and wolfish. "Close. I'm the upgrade, hen."

Emmett snorted. "Told you there were black bears. Big bastards."

Elspeth cracked her knuckles. "Let's see which one of us they toss farther."

"Dibs on the one with a limp," Emmett called as they both bolted toward the woods, laughter trailing behind them like gunpowder smoke.

Carlisle sighed, almost fondly. "Do try not to fracture the treeline. Or the house. Or the time-space continuum."

Hadrian stepped forward, reaching to help Daenerys from the Packard, his gloved hand brushing her waist with a possessiveness he barely veiled. "Shall we?" he murmured, voice low and meant for her alone.

She took his hand, her lips quirking into a knowing smirk. "Only if you promise not to get distracted by the architecture and forget you promised me a duel later."

"Duel first, architecture after. Or during. I multitask."

She slid closer, her breath frosting the air between them. "Cocky little sorcerer."

He leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched. "You like that about me."

Behind them, Edward—lean and watchful, lingering by the Packard like a shadow with too many thoughts—exhaled without sound. "You two should just get married again and get it over with."

"We did," Daenerys said sweetly. "Two countries, three aliases, and one accidentally destroyed wedding cake ago."

Carlisle cleared his throat, a touch too loudly. "The tour, then?"

Hadrian gestured graciously. "Lead on, Father. Though if Elspeth breaks a chimney, I'm blaming the bears."

They moved as a procession of ghosts through the snow, laughter echoing behind them, secrets trailing like scarves on the wind. And above, the house watched.

And remembered.

—

The Cullen Estate rose from the snow like something out of a Grimm fairytale—its dark stone walls and aged timber beams crowned by steep gables that sliced the ashen sky. Perched in the wooded hills of Erie County, the manor wore the snow like a fur coat, regal and still.

Hadrian stepped out of the Packard first, gloved hands adjusting the collar of his navy double-breasted coat. His emerald eyes flicked up to the manor's rooftop.

"You sure this place isn't haunted?" he drawled, glancing sidelong at Daenerys.

She descended beside him, silver curls pinned beneath a sapphire cloche hat, violet eyes sparkling as if they could trap the snow mid-fall. Her breath fogged the air, though she didn't need to breathe. Habit, maybe. Or flair.

"It probably is," she said with a smirk. "I rather hope so. Ghosts tend to be more polite than men."

Hadrian chuckled, offering his arm. She took it, sliding in beside him like a flame curling around a candlewick.

Carlisle greeted them at the grand entrance, tall and striking in a crisp overcoat. He looked every inch the gentleman of the age, though his golden eyes held the wisdom of centuries.

"Welcome to Cullen Manor," he said warmly. "Let me assure you, Hadrian, the only hauntings here are of the romantic variety."

"I like this one already," Daenerys murmured.

Inside, the manor exhaled warmth and old-world grandeur. Mahogany-paneled walls rose around them, and the firelight from marble hearths flickered across golden wallpaper and antique gas lamps. The scent of beeswax polish clung to the air, undercut by the faintest trace of pine and... something else.

"Smells like... stories," Hadrian muttered.

"And blood," Edward added dryly, appearing as if from nowhere, hands in the pockets of a dark wool coat. "Relax. It's old."

The Library

The doors creaked open into a cavern of polished bookshelves and velvet chairs. Hadrian gravitated immediately to the hearth, his gloved fingers grazing the gold-lettered spine of The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns & Fairies.

"First edition," he said reverently.

"My father's," Carlisle offered.

Daenerys followed behind, pausing to trail her fingers along a display case holding hand-bound journals. "This place is practically a museum."

"An armory," Rosalie corrected, lounging on a chaise in the corner. Her blonde hair was coiled into a flawless chignon. "Of ideas."

Hadrian turned, gesturing to Daenerys with a half-smile. "See anything you like, Your Grace?"

"Only one thing so far," she said, arching an eyebrow and stepping closer. Her fingers brushed his hand where it rested on the spine of the book.

The Conservatory

Light filtered through frosted glass, turning the air to gold. Caitriona crouched beside a potted fig tree, pressing her palms to the soil. The plant shivered. A fresh leaf uncurled.

"That tree was dead last year," Esme said in amazement.

Caitriona stood with a shrug. "It was sleepin'. Now it's not."

"She does that," Elspeth added, flipping a throwing knife between her fingers. "Makes things bloom. Even in winter."

"She should try it on Edward," Emmett quipped from the corner, arms folded across his broad chest.

Edward didn't flinch. "Not even a god of spring could fix me."

The Ballroom

The doors groaned open into a cathedral of a room. The chandeliers were draped in dust sheets, but even still, light caught in the crystal.

Daenerys stepped into the center and closed her eyes. A slow twirl sent her coat flaring like dragon wings.

"This could be something," she whispered.

Hadrian stepped in beside her, taking her hand. "A dance, perhaps?"

She opened one violet eye. "You leading, my lord?"

"I always lead."

"Pity. I like a challenge."

They danced, slow and soundless, as if the music played only for them. Her smile was wistful. His eyes never left hers.

"You know this place is perfect," she murmured. "But it's cold."

"Then we'll set it on fire," Hadrian replied. "Together."

The Attic Tower

Elspeth threw the trapdoor open and scrambled up with the grace of a cat burglar.

"Perfect line of sight," she called down, peering through a spyglass. "Good wind access. Room for pigeons."

Rosalie followed with a brow arched like a blade. "You're starting a pigeon army now?"

"Of course not," Elspeth said, deadpan. "I'm recruiting."

"For what?"

"Air superiority."

Emmett barked a laugh. "What, they gonna drop acorns on our enemies?"

Elspeth winked. "Acorns today. Firebombs tomorrow."

Carlisle appeared behind them, adjusting a pair of leather gloves. "I do hope you'll keep the explosives outside."

"No promises," Elspeth said cheerfully.

Later That Night

The snow fell thicker. Hadrian and Daenerys stood on the rear terrace, overlooking the silent forest. The sky above was the color of brushed steel.

"You meant what you said?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her, emerald eyes glowing faintly. "About the fire?"

"Yes."

He leaned in, forehead to hers. "Dany, if the world freezes over, I'll burn everything between here and the Arctic to keep you warm."

Her lips brushed his. Soft. Deliberate.

"Then let it snow," she whispered.

And it did.

—

Later That Day

The grandfather clock tolled thrice, its chimes soft and sepulchral, like the last breath of a dying century. Snow swirled outside the tall windows in hushed pirouettes, blanketing the frozen estate in a stillness that even the dead might envy.

Inside, the drawing room was aglow with amber lamplight and the occasional pop from the hearth. Velvet drapes, embroidered with old-world patterns, hung heavy on the walls. The firelight danced over mahogany and gold, over Esme's delicate needlework basket, and over Rosalie's heels tapping restlessly on the polished floor.

Hadrian lounged like a king misplaced by time—coat draped over the back of the wingback, waistcoat buttoned, cravat neat. His dark hair was still damp from the snow, curling slightly at the nape. Daenerys sat perched on the arm of his chair like a queen on a dragon's shoulder, silver hair cascading over her shoulder, fingers absently twirling his pocket watch. Her violet eyes gleamed with mischief and menace.

Across the room, Carlisle stood with the quiet dignity of a fallen angel, pouring brandy into crystal tumblers. The brandy, spelled by Hadrian to pass for blood-warmed liquor, was purely for decorum—a concession to the times.

Carlisle set the glass down, untouched. "They arrived while you were in Scotland. Unannounced. As always."

Hadrian arched a brow, his voice silk and steel. "Let me guess. Aro sent his favorite children."

"Jane and Alec," Esme said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. Her lips were tight, worry etched between her brows.

"I knew I felt a disturbance in the force," Hadrian muttered, glancing at Daenerys.

She smirked. "You did say you'd rather stub your toe on a basilisk fang than be subjected to Jane's 'temper tantrums.'"

Hadrian raised his glass in mock salute. "And I stand by that."

Carlisle's gaze sharpened. "They asked for you both. By name."

Daenerys tilted her head, the firelight casting a halo of gold over her silver waves. "Curiosity," she said, voice slow and honeyed, "is merely desire dressed for polite society."

"Aro never simply wonders," Hadrian added, fingers tightening around hers. "He collects."

Rosalie, leaning in the doorway, rolled her eyes. "Like a child with toy soldiers."

Edward entered silently, his overcoat slung carelessly over one shoulder, cheekbones sharp as razors. "He collects minds, powers, stories. And you two? You're a myth with teeth."

"Charming," Daenerys said sweetly. "But true."

"We don't give him anything else," Hadrian said, voice dropping an octave. He turned his gaze to Carlisle. "Elspeth. Caitriona. They stay hidden."

From the corner, Elspeth piped up, thick brogue curling every word, "Dinnae fash yerself, Hadrian. We'll no' be playin' hostess tae shadows."

Caitriona, legs tucked under her, looked up from the book in her lap. "Let the gobshites knock. We'll nae open the door."

"Language," Esme chided, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

Hadrian nodded. "Good girls."

Carlisle sighed. "He'll sniff them out eventually. If not now, then later. Aro has all eternity to be patient."

"Then we outmaneuver him," Hadrian said. "Just you, me, Dany, and Edward."

Daenerys blinked. "No Legilimency?"

He shook his head. "Too focused. Jane'll fill the air with agony. But Edward can listen without being noticed."

Edward gave a dry chuckle. "So I'm a glorified wireless now?"

Daenerys leaned over and patted his cheek. "You're the prettiest wiretap in New York."

"Flatterer," he muttered.

Emmett, sprawled on the divan like a prizefighter on break, cracked his knuckles. "So when's the brawl, and do I get to punch someone?"

"Only if Felix shows up," Hadrian said. "And if that happens, all bets are off."

Daenerys slid gracefully into Hadrian's lap, her silk skirts whispering over his legs. "And if they try to take us?"

He caught her hand, kissed the inside of her wrist, eyes blazing green. "Then we remind them what dragons do to tyrants."

She smiled slowly, wickedly, her lips inches from his. "Burn them."

Edward turned away, mumbling, "Too much romantic tension. I'm already dead and this is still suffocating."

Rosalie laughed. Emmett whooped.

Carlisle only smiled faintly and said, "They're staying at the Waldorf."

Daenerys made a face. "Of course they are."

"We'll meet them there," Hadrian said. "Neutral ground. Dressed to kill, metaphor optional."

"I'll arrange the meeting," Carlisle said.

"And the exits," Edward added.

Hadrian and Daenerys rose in tandem, a picture of elegant menace.

"Tomorrow then," Hadrian said.

Daenerys looped her arm through his, eyes flashing. "Let them come."

"Let them try," Hadrian whispered.

And outside, the snow kept falling.

—

The Next Day

The Waldorf Astoria stood like a cathedral for the decadent, its stone façade glistening with snow and pride. Taxis slid by like sleighs on asphalt, men in fedoras and trench coats moved briskly, and women in furs smiled with painted lips and guarded eyes. It was an era of jazz and shadows, where power wore pearls and secrets slipped through cigarette smoke.

Inside, the air was thick with the perfume of wealth—ambergris, fine cigars, old books, and ambition. Crystal chandeliers dripped light across the marble, and Persian rugs whispered underfoot like old accomplices.

The manager was a man of polish and panic. His suit was pressed to within an inch of its life, his smile frozen in a polite grimace. He walked a step too fast for propriety and a step too slow for instinct, flanked by a quartet that did not belong to this world—though they wore its clothes better than anyone else.

Hadrian walked as though he owned the building—and perhaps he did, in some indirect, inherited, or manipulated way. His black greatcoat flowed like a cloak, the collar upturned to frame a jaw that could've been carved by a particularly moody Greek sculptor. The gaslight caught his damp, tousled hair just enough to make him look slightly unkempt—like a prince who'd just walked out of a storm and into his enemies' drawing room. Emerald eyes flicked lazily over his surroundings, already calculating exits, threats, and where best to hide a body.

Beside him was Daenerys—white silk, white fur, silver heels clicking softly on marble. Her curls, brushed and pinned in a style halfway between Hollywood ingénue and war goddess, shimmered like starlight spun into thread. She smiled like a woman who'd once ruled nations and found them dull. Her gloves were elbow-length and pearl-buttoned; her smile was weaponized.

"Do you think they'll offer us tea?" she asked in a lilting, aristocratic drawl, linking her arm through Hadrian's without even glancing at him.

"If they do," Hadrian murmured, tilting his head, "it'll either be poisoned or steeped in pretense."

"Mmm." Her lips brushed the air near his jaw. "I'll take both. I'm starving for something to ruin."

Behind them, Edward moved like a shadow in a navy overcoat, collar turned up, eyes half-lidded in disinterest and barely veiled contempt. He looked like sin draped in tweed, every inch the brooding angel who hadn't smiled since the stock market crashed. His voice was soft when it came.

"They're pretending not to talk about us. Jane thinks your shoes are vulgar."

Daenerys gasped, lifting a heel theatrically. "These Loubatines were hand-stitched in Paris!"

"They're thinking about whether you bleed like everyone else," Edward added.

"Darling," she said sweetly, "I hope they find out the hard way."

Carlisle walked with the ease of a man who had once commanded battalions and now hosted salons. His blond hair was slicked back in waves that made him look both noble and vaguely dangerous, and his three-piece suit was immaculate. He was the very image of old money and older secrets.

"They requested privacy," the manager said, stopping at a gilded double door. "But I trust… you'll know what to do."

Daenerys leaned in toward the man, her perfume wrapping around him like a noose of roses. "If there's screaming, darling, don't interrupt. It's rude."

He turned a shade paler than the snow outside, nodded, and left with the desperation of a man fleeing a séance.

Hadrian stepped up to the door, resting a gloved hand against the dark wood. His posture was relaxed, but the tension beneath it coiled like a drawn bow.

Edward tilted his head. "Jane's humming something from Strauss. Alec's running scenarios. He thinks Daenerys is the bigger threat."

Hadrian smirked. "He's right."

Daenerys turned to him, looping a curl behind one ear. "You always say the sweetest things."

"Not flattery," Hadrian replied, voice low, eyes locked on hers. "You're the first and last fire any of them will ever know."

Daenerys tilted her chin. "Then let's burn them gently."

Carlisle gave a wry smile. "Neutral ground, remember."

"This is neutral," Hadrian said. "They're the ones who brought war into our city."

Edward exhaled a laugh, muttering, "Well. This is going to be subtle."

"I'm a queen, darling," Daenerys said, tapping Hadrian's chest with one gloved finger. "He's a myth. Between us? We're a diplomatic incident waiting to happen."

Hadrian kissed the tip of her gloved finger. "Let's be very... undiplomatic, then."

With a subtle flick of his wrist, he pushed open the doors—

—and stepped into the lion's den.

But not before Daenerys whispered at his ear, "Let's make them remember exactly who we are."

—

The suite was a stage set for gods and monsters. Gold-leafed ceilings shimmered with constellations older than memory, velvet curtains spilled like bloodied opera gowns, and the fireplace snapped with aristocratic disdain. It was warm, but the air curdled the moment the quartet stepped through the door, carrying with them a chill that didn't come from the December snow.

Jane stood like a painting come to life—immaculate, delicate, and edged with venom. Her crimson eyes were twin razors beneath sculpted brows, her lips plum-dark and unmoved. Black Parisian silk hugged her like mourning and murder.

Alec lounged in the high-backed chair near the fire, legs sprawled like a Roman on a marble throne, fingers tapping the armrest to a rhythm only predators knew. He looked up when Hadrian entered, but gave nothing away.

"Well, well," Jane murmured, her voice like a stiletto wrapped in velvet. "Welcome to Manhattan. We thought it would be rude to leave without a proper hello."

Hadrian didn't stop until he was toe-to-toe with her. Emerald eyes gleamed, cold and amused. He pulled off his gloves, slow as a duelist before the draw, and tucked them into his coat.

"That so?" he said, one brow rising. "Because in my experience, 'hello' doesn't usually come with three days of tailing us, coded messages in blood, and psychic whispers that sound like a paranoid séance."

Jane smiled, slow and cold. "We were trying to be discreet."

Behind Hadrian, Daenerys laughed—a sound like broken chandeliers and champagne flutes crashing from a great height. She stepped forward, every inch a contradiction: a queen of snow and wildfire. Her silver-blonde hair coiled in waves over a fox-fur-collared coat, violet eyes gleaming like polished amethyst.

"Darling," she said, brushing Hadrian's lapel with idle affection, "you've been humming Strauss since the elevator. Discreet would've been not alerting the telepath, the vampire, the wizard and his fire-breathing wife that you were tuning up for a murder symphony."

Alec chuckled. "I like her."

Edward stepped into the room, his gaze scanning every corner like radar. His voice was low, clinical. "They're not lying. But they're not telling the whole truth either."

Carlisle followed, all gentleman grace and steel beneath it. Tall, blonde, and devastating in a tailored charcoal suit. "Then let's sit, shall we? Or are we doing the whole standing confrontation thing where someone ends up bleeding dramatically on Persian rugs?"

Jane gestured, icily gracious. "By all means."

They moved to their seats like kings and queens playing high-stakes chess. Hadrian and Daenerys took the love seat, his frame sprawled with relaxed arrogance, hers poised and regal, one gloved hand resting on his thigh.

Carlisle and Edward flanked them, cool shadows of reason.

Jane remained standing. Alec didn't move.

"We didn't come for a fight," Jane began. "Aro sent us to observe. And... confirm."

Hadrian leaned back. "Observe what? Our posture? Her cheekbones? My aversion to nonsense?"

"Your potential," Alec said. "He suspects. We know."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. "Know what, exactly?"

Jane looked at them with something close to reverence. "That you are the Dragon Queen. And he," her gaze shifted to Hadrian, "is the Wizard King."

Hadrian groaned. "Oh, for Merlin's hairy—"

"Let her talk," Daenerys whispered, squeezing his wrist.

Alec leaned forward now. "We remember things. From before Aro. From when we were alive. France, we think. Or Austria. Hard to tell after three centuries."

Carlisle blinked. "Centuries?"

Jane's expression didn't shift. "Our mother was a seer. Not a charlatan. She saw the threads of time. She told us of a coming storm. Of a Queen of Flame. A King of Magic. Not rulers, but harbingers."

"They would change the world," Alec continued. "By surviving. By defying the old orders. By not dying when they should."

Daenerys tilted her head, mocking curiosity. "And what happened to your mother?"

"Burned," Jane said. "As a witch. The Inquisition saw to it."

"We were taken soon after," Alec added. "Aro saw potential. We saw a waiting room."

Jane took a step closer. "We're not loyal to Aro. We never were. We stayed because eternity needed purpose. Because we were waiting. For you."

"We're not here on his orders," Alec said. "We're here to swear loyalty."

The silence cracked like ice.

Edward was the first to speak. "They're telling the truth."

Carlisle looked between them. "This changes everything."

Daenerys stood, eyes burning violet. "If this is a game, little monsters, I will end you where you stand."

Jane dropped to her knees in one fluid motion. Alec followed.

"You have our loyalty," Alec said.

"Our trust," Jane echoed.

"And," Alec added with a grin, "our very specific talents for agony."

Daenerys looked up at Hadrian. "Well? Aren't you going to say something dramatic?"

Hadrian sighed and rose. "Fine. But I'm putting this on record: I hate prophecies. I hate destiny. And I especially hate being cast as some mythic archetype by long-dead witches like I'm in a discount Arthurian knock-off."

He turned, kicked the nearest footstool with elegant contempt, and sent it tumbling.

"Bloody fantastic," he muttered. "Next thing you know, a centaur shows up with a riddle and a moral dilemma."

Daenerys leaned into him, brushing her lips near his ear. "You'll get used to it."

"I'd rather get drunk."

"Then after we are done here, we'll go home and drain a bottle of enchanted bottle and plan how to rule the world."

And as the fire danced and the snow whispered against the windows, the Dragon Queen and the Wizard King stood crowned not by coronation, but by choice.

And the world, as always, began to burn.

But this time, it would burn beautifully.

—

Carlisle leaned forward, steepling his fingers. "Then the question remains—how have you managed to keep this from Aro? His gift… it's absolute. You touch his hand, he sees everything."

Jane didn't rise. Her voice came soft, reverent, like recalling a lullaby written in blood.

"Our mother taught us secrets long before the Volturi ever found us," she said. "She called them shadows of the soul. She said that just as some minds speak, others know how to whisper… or fall silent."

Alec nodded. "We learned to hide. Piece by piece. Thought by thought. Like shutting doors in a hall before someone enters. You can't bar everything—but you can lead them where you want."

Daenerys tilted her head. "Mental misdirection."

Hadrian crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. "That's not just misdirection. That's Occlumency—rudimentary, but functional."

Carlisle blinked. "You mean—what you taught us? The shielding?"

"Sort of," Hadrian replied, glancing briefly at Edward. "You, Rosalie, Esme, even Emmett—you've picked up the basics. Enough to block Edward for a heartbeat or two when you really try."

Edward grimaced. "More like a blink. Esme lasted seven seconds once, but her thoughts were just flower arrangements and concerns about Hadrian's coat getting wrinkled."

Daenerys smirked. "A noble cause."

Hadrian went on. "But what they've done… It's more advanced than what I taught you. Not quite what Daenerys and I can do—complete silence, indefinite—but this isn't accidental. Their mother must have had serious power."

"She did," Jane said quietly. "They called her la Sorcière des Miroirs. The Mirror Witch. She could show people reflections of themselves that weren't quite true—but close enough that they believed them."

Hadrian's brows lifted. "That's dangerously close to casting illusions inside the mind."

"Precisely," Alec said. "And she taught us to do the opposite. Not show what wasn't there—but hide what was. It only works with practice, and we can't sustain it forever. But when we're around Aro…"

"We shield," Jane finished. "Perfectly. Briefly. Convincingly."

Edward gave a low whistle. "That explains it. Aro's never suspected a thing, because he only sees what they let him see."

Carlisle looked thoughtful. "How often?"

"Only when necessary," Alec said. "Once every few months, if that. We make sure there's nothing suspicious near the surface. When we know we'll have to touch him, we lock it all away."

"You've been waiting this whole time," Daenerys murmured. "Playing his game. Hiding in plain sight."

Jane's eyes gleamed. "Because we knew our King and Queen would come."

A flicker of tension passed through Hadrian's expression, but it vanished behind his usual deadpan sarcasm. "Wonderful. Loyal child assassins with trauma-based psychic defense systems. Just what every regime needs."

"Stop it," Daenerys said, though a smile curled her lips.

"Why?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the twins. "Next they'll tell us they were reincarnated monks or cursed angels or something equally poetic."

Jane raised one elegant eyebrow. "Do you want the embellished version, or the one that ends in holy water and iron nails?"

Hadrian exhaled slowly. "Nope. Save the horror stories for the campfire. I've reached my daily quota."

Daenerys turned her gaze to Carlisle. "What do we do with them?"

Carlisle stood, folding his hands behind his back. "They've declared fealty. And if what they've said is true, their talents—especially in matters of the mind—are invaluable. We need allies who understand the world we're about to reshape."

Alec's smirk returned. "And we do love a good reshaping."

Edward looked to Hadrian. "What's your read?"

Hadrian considered the twins for a long beat. Then he said, tone flat and final, "They're dangerous. But honest. As honest as anyone who's built themselves out of fire and pain can be. We don't trust them."

Alec opened his mouth, but Hadrian raised a hand.

"Yet," he clarified. "Trust is earned. Loyalty is tested."

Jane nodded solemnly. "We understand."

Daenerys took Hadrian's hand and rose again, her voice velvet and wildfire. "Then prove yourselves. Serve the throne we have not yet claimed. And the crown we have not yet worn."

The twins bowed their heads. "We already do."

Snow kissed the windows, and the fire hummed in anticipation.

The age of gods and monsters was not coming.

It was already here.

And it had chosen sides.

—

Hadrian's eyes lingered on the firelight dancing across Jane's pale face. "You'll return to Volterra."

Alec blinked. "What?"

"You'll go back," Hadrian said evenly. "To the wolves' den. You've hidden this long. You'll hide a little longer."

Jane straightened slowly, her spine a rod of iron beneath her velvet calm. "To be spies, then."

"To be witnesses," Hadrian corrected. "And sentinels. You know Aro's patterns. His moods. His ambitions. If he stirs—if he begins to suspect, or to move his pieces—you'll warn us."

Alec exchanged a glance with his sister. "And how exactly do we contact you? Owl post?"

Hadrian smirked faintly. "No owls. They don't like Volterra's air. Too stale." He reached into the folds of his coat and withdrew a small crystal fragment. Smooth, mirror-bright, and etched in runes so old even the fire seemed to recoil from them.

"I've been working on something," he said, twirling the shard between his fingers. "Enchanted mirror networks. Long-range, anchored in runes and memory. The spellwork's… temperamental. Fifteen years, and I've almost got the runes stable. One wrong sigil and they combust like divination finals."

Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "You once set your eyebrows on fire."

"They grew back," he muttered.

Jane leaned forward, staring at the shard like it might whisper back. "Like our mother, the Mirror Witch," she murmured. "A doorway between reflections."

"Exactly," Hadrian said. "Once I stabilize the core matrix, I'll send you the first set. One for you. One for Alec. One for us. Whisper into them, and they'll carry your thoughts directly to me."

Carlisle looked skeptical. "Thought transmission over that distance? That's beyond even—"

"I said almost got the runes right," Hadrian cut in. "But they work, in short bursts. And once I bind the spell to the twins' signature—it'll be as natural as breath."

Alec tilted his head. "And what if we're caught?"

"Then you destroy the mirrors," Hadrian said flatly. "Crush them under your heels. No trace. No connection. Do not let Aro touch them."

"And if we're compromised?" Jane asked softly. "If he sees even a flicker?"

"You run," Daenerys said. Her voice held no softness now. "No heroics. No martyrdom. If he discovers your truth—disappear. We'll find you again."

For a long moment, the room held nothing but the sound of the fire. Then Jane stepped forward, gaze steady. "We'll go. And we'll wait. As long as it takes."

Hadrian looked at them, the ghost of old battles flickering behind his eyes. "Then go as ghosts. As shadows. And remember—you are not alone. Not anymore."

Jane nodded once. Then Alec bowed, deeper this time. Not in submission, but in solidarity. "Long live the Queen."

Daenerys gave a nod. "And her King."

Hadrian looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Technically, I'm still not sold on that title. I prefer something dramatic. Like 'Breaker of Things' or 'Snarkbringer.'"

Daenerys smirked. "How about 'Chief Arsonist'?"

"I'd take that."

As the twins turned to go, slipping like candle smoke into the shadows of the old house, Edward crossed his arms. "You're playing a dangerous game, Hadrian."

"I always do," Hadrian said, eyes on the cold window. Snow curled against the glass like breath.

"And when Aro makes his move?" Edward asked.

Hadrian's eyes narrowed, voice low. "Then we stop playing."

---

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