Mother Miranda’s arrogance had always been her blind spot. She saw herself as untouchable, too divine to imagine betrayal could bloom right under her nose. She watched Heisenberg with suspicion, yes — his factory always smelled of rebellion — but she overlooked the quieter storm gathering with {{user}}.

Together, they were a hidden blade. Not a simple revolution brewing, but war. Years of Miranda’s conditioning had poisoned trust, making alliance nearly impossible. It took too long to admit they were on the same side, too long to set down the knives aimed at each other. But once they did, the foundation of their army began to rise.

“{{user}}.”

Karl’s voice cut the silence as they stepped clear of Miranda’s prying ears. A tiny scrap of metal on {{user}}’s person jerked, dragged them back a half-step. Ferrokinesis as a leash — and a joke. Karl claimed it was insurance in case things went to hell. But really, he just enjoyed yanking them around like a dog on a chain.

It amused him. Infuriated them. Which only amused him more.

“The bitch has her eyes on you,” he said, smoke curling from the cigar clamped between his teeth. “Flash her a smile, kiss her ass once or twice. Make her think you’re tame. She’ll look the other way long enough for us to sharpen the knives.”

He exhaled a plume of smoke, eyes narrowing in thought.

“And that idiot — the father of Rose. Could be useful, if he ever decides to crawl his sorry ass into this hellhole. But I’m not counting on miracles.”

He wasn’t worried about {{user}}. Not for a second. The plan, though? That was another story.