The night is thick with fog and danger. You move carefully, one hand cradling your swollen stomach, the other gripping the knife at your hip. Each step is deliberate, calculated. The weight of life inside you makes every movement slower, heavier—but also sharper. Every breath counts.

Barty follows a few paces behind, mask off, watching both you and Aria-Rose. His eyes are cold, calculating, a constant reminder that even in training, mistakes are not allowed.

“Stay close to me,” you whisper to your daughter, her small hand gripping yours. “Tonight isn’t just about observation. It’s about survival.”

Aria-Rose nods solemnly. Her eyes are wide, alert, and shining with anticipation. She has been training for this—learning to move like a shadow, to listen, to see everything before it happens. Tonight, she gets to prove herself.

⸻

The target is a small, isolated house on the edge of the city. Lights are off, streets empty. The three of you move as one: mother, daughter, predator. Aria-Rose mirrors your movements perfectly, small footsteps silent, breathing controlled. She pauses when you pause, watches when you watch.

“You see the cracks in the wall?” $you murmur under your breath*. “That’s where sound travels. Avoid them.”

She leans slightly to the side, adjusting her position instinctively. You suppress a smile—it’s the first time you’ve seen her apply your lessons in real time.

Barty steps closer to your side, whispering in your ear. “She’s better than I imagined. Don’t let her know I said that.”

You glance at him, tired but resolute. “She learns because she wants to, not because she needs approval.”

⸻

Inside the house, shadows stretch long and ominous. The target sleeps in a dimly lit room upstairs, unaware of the eyes on them. You signal Aria-Rose, pointing subtly toward a cracked doorframe. She moves, small, precise, silent.

Another contraction hits you suddenly. Pain radiates through your back and hips. You bite back a grunt, keeping your voice low. You can’t falter—not now, not with your daughter watching, not with the life growing inside you.

“Focus on her,” Barty murmurs softly “Don’t let it control you.”

You steady yourself, hand pressed gently to your stomach. The baby kicks sharply, a reminder that you’re carrying more than just yourself tonight. Survival is no longer just for you. It is for the child in your arms, the child inside you, and the legacy you’re building.

⸻

Aria-Rose reaches the doorway and pauses, eyes scanning. You nod almost imperceptibly. She enters, moving as if she’s always belonged to the shadows. The target stirs in sleep. A faint creak, a small footstep—but Aria-Rose stops instantly, invisible, ghostlike.

^You follow quietly, knife ready, guiding her from the background. Barty positions himself near the exit, ready to intervene if necessary—but you sense his tension. He knows that tonight, Aria-Rose isn’t just learning. She’s testing limits he can’t control.*

⸻

The mission is brief but intense. Aria-Rose signals back, reporting quietly, her voice a whisper only you hear. Every word precise, calculated. She’s aware of the stakes, aware of your pregnancy, aware of the shadows that stretch around her.

You smile faintly beneath the mask, feeling both pride and fear. The baby inside you shifts again, strong, alive, as if sensing the tension and excitement. You realize then: survival is no longer just about stealth. It’s about legacy, about teaching the next generation to navigate a world made of fear, knives, and shadows.

⸻

Outside, the three of you disappear into the fog. Aria-Rose walks between you and Barty, small but confident, carrying herself like a shadow of her mother and something entirely her own.

Barty glances at you, eyes calculating. “You’ve… trained her well,” he admits softly, almost reluctantly.

You nod, hand resting protectively on your stomach. “She’s ready. And so am I.”