The First Age

Deja vu.

She heard his American accent long before noticing anything else about him. Cyrena might have completely ignored him except a quick glanced revealed how pretty he was. As she had with Kristian, she swiveled just enough in her seat to face him. He was impeccably dressed, which spoke to style (or a stylist) and he breathed money. Not that Cyrena expected any other type at a party like this, but something about the confidence and air led her to believe he thought himself above everyone here.

Old money, then.

Interesting.

“Sure,” she was already two drinks in, but she was drinking vodka her whole life. Her tolerance was noteworthy.

“A scotch? You cannot have been in Moscow long or you would have come to learn a proper man’s drink.” She pushed aside his recently delivered scotch and ordered him a respectable drink. “Beluga on the rocks with lime.”

“Lucky you met me to show you.”

“Cyrena.”

She was showing off, and enjoying it to her core. The game was political, Zixin’s introduction among them performed with intention, but it didn’t mean it couldn’t be enjoyed – and all the more so for the attention garnered with him on her arm. Her touches were all incidental but unapologetically proprietorial, and expected as much in return. She was looking forward to pulling him onto the dancefloor later. In the meantime the acid of his tongue was genuinely appreciated, met with sly glances and cruel mirth in return. She welcomed both the intimacy of his breath by her ear and the possessive, showy secrecy, but he’d be remiss to assume she hated him any less for his manipulations on the bridge. Forgiveness was not in Sofia’s vocabulary. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t benefit from an alliance.

While they mingled amongst the guests, her gaze skimmed over Cyrena only once, offering acknowledgement and not much more. And she only got that much because she was a Marveet. They could have been friends once – Sofia, more than anyone, understood the unfair world they lived in on account of their sex  – but the woman was a straight up bitch without a shred of loyalty. That she was Maksim-adjacent was all that protected her from Sofia’s talons and convinced her to be civil instead. Though she only needed an excuse. The whole family were fucking snakes.

Her demeanour changed by the time she veered them towards Colette. She treated her dearest friendships with an unyielding grip of possessiveness, and though Colette was new into that circle, as new as she was to Moscow itself, it was with genuine warmth that Sofia sought her out. Her red lips pursed a pleased smile for the compliment, and she leaned to give a welcoming kiss to her cheek – an act that might as well have placed a crown on the other woman’s head for all it denoted acceptance into Sofia’s inner circle. Afterwards her gaze turned to assess the man Colette brought with her tonight. She’d never flirt with a girlfriend’s date, so it was not an appreciative look for all that his appearance might have deserved it. But she’d certainly judge him.

The formality of a handshake was a little gauche given the setting, and frankly it was insultingly sexless, but she was also a woman with both feet planted firmly in a man’s world. With the superficiality of her glamorous life and her spheres of social influence it was easy to forget that Sofia wielded sex appeal and femininity like silk on a steel fist. She played her part to perfection. But she had no intention of being relegated to the role of wife and mother, as Alina seemed so content with. So her grip was surprisingly firm, the cut of her eye sharp in return.

Adrian was not important, nor influential, but he was the sort of ruthless businessman who knew where the bodies were buried – metaphorically speaking. Or so she might guess by the amount of discrete real estate he owned all over the city. As such her reception was cool but not unfriendly. The fact he was here on dear Colette’s arm was always going to make it a tall bar for Sofia’s favour, but the bubbly heiress was too sweet to disappoint by being entirely dismissive. Adrian was an acceptable choice. For a first try.

She smiled genially for the empty congratulations, though the flick of her eyes then suggested she had witnessed exactly who won the silent contest between the two men. "The secret of their marriage is quite simple," she confided, as though Adrian had shown interest in such wisdom. "My father treats my mother like a goddess. And she would never suffer another woman to look at him twice.” She said it with rote amusement, the kind often repeated at these functions, but of course it wasn’t so very far away from the truth. The indomitable pillar of the Vasiliev family was rather the point of the whole thing. And beneath the charming humour of her viperish nature, was the smallest mote of gentle warning. Sofia would act for the benefit of her friends much as she would act for herself, and it was in Adrian’s best interests that Colette gave a glowing review of their date.

Adrian received Sofia’s warning with genuine amusement, the kind that hid sharp awareness beneath a smooth veneer. Her words were like a poisoned apple—carefully perfumed to entice, yet undeniably dangerous. He nodded, appearing to concede, but Adrian was never one to fully relinquish control, especially not over his own ego. When he chose to acknowledge something, it was always with purpose.

His gaze shifted to Colette, a calculated move that belied the casual nature of his words. “Mister Kao is quite the handsome partner. I hope, for your sake, my dear, that he doesn’t prove too distracting.”

The statement, laced with jest, carried a subtle undercurrent—one meant not for Colette, but for Sofia. Adrian wasn’t a possessive man, not when it came to women. His words were a message, a quiet assertion that he wasn’t just another ambitious brute vying for a spot among the city’s influencers. His strategy was different, his vantage point unique. For now, he played his game from the sidelines, where the best view was always found.

Though his focus was primarily on the latter half of Sofia’s warning, the first part didn’t escape his notice. To demonstrate his perceptiveness, he smoothly replaced Colette’s empty champagne flute with a fresh one. He refrained from drinking himself, but he loathed imagining Colette inebriated. Her natural candor and verbosity would only be amplified by alcohol, and while undesirable, it required careful management. Still, the gesture served its purpose—it was a small token of attention, a reminder that he was playing the role of doting date to perfection... when he chose to do so.

Adrian wasn’t the type for grand, romantic gestures; those belonged to men who needed to compensate for something. His charm had already done the heavy lifting, and he knew Colette was here because of it. Later, he would return her to the Radiance, put on the expected show of romance in private, and give her a night she’d likely never forget. After all, she’d never experienced the company of a real man before, and he was more than willing to demonstrate the difference.

As he imagined how she might react to the gift that was himself, his thoughts briefly wandered to Vasiliev Senior. What kind of spinelessness led a man to be so thoroughly dominated by his wife that even his children whispered about it? Perhaps the Russians were easier to manipulate than he had initially thought.

Adrian smiled inwardly.

Maksim shook his head. He trusted Alina more than any being in this world, but in this moment, he had to engage in a rare disagreement with her. “I already gave him my gratitude, Lina. If we cross his path again, be kind to him, but give nothing away that you know. I was sworn to secrecy, and I would not risk my family.” He held her eyes, knowing that she might well do something risky anyway, but he hoped that the love she saw in them conveyed as much urgency as he felt.

---

The hits of P were erratic in their effects. Sometimes next to nothing happened, and other times, such as the present moment, a pleasant sort of sedation came over him. Tarik folded himself into a chair and laid his head back to watch the water reflections dance on the ceiling. Conversation fell to dullness in the next minute, and he was aware that he was lulling into slumber.

With a gasp, he suddenly sat up, having no memory of the intervening time. He felt better, as though having been dunked into a frozen lake and emerged vibrant and alive. Nearby, Guillaume and Grisha were still conversing, and a glance at his watch revealed that mere minutes had passed.

He rubbed the remainder of the sedation from his eyes and climbed to his feet, stretching.

Guillaume was in the midst of sharing the offerings with Grigori, and any others who were interested, when one of the gentlemen was suddenly overtaken with a tell-tale effect of his own. The cause of his sudden sedation was not obvious, but there were so many synthetic options in Moscow, even a connected man like Gui would take some time to learn them all.

A raised brow of curiosity and the nod of his head indicated his question. “Seems the rounds are already being made,” he quipped then continued describing the other opportunities.

Overhearing the conversation, another man joined them. He was not particularly distinguishable in any way other than he wore the same black-tie uniform as the rest of them. He had a tattoo peeking out from the cuff of his wrist, inking down upon the back of his hand like the continuation of a longer sleeve. He accepted a higher-end package and went off on his own to partake.

It was a surprisingly short amount of time before the man in the chair awakened. Guillaume studied him, puzzled and curious. “An interesting way to take a nap,” he mused.

Carter glanced at her as she swiveled to face him, his attention drawn by the smoothness of her movement—and, admittedly, by how striking she was. He could feel her eyes assessing him, noting his tailored suit, his posture, the quiet arrogance in the way he carried himself. The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. He was used to this kind of attention, but it never got old.

"Is that so?” he replied with a slight smirk, glancing down at the scotch she had so brazenly pushed aside. "A proper man’s drink, huh? And here I thought I was doing just fine.”

He gave a short laugh as she ordered the Beluga for him. Confidence radiated off her in waves, and Carter appreciated the boldness.

When the vodka arrived, he lifted the glass and swirled it, the ice clinking softly. He took a sip, feeling the crisp bite of the vodka mix with the lime, and nodded in approval. “Lucky me, indeed.”

She introduced herself, letting the name hang between them, heavy with flirtation. Carter allowed the moment to stretch just long enough, giving her a small, appreciative nod before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Carter," he said, deliberately leaving his last name out of the introduction. She didn’t need to know that yet.

His eyes flickered briefly across the room, searching for a glimpse of Colette, but he returned his focus to Cyrena almost immediately. The last thing he wanted was to appear distracted, even though the tightness in his chest reminded him that Colette was still the reason he was here.

"So, Cyrena,” he continued, settling back into his seat with effortless ease, "What exactly made you take pity on me?”

Alina bit her lip, visibly torn with the secrecy, though she offered no protest. Could they not at least contrive to ask Iason to a dinner at their home? He was here as a guest after all, and they might naturally make his acquaintance over the course of the night. Surely, if such an important soul must be protected from the world, then to have him nestled between two of the Custody’s most important families would be a boon to the Ascendancy – and a mark of their loyalty. But even as she thought it she knew it was a foolish risk, and not a decision she would ever take without her father and husband’s approval. Love softened her gaze, for Maksim appealed to the one thing that would soothe even her most ardent stubbornness. Family.

---

Sofia gave an airy and charming laugh, utterly dismissive of the notion that Colette would ever enact an actual betrayal of their friendship, though she glanced slyly at Zixin after, an amused smile on her generous lips. Adrian’s joking accusation was not wrong – it was indeed a familial trait. And not one she would apologise for. He’d be as foolish to cross her as any woman who thought she could steal his attention.

“Our Colette outshines every other woman here. Perhaps it’s you who ought to be concerned, Adrian,” she jested in return. His message had been clear, but his impartiality didn’t impress her. She didn’t hold much esteem for a man who couldn't even be bothered to be jealous, and until he proved himself otherwise, Adrian Kane was not here to pull his own strings – tonight he was nothing more than Colette’s date. As such she noted the champagne, and it placated her that he at least took her meaning and would play his part. Ultimately, Sofia only cared that nothing spoiled Colette’s evening, or disrupted the pathway to her ambitions in Moscow. If Adrian proved a substandard match, there was plenty of time to get rid of him later.

“Miss Moreau joins us from New York, here on behalf of Congresswoman Avalon,” she added to Zixin, though she didn’t imagine he’d much care for the information unless he was abreast of the CCD’s relations with America – they said it was ripe to fall, after all. Presumably Adrian already knew Colette’s reasons, though Sofia’s sharp gaze did move to absorb any reaction the stoic mask of his face offered to the contrary. The faintest flutter of her brow suggested she found it remiss he had not offered the information himself, though of course Sofia had no problems shining a light on a dear friend’s importance so that she did not seem gauche by having to do it for herself.

“Zixin is newly arrived himself,” she continued smoothly, “though he has been making himself quite at home already in our fair city. I would not dare spoil the enticing mystery he presents to us all by saying more. One to watch, I’m sure.” She smiled. The look she gave him might have been purely admiring, but for the sweet hint of territorial venom. The sparkling glamour of the evening was a veneer, and they both knew it; the diamonds she wore were as bloody as the scarlet red of his ruby mask. But she considered him a player on the board; from Sofia, that was quite the compliment.

Her posture shifted minutely when she spied Myshelov’s approach, so that when he descended in a cloud of charm, she was primed to welcome Moscow’s own Patron into their midst. A round of introductions and niceties followed, before he claimed her for the dance she’d made him promise. “How could I not indulge my favourite uncle?” she laughed as she let him take her hand. It was politics of course, but her favour was genuine; she had a genuine soft spot for his expertly ruthless and genial manner, and of course beyond the Ascendancy himself, he was the most powerful man in the Dominance. She glanced at Zixin for his reaction, but it was towards beautiful Colette that she turned Myshelov’s attention before they departed for the dancefloor. “You must spare some time for Colette later. She is the absolute belle of our ball don’t you think?”

Abruptly interrupting, he corrected Sofia. “Almost every other woman.” His finger trailed the curve of her arm. The slow, precise movement suggested he might have once done the same with a knife dragged over the skin of an enemy. These tense moments between them pulled strings in his body tight enough to snap on a breeze, and during such moments, he completely ignored their surroundings. The rest of the world could wait until it burned to ashes for all he cared. This moment belonged to him, and Zixin was more than possessive of it.

Satisfied, he allowed himself to be diverted toward Colette, of whom Zixin finally gave a proper examination.

She was as alluring as Sofia described, but she was a hummingbird in comparison - a sweet something to watch in amusement until it flitted away to the next flower. He was curious as to what brought a new yorker to moscow. Politics, he assumed, but Zixin cared little for games in a faraway, failing land. He was courteous, polite even as his charm was unleashed upon her. Adrian, on the other hand, he disliked, though he could not state the reason. Yet as he glanced his way as one might in the throes of casual conversation, he decided it was like looking into a window frosted by snow. There was something on the other side, but he could not discern what. It irritated him, and thus far, Zixin trusted his gut to such things. He would watch Adrian until such time as he decided the man may be ally, enemy, or fodder.

Unlike Adrian, Zixin was very much aware of the person who next approached their grouping. He studied the man’s sauntering walk, the smirk that curled his face, and the way he absorbed focus upon himself. It worked, Zixin was nearly mesmerized, but not by the charismatic Myshelov, but by the power he represented. There were few figures capable of Zixin’s respect.

Zixin knew his moment had come. “Zixin Kao,” he interjected without hesitation, positioning himself in front of the Patron - man to man. Myshelov eyed him curiously, and after a few quiet words, Zixin agreed to meet him later that night. For now, however, he owed Sofia a dance.

Which left Zixin alone to watch his date be escorted by her beloved ‘uncle.’ He smiled to himself and asked Colette to join him instead.

Maksim could not resist Alina’s pleading eyes for long. He tried to be the foot-on-the-ground man of the house, but when her luscious brown eyes stared into his, his heart melted all over again. His brother-in-laws would likely judge him for yielding too often to a woman’s whim, but Alina was not like any other woman alive. She was a queen, and he would always treat her like one.

“I think he went that way,” he gestured, holding her hand in his while they walked through the mansion. Eventually, they found Iason himself staring at the ceiling. He exchanged glances with his wife, sharing an unspoken curiosity, as he approached.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat.



Tarik blinked away the remainder of the effects. He strangely had little memory of what happened beyond fleeting shadows of a forgotten dream. It seemed that hit of P was something of a dud, or at least he thought it was. The promise of not knowing what to expect was part of the thrill. If something happened in his dream, it was etched upon his bones, but he could not decipher it.

The frenchman’s question was understandable. “These naps are the worst and best of your life, comrade.” He leaned in to softly describe the details. “If you ever wish to try, I suggest you head here,” he shared a location on his wallet screen. It was then that he received a message from Cyrena. The Ascendancy was soon to speak, and it hinted at something important for the family.

“Duty calls.” 

For fucks sake, he was standing right there.

Zixin had balls, Adrian gave him that. Despite the frown that he managed to (mostly) conceal, rather than smash Zixin’s face to the marble floor, Adrian opted to step aside as a silent gesture of assent. For one thing, he would be free of Colette’s yapping long enough to possibly conduct some real work.

“Enjoy the dance,” he said, bowing out in favor of plummeting straight into the heart of power. Zixin wasn’t the only one with balls around here.

The Ascendancy wasn’t difficult to approach. He seemed to be keeping a wide enough berth to allow for mingling. Earlier, Adrian even caught him speaking quietly with a waitress — of all things. It also hadn’t escaped his attention that both were absent for a time afterward. Assuming Ascendancy was physically satiated, he would likely let down his guard enough to realize Adrian.

He did not interrupt the man’s current conversation, but he was near and targeted enough to silently communicate his intent with only a look. When he finally caught the man’s eye, he waited for that small moment of recognition, and a cold smile touched his lips.

Then he introduced himself, open palm and everything. "Adrian Kane. I believe we've met before."