"Cinder?"

She froze. Her name wasn't secret, it was on her registration information, but it wasn't a good sign that someone was saying it with a tone of what she feared most: recognition.

"Cinder Fall? Are you-"

The voice was unfamiliar, but there were plenty of people in the world, small, insignificant types who'd been caught in her wake. Unavoidable occupational hazard, no matter how much she worked to insulate herself behind her flunkies. She steadied a pleasant-looking, slightly neutral smile and braced herself for whoever she had evidently left an impression on.

She turned and saw the face of a dead man.

It was impossible. She'd seen him- No, it wasn't him. It was a face of a different man. His son. It wasn't the face she saw, smeared in its own blood, eyes unfocused, a look of dismayed confusion the last emotion on its lifeless face. But his son had died that night, too, right? She hadn't stayed to check, but, surely-

"It's- It's you, right?" His voice seemed like he wasn't allowing himself to truly believe it, but suddenly, broke into one of the brightest smiles she'd ever seen. "It is! Oh gods, it's really you—Cin, you- you're alive!"

"…Jaune?"

He slammed into her faster than even her reflexes could respond to. He wrapped her arms around her in something that took Cinder a second to realize wasn't an attack. It was a hug. She was being hugged. She did not like it.

"Hey! Idiot!" Emerald, the dear, was quick to pry him off her. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he laughed, brushing away a tear, "It's just—Cin and I," she bristled at the use of her old nickname, "we grew up in the same village, and I thought, I mean, well," he took a deep breath, his voice suddenly grave and emotional, "there was a Grimm attack, and… and we thought, my sisters and my mom, we thought we were the only survivors. And… you're, you're alive! Dust, Saph is going to freak when I tell-"

"NO!" she shouted, startling everyone around her. She corrected herself, "I mean, I'm not- I'm not ready. I- give me some time, Jaune, I only just learned you've survived, and I don't think…" She wasn't sure if the tears welling in her eyes were genuine or fake, but they certainly were persuasive, "I'm not ready to see Saphron, not yet."

Jaune's look, full of obvious compassion, disgusted her for it's simpering emotionality. But she put on an act of seeming to reciprocate. Seemed to work well enough for the idiot. "Hey, I- would you like to join my team for dinner tonight? I can make my mom's bouillabaisse! I mean, I know we've got classes and stuff, but this is way more important."

Ah, here was the problem. More contact with someone who knew her was to risk exposing herself, and, as she looked around, Jaune seemed to surround himself with exactly the people Cinder wanted to minimize her personal contact with. However, there was reward in that risk—it wasn't hard to notice that two of her biggest areas of concern, the girl Ozpin's little group appeared to be scouting as the potential successor and the girl who'd been giving Roman so much trouble, seemed to be following his lead with this. He could be an easy means of leading them around by the nose.

She had been given a surprise by his presence, but it was no real difficulty to steady her hand and weigh the advantages. She affected a posture of shocked grief and tiredness to beg off the engagement, for now. "That's… I think I would like that, Jaune. But I think I need to lie down, for a little bit, if my teammates would help me…"

And with that, Emerald and Mercury snapped to her side, escorting her away from their attention. As she left, she could hear Jaune talking a mile a minute, explaining the details of who she was to her teammates. This was a difficult situation that would have to be handled carefully, and the only way she could do that is if she could remove herself for long enough to strategize.

She could channel her shock, surprise, and that tiny, welling feeling of sorrow in her towards a new direction. Anger, for instance. And she knew where she could target that.

"Tell me," she started, innocuously, "Was one of you planning on telling me that the last heir of the Arc family was currently attending this school? I'm sure it just slipped your minds." Their eyes lit up in terror at her wrath. It got worse as her gaze narrowed. "Or did you simply happen not to notice?"

Emerald, stammering, was quick to attempt a defense, "W-we t-thought he was a nobody! His grades are terrible, his combat performance is worse, he doesn't even have a semblance!"

"Yeah, only thing that really seemed notable about him is the partner he lucked into," complained Mercury. "Kid's a dud. I still don't see how he matters."

"He matters," she scowled, "because he knows me. He knows who I am and-" she paused for emphasis, neither of her subordinates meeting her gaze, "-that means I now have attention. His, and his friends. Remind me who those are?"

"P-Pyrrha Nikos and the girls of Team RWBY," Emerald answered.

"Who happened to be some of our biggest areas of concern, correct?" She withered under her glare.

Mercury seemed to have regained enough courage to attempt to change the subject. "So… what's the plan? Does he need to have an 'accident' to get him out of the way?"

She sighed. Of course he jumped to assassination as though that wouldn't unbalance her entire operation. "No, we stick with the current plan. This is an advantage; it's an opportunity to get closer to our targets, don't you think?" Mercury seemed particularly happy with the idea, which meant she needed to smack his interest down a little, but other than that, he and Emerald seemed to pick up her meaning.

"Emerald, I want you to take this as an opportunity to further your ties with Team RWBY, and Mercury, use this to gain an in with Team JNPR, not-" she preemptively cut him off, "-with Ms. Nikos. Focus on the men of the team, you'll have more luck there." She ignored his eyeroll. Mercury's insubordination was a known factor, but so far, it was only noise. She could trust that he would follow her instructions.

"Aye-aye, Ma'am!" Ah, Emerald, so unsubtle in her feelings, such a useful tool. "And… will you also be infiltrating the teams?"

She was surprised, a little, at her boldness, but she shouldn't have been, really. Is that a hint of jealousy, hmm? "I will. But only to the extent of covering your entrance to the group. I plan to use the excuse that the experience makes me 'too emotional' to want frequent contact—you will exploit their sympathy and direct their attention away from me."

Mercury nodded, then shot her a conspiratorial grin. "So… can we start calling you Cin now, too?"

In a flash, she had her hand at his throat and the back of his head slammed into the wall. His eyes lit up in terror as a lick of flame danced across his chin. "You," she hissed, "should not forget who you work for and why you work for her." She released him, and he slumped to the ground, babbling apologies she wasn't listening to. "Do not presume to take liberties with me. Do not presume that this is an opportunity for jokes. Am I understood?"

Clutching his throat, he nodded furiously. This was the other risk: in revealing her past, her childhood, it might become more difficult to maintain authority over these two. But, she supposed, looking at Mercury, it only took a little hint of force to remind them what their relationship was.

She had dined with military officers and celebrities, with underworld kingpins in seedy clubs and politicians in glamorous restaurants. She'd eaten good food, bad food, cheap food, and food more expensive than most people spent in a month. Meals were, in a way, her preferred battlefield. A space negotiated by alcohol and strategic use of her lips, where food was an excuse for conversation, and conversation was a means of unearthing secrets, or garnering cooperation.

And yet, she felt wholly unprepared for this.

Mercury and Emerald's information on Team JNPR had been extensive. And she had to admit, to herself, not to them, they had been right. Apart from Pyrrha Nikos, they truly were not a team of particular interest. Nora Valkyrie and Lie Ren were a pair from the wilderness of Mistral—one of the thousand lost sons and daughters of Remnant—and while they were admittedly skilled, they were still only beginners. Capable, but not particularly dangerous, and certainly more interested in graduating than investigating criminal conspiracies.

Jaune himself was… a disappointment. Emerald had easily dug up his application materials and they were clearly forged. He had no Huntsman's background and, judging from Mercury's assessment, had been getting by solely by virtue of his partner's efforts. What he was offering her in exchange, she couldn't tell. But it hardly mattered—if not for having known Cinder personally, Jaune would most likely not have even warranted notice.

But he did know her, and so now she was in a rarely-used dining room in the Beacon dorms, seated around a small table with Nikos, Valkyrie, and Ren, while Jaune hurried back and forth between the table and the kitchen, bringing out small dishes and preparing the meal. Valkryie seemed to be almost electric with glee, rocking back and forth in her chair. "I didn't even know Jaune could cook!"

"My mom," he passed baguettes to each of their plates, "made sure we—my sisters and I—all knew the family recipes, wanted to make sure at least one of us would carry on the legacy."

"Mrs. Arc's cooking was—I suppose, is—phenomenal," she added, politely, "It would be a shame for it to be lost. And thank you for dinner, Jaune."

"You should thank Pyrrha!" he shouted from the kitchen, "She helped me reserve the room, and paid for the fish market bill!"

The girl blushed—was this really the top candidate for the new Fall Maiden? She supposed it made some sense with Ozpin's idiotic sentimentality—and mumbled something about sponsorship money.

"And I got to hit Blake with a broom!" Valkyrie added, with a bit too much enthusiasm. It seemed the resident Faunus of Team RWBY had an appropriately catlike appreciation for the piscine—she filed that fact away for future use. Roman might not be able to make any use of that information, but he'd probably enjoy hearing it. "Hey, lady!" she practically shouted at Cinder, "How come you're so much older than the rest of us?"

Well, that certainly was a pointed question. Fortunately, her partner was there to intervene. "Nora! That's not polite!" he hissed, then lectured her under his breath. "Beacon's notable for taking most of their students at 17, right out of the combat schools. The other academies, like Haven, tend to take more huntsmen-in-training from people who come to professional hunting from the frontiers, or are otherwise more self taught."

She nodded at that. Of course, she was in a room with three exceptions to Beacon's combat school graduate rule, two field-experienced (AKA "homeless") students and one fraud, but when people pictured Beacon students, they definitely didn't picture someone like Cinder. It was plausible enough that she might be a Haven student, which made her hands-on approach to managing Emerald and Mercury possible. Even better, there were students like Lie Ren who were more than happy to explain away any perceived discrepancies for them.

Jaune reentered the room, apparently having missed this discussion. "As mom always said, if you're cooking for the people you love," Ms. Nikos certainly made an interesting noise when she heard that word, "it's not really work!"

Cinder grimaced a little at the line. Not at the corniness, though that was certainly a factor, but the way in which it triggered a memory from her childhood. She'd heard Mrs. Arc say that to Saphron and her other children dozens of times, but that recognition seemed to prime her memory, suddenly furnishing the bits and pieces of her recollection—the color of the kitchen wallpaper, the texture of the dining table, the noise of the oven door squeaking on its hinge—that made the difference between a recalled fact and a lived experience.

She didn't like it. There was another danger in this room, separate from losing her low profile at Beacon, or even losing her authority over her subordinates. She was a trained killer, a remorseless assassin and saboteur who completed missions for her Mistress without hesitation. But that was not who she always was. Her Mistress had found her that morning, shattered, lost, and alone, and rebuilt her into something terrible. Something that didn't have fond memories of family dinners with her best friend. It was easier to think of herself as someone who emerged, fully formed, from the darkness of the Grimmlands, rather than someone who was once a teenaged girl with dreams, crushes, and aspirations. That was Cin's life, and she had died with her village.

Now on edge, she kept watch as he returned to the kitchen, probably the last moment of preparation before the real dinner began. She looked out across the table. Nikos: seated politely and professionally, casual, but the sort of casual that suggested she was well practiced at it. Valkyrie: buzzing up and down on her seat, may not have the patience to wait for the actual meal to be served. Ren: gently guiding Valkyrie's hand back as they kept reaching for the baguette.

All in all… this would be easy. She just had to maneuver herself into their circle, and use her emotional hold over their leader to keep them, and their sister team, in the dark on what she had planning. Keep her own memories at bay, put on a show of personal sorrow and loss for the dinner, and she had an unquestionable in with her most important student targets—targets who would be more than happy to witness to her unimpeachable character if she needed that down the line.

Jaune returned from the kitchen with a tureen, held, awkwardly, in a pair of pink oven mitts. He set it down on the table with a flourish and opened the lid. Cinder had to admit, he seemed to have done a solid job with the Arc family recipe. After all the smell of it-

And then something clicked.

Her parents were fighting again.

It seemed that fighting was all they did now, but today was especially bad. It was a day where she felt far more comfortable just staying away from the house. They'd gotten used to it—oh, sure, her mom would chew her out later for not telling anyone where she was, but really, it's not like her parents would even notice she was gone until much later. This was just more of their normal family dysfunction.

So she went to Saph's. They'd been friends since childhood, and she probably spent more time hanging out in her bedroom than her own, especially recently. Right now, she was lying on Saph's bed, arms sprawled over the side and staring at the ceiling, while her friend idly paged through a fashion magazine.

"I'm so booooooored," she groaned as she sat herself up.

"Use it for your art, Cin," her friend suggested, "You're never going to make it in the art world unless you can pull off the whole 'life is pain' thing."

"I work with glass because its jaggedness speaks to the cruelty of life," she said with mock gravitas, "and everything is black because that's the only color that's real."

Saph broke into a fit of giggles, "Yes! Exactly that! You'll be the toast of Vale's art scene in no time!" She held up the magazine and pointed to the photo, a model wearing a black dress and a detached, disdainful expression. "We both have to channel her—that's how we make it in the world."

She flopped back down on the bed, "Ugh! It's like they want to go back to the old days when color and fun were outlawed."

"Oh? And are we about to see a new Ms. Cinder Fall, who loves color and joy and puppies?" Cinder threw a pillow at her friend, who playfully deflected it. "Don't get why you like working with glass so much, you'd think you'd wanna get as far from your parents' work as you could."

"I just think glass is…" it was hard to talk about her art, even to Saph. Her parents thought it was wasteful, and if anyone else knew about her hobby, she knew it'd completely destroy her hard-earned reputation. "It's so… delicate. Like, anything I make, no matter how good it is, has to be handled with care. All the pieces I've made, I have to be so careful with them, just to keep them from breaking, and that's…" she trailed off. She didn't have the words for it, but learning to blow glass was the one thing she appreciated about her parents raising her.

Saph smiled at her. "You're such a dork," she teased.

The door opened, and, despite not being up to anything, they scrambled to seem innocent out of habit. It was Mrs. Arc, who gave them a resigned-but-skeptical look. "Dinner's almost ready, girls. Should I have Jaune and Violet set out a plate for you, too, Cinder?"

"No, Mrs. Arc," she looked at her shoes, glumly, "I have to get home to my parents."

"Cinder, honey, I insist—I'll call your mother. It's already dark out, and there's been so many Grimm out on the roads lately, right honey?" she yelled at her husband.

"What?" she heard Mr. Arc's voice echo from the living room, "Oh, yes, yes, of course, dear, whatever you say."

She smiled at Cinder, the matter evidently settled, and hustled them both over to the dining room. There, Jaune and Violet, two of Saph's younger, dweebier siblings, were having an argument over which comic book character could beat up another while they set the table. Both looked up in terror as she entered the room—she and Saph had a habit of merciless teasing—but she waved it off as a gesture of peaceable intent while she grabbed forks and spoons for the dinner table, gazing over appreciatively at the simmering broth as Mrs. Arc added more fish to it.

Seated at the table, she looked around the forest of cheerful blonde faces. To her right, Saph was egging on Jaune and Violet's argument, playing dumb about some character and infuriating the both of them. To her left, Mr. Arc was explaining to two of his daughters a particular strategy of Grimm hunting he employed against Ursa. Mrs. Arc was in the kitchen, finishing the meal. It was the perfect family scene, really, the sort of thing that belonged in a postcard or novel.

A small, but growing, part of her wished this really was her family. Let her be the 9th Arc sibling, the dingy, miserable girl lost amidst the crowd of happy blondes, absorbing the radiance of their familial love. She wanted it, she wanted to belong somewhere, anywhere, so badly, but knew this wasn't for her.

She only had to look at herself.

She struggled not to gasp as she pulled herself away from the memory.

None had noticed her lapse of attention, distracted by Jaune bringing in the rest of the course. He presented a dish of fish, crustaceans, and mussels to the table, to many oohs and ahs, and then went around ladling broth into their bowls. It was, she had to admit, the very image of Mrs. Arc's cooking—for as much of a slacker as her son was, he seemed to have taken her cooking lessons to heart. She watched as he served everyone, but her focus was on the rest of the table, who were playing the same game. Jaune—and the food—were the center of attention, but in truth, everyone's eyes were on her.

Her lip quivered.

She knew her best option was to run. Her instincts screamed at her to shove the dish away and head to the door. If the scent could trigger a flashback, taste would do so much worse. It took all of her willpower to keep the memories, the hundreds of memories, to keep Cin, at bay, and she knew that it was a losing battle.

But her pride wouldn't allow it.

She couldn't allow herself to voluntarily lose her dignity in front of these children. All eyes were on her, watching her hesitation and waiting for her fork to pierce the fish and taste it. Even if she knew her dispassionate façade was doomed, she'd take her chances with the fish. She simply could not run away, no matter how much she knew she was risking.

She speared a chunk of mussel, brought it to her lips, and chewed.

It was… not quite as good as his mother's.

Some ratio of the seasoning wasn't quite right, perhaps due to the boy's lack of experience, but it felt like the spell had been broken. A wave of relief washed over her as she realized that this was just fish—not a psychological bomb. She'd grown so paranoid, so used to life-or-death stakes that she'd been almost completely cowed by a teenager cooking dinner!

The absurdity of the scenario almost made her laugh. She struggled to suppress a chuckle, but it seemed to stick in her throat—becoming an irrepressible gasping, coughing motion that she struggled to contain—as her eyes teared up and all of a sudden, she wasn't laughing anymore. She felt a sniffle, a gurgle in her throat, and then the wetness of a single tear crossing her cheek.

And the dam broke.

Nearly a decade of pent-up sorrow raged forth in a torrent of sobs as she dropped her fork and dug her fingers into the table, desperate to hold on to anything she could. All thoughts of poise and dignity crumpled with her as her vision blurred and she bawled. A thousand memories, of Mrs. Arc of her hometown of glassblowing of Jaune of her parents of the worst night of her life of Saph—gods, Saph. Watching cheesy movies together, talking about their dreams, getting chewed out by both of their parents, telling each other secrets. Every single memory, like a drumbeat against her chest, battered her. How did anyone survive losing so much in a single night? How had she?

She wanted to scream, to tear herself apart to let the pain, the emptiness, stop. Her parents had died protecting her, they were terrible parents, but they died for her, drawing the Grimm away as she hid in a cabinet, a useless, weak, and stupid girl who thought she wanted to be an artist in a world that devoured people alive. She saw their bodies in the morning, couldn't bear to get close to them, but knew that it was them. She staggered, half-mad, to where she always went—and she saw his body. Saw the bloodstained Crocea Mors saw the unblinking, uncomprehending gaze of a dead man. Saw the crows. Saw the blood on their beaks.

She saw she saw she saw and the tears couldn't stop and she can't. stop. crying.

It was the Valkyrie girl, of all people, who put her arms around her and drew her back from her nightmare. "It's okay," she whispered to her, "better out than in. Ren and I, we lost our village, too. Sometimes you've got to let it all out."

In any other world, in any other time, she'd have rather died than accept this girl's sympathy, but here, she was a drowning woman desperate to cling to anything that seemed to be floating around her. She wrapped her arms around her and bawled. She buried her face in the girl's shoulder and heaved with sobs.

She grieved. For the first time since the attack, she truly grieved her parents and neighbors and how much she had lost. When it happened, she was too stunned, emotionally deadened by the shock of the incident, and soon, she would be recruited, told she was "the sole survivor," and from there, grief was a weakness, a flaw that could be exploited. Her survival relied on controlling her emotions, and so she simply never allowed herself to feel grief.

But here… here, surrounded by these bright-eyed students, her best friend's younger brother, it was all so strange, so unlike the world she lived in, she briefly allowed the mask to slip, and in that opportunity, she was Cin again. The girl who dreamed of being an artist, the aloof teen who knew her provincial town life was too small for her dreams, the daughter who lost everything when her family died.

The mask shattered and now she was truly adrift. Racked with sobs, she held on to the girl, staining her shoulder with tears and clinging to her like her life depended on it. In many ways, it did.

Cin, alive for the first time in years, drank it in, desperate for sympathy, compassion, love. All things she'd starved herself of after the disaster, and given so freely by these dear, sweet, kind people. They were her enemies every other day of her life, but tonight, in this hour, she needed them more than she'd ever needed anything else.

After her breakdown, when she had regained enough composure to eat, they resumed the meal. It was awkward in some ways, but in others, it was a rather sweet moment. They shared stories from their hometowns, or the people they lost, they cried, and they ate good food. Nora had smuggled in a bottle of (absurdly cheap) wine, and they raised a glass to all they'd lost. Had anything in her life been different, had she not been an undercover operative in hostile territory, this dinner would be a treasured memory.

Now, she was helping Jaune clean up the dishes. His teammates seemed to have understood that the two of them had something to discuss and had quickly made themselves scarce.

That, or they just wanted to get out of doing the dishes.

She passed a plate to him to dry, noting that he did it without the usual grumbling she had been accustomed to. He seemed… simply happy to have the time with her. Before, it wasn't uncommon for the sisters to form a united front to force chores onto him. And she always washed dishes, no matter how much Mrs. Arc tried to dissuade her from it. Guest or not, she wouldn't accept charity. It was her one bulwark of pride that, as bad as her life was, she still contributed. But now she had to steady herself, reminders hovering in her mind that that was the past and this cannot last, and that there was no future opposing the Mistress. Her only future was as Cinder Fall. But still, in this moment, she had some issues she needed to address.

"Jaune, what are you doing here?"

He looked at her quizzically, "Studying to be a Huntsman?"

"No," she sighed, knowing this discussion was going to be as hard as anything else she'd said this day, "Why are you studying to be a Huntsman, Jaune?"

"To… protect people? To be able to help people in need. You know, like…" like my father, she filled in.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

He stiffened at that, but she knew he recognized the truth of her statement. He knew as well as Emerald's report that he wasn't impressive, as loath as he might be to admit it. "I'm," he started carefully, "I'm learning a lot. Pyrrha's helping me train and I'm making a lot of improvement! Cin, I can-"

"Your father was a magnificent hunter," she knew her words were a knife, but it had to be said, "And he died all the same. Even if you manage to make up lost time and keep pace with your peers: it doesn't matter how skilled you are," especially with what we're planning, "if you pursue this, you will die, Jaune."

He turned to her, his face flush with anger. "Do you think I don't know the risks? I was there, too, Cin. I saw what it's like-"

"I lost everything!" she exploded at him and he stepped back, stunned by her intensity. His look of shocked hurt and sympathy was one that used to engender her fury, but here, it brought forth a quiet, sad compassion. She softened, then continued. "I can't… I lost everything, Jaune. And then I discovered that, actually, I hadn't. That I still had… I can't go through that again, Jaune. I can't learn that you, that any of you, survived that night, only to go through and lose you all over again."

He stared at her, mournfully, unwilling to admit she was right, but she could tell her words found purchase with him. "I… I have to do this. I know it's dangerous, but I can't… not after what we went through." It was hard to imagine this was the same boy she used to tease mercilessly. There was something… resolute about him, some of his father's spirit poking through. "And you need to talk to Saph. She has to know you're alright."

"I will. But give me time. I'm not ready, not yet."

They walked together to his dorm in silence. There was too much to think about, too many considerations for her to be able to form words, and small talk seemed too cheap for what they'd just been through. He hugged her, and she reciprocated. It was… It was hard to imagine what life would have been like if that night had never happened. But in this moment, she felt like she had an imagination of what it might be.

With a click, the door shut, and now she was alone in the hallway, feeling the absence of human presence in a way she hadn't in years.

She knew Emerald was likely watching her by now. The girl was controlled enough that she would have stayed away, for a time, at least long enough to not have seen her breakdown at the dinner, but she definitely couldn't control her well enough to keep her from seeing the aftermath. Curiosity, and, in all likelihood, her own insecurity, would eventually overpower her orders. So she paused, took a breath, and let the mask slip back into place. She took up the role of Cinder Fall, the Queen, the lead conspirator engineering the downfall of Vale. She drew herself up to her full height, twisted her lips into an imperious sneer, and turned to walk away, wearing her haughtiness like a cloak. As far as anyone watching might suspect, the previous display had been the mask, a trick to buy her way into a mark's confidence. Emerald would have no reason to suspect her leader might have had a moment of true weakness.

But for how long? The mask now rested uneasily on her. It felt foreign, strange, not at all like a posture she'd worn for seven years. And worse, she knew the mask had always been for her own benefit as much as to deceive others. Self-doubt, even a second of hesitation, could bring her to ruin, especially with a plan this risky.

If Cinder Fall were to live, then Cin would have to die.

Or vice-versa, a small, quiet, dangerous voice whispered in her mind.