[Location: New York, USA]

"There were multiple signatures," she said.

The rooftop went quiet again.

Not tense.

Focused.

David's gaze sharpened slightly.

"How many?"

The woman hesitated.

"That's the problem," she admitted quietly. "I couldn't stabilise the count."

Varek frowned.

"That doesn't make sense."

"No," she replied. "It doesn't."

The man behind them shoved his hands into his pockets again, expression losing some of its earlier laziness.

"Different frequencies?" he asked.

"I thought so at first."

She closed her eyes briefly, reconstructing the memory.

"The outer layer of the ward surrounding the manor was easy to breach with my tools, but…"

She paused.

Her fingers tightened slightly against the strap of the compact scanning device hanging at her side.

"The deeper I scanned," she continued slowly, "the less the structure behaved like a location."

Varek crossed his arms.

"You're gonna need less cryptic wording."

She shot him a flat look.

"I am trying."

David remained silent.

Listening.

Waiting.

The woman exhaled once through her nose.

"The first layer was spatial distortion. Standard high-tier concealment. Expensive, but understandable."

"The second layer was identity masking. Again—rare, but possible."

"The third layer…" Her voice lowered slightly. "…didn't operate on magical principles I recognised."

The man behind them tilted his head.

"Ancient?"

"No."

That answer came immediately.

Too immediately.

David noticed.

"You are certain?"

"Yes."

The woman frowned faintly, as if annoyed by her own inability to explain it properly.

"It wasn't old."

A beat.

"It felt… adaptive."

Silence.

Varek clicked his tongue.

"That sounds worse."

"It is worse," she replied quietly.

David's gaze shifted slightly toward the skyline.

Adaptive.

Not fixed.

Not static.

Reactive.

That matched what they had observed so far.

The device correction.

The sanitised readings.

The way perception itself seemed to fold around the manor depending on proximity and intent.

Like something inside the structure didn't merely exist—

It responded.

The man behind them scratched lightly at his jaw.

"So the house bites back."

"It didn't attack me," the woman corrected.

"It edited your scan."

"…Yes."

"That's somehow creepier."

Varek exhaled sharply.

"Okay, fine. Weird magic house. Dangerous ice demon. Global bounty notice. Got it."

He looked toward David again.

"But we're still missing the important part."

David's eyes shifted.

"The target."

"Exactly."

Varek spread his hands.

"Who the hell is this guy?"

Silence.

Not because they didn't know the name.

They did.

Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar.

Crown Prince of Hell.

Grandson of Lucifer.

The problem was—

That information explained absolutely nothing.

David finally spoke.

"That's what concerns me."

Varek frowned.

"You literally just said he's Lucifer's grandson."

"Bloodline explains attention," David replied calmly.

"It does not explain anomalies."

The woman nodded slowly.

"He's right."

Varek looked between them.

"Okay, then explain it to me like I'm stupid."

The man behind them snorted.

"You don't have enough time for that."

"One day," Varek muttered darkly, "I'm punching your teeth out."

"Queue's probably long."

David ignored both of them.

"I've a few guesses, and if they are who I think they are then…" David trailed off briefly.

Not dramatic.

Measured.

Like he was deciding how much of the thought deserved to become sound. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

Varek folded his arms tighter.

"Then what?"

David's gaze remained fixed on the skyline.

"Then this situation is worse than the notice implies."

Silence followed that.

The crouched woman frowned faintly.

"Worse than a global hunt order tied to the Morningstar bloodline?"

"Considerably."

The man behind them finally looked mildly interested.

"Now you've got my attention."

David exhaled once through his nose.

"The daughters of the satans, not all of them that I'm sure, but at least four of them are in that manor..."

The rooftop went still.

Not dramatically.

Not with some cinematic shockwave or thunderclap.

Just—

Still.

Varek blinked once.

Then again.

As if his brain had temporarily refused to accept the information on quality-control grounds.

"…Excuse me?" he asked flatly.

The crouched woman stared at David.

For the first time since they had left the manor's perimeter, her composure slipped by a fraction.

"Repeat that."

David didn't look at either of them.

His eyes remained on the skyline.

Calm.

Measured.

Certain.

"At least four," he repeated quietly. "Possibly more."

Silence.

The man behind them slowly removed his hands from his pockets.

That alone said enough.

Because until now, he had looked like someone attending a mildly interesting lecture against his will.

Now?

Now he looked awake.

Varek barked out a laugh.

Short.

Disbelieving.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not."

David didn't respond.

Varek pointed sharply back toward where the manor had vanished from perception.

"You're telling me the daughters of the Seven Satans—the actual heirs of Hell—are all casually living together in one house in New York?"

"At least four," David corrected.

"That is not the part I'm struggling with!"

The crouched woman inhaled slowly.

"…Which ones?"

David answered immediately.

"Wrath is confirmed."

No surprise there.

Grayfia walking through Wrath's palace already painted enough implications.

"Lust is highly probable."

Varek grimaced. "Pink hair?"

David glanced at him once.

"You saw her?"

"Briefly," Varek admitted. "Window. Third floor. Smiled at me."

A pause.

"…I think I lost twenty dollars immediately afterwards."

The man behind them nodded solemnly.

"Classic Lust-class casualty."

"Shut up."

David continued.

"Envy is likely present as well."

"The purple-haired one," the crouched woman murmured.

David inclined his head slightly.

"And Gluttony."

Silence.

Then—

Varek slowly dragged both hands down his face.

"…Okay."

A beat.

"Okay, no, hold on."

He pointed at David again.

"Do you understand how insane that sounds?"

"Yes."

"No, I mean politically."

Varek stepped closer.

"The daughters of the Satans don't cooperate. They don't cohabitate. Half of them would've tried assassinating each other before finishing introductions."

The crouched woman nodded slowly.

"He's right."

David remained calm.

"Normally? Yes."

"Then why aren't they killing each other?"

That—

That was the real question.

The wind moved softly across the rooftops.

Cold.

Thin.

Distant sirens echoed somewhere far below them.

David's gaze lowered slightly.

"…Because," he said quietly, "Their Fiancé is there, Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar."

The words settled into the rooftop like a final piece sliding into place.

Not comfortably.

Nothing about this was comfortable anymore.

Varek stared at David for several long seconds.

Then barked out another laugh.

Except this one sounded wrong.

Thin.

Sharp around the edges.

"...No," he said finally. "No, that actually makes sense. I forgot that brat is still engaged to the eldest daughters of the seven satan."

Varek's grin slowly returned.

But this time—

It wasn't mocking.

It wasn't amused.

It looked almost impressed.

"...That idiot," he muttered.

The crouched woman folded her arms tightly.

"No," she said quietly. "Not an idiot."

Varek glanced at her.

She stared toward the skyline where Morningstar Manor no longer existed in visible space.

"Dangerous."

The man behind them chuckled faintly.

"Pretty sure that was already established when the murder-maid almost froze our souls by standing still."

"Not that kind of dangerous," she replied.

David finally looked at them again.

Calm.

Measured.

Understanding exactly where her thoughts were going.

"The engagement contracts," she continued quietly. "If they're still active…"

Varek's expression shifted slightly.

Ah.

Now he understood, too.

"…Hell," he muttered.

David nodded once.

"Exactly."

The remaining three will eventually gather around that brat, too," Varek said.

No one laughed.

Because now—

Now they understood the scale of the problem.

Not politically.

Not militarily.

Existentially.

The crouched woman looked toward David again, her analytical calm sharpening into something colder.

"If all seven engagement contracts reactivate around a single point…" she said slowly, "then Hell's balance collapses."

"Potentially," David corrected.

"Potentially?" Varek echoed. "Man, at that point you're arguing semantics while standing inside the explosion."

The man behind them exhaled softly through his nose.

"Wrath, Lust, Envy, and Gluttony already confirmed or highly probable."

His gaze drifted briefly toward the skyline.

"Meaning the convergence has already started."

Silence.

Heavy.

Measured.

The crouched woman frowned faintly.

"No," she said quietly. "Not started."

David's eyes shifted toward her.

She continued:

"Accelerated."

That word landed differently.

Because they all knew what it implied.

The engagement contracts between the Morningstar heir and the daughters of the Seven Satans were not symbolic arrangements.

They were ancient infernal pacts.

Political.

Spiritual.

Conceptual.

The kind of contracts Hell built eras around.

And Dominic Nocturne von Morningstar—

The abandoned prince.

The erased heir.

The crippled child history assumed had died—

Was somehow pulling the daughters of the Satans back into orbit around him.

Varek clicked his tongue sharply.

"That's insane."

"Yes," David replied calmly.

"No, I mean literally insane. Half those women should hate each other on instinct alone."

The man behind them chuckled faintly.

"Maybe they do."

Varek looked at him.

"...That somehow sounds worse."

"It is worse."

The crouched woman folded her arms tighter.

"If even four are gathered already, the remaining three will not stay uninvolved forever."

"Ariandal of Sloth," David said quietly.

"Aurellie of Greed."

"Regalia of Pride."

Each name settled with weight.

Not just power.

Influence.

Entire infernal territories bent around those names.

Varek grimaced.

"Pride's daughter joining that mess sounds catastrophic."

The man behind them nodded lazily.

"Greed, too."

A pause.

"...Actually, all of them sound catastrophic."

David didn't disagree.

Because the truth was simple:

The daughters of the Satans were not merely heirs.

They were future rulers.

Weapons wrapped in nobility.

Disasters dressed as royalty.

Walking calamities raised by the seven most dangerous beings in Hell.

And somehow—

Somehow—

They were converging around one individual.

One weak prince.

One supposedly broken heir.

One anomaly hidden inside an impossible manor in New York.

***

A/N: Sorry for the massive unannounced break and neglecting the book.

Stone me, I can take it!

Leave a review, seriously, it helps.

— Comment your thoughts.