Coraline felt like a zombie. The sleepless night clung to her like a heavy fog, her body screaming for rest even as her mind raced with everything that needed to be done. There wasn’t time to think about exhaustion, not with the Agosta case looming over her like a dark storm cloud. It was big, important—both to her personally and to the firm. Today’s meeting was critical, and she couldn’t afford for something as human as fatigue to get in her way.

She drowned her morning coffee in three heavy gulps, the triple shot of espresso bitter enough to make her wince. It did little to revive her, but at least it was something. The case demanded her full attention, and Bianca Ruso would demand even more.

Bianca. The little mafia princess herself. The Don’s baby girl and, annoyingly, one of the most promising young legal minds in Toronto. Coraline didn’t like admitting it, but Bianca was every bit as dangerous as Stefano—just in a different arena. You couldn’t slip past her or rely on brute strength to get the upper hand. Bianca fought with sharp words and sharper strategy, wielding her legal acumen like a weapon.

Coraline sighed, slipping on her blazer and gathering her notes. Today wasn’t about disguises or stealth; it was about standing her ground in a different kind of war zone—the courtroom, or more accurately, a meeting room today. She could already feel the simmering tension that would fill the conference room—a battle of wits and wills where every word carried weight.

Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she entered the firm, the sound echoing with the same precision and resolve she intended to bring to the meeting. This was her fight now, and she wasn’t about to let Bianca or anyone else see her falter.

The meeting between the defense and her firm wasn’t the trial itself, but it was just as critical. It was a high-stakes chess match to set the groundwork for what was to come, and Coraline was determined to make every move count. Lou Agosta was a murderer, a made man for the Ruso family whose hubris had finally caught up with him. Evidence—evidence the Vulpes had quietly guided the RCMP toward—had put him in this position. But Agosta wasn’t going down without a fight, and the Ruso family had rallied behind him, securing their sharpest legal minds.

At the forefront of that defense was Bianca Ruso. Coraline bristled at the thought. The Don's daughter, as untouchable as her family’s illicit dealings were in plain sight, had a reputation for being brilliant in the courtroom. There was no legal way to connect Bianca to the mob or justify a request for her removal from the case. Even if they could, the Ruso family’s network of influence and bribery would make such efforts futile.

Bianca wasn’t officially Agosta’s lawyer, much as Coraline wasn’t officially a lead prosecutor on the case. Arthur Macleod, however, had a plan. He believed Coraline could be the perfect counter to Bianca—a young, energetic, and sharp mind who could match Bianca’s every move. Both women had been at the top of their classes, and Arthur was banking on that rivalry to keep the firm competitive against the Ruso family’s legal juggernaut.

Coraline took a deep breath, centering herself before stepping into the meeting room. She was running on fumes, exhaustion clawing at her edges, but she pushed it down. She could catch a nap later—after all, the Vulpes had work to do tonight. Tracking down the strange tech the Ruso family had been smuggling out of the docks wasn’t going to happen on its own.

For now, she had to focus. This was a different battlefield, but a battlefield nonetheless.

Coraline offered a polite nod as she took her seat near Arthur, her gaze sweeping across the room. She recognized most of the faces on the opposing side—seasoned lawyers with a reputation for cutting down prosecutors with surgical precision. At the center of them sat Bianca Ruso, her presence as poised and polished as ever. Coraline mentally prepared herself, reviewing the likely tactics the Ruso defense team would deploy.

This wasn’t just a meeting; it was a pressure test. The Ruso lawyers would come armed with arguments about inadmissible evidence, fabricated alibis, and technicalities meant to discredit the prosecution’s case. It was a classic intimidation strategy—a carefully orchestrated performance meant to shake confidence and sow doubt.

Arthur leaned slightly toward Coraline and murmured, “Remember, they’re going to throw everything but the kitchen sink at us. Don’t let them rattle you.”

Coraline nodded subtly, keeping her composure. “I’m ready,” she replied quietly, her tone steady.

Across the table, Bianca met Coraline’s gaze with a faint smile that could have been polite—if not for the sharp edge behind it. Bianca wasn’t just here as a lawyer; she was here as the Ruso family’s golden child, a symbol of their power and reach. Coraline knew her opponent was calculating, every move deliberate, every word chosen to undermine and intimidate.

The meeting began with the usual formalities, the air thick with veiled tension. As the lawyers on both sides exchanged opening remarks, Coraline made a point to listen carefully, mentally cataloging every argument, every subtle shift in tone or body language. She could feel the undercurrent of power plays as the Ruso team casually lobbed objections and “concerns” about the case’s integrity.

“This supposed evidence you’ve provided,” one of the Ruso lawyers began, leaning forward slightly, “raises serious questions about procedural errors. Our client has an airtight alibi, corroborated by multiple witnesses.”

Coraline kept her expression neutral, though her mind raced. Those “witnesses” were undoubtedly plants, and the “airtight alibi” was as manufactured as everything else about this case. She would need to find a way to expose the cracks in their facade without giving away too much of their strategy before trial.

Bianca’s voice cut through the discussion, smooth and confident. “We’re simply asking for fairness, Mr. Macleod. Surely, you wouldn’t want to proceed with a case based on flimsy evidence and questionable procedures?”

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but Coraline stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “Fairness works both ways, Ms. Ruso. If your client’s alibi is as solid as you claim, then I’m sure it will hold up under scrutiny.”

Bianca’s smile didn’t falter, but Coraline caught the brief flicker of annoyance in her eyes. It was a small victory, but one Coraline savored. The meeting was far from over, and the battle had only just begun.

Coraline took careful note of Bianca, whose striking features and impeccable style made her impossible to ignore. Coraline had no doubt that Bianca wielded her beauty and charisma with the same precision she used in her legal strategies—tools designed to disarm and manipulate those who underestimated her. But beneath the polished exterior, Coraline saw her for what she truly was: not a monster herself, but someone who willingly enabled and shielded monsters.

Bianca’s confidence was palpable, radiating from the way she sat, the subtle tilt of her chin, and the way her sharp green eyes scanned the room as if she already owned it. Coraline knew that every movement, every glance, was calculated, meant to project an aura of control and superiority. It was no wonder she had become one of the most formidable legal minds in Toronto, even without the shadow of her father’s criminal empire looming behind her.

As the meeting continued, Coraline reminded herself that appearances could be deceiving. Bianca’s confidence might be a weapon, but Coraline wasn’t about to let herself be intimidated. If Bianca thought her looks and presence could throw Coraline off balance, she was in for a rude awakening. Coraline had faced far more dangerous predators in the dark streets of Toronto than a lawyer in designer heels.

Coraline took a deep breath, forcing herself to remain composed as she studied Bianca across the table. The defense lawyer was poised, exuding confidence with every word and gesture. Coraline couldn’t deny the woman’s skill—Bianca had a way of twisting narratives to suit her needs, and her calm delivery only added to her credibility. But Coraline wasn’t here to admire her adversary. She was here to win.

"As you can see, this case is rather open and shut," Bianca said smoothly, her voice carrying the perfect balance of authority and restraint. "Louis Agosta is an innocent man, the victim of racial stereotyping against an honest Italian-Canadian."

Coraline’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. She recognized the tactic instantly. Bianca was attempting to reframe the narrative, playing on the jury's—or in this case, the room's—potential biases before the trial had even started. It was a calculated move, one that might have worked on someone less prepared. But Coraline wasn’t about to let Bianca set the tone unchallenged.

Straightening in her seat, Coraline met Bianca’s gaze head-on. The room fell into a tense silence, and Coraline could feel Arthur’s subtle nod of encouragement from her left. This was her moment to prove herself, and she wasn’t going to waste it.

“Ms. Ruso,” Coraline began, her voice steady and measured, “while I respect your dedication to your client, I find it curious that you would attribute this case to stereotyping rather than addressing the actual evidence against Mr. Agosta. Surveillance footage, witness testimonies, and forensic analysis all tie him directly to the crime. These are not abstract concepts or conjectures—they are hard facts. Are we to dismiss them simply because they don’t fit the narrative you’ve chosen to present?”

Bianca’s expression didn’t falter, but Coraline caught the faintest flicker of something in her eyes—annoyance, perhaps, or surprise. It was enough to reassure Coraline that her words had landed.

“Bias, intentional or not, has been a significant issue in our justice system,” Bianca countered, leaning forward slightly, her tone cool and composed. “And while I acknowledge the evidence you’ve presented, we all know how easily such evidence can be manipulated, misinterpreted, or taken out of context.”

Coraline allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. “Of course, that’s why we rely on forensic experts and neutral parties to verify such evidence. If your team has any evidence to suggest that these findings are anything less than legitimate, I’m sure we’d all be eager to review it. Otherwise, I think it’s safe to say that the facts of this case stand on their own.”

The room grew still, the weight of Coraline’s words hanging in the air. Bianca leaned back slightly, her arms crossing in a gesture of feigned indifference. “Well, it seems the prosecution has come prepared,” she said, her tone laced with subtle sarcasm. “I suppose we’ll have to revisit these discussions once we’ve had time to examine everything in detail.”

Coraline inclined her head, her expression calm and unreadable. “I look forward to it.”

The meeting continued, but Coraline could feel the shift in the room’s energy. Bianca had tried to set the narrative, to dominate the conversation, but Coraline had met her challenge head-on. It wasn’t a victory, not yet, but it was a clear message to Bianca and everyone else in the room: Coraline Penrose was no pushover, and she wasn’t about to let anyone derail the pursuit of justice.

And justice—that was what this was about. For Coraline, this case wasn’t just another file on her desk or another name on the docket. It was a chance to prove that the system could work, that people like the Ruso family couldn’t always buy their way out of accountability. This was as much a battle for what was right as any fight she’d had in a dark Toronto alley or any carefully executed takedown while donning her mask and costume as the Vulpes.

She glanced around the room, taking in the composed faces of the defense team and the calculating eyes of Bianca Ruso. These were the people who thought they could twist the law into a shield for their corruption, who believed that power and money made them untouchable. Coraline clenched her pen a little tighter. Every moment she sat here was another chance to push back against that narrative, to remind them that justice wasn’t for sale.

But it was a delicate dance. Here, she couldn’t rely on the tools of her alter ego—no smoke bombs, no grappling hooks, no clever gadgets to level the playing field. This was about her words, her wits, and her determination to outmaneuver Bianca at every turn. It was about showing that justice wasn’t just a concept—it was a force, one she was willing to fight for in any arena.

Coraline straightened in her chair, forcing herself to relax her grip on the pen. This wasn’t just about one man’s conviction—it was about reminding everyone that justice wasn’t a commodity to be bought and sold.

She sighed inwardly, exhaustion creeping into her thoughts. Why is this meeting dragging on so long? she asked herself. The endless back-and-forth, the repetitive arguments, the legal posturing—it felt like wading through molasses. And the worst part was knowing that none of this was going to change anything significant. The court date was already set, and nothing short of divine intervention was going to see the case dismissed before then.

When the meeting finally came to a grinding halt, Coraline wasted no time standing and making her way toward the door. She craved fresh air, some distance from the heavy tension of the room. But before she could escape, Bianca stepped into her path, blocking her exit with an almost predatory grace.

“I should have expected to see you working for your father’s firm, Penrose,” Bianca said smoothly, her tone equal parts friendly and calculating. Her dark eyes gleamed with something between amusement and challenge. “In fact, I was half hoping for it. I used to miss the only woman who ever rivaled me in law school.”

Coraline met her gaze evenly, her expression carefully composed. “Rivaled? That’s generous of you, Bianca. I seem to remember finishing ahead of you in more than one course.”

Bianca’s smile didn’t waver, but Coraline caught the faintest flicker of irritation. “Of course, but the real game is out here, isn’t it? I suppose we’ll see who’s ahead by the time this case is over.”

Coraline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had no patience for Bianca’s attempts at subtle needling, especially when she was running on caffeine and sheer will power. “I’m sure we will,” she said calmly, stepping around Bianca without breaking stride. “See you in court.”

Bianca’s laughter followed her as she exited the room, but Coraline didn’t look back. The air outside the conference room felt lighter, less stifling, as she let out a slow breath. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. But for now, she had survived another round with Bianca Ruso, and she’d use every ounce of her resolve to ensure the next round went her way.

"Hold my calls, I need a few hours to work some things out in my office," Coraline told her secretary as she pushed open the door to her office. By work some things out, she meant grabbing a much-needed nap in her chair. The grind of the morning had worn her thin, and the looming weight of the afternoon demanded she be at least semi-functional.

One of the few perks of her position was that many assumed she was just a figurehead, a name Arthur MacLeod had strategically placed to keep her father’s legacy tied to the firm. Most of her colleagues underestimated her, attributing her presence to nepotism rather than skill. That stung more than she cared to admit. Coraline was determined to prove them wrong—but not right now. Right now, she needed sleep.

She sank into her chair, the soft leather cradling her as exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. The caffeine that had fueled her through the endless meeting with Bianca was wearing off, leaving her body sluggish and her thoughts hazy. Just a few hours, she told herself. Just enough to recharge and face the rest of the day.

The office was quiet, the muffled sounds of the firm’s hustle and bustle fading into the background. Coraline kicked off her heels, curled her legs up into the chair, and let out a slow breath. The weight of her responsibilities as both a lawyer and Toronto’s masked vigilante lingered in the back of her mind, but for now, she allowed herself this one indulgence.

Her head tilted back against the plush headrest, and within moments, the fatigue won. Her breathing slowed, and the chaos of her dual lives gave way to the fleeting peace of sleep.

***

John had been up since the crack of dawn after Coraline called him about some strange tech she’d recovered. He was always eager to help, especially when it meant getting to tinker with something new and mysterious. But now, as he sat hunched over the sleek, unmarked headset and control box on his workbench, frustration prickled at the back of his mind.

The device was like nothing he’d ever seen. Some components were straightforward enough—there were familiar elements of virtual reality input and data processing—but then there was the crystal matrix. It was the part that defied all logic. The crystals were meticulously cut and arranged in an intricate lattice, but for the life of him, John couldn’t figure out their purpose. They weren’t just decorative. Whoever had designed this had a reason, but it was so far outside the scope of traditional engineering that it made his head spin.

Adding to the mystery was the complete lack of identifying marks. Any serial numbers or logos had been carefully removed, leaving no breadcrumbs to trace it back to its maker. But the craftsmanship? That spoke volumes. This wasn’t cobbled together in some dingy garage. This was cutting-edge, maybe even a prototype. Whoever built it had resources—serious resources.

John frowned, turning the control box over in his hands. Who would even have the funding or knowledge to build something like this? The whole setup screamed black-budget project or corporate experiment. Coraline’s run-ins with the Ruso family made their involvement obvious, but he doubted they had the brains to develop something this advanced. No, someone else had to be behind this.

He hesitated, his thumb brushing against the device’s power switch. What he was thinking next wasn’t something Coraline would approve of. If she were here, she’d probably tear into him for even considering it. But she wasn’t here—she was at work, trusting him to figure out what this thing was. And wasn’t this exactly what she’d asked him to do?

John swallowed hard, convincing himself. Yeah, I’m just helping Coraline get to the bottom of this. With a deep breath, he plugged the control box into a power outlet. The faint hum of electricity filled the air as the device powered on. He slid the headset over his eyes and braced himself as he pushed what looked like the activation button.

The world around him vanished.

John’s eyes widened as he found himself standing in an ornate room filled with dozens of doors. This wasn’t like any VR experience he’d ever had. It didn’t just look real—it felt real. The polished wood beneath his feet, the faint breeze brushing against his skin, the subtle scent of aged timber and something sweet in the air—it was all there. It wasn’t just his vision or hearing being engaged; this thing was stimulating every one of his senses. It was immersive to a degree he hadn’t thought possible.

The doors were tall and elaborate, like something pulled straight from a Victorian storybook. In the center of the room sat a table, and on it, a plate piled high with pastries and a small glass bottle. A handwritten label next to them read: Eat me and Drink me.

John blinked, his curiosity piqued. Could this thing simulate taste too? He reached out toward the pastries, his fingers trembling slightly. As they brushed against the edge of one of the treats, a sharp, keening hum cut through his mind.

“Ah!” He clutched his head as a searing pain exploded inside his skull, as though something was trying to claw its way out. It wasn’t just sound—it was like a feedback loop slamming into his brain, raw and unrelenting. His knees buckled, and his vision blurred. With a desperate gasp, he yanked off the headset and tossed it onto the workbench.

The hum stopped, but the pain lingered, echoes of it rippling through his mind. He rubbed his temples, his breaths coming fast and shallow. His eyes stung, tears streaming down from the shock of the agony. Whatever that thing had just done to him, it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t safe.

“Damn it,” John muttered, his voice hoarse. He stared at the headset, now innocuous and silent on the bench. “What the hell is that thing?”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to steady his nerves. His mind was still reeling, but one thing was clear: whatever the Ruso family had stolen wasn’t just advanced—it was dangerous. This wasn’t just a piece of tech. It was something beyond technology, something that played with forces even he didn’t understand