Mentions: N/A Interactions: Isabella's Group
The Red Rose Blooms in Newpoint
The map of Nocturnia sprawled across the desk like an open wound, its inked veins carving out a city perpetually at war with itself. Lines of power, drawn and redrawn by ambition and bloodshed, whispered of grudges old enough to turn to dust. Isabella studied it in silence, tracing a gloved fingertip along the borders of her next target.
Newpoint.
A comfortable district. Unclaimed. Sitting between 93rd Street, Heavy Crossguard, and Oliver Fields—a vital artery in the city’s circulatory system, waiting to be taken. It was a strategic move, not just an expansion but a necessity. If she was going to counter Vincent and tighten her grip before he made another move, she needed ground. A foothold.
And Newpoint was practically begging to be seized.
She shifted her gaze to Emilia, who leaned against the desk’s edge beside her, arms folded, her expression a careful mosaic of assessment and restraint. That sharp-eyed scrutiny was familiar to the district leader, as inevitable as the tides.
“Thoughts?”
Emilia exhaled through her nose, tilting her head. “It’s a bold choice. Especially given the circumstances.”
“But?”
“But…” Emilia’s lips twitched, “you were never one for hesitation, and we’ve been holding this off long enough.”
A quiet ripple of amusement ghosted through the room. Not laughter, not quite approval. Just acknowledgement. The kind that came from people who had walked through fire at Isabella’s side and lived to tell the tale. They knew what she was. And they followed her anyway.
Bella scoffed lightly but didn’t let the tension slip. Her finger tapped Newpoint’s border, and the rhythmic click of her nail against the paper was the only sound for a moment. Then, she turned her attention to the assembled figures in her office, her most trusted, the ones whose loyalty had been forged in the crucible of survival. Two, however, stood out and for very different reasons.
First, Siena.
She was barely contained energy on Bella's left side, eyes glinting with something that sat precariously between reverence and mania. A worshiper before an altar. And who was her God? Who was to truly say?
“Newpoint,” Siena breathed, voice tinged with unholy excitement. “We could paint it red.”
The person beside her shifted uncomfortably. The newer recruit—a child by Syndicate standards—cleared his throat but wisely swallowed whatever ill-advised comment had been forming.
From across where Siena sat, Dom, the resident class clown and the strange woman’s long-suffering babysitter in some ways, leaned back in his chair with the deadest of deadpan expressions.
“Okay, who keeps inviting the freak? Seriously?”
Siena ignored him entirely, tracing a slow, lazy finger across the map, her touch lingering over Newpoint’s outline as though she could already see the blood soaking into the streets. “It’s poetic,” she sighed, almost dreamily. “A red rose blooming in the heart of Newpoint…”
Bella’s hand brushed the back of Siena’s hand, drawing it back from the paper before she could begin etching her vivid imaginings into the ink. “As long as you don’t get poetic on my walls, Siena.”
Clasping her hands together as if Bella had graced her with an anointment, Siena’s eyes twinkled. “Understood, boss.”
Dom, meanwhile, groaned theatrically, raking his fingers through blond tousled hair. “We’re so fucked,” he lamented, stretching to relieve the tension coiling in his shoulders, before redirecting his focus to the matter at hand.
“Alright, jokes aside—what’s the actual play here? Taking it outright, or using a softer touch?”
“Soft,” Bella said. “At first.”
She straightened, her eyes cutting across the map. “We move in under the guise of stabilization. Infrastructure, security—Newpoint’s been a free-for-all for long enough. They’ll be more inclined to let us in if they think we’re not just here to plant a flag.”
A few of the gathered enforcers nodded subtly. A silent agreement.
Dom, however, arched a brow. “And when they resist?”
Before Bella could articulate her response, Emilia interjected.
“Just don’t make a mess before the job’s even started,” she said coolly, her hazel eyes flitting cautiously toward Siena. “We can’t strong-arm the place if half the district thinks we’re lunatics before we even walk in.”
Dom smirked. “In that case, you’re lucky we have Siena. No one ever suspects the absolutely deranged ones first.”
Bella exhaled through her nose in response to it all, a vein of impatience appearing on her forehead while Dom barked a laugh- and Siena, blissfully undeterred, appeared to revel in the dialogue surrounding her.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she declared, chin resting on her palm, a grin blooming across her features.
Emilia didn’t bother to correct her.
Regardless, the decision had been made long before the conversation had started. The Iron Rose was moving in.
Newpoint didn’t know it yet. But it was already hers.
Invading Newpoint
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