The bistro was filled with the muted chatter of the lunchtime crowd, their laughter intermingling with a cacophony of flatware clinking against plates and gentle piano music. In a corner, seated by a window that looked over Park Avenue and the bustling New York crowd, Blanche was reading through a menu across from a man whose distinct features betrayed their familial relation.

"I took one of my clients here last week, and they highly recommend the Cobb salad," he stated, his eyes remaining fixed on the leather-bound menu in his hands.

Dressed in a single-breasted made-to-measure suit, with his grenadine power tie fashioned into a bold Windsor knot, Carlisle Bennett looked as if he had walked straight out of a GQ magazine cover, ready to take on his role as the quintessential courtroom shark that he is revered for throughout the five boroughs. His silvery locks were swept back and to the side, classically styled, and his steel grey eyes looked out into the world with a confidence that women desired and men wanted to emulate.

That autumn day, the golden boy and eldest amongst the Bennett children had managed to find some time out of his egregiously busy schedule to have lunch with her, who had fared a five hour flight and the chaos of a typical New York traffic jam in order to sit across from him at that table.

"Have you thought about which law schools you'll be applying to?"

Blanche tensed slightly, peering at him from over the top of her menu. She knew the topic would've come up eventually, but she was caught off guard by his abruptness, still too fatigued from the stressful journey.

"Straight to the point as always," she remarked, crossing her legs as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I actually haven't gotten around to it yet."

"It's not like you to procrastinate." He brought his gaze to her, an eyebrow raised in query. "Sterling was booking campus tours by now, and we both know he's not exactly diligent."

"From what I can remember, Sterling was scoping out campuses so he could compile a list based on partying potential and level of cute girls attending—he was hardly doing it for the right reasons," she muttered dryly, before continuing in a quieter note. "But in regards to law school, there's some things I really need to think over."

"What's there to think about?" He closed his menu and set it off to the side. "You got a near perfect score on the LSATs; that's your golden ticket to getting accepted into any of the top-tier law schools in the country," he stated, then furrowed his eyebrows as she averted her gaze. "Unless," he began, "that's not what you want."

"Of course it's what I want," she scoffed, but he seemed thoroughly unconvinced.

"Blanche, I'm not going to be offended if you tell me you don't want to be a lawyer," he bluntly stated. "It's hard work, long hours, and you're surrounded by cutthroat career climbers that won't hesitate to destroy you at any given opportunity. It's about getting ahead of the game and climbing over each other to get to the top, because the only other option is to burn out and stagnate."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Even if that was the case, you wouldn't be the one I'd be worried about offending." She took a drink of her water, the ice rattling against the glass. "Although I have to say, you're giving me a lot to look forward to," she said playfully. "With how toxic you make it out to be, I'm surprised you love it so much."

"Because I like to win, and I'm good at it." He flashed a smirk. "You don't see a coach taking their star player out of the game because the other boys don't play nice."

She let out a hum of amusement, giving him a knowing look before turning her gaze back to her menu. "You know, mom and dad would have your head if they knew you were trying to scare me out of law school."

"I'm just making sure you know what you're getting into. This isn't like when we were kids—piano lessons, private tutors—this is real life. I don't want you following the path our parents chose for you and regretting it years down the road when you're in too deep to turn back." He wore a firm expression, which faltered slightly as he proceeded in a gentle tone. "But I'd be lying if I said I wanted to see my sister harden into a soulless harpy in a pantsuit—and believe me, I've seen it happen more times than I can count."

She glanced up at him from her menu, smiling. "I'm touched by your concern, but I assure you, I have every intention of keeping my soul right where it is," she said, then sighed. "As for why I haven't been applying to any law schools, I'm still debating on whether I want to go to a school that focuses more on constitutional law or corporate law, and I've been caught up with rankings and the direction I want my career to take."

He eyed her suspiciously and rightfully so—it was a good excuse but one that she knew he wouldn't be satisfied with. In truth, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. While she had a deep appreciation for the law, she didn't think that she would feel fulfilled as a lawyer, especially so when she would be entering into an industry her family had so much influence over. She didn't want to be yet another lawyer to the Bennet brand.

He stared at her intently as if gearing himself to call her out, when his attention focused elsewhere. Blanche turned to follow his gaze to a woman that was casually approaching, clad in a figure-hugging little black dress, which proudly flaunted her shapely physique. She was a stunning olive-skinned beauty, with loose chestnut curls that framed her angular features and drew attention to her striking hazel eyes, rimmed with long, dark lashes.

"Carlisle Bennett," the woman acknowledged as she reached their table, her full, pink lips curved into a pleasant smile.

He raised an eyebrow, wearing a faint smirk as his eyes did a once over of her. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

"Rebecca Reynolds," she introduced herself, her hand leaving her clutch to extend in greeting.

Blanche's gaze shifted between the pair before returning to her menu, fighting back the amusement that threatened her placid expression. She was use to women flirting with her brother and vice versa, but she had also borne witness many a time to the aftermath of his womanizing; she only hoped that this particular instance wouldn't end in their lunch being ruined, and his drink splashed across his chiseled face and Tom Ford suit.

"It doesn't ring a bell, and I'm sure I would remember someone like you," he said in his usual charming manner as he continued to eye her. "Have we met before?"

"Briefly, but you're probably more familiar with my sister."

The sudden coldness in her tone drew Blanche's attention back to the woman, the breath catching in her throat as she was met with a gun pointing directly at her brother. Before she could react, Carlisle raised his hand to keep her silent, his eyes remaining on the woman who held him under her hardened gaze. Their secluded spot in the restaurant had prevented the surrounding patrons from taking notice, and it was clear that he was trying to keep it that way.

"Well, you certainly have my attention, Ms. Reynolds. What can I do for you?" he asked stiffly.

"Two months ago, you defended a man named Dennis Klein, a commodities trader for Whitman Stewart Capital Partners—"

"The People of the State of New York V. Klein," he stated with a nod of recognition. "Judging from your last name, I assume you're related to the plaintiff?"

"Yes, Sarah Reynolds. She was my sister."

"Was?"

"She committed suicide last week."

"I'm sorry to hear."

"I don't want your condolences, I want justice." She shook her head, her words low and rumbling with anger. "That man raped my sister, and you helped him get away with it."

"I didn't help him get away with anything. It was a fair trial, and the jury found him not guilty."

"Only because you manipulated them against her," she said in an accusatory tone. "I was there in court that day when you put my sister on the stand. You twisted everything she said and made her look like a liar."

"I didn't make your sister look like a liar, Ms. Reynolds. She did that to herself when she lied in her testimony. All I did was make sure that the rest of her claims checked out, which is what any lawyer would've done."

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "Is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep easy at night? You lawyers are all the same, nothing but bullies in expensive suits," she said in disgust. "The only thing my sister lied about was her past arrest, and that was because she knew it would've been used against her in court."

"Regardless of her reasoning, she still lied under oath."

"That arrest happened years ago, and it wasn't even relevant to the case."

"Then why lie if it was irrelevant?"

"Carlisle, stop," Blanche muttered, seeing that her brother was only agitating the woman further.

He glanced at her before his focus returned to the armed woman, his eyes combative. "What do you you want from me, Ms. Reynolds? If you truly wanted me dead, you would've shot me by now."

"What do I want?" she asked, looking manic as she stared at him. "I want you admit that Dennis Klein raped my sister and that you helped him get away with it. I also want you to take responsibility for my sister's death."

Blanche watched as his jaw tightened, as if preparing himself for a fight. "Carlisle," she whispered, interrupting him before he could speak. "Just give her what she wants. This isn't about being right, this is about walking out of this alive."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said firmly, his eyes remaining glued to his assailant. "I'm not going to admit to something that isn't true."

"Carlisle, please," she quietly begged.

"All evidence pointed to Mr. Klein's innocence, and I did my job as his lawyer to fairly represent that in court. You can blame me all you want for your sister's death, but my conscience is clear, so if you're going to shoot me, then shoot. I'm not going to bend to your threats simply because you can't accept the truth."

The peaceful ambience of the restaurant disfigured into chaos as the air filled with the sound of frenetic scrambling and terrified screams. Her brother turns his head to her with a stunned expression on his face, and with a tremulous hand to his chest, he lurched to the side. He hit the floor with a loud thud and rolled onto his back, gasping with every breath that he took as he struggled to get enough air into his lungs.

"Carlisle!" Blanche cried out, eyes wide with panic as she threw herself out of her seat. Kneeling beside him, she pulled back his suit jacket, the pit of her stomach filling with dread as a rush of blood rolled from the hole in his chest and soaked into his shirt. "No, no, no, no," she muttered, shaking her head.

Without a moment to spare, she pulled her scarf from her neck and gathered the material in her hand, then pressed it firmly against the wound. From this, his breathing seemed to slightly improve, which offered little relief as blood continued to soak into the fabric at a concerning rate. In the background, a man's voice could be heard frantically talking with an operator over the phone, but she could make out very little of what he was saying through her panic.

"B-Blanche—"

She shushed him, a hand resting comfortingly on the side of his head. "Stop talking. Just focus on breathing," she whispered shakily, her thumb stroking his temple. "Help's on the way. Just hang in there."

"They won't make it in time," he grunted, his eyes beginning to drift shut. "There's too much blood."

"Look at me—look at me!" she snapped, firmly tapping his cheek until his eyes fluttered back open. "Keep your eyes on me, okay? Under no circumstances do you look away or close them," she instructed, staring down at him as she fought back tears. "You are going to be fine."

He had a hopeless look in his eyes that scared her to her very core. Being the ever confident and strong-willed sibling, this was the first time that she had ever seen him look so vulnerable. It was as if he knew something that she had yet to accept.

"Okay," he whispered with a small nod. He set his hand over hers as she continued to apply pressure to the wound, shaking as much as she was.

A harsh cough escaped his throat and blood sprayed from his mouth, coating his lips and teeth with a film of red. She could feel a sickening warmth underneath her fingers as his blood soaked completely through the fisted fabric, clinging to her skin and filling her nostrils with its definitive metallic scent. She let out an involuntary whimper.

"You're going to be okay," she said, unsure of whether she was trying to reassure herself or him. Her tears spilled over, and he let out a weak chuckle.

"Don't cry," he muttered between laboured breaths, giving her hand a light squeeze. "It doesn't even hurt, I promise."

She sniffled and nodded, despite not believing him. As she opened her mouth to speak, his eyes once again fell shut, giving her pause. With panic beginning to seep into her features, she took hold of his shoulder and tried to shake him awake.

"Carlisle, look at me," she ordered, but no response. His grip on her hand loosened, and her heart sank. "Look at me!" she cried out, her voice raised as she continued to desperately shake him. "Wake up, Carlisle! Wake up!"

"Bennett! Bennett, wake up!"

Marcus' voice reached her ears and dragged her back to consciousness, his grip firm as he frantically shook her by the shoulder. With his arm wedged beneath her, he lifted her from the cold concrete, elevating her upper body.

"Bennett!" he called, his tone slightly raised.

Her eyes cracked open and she was met with her partner's concerned face staring down at her. Startled, she bolted upright and winced as a sharp pain shot from the back of her skull, her fingers tracing over a sizeable goose egg as a hand went to investigate the injury.

"Woah, take it easy!" He set a hand between her shoulder blades, supporting her in case she fell back. "You were passed out. Give yourself a minute to recover."

"Passed out?" she murmured, a light crease forming between her brows as her hand continued to cup the back of her head. "Wha-what happened?"

The last thing she could remember was those harrowing squawks as the sky flooded with ravens, swarming overhead like a plague of locust.

"I don't know, I just found you like this. You were taking a while, and when you weren't answering your phone, I went looking for you." He rose to stand, hand cautiously hovering behind her while keeping himself bent at eye-level to her. "Are you able to get up?"

"I believe so," she said, accepting his hand as he extended it to her. She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, steadying herself against him before she said, "I think I'll be fine to walk too."

"You're sure?" he asked, and after been given a nod of confirmation, he took a step back. With watchful eyes, he followed her closely behind as she began to make her way towards the sidewalk. "You know, it's a good thing some kid pointed you out to me; otherwise, it probably would've taken me a while to find you. What were you doing here, anyway?"

She froze at the opening of the alleyway. With her mouth slightly agape, she turned to him and asked, "What did you just say?"

"What were you—"

"No, the other thing," she interrupted, shaking her head. "You said there was a kid."

He blinked, the confusion evident on his face. "Yeah, he flagged me down just as I was rounding the corner—is everything alright?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Everything's fine, I just…." Her voice trailed off, knowing full well how crazy she must've looked, but she had to confirm for herself. "Think carefully, Marcus," she began, wearing a serious expression. "What did the boy look like?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up in thought. "Uh, twelve-thirteen years old, five feet tall, slender build," he listed off, then shrugged. "To be honest, he disappeared so quickly, I wasn't able to get a good look at him."

"Did he have an eyepatch?" she asked, the question taking him by surprise.

"What?"

"Did he have an eyepatch?" she firmly reiterated, pinning him under her focused gaze.

Marcus' brows furrowed. "Actually, yeah," he said, visibly puzzled by her line of questioning. "What's going on? Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded, but in truth, felt a sickness rise from her belly. She wanted to brush it off as a mere coincidence, but it seemed too convenient of an excuse for something so remarkably parallel.

That boy was the mirror image of the one in her dream—if she could even call it a dream at this point—and while his confirmed existence was validation that she wasn't going insane, it still raised so many questions.

She thought back to those red eyes and a chill ran through her. She suddenly didn't want to spend another second standing there.

"Bennett?" His tone grew worried. "It seems like you hit your head pretty hard. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

"I'm fine," she said dismissively, her arms crossing. "Let's just get going. We have a lot to do today."

He seemed ready to protest but gave pause as she stared intensely at him, wordlessly urging him to drop the subject. After a brief staring match, he tore his gaze away from her and sighed, reluctantly nodding.

"Fine," he mumbled. "But I swear, you're going to give yourself a stroke one of these days from working so hard."

"I'll take my chances." She wore a faint smile, relieved that he didn't press the matter any further—she wouldn't have known where to begin with her explanation.

Turning ahead, she stepped out of the alleyway and began to make her way down the sidewalk, Marcus walking alongside her. As they reached the corner, she felt a slight pull on her hair as her partner freed something from the silvery locks. She looked at him in confusion.

"Sorry, you had something in your hair."

Blanche swallowed, staring at Stygian feather as he held it up between his thumb and forefinger, reflecting light like a piece of carved onyx. She reached over and took it from him, twirling it between her fingers as a memory rushed into her mind.

She remembered laying on the cold concrete, staring at the canopy of birds when two figures loomed over her, the grey sky behind them casting them in silhouettes—a boy, and a man.