Naturally, despite our extracurricular activities, the CEDEF upper command still had to do their jobs.

Turmeric disappeared into the depths of HR, checking backgrounds and sweettalking the occasional infiltrator into turning and joining us for real. The recruits were then turned over to Lal, who put them through boot camp derived from COMSUBIN training practices that was turned up to eleven for Flame Actives. (I shuddered at the memory of all the sit-ups she had made me do.)

Oregano, true to her word, had begun working with Lemongrass, ostensibly for the purpose of tracking down every weapon from our armories—it wouldn't do for the police to get a hold on us from tracing literal smoking guns, let alone discover Flame weaponry. She also oversaw the intelligence analysis efforts, which were augmented by algorithms that were incomprehensible to me even before Flames got involved.

In contrast, my responsibilities lay in our perennial duties: shadowing sir as he liaised with the Family, herding him to his desk whenever he tried to escape the really really really essential paperwork, and, my favorite, eavesdropping.

Given my easily dismissed nature, all I had to do was switch out the blue in my clothes for black or white, shrug on a cheaper suit, and find a dull manual to occupy my hands with in order to melt into the furniture and eavesdrop on middle-aged men who were depressingly unobservant. Honestly, were it not for our security measures keeping most spies out, no information would ever be kept in.

"The Ninth's old enough to retire." Ooh, that was dangerous—not treasonous yet, but close.

"The new Heir is old enough to Inherit." The other agreed, "Enrico's distinguished himself well against the Estraneo Remnant and the traitor families, showed strong leadership. We'll need that in these times, what with all the New Blood and Foreigners. I can stomach the ones from the Mainland, they may not be Sicilian but they're still Italian, they understand Tradition, and Culture, and Mafia Law. But Americans? Guns. Guns. Dollars, and more guns. I don't want my daughter marrying one of those—and even they are better than the yellowskins—all new ideas and prettyboys, no men's honor in them at all."

"Can you believe that?" I didn't react, obviously, but they had to be foolish indeed to ignore Sawada Iemitsu's apprentice when they were speaking ill of him, "They don't have religion—they don't know God—don't recognize Christ our Savior. How can we trust a Godless man—and yet Don Timoteo gives Sawada Iemitsu free reign as the Commander of the CEDEF!"

"My friend, I can not disagree with you. Although the Young Lion claims to support the Vongola, look at his Heir: a street boy too young to succeed him—I suspect that he will attempt to leverage the boy's youth to go against Tradition, like Septimo's Spada, or use it to keep Ninth on the throne longer."

"We could press—he has other apprentices—Enrico has a strong hand; he will not need a strong Consigliere too much."

"Which other would you have? The German, or the woman? Ottava is a Legend for a reason, and she was supported by the strongest CEDEF Commander since Alaude himself—the woman is not half the leader she was, and cares even less about Tradition than the foreigners!"

Now, this was fun. Oregano considered most forms of social niceties to infringe upon her Territory, and so treated exhortations to smile along the same lines as most Clouds did encroachments upon their chosen dominion. It was not really a problem within the CEDEF, since we kept politicking to a minimum and came closer to a meritocracy than most of the Underworld, but somehow, idiots from outside it had turned it into a challenge called Tempt the Virgin. Most tried once before being taught the error of their ways, while Lal took great pleasure in breaking in the persistent but salvageable ones.

I was quite certain that my apprentice-sister would be quite interested in what these lovely gentlemen were talking about, even if she did dislike leadership and all the people managing it entailed. At this point, they had implied intent to dispose the ninth, interfere with the CEDEF, and sabotage our current policies. Any of them was grounds for investigation, not that we needed an excuse. Had they but mentioned a plan, I would have been well within my rights to subdue them and tear open their minds. Luckily for them, they weren't that arrogant yet, so I simply made note of their names and faces for the machinery of the CEDEF to process.

More conversations cropped up, "Massimo is surprisingly dedicated, if still too blunt for intelligence."

"But he is Blood—Family, the Vongola's strength has always been in the power and bonds of blood. The point of the CEDEF commander is to be trusted, and who can Enrico trust, if not his brothers?"

"The Young Lion keeps stonewalling about his Heir—it is unseemly, he was chosen because he was a Sky, he can not deny the opportunity to another Sky."

"When has the Young Lion cared about Tradition? However, the Rain's rumored to already be Harmonized, and Massimo still lacks a Cloud and a Sun—fit the trio in, and you get most of a Sette too. Things already slotted into place when the Varia Rain harmonized with Xanxus instead of Cavallone, having the third brother head the third branch is just good sense."

More murmurings about Massimo taking the CEDEF, which was the only foolproof way to remove him from the line of succession, apart from killing him. Marrying him into another family could also do that, but it was far from foolproof and the Vongola would almost never allow its bloodline to branch. From what I had read, Active Sky daughters were usually sent to become Vestals.

But really, was me being CEDEF tenth so difficult to stomach? I was willing to act as Éminence Grise should circumstances demand it, but bowing to Massimo was just too great an insult for me to suffer-unless, of course, that he was made into a puppet. Unfortunately, Daemon had not yet gotten around to teaching me those kinjutsu, so I could only enjoy unrealistic fantasies.

I continued to make notes in my lovely four-ring binder.

"Poor, poor Basilicum." Mukuro drawled into my ear, "Doing the work of a grownup and never getting to rest. Is it fun, to be treated as you are even when no one knows what you are?"

He was invisible, and, from how I could not feel even the barest of vibrations from his voice, using an illusion instead of actually talking. An amateur lack of attention to detail.

"Is it not more distressing, to be babied when thou hast seen things that would break grown men?" I murmured back, "Speakest thou out of a desire for more meaningful work? This one possesses divers, and would welcome thine aid."

I felt his weight settle against my side, the leaning in and seeking of warmth a suggestion of skin hunger, but the sort tempered by a fear of restraints into a preference for contact that did not confine. I did not acknowledge it, because we were similar enough when it came to showing weakness, but shifted to allow him a more comfortable position.

"Ken and Chikusa's ears are sharp." He informed me with a touch of arrogant pride, "It will, of course, be difficult for us to meet up regularly, given the differences in our schedules, but I can establish a Mist Link if you are amenable."

2. The 666 nudged subtly at my mind, warning me of a crossroads and danger. I smiled at the Mist behind the curtain of my hair, "No need, Mukuro, for which of us has time to spare? This one was under the impression that thine preference was to be as a man grown treated, and what marks adulthood more clearly than trading crayons and coloring books for black ink and white paper?"

"Very well, Basilicum. I shall see the reports within your inbox—for a price, of course. What say you, to a secret of the mansion? I would so dearly like to see my future Sky for myself."

"Seekst thou the hearthflame so, Mukuro?" I asked, "As to fly as a moth to the first Flame you meet?"

1. I said too much. I assumed that he sought Harmony when he could have only been looking to see the future Don Vongola.

"Perhaps." Mukuro projected the impression of yawning, "I am rather curious about what indeed drives men to forsake their old selves for the new, and be a drop in the tides of nations. It must be a sweet siren song indeed, to hold legions in its sway."

One would have assumed the brightly lit world of shining glass would have no space for the magic of the world, but light of the sun lacked the power to purify, its rays never shattering the gloom which gathered in the dark alleyways just a wrong turn away, only baking the fetid stink of the slums to an unbearable stench. Predators did stalk in the shadows—there was a reason people spoke of steel and concrete jungles. For the poor, the starving, and the sickly; the greedy, the hungry, the perverse; it was a jungle. Prey hid, predators hunted. Survival was the highest priority. And yet there were exquisitely human elements to the bare-bones brutality. Hope. Compassion. Despair. Sadism. They resonated through the world of science and reason into the one of myths and legends, and thus, doorways were formed for those who knew how to look.

The man known as Turmeric spied the tell-tale flash of silver around the corner. Hastening his steps, the witch's grandson chased after it to come face to snout with a giant wolf, its lamp-like eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight.

"Großvater Wolfe. Wie geht's Ihnen?"

"Gut." The wolf rumbled, "Deine Oma worries after thee, for thou hast chosen a cause."

"It was inevitable, Großvater." Turmeric sighed, "I knew it when I went out of the woods of Oma. Seven generations and three. History does like its round numbers for rejuvenation and return, and the weight of this has only been made greater by being a cornerstone of the world."

"And yet you care far more fiercely than is needed." The wolf observed.

"Fate only ensures the broad strokes, the cloth and the cut, but not the sewing." Turmeric reminded him, "Cracks must grow into valleys for it to take notice. It falls to people to shore them up before then."

The wolf stretched, "And this Rightful Heir of thine is family, so I suppose we should feel fortunate that thou merely a role to the side and not on the center stage taken hast. But the Gingerbread Witch is more bound than thee."

The man groaned, "A price must be paid for her help. Yes, I understand."

The wolf chuffed, "Be not so aggrieved. All thine Oma asks is thine chosen family to meet, so as to see with whom her grandson has aligned."

I dropped the bomb with good cheer, "Mukuro now knows that this one expects him to Harmonize, and this one's ring has kindly offered the premonition that it would be folly great for one to touch his Flame."

"He'll have to know eventually." Lal pointed out pragmatically, "But given the ages involved, we have time."

"We'd be better served asking Daemon about the esoteric nature of Mukuro's Mist Flames." Oregano decided, "That needs to be pushed forwards, along with taking the training he offers. Lemongrass's mitigating techniques are more about surviving temporary forays into overstimulating environments, which wouldn't be easily mastered by a child, present company excluded, therefore, I advise that we save that avenue for when the cub's older."

"Good idea!" Sir grinned, "You are all so smart! Turmeric, I think you have something to add?"

"I may have a solution." Turmeric grimaced, "We're all overdue a vacation, but it'll require us taking a maximum of a week's leave of absence simultaneously while being under communications blackout."

"Absolute communications blackout?" I confirmed, "Or would it be possible for Daemon to relay information?"

"Absolute. My grandma's woods are all but impossible to get through without her permission, and she doesn't approve of mixing work and family."

"Then we have two problems. First is keeping the CEDEF running when none of high command is present; second is keeping this under wraps." Lal crossed her arms, "I can delegate my work to Jalapeno and Habanero, and Lemongrass can pick up some of Oregano's slack, but analysis isn't his forte while Turmeric doesn't have a second. We also need someone to do Iemitsu's work, just in case something unexpected pops up."

"Cinnamon and Star Anise can conduct interviews, while Coriander is capable enough at digesting intelligence—which leaves us with…"

Lal groaned, "Our only choice is Daemon, isn't it?"

"So far as this one knows, there exist no other alternatives." I tilted my head, "Salt is himself no trustworthy candidate, for all that this one cannot deny his proven competence."

Oregano snorted, "We'll probably come back to sexual harassment seminars being used as enhanced interrogation tools."

"I'd be more concerned about the disproportionate reprisals Spada was notorious for." The most empathic of our collection frowned, "If anything happens and Salt does respond, then we'd be stuck with quite a mess."

"It'll be okay." Sir waved a hand airily, "Besides, Timmy trusts me absolutely!" His face slid into a frown as if in a changing of theater masks, "He has done so ever since he sealed tuna-fishy."

It was the height of irony, for in demanding and receiving the loyalty that was his right, Ninth had lost it; my master had passed Don Vongola's test, and from that moment forth discarded that which he had been tested for. Such had been the nature of Kirigakure as well—we followed none but the worthy.

"His loss, and our gain." Oregano smiled sharply, "Then are we in accord? Salt, Cinnamon, Star Anise, Coriander, Lemongrass, Jalapeno, and Habanero will take over our work for however long Oma Hexe wishes to keep us."

A secret stolen from the side of a restless memory. A key forged by knowledge from another life kept. And now, a gift traded for with time and family.

"Yes." I agreed, along with my colleagues.