So uh... yeah. It's gonna get a bit dark here folks. Nothing graphic, and seen mostly third-hand through Sienna, but let me know if there's anything I should add up here as a warning.
Sienna
Blake is Adam's little shadow. At least, that's what the new recruits call her, chuckling indulgently as she weaves between them like a puff of smoke.
Sienna hates it. She's not sure why, at first. It's certainly apt—she hardly ever sees them apart in the weeks that follow the schism. Blake is quiet, and prefers to keep to the edges of conversations, watching rather than participating. She fades into the background. But she's always there whenever he needs something, always two steps behind in case someone challenges him.
A year passes, and she still doesn't know why. He's a good mentor, passionate and bold, and an even better fighter. Blake improves by leaps and bounds, fusing Sienna's and Ilia's styles with his to create something new and unpredictable. She's more a shadow than ever as she slips in and out of SDC holdings with internal memos and secret emails for them to leak to the media.
On Blake's fifteenth birthday, she could find out. Ilia knows. Sienna can see it written on her skin in flickers of green and the dull red-brown of a scab. She's walking quickly, on her way back from watch, fifteen minutes after she was supposed to start.
"Ilia."
She jumps and winces.
"My tent. Now."
Ilia doesn't want to tell her, and Sienna doesn't want to know. How unfortunate for both of them, then, that she owes the Belladonnas better than that. So she sets two tin cups of tea between them and asks, "What did you see?"
All she gets is a surly shrug.
"You're not leaving until you tell me."
Ilia looks away. "It's not important. I'm just overreacting."
"Let me be the judge of that."
Her skin turns a sickly yellow. "I saw them. Together."
"Blake and Adam?"
"Yes."
It's like turning over a log. She knows there's something foul underneath that she doesn't want to see... but it has to be done. "Together how?"
Please be teenaged jealousy. Please be baseless.
There's a brief silence, while Ilia tries to speak. Sienna grimaces.
Please say kissing.
She can't say it. So Sienna grits her teeth and asks, "Were they having sex?"
Ilia nods.
Oh, hell.
"Okay," she says, even though it definitely isn't. "You can go." Ilia bolts out of the tent.
Sienna puts her head in her hands and mutters a few choice curses. She doesn't go after them—she wants to keep Blake out of this, so waits until later that night when he's alone.
He's grinning when he steps into her tent. The smile drops when he notices the look on her face.
"One of the men saw you," she says flatly.
He doesn't bother with denial. "It's fine. We were careful, and we won't let it interfere with our work."
Sienna is silent.
"Why are you looking at me like that? She kissed me!"
"You're the adult, Adam! That means it's your responsibility to keep things professional!"
"But I—"
"No." When it looks like he's going to try to speak again, Sienna holds up a hand and he subsides. "You're being reassigned."
"What?"
"You're going to the Vale branch. I suggest you take the time to meet people. Make contacts. You have the potential to do a lot of good for the faunus, Adam. I meant it when I said I could see you as my right hand someday. Focus on that."
He snarls at her and storms out of the tent.
She doesn't tell anyone why he's been reassigned. When she thinks about all the recruits he'll bring to their side, all the people he could train and inspire... the Fang needs leaders desperately. He could save a lot of lives. So Sienna lets him go without saying a word.
Some mistakes wait years before they kill you.
It's not carte blanche. She keeps an eye on him through Corsac and Fennec. An isolated incident she could overlook, but if it happens again...
It doesn't. Somehow, it's worse than that.
Blake was his shadow. Now that he's gone, Sienna tries to prod her into making more friends around the camp. But she's shy around people, and always eager to escape conversation with a book. Ilia's the only one left she seems comfortable with, but what she saw has driven a wedge between them. Her crooked cub's grin does not reappear. She's still a shadow.
She used to be more than that. Sienna learns much too late that Blake was also his mercy.
"Three?" she hisses, hear ears folding flat against her skull. "You can't be serious."
"Like many young acolytes, brother Taurus can be rash," Corsac says, unruffled.
Fennec hums agreement. "His outburst is regrettable, but we've contained the problem. This incident won't be traced back to us."
"That is not the point. If he keeps racking up a body count, we'll have to turn him in."
The Albains stare at her. "High Leader, there is no need for such measures," Fennec says. "The humans in question were hardly innocent."
"I don't care how innocent they were. I care about the optics. Being feared is one thing, but this will bring a small army of Hunters down on our heads if we don't shut it down!"
Corsac clears his throat. "With respect, High Leader... this is a problem with a simple solution."
"And what would that be?" Sienna grits out.
"Send us the Belladonna girl."
"What."
"He's lonely," Fennec croons. "Lashing out. She gentles him."
Sienna's stomach turns. "No. You two are the branch leaders, so you are going to handle him." She ends the call before they can argue with her.
It's not enough. She didn't see how deep the problem ran until it was too late. Now he's loose, far out of her reach, doing exactly what she told him to do—building support.
When there's a police raid on the Mistral branch that leaves it decimated and leaderless, she has no choice but to send Corsac and Fennec. She'd go herself, but the situation is even more dire in Mantle. She'll need to go there, find someone in the ranks she can promote to branch leader. The Vale branch is already his. They're so thoroughly charmed they might not take orders from an experienced replacement over him, and Sienna doesn't have an experienced replacement. He's going to take over whether or not she tries to promote one of the other officers, and the last thing the Fang needs right now is a power struggle. Her hands are tied. She has no one to blame but herself.
Not yet. Don't hate yourself just yet. Leave a little room...
It seemed so simple when she explained it to Ghira. The White Fang can make all the impassioned speeches and moral arguments it wants, but the only thing the humans in power understand is lien. Their fight comes down to punishment and reward, and simple math. Companies that treat the faunus fairly will find themselves untouched, while those that exploit labor and lobby for discriminatory laws will have to deal with break-ins, sabotage, stolen goods. The moment it's cheaper to treat their people with dignity, the humans will change their tune. Scare them enough, and it might even happen sooner.
All very simple, all very clean, when it's only things on the spreadsheets.
She imagines sitting in front of a set of scales, dropping marbles into one bowl. How many humans will he kill, if left unchecked in Vale? Dozens? Hundreds? More? But which humans? He's not indiscriminate with his targets, after all. He hasn't killed any innocents. Yet.
It will escalate. Conflicts with the police, Vale's Council, Hunters. More marbles. How many of the Fang will die? How many random humans and faunus will get caught in the crossfire? How many children? And what comes after that? Sienna isn't sure they'll survive another Faunus War. In the worst case... it might be thousands. Tens of thousands. More. And that's without taking the Grimm into account.
In the other bowl, there is one black marble.
"Blake."
She looks up from her place by the fire, and her shoulders hunch in on themselves. "Yes?"
"You're being reassigned. To Vale."
For the first time in almost two years, her eyes light up. "I'm—really?"
"Pack your things."
And that's it. She could tell herself it will be alright. That she's a positive influence on him, and he cares about her, so he won't hurt her.
She owes the Belladonnas better than that.
Sienna will not flinch. She will not tell herself a palatable lie. The truth is that she has no idea what will happen, and so long as it will prevent a war, she doesn't care. She just destroyed decades of trust and placed a horrible weight of responsibility on the shoulders of a child, all in nine words. This is unforgivable—so she will not forgive herself.