Author's note: I intend to update this every other Sunday evening until completion. Cheers.


ACT ONE


Weiss Schnee took her time with her morning routine that day.

She wasn't trying to ignore or avoid the inevitable. She wasn't holding out hope that things would change if she could put them off a little longer. No, she needed the time to sort out her feelings.

She didn't know what it would be like to leave.

She'd grown up in Schnee Manor. She'd lived her whole life there, up to the age of seventeen, leaving only for a few hours at a time for social events or galas. The Schnee family was—had been—so important that other people came to them, not vice versa. The idea of being anywhere else, of living anywhere else, of not being able to come back, was incomprehensible. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around it.

Even if she spent more time than normal brushing her hair, though, even if she spent an extra-long time applying makeup to her unblemished face and was lackadaisical putting on her combat-rated dress, it still had to end. She had an appointment to keep. Attendance was mandatory.

She looked about her room for the last time, full of complicated, conflicting emotions. She wasn't sure she actually liked this room, all things considered. It was spacious and grand, but also empty and cold. On the other hand, it had been here and hers for all her life.

Now it would be somebody else's. Or nobody's. Who knew?

There was one and only one thing for her to take away: a box as long as her arm and twice as thick. She clutched it to her as if afraid it would vanish if she didn't.

With a sigh, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

Weiss' footsteps echoed in the empty halls. Schnee Manor had never been all hustle and bustle, but it seemed especially empty these days. Here and there were gaps on the walls where formerly had hung paintings. Plinths stood embarrassingly naked. The library looked sparse, with whole shelves depleted of their contents. Even the giant statues, the mock-ups of her grandfather's armor, were long gone, leaving a void behind.

At no point did she encounter another living soul. No surprise there.

It was cold, too, colder than Weiss could ever remember it. They'd turned the heating off weeks ago. Weiss was in no danger—she had Aura—but it was uncomfortable.

Cold, silent, empty. Like a catacomb that tomb raiders had picked clean centuries ago.

No, Weiss decided, she would not miss Schnee Manor.

She'd miss it in a habitual way, sure; she knew it would be weird to wake up and not have those familiar surroundings. But she seriously doubted she would long to return.

She reached the front door at last. One deep breath, one hesitant look backwards. Those were all she allowed herself. Then she pressed on.

The outside was as cold as the inside had been. On the porch, she finally met another person—and this, she knew, she would miss deeply.

"Good morning, Klein," she said.

She saw just a glimpse of raw emotion from him. Then it was gone, buried beneath the stiff upper lip he'd always told her was important and taught her by example. He even managed to produce a caring smile. "Good morning, Miss Schnee. Lovely day for a car ride, isn't it?"

Despite herself, despite her drowning in oceans of emotion, his words drew a smile from her. She arched her eyebrow as she looked around at the bleak, overcast sky. "I don't see what's lovely about any of this."

"It's the company that makes the difference," said Klein. "And it pays for all."

She could hear him pressing, could feel how hard he was fighting to try and keep up that cheerful demeanor—but, even knowing it was artificial, she couldn't help but be affected by it. "In that case, I agree. It is a lovely day."

"There it is," Klein said softly, almost sighing. "There's my snowflake."

The words were rich in affection. Weiss felt her composure crumbling. "Klein, I—"

"I know," he said, quickly but without force. "I know. There will be time for it later. As it is, we have to make that car ride."

She pulled herself together. A nod. "Yes, of course. Let's go, then."

Klein opened the door for her, letting her slip easily into the car despite her burden, before he went to the driver's seat.

"To Judiciary Square," she said, even though they both knew how unnecessary the command was.

"As you wish, Miss Schnee."


"…and now we go to our judicial correspondent, Teak Travers, who is outside the courtroom now. Teak, I'm sure the details of this case will shock and amaze some of our viewers, can you catch us up on it?"

"Sure thing, Talca. For decades, the Schnee Dust Company was the biggest name in Dust by far, but that all changed in the past ten years, starting with the untimely death of Jacques Schnee. The Schnee patriarch maintained more than enough stock to have total control of the company, and with Jacques' death, that control fell to his wife, Willow.

"Almost immediately, people began to whisper about her erratic decisions and absenteeism. Willow, we now know, had been struggling with alcoholism for some time. Rumors began to circulate of a miscarriage she suffered that was never officially confirmed. Regardless of cause, day-to-day operations began to slip, the company's direction veered this way and that, accidents became endemic, and executive leadership either quit or took advantage of the chaos to feather their own nests. All the while, new competitors cropped up in the Dust market and chipped away at the SDC's dominance.

"But no one really knew just how bad things had gotten until a year ago, when the company unexpectedly shut down a mine in western Solitas. It turned out the mine had been operating at a loss for years. A prudent businessman would have either reformed operations at the mine or cut bait ages ago, but there were no prudent businessmen left at the Schnee Dust Company."

"That's amazing, Teak. As important as Dust is, it shouldn't be possible to lose money mining it!"

"Well, the SDC found a way. It all came to a head nine months ago when Willow Schnee herself passed away. We don't have all the details, since the military's investigation never disclosed the cause of death and the circumstances are still a mystery, but it was leaked that Willow's blood alcohol content at the time of death was very high, so most people pointed to either alcohol poisoning or an alcohol-related accident as the cause."

"It's so sad."

"So very sad. When Willow Schnee passed, control of the company should have fallen to her daughters, Winter and Weiss. Weiss, though, was sixteen at the time and could not legally take control. Winter was serving as a Specialist in the Atlesian military and was on deployment in an undisclosed location, and she was neither recalled nor notified during those critical weeks after Willow's passing.

"Because of how big a company the SDC is and how important an industry Dust is, the Council took the unprecedented step of appointing a regent to run the SDC on an interim basis. That made the SDC's finances public knowledge, and we finally got to understand just how deep the rot had gotten.

"After only three weeks, the regent publicly announced that the SDC would seek bankruptcy protection."

"It's just unthinkable, Teak. The SDC and Atlas are inseparable in my mind, and I know in a lot of our viewers' minds, too."

"Believe me, it was a controversial move, and it didn't go unopposed. In the weeks afterwards, Weiss Schnee turned seventeen and launched a bid to retake control of the company. When Winter Schnee returned from her deployment, she joined in the campaign. They were too late. The regent's announcement had already put the SDC in a death spiral. The major purchasers of Dust had canceled their contracts and were looking elsewhere, the banks refused to give the SDC any new loans, and investors were fleeing faster than a spooked Faunus.

"We're here today at the culmination of the bankruptcy process. The final judgments are being announced right now, and while we don't have all the details yet, our sources have painted the overall picture for us."

"Alright, Teak, let us have it."

"Basically, the SDC will cease to exist. All its assets will be auctioned off to the other Atlesian Dust companies to cover its debts. Not just the SDC's assets, either. The Schnee family was synonymous with the SDC in many ways, and that extends to their financial relationships, too. Most of the Schnee family's assets are going on the block, if they haven't been sold already. The question of the Schnee family's personal exposure was the only thing that was holding up the final sale of the company. We don't know what, if any, remaining funds were owed to the Schnee children, but it's widely expected they won't come away with much."

"That's amazing, Teak. Just overnight, the SDC will be gone. Won't that hurt Dust customers, which is, you know, everyone?"

"Not as much as you might think, Talca. Everyone knew this was coming, so all the major players are ready to make their bids, with an eye towards getting the SDC's assets back online as quickly as possible. The Atlas Council and the military are eager for that outcome, too, so the sales are expected to be rapid and smooth."

"And what should we expect going forward without the SDC lording over the whole Dust market?"

"Well, like I said, competitors have been challenging the SDC's grip on the market for a few years now, and there's one company in particular that seems a good bet to snag a lot of the SDC's assets. It's a newer company, but it's been making major news with very aggressive acquisition moves: Fall Dust, under their dynamic young CEO, Cinder Fall. Fall Dust has snapped up several of the smaller Dust companies, and it seems poised to make a major play for the best of what the SDC had left."

"So, out with the SDC, in with Fall Dust, is that what you're saying?"

"It sure seems that way, Talca."

"Alright, thank you, Teak. Once again, that was Teak Travers reporting from Judiciary Square in Atlas City. Gosh, I am going to miss seeing that SDC snowflake everywhere, but I guess the seasons change too, don't they? Now, on to our sports coverage. Let's hand it over to our sports correspondent, Carne Crania…"


The judge's gavel rang out. Just like that, it was over.

Winter was relieved that the proceedings had gone briskly. Unlike many of the hearings before, which had been both unbearable and interminable, this one had proceeded with a rehearsed efficiency. For someone who'd been immersed in the military and the military-like structure of Atlas Academy, it was familiar. Reassuring.

It also made for an even more jarring ending.

Winter felt disconnected from everything around her. Lawyers were bundling up documents and speaking arcane incantations, reporters and witnesses were babbling inanely, creditors were celebrating and openly leering, and yet it all felt like it was happening to someone else.

It took her a moment to realize that the "someone else" she had in mind was Weiss. Winter looked to her side. Weiss was sitting with a perfectly upright posture, hands folded primly in her lap, face composed… and eyes shut. Probably only Winter recognized from the measured rise and fall of Weiss' shoulders that the younger woman was regulating her breathing. Keeping it as steady as possible.

If she couldn't control her breathing, after all, she couldn't control anything, and there was no telling what might spill out of her then.

Winter was familiar with this level of control. Before his death, Jacques had worked hard at instilling a sense of discipline and propriety in his offspring. Winter had gone to Atlas Academy and then on to the military, where those same attributes were prized. Weiss seemed to have internalized them on her own; with no father and a shell of a mother, all she had to go by were half-formed memories and fuzzy ideas of what A Proper Schnee ought to be.

Winter pitied Weiss, and wondered if she should.

She did, she decided, though not for that. Weiss was the one who'd taken being heiress so seriously. Weiss was the one who'd thrown her all into trying to salvage the SDC when every force around her wanted to tear it apart. All that meant Weiss was the one suffering the most from this disaster.

Suffering, yes, but bearing it well. Better than anyone could have expected. Under other circumstances, Winter mused, she might have seen a seventeen-year-old Weiss as still, well, something of a child. She couldn't now. She'd seen Weiss take on her business opponents with skill, reason, and a level head worthy of any combat veteran.

Unsuccessfully, to be sure, but on even footing. That she'd failed was no strike against her. No one could have saved the SDC. Weiss' attempt had been valiant and deserved respect… but it had cost her dearly.

Weiss took one more deep breath and rose. She carefully rubbed her eyes with one hand before opening them; only a hint of moisture remained. "We should go," she said to Winter.

Winter nodded her agreement. Her sense of unreality persisted as they walked towards the exit like phantoms. No one seemed to have time for them, not anymore. Their part was over. They had no more say in what would happen to the carcass of the Schnee Dust Company, so they were no longer interesting.

She was used to commanding attention, or being able to focus on those who deserved hers. Neither of those conditions pertained. Without them, she could only drift like an untethered ghost.

They paused in the Court's anteroom to have their weapons returned. Winter returned her sword, Eiszahn, to her hip, while Weiss was given back the box that, Winter knew, contained Myrtenaster. Weiss wasn't used to carrying her weapon on her person, Winter noted.

The moment they were out the door, they were blinded by a barrage of flashes. For a panicky moment, Winter thought she was under attack. She was, but not in the way she thought: an army of reporters was stationed outside the courtroom doors, their cameras blazing away at the Schnee sisters. She would have preferred if they'd had guns, she fancied. At least those she knew how to deal with.

It left Winter paralyzed, but not Weiss. The younger woman marched forward resolutely. Winter felt herself being pulled along as the two descended towards the street.

A car was waiting for them. Holding the door open was Klein. "Misses Schnee," he said with a bow of his head. His eyes turned red. "I bet you can't wait to get away from all this puffery."

A hint of smile danced in the corners of Weiss' mouth. "The sooner the better," she said, and climbed in. Winter started to follow, but hesitated, her eyes darting to Klein.

"Allow me," Klein said, his eyes went yellow.

Winter nodded and got inside.

The ride was solemn, funereal. Winter felt like someone should be saying something, like they needed to grasp at these last moments, wring some value out of them—but she couldn't unstick her own tongue. She couldn't think of a single thing to say. Her lips felt sewn together.

Weiss must have felt the same, because she was equally silent. Klein hummed gently but said nothing.

She couldn't tell if it was too long or too short when they arrived at the airship dock ("Atlas-Mantle transit service every twenty minutes!"). Somehow, Klein got out of the car before them, and was there to hold the door open.

Winter knew she should be saying something, but even now she couldn't manage it. He was giving her an expectant look, but she couldn't find it within herself to speak.

Weiss had no such problems. "Thanks for everything, Klein," she said, stepping around the door until she was close before him. She hesitated only a moment, but when he spread his arms open, she rushed into a hug. "I'm sorry," she said, and at last her composure broke. "I'm s-so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, my snowflake," he said, patting her back reassuringly. Winter half-agreed—apologizing was not the Schnee way—but she thought she understood why Weiss would try.

"If there was any way—if I could possibly afford—"

"Don't you worry about me," Klein said. "I'll be fine. You don't think I lived in that house for so long without learning to manage finances, did you?"

Weiss sobbed a laugh. "Apparently, we Schnees only know how to mismanage finances."

"All the more reason I had to learn," said Klein without missing a beat.

Feeling more awkward by the moment, Winter stepped away. What they were doing felt… intimate. Not for her. Personal.

Which was bizarre to Winter. Klein was losing his entire livelihood, the only life he'd known after decades of service, and he still had it within himself to comfort Weiss—no, to treat her as the one who deserved comforting. Especially since he didn't need to: there was no reward for him for this, no promise of continued employ.

Which meant, Winter thought with a shake, that he was doing this out of genuine affection.

Did she feel the same for him? Not as much as Weiss did, certainly. But… some, she decided.

She felt her tongue come unstuck.

"We owe you so much more than money. Thank you for taking care of us all these years. You were…" she hesitated, then plunged on. "…the closest thing to a parent figure we had. I don't know how to say how important that was to us."

"Then don't say anything," Klein said, and the arm further from Weiss opened to create a gap for Winter.

She couldn't take it. Physical affection of that kind was… too much for her. She was too formal, too stiff for it. But she could still try her best. She took Klein's hand and shook it.

He sniffed loudly as his eyes turned pink, and she knew he understood her.

Weiss stepped away from Klein and put her mask on again. Her posture righted, her head tossed back, and the expression on her flawless face stabilized. "I hope we'll see you again someday," she said.

His eyes turned red, and his voice went gruff but stayed warm. "If you ever have time for an old fart like me."

"Always," said Weiss.

A soft chime came from the dock's speakers. "We need to go," said Winter shortly.

Klein's eyes went pink, and for the first time emotion flooded his voice. "Chin up, snowflake. This isn't the end, I promise."

"I know," said Weiss. Winter didn't understand that response. Of course it was the end. It was the end of a great many things, their employing Klein included. The man would find some other job and have no more reason to associate with them.

Then again, she'd resigned herself to that outcome years ago, when she left the Manor for good to attend Atlas Academy. Weiss hadn't come to terms with that yet. Maybe Winter could tolerate a little sentimentality.

Weiss retrieved her box from the car. Without another backwards glance (Winter approved of her newfound control), she strode off towards the dock. Winter's longer strides let her catch her sister in short order.

They didn't speak, though. They made their way through the dock terminal and then on to the airship with mute tension between them, like a darkening cloud that threatened lightning without any strikes… yet.

Winter was unable to look at Weiss as the airship descended to Mantle. She looked out at the First City instead. Maybe it was her imagination, but Mantle seemed quieter than usual, less active. The crater was conspicuously idle. Normally it swarmed with drones, machines, workers, crates being transported, equipment of all descriptions; today, all was still.

It was almost like the city itself was having a moment of mourning for the SDC.

It was a melodramatic thought, and she disapproved of it for that reason. The truth was nothing so fanciful. The crater was idle because most of the mining interests there had belonged to the SDC. With the SDC shut down and being broken up, its capacity was idled until new hands took the wheel.

Still, if any reminder was needed as to the centrality of the Dust industry to Mantle, this would have served.

It made the fate of the SDC all the more absurd. How badly had it been mismanaged, how much embezzlement had to have plagued it, for it to go bankrupt selling Dust? Atlas, Mantle, why, human civilization writ large couldn't exist without extravagant quantities of Dust. Atlas guzzled Gravity Dust to hang in the air; both cities gorged on Burn Dust to maintain a comfortable climate. And that was necessary just for people to be there, never mind all the things they did there.

No amount of criminality or negligence should have been enough to break a company selling Dust. You'd have to be deliberately trying to kill it, she'd thought. Apparently she'd been wrong.

The airship finally touched down at the transit station. It was only a few steps from there to the bus they needed. Weiss stayed in formation with Winter the whole way, but the two still didn't speak. Winter spared occasional glances at Weiss as the bus made its way through the city. She alternated between sitting in place like a closed-eyes statue and stealing looks at her scroll. She held it close enough that Winter couldn't easily make out what she was looking at, and Winter didn't have it in her to pry.

The trip was quick; Mantle's public transportation system worked well. (The busses were a noticeable contrast to Atlas' approach, which was a subway system. Atlas preferred for anyone too poor for a car to stay out of sight.) Before long they'd arrived at the tenements where Winter rented her home.

It was a small apartment: a single bedroom and a combination living room-kitchen. It had no bathroom of its own; a community bathroom at the end of the hall serviced the floor. The apartment was sparsely furnished. There'd never been a need nor a desire to fancy it up. While Winter technically had been living there for a few years, she'd spent very little time there. She'd always been out and about, here, there, on mission, on deployment… right up until she'd finally got word of the SDC's death spiral.

Regret and resentment flooded her in equal measure. Why hadn't she known, why hadn't she been told? She could have done so much more if she'd only had the chance! On the other hand… How hadn't she noticed it? How badly had she neglected her family and their goings-on that she'd missed something so monumental?

She would make amends for that last, at least.

Fully intending to tell Weiss she could stay as long as she wanted while she sorted out her next steps, Winter turned towards her sister—and was taken aback by the fierce look there.

"Winter," said Weiss, "do you have a keyboard I could borrow? I have a lot of typing to do, and it's inconvenient on just my scroll."

Winter blinked sluggishly. "What typing do you need to do?"

"I'm putting together a business plan for my new Dust company," Weiss said, plain as you please.

Even with how straightforward the words were, Winter had trouble grappling with them. "What?"

Weiss' face hardened. "I will not let the collapse of the SDC define the Schnee name. It will not be the last word. I will start over and do better. I will make a new Dust company and use it to redeem our family."

"Our family doesn't need 'redeeming'," said Winter. "There's no value in that."

Something flashed in Weiss' eyes. "You would say that. You left."

The words cut Winter to the quick. She did not appreciate that. Heat flooded her chest as her temper rose. "Separating myself from the wreckage of our mother and the disaster of the SDC was the best decision I ever made."

"I am aware of your opinion," said Weiss, smart as a whip. "I'm surprised you came back, honestly."

The heat rose further. "Of course I came back!"

"Really? Why? It's not so obvious from where I'm standing."

"I came back for you!"

Weiss stalled, stunned.

Winter felt embarrassment rising in her. To let her temper rule her like that was unbecoming—for both of her backgrounds. It was a constant battle, but one she had to win. She was supposed to be better than this.

If nothing else, this much anger was a liability in grimm territory. Self-control wasn't just good for decorum. It was a survival skill.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, felt her internal temperature cool, tried to make herself like her namesake. "I have spent years distancing myself from the SDC, it is true," she admitted. "Deliberately, and successfully. I wanted to define myself for myself. The SDC is—was—a company. It's not my family."

She extended an arm to rest on Weiss' shoulder. "You are."

The moment stretched out. Weiss' eyes never left Winter. Winter drew her hand back. Physical touch was… ugh. Complicated.

"You're why I came back, not the SDC," Winter went on. "I only cared about the SDC because you did. I didn't need it. I hope you realize, by my example, that you didn't need it either. It was a company. Now it's gone, but you're still here. You've been given your freedom. You can do anything you want with yourself."

Weiss' eyes narrowed. "What if 'anything I want' is to start a new Dust company?"

Winter hesitated. "I would say you're choosing a very hard path."

"Funny," said Weiss, voice as sharp as the sword in the box behind her, "I seem to recall you saying that nothing worthwhile is easy."

"There is a difference between that and… and choosing to make your own life difficult."

"Oh, whatever would I know about a difficult life?" Weiss said, and the sarcasm in her voice hit Winter like a rock to the face.

"Weiss…"

"Winter," Weiss interrupted, "the family name may not mean anything to you, but it does to me. Our name—my name—is synonymous worldwide with incompetence, graft, and cruelty. I can't leave things like that. I have to fix it. I have to make my name mean something."

"Then become a Huntress," said Winter. "You're good enough to pass the exams and get into Atlas Academy like I did. Now, I'm judged on my own merit, not our family's. You want an antidote to incompetence, graft, and cruelty? As a Huntress, you'll be able to help people directly. You'll be applying your skills without them being tainted by profiteers or flunkies. You decide which missions to take on your own terms. Anyone who encounters you will have to take you for what you are, not for where you came from."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "You seem to be saying I would be a freelance Huntress. I'm surprised you're not giving me the military's recruiting pitch."

"I know you better than that, dear sister," said Winter drily. "You're far too independent to walk that path. Becoming a Huntress would suit you better. Even if I have you pegged wrong, though, the first step is attending an Academy. That opens both doors. Do that, and you'll be on your way. It worked for me. I know it'll work for you."

Weiss' expression softened. Her eyes drifted to the box she'd put down, sword and Dust still inside. "I'm sure it would," she allowed. "And the course you've laid out for me is… appealing, if I'm being honest. Except for one small thing."

"What's that?"

Weiss frowned like she was trying to bite back pain. "For years, I watched our mother lurch into slow-motion self-destruction, and she wouldn't let me stop her. I watched people blatantly profiteering off the company's decline, and they wouldn't let me stop them. I watched people laugh at how it was all falling apart, and the company wouldn't let me stop it. I watched that stupid regent bury a company that was still viable, and the Council wouldn't let me stop him."

Weiss sucked in air. Her eyes flashed; there was fire in them. "I can't stand being helpless. I will not have people thinking I can't do something just because I wasn't allowed to do it. If I became a Huntress, I'd be telling all those people they were right. No. My reputation was destroyed by association with a Dust company, and I'll redeem it with a Dust company. Becoming a Huntress wouldn't let me do that. Founding a new company will."

Winter took a step back and looked at her sister in totality. Weiss appeared to suffer a flash of nerves after talking so openly, so intimately, but she buried it under the surface, showing Winter nothing but adamant. She looked implacable—but also hard-headed and stubborn. Almost as much as…

Well, almost as much as Winter herself, if she were being honest. It was as exasperating as it was endearing—which was as good a description of family as Winter had ever heard.

Winter nodded. "I understand. In that case, I will let you borrow my keyboard, but not yet. I'll need it first."

Weiss sagged in relief and surprise at how abruptly the confrontation ended. "Thank you," she managed. As Winter walked to retrieve her keyboard, though, Weiss followed. "What do you need it for?"

"To tender my resignation from the military."

"To—what? No!"

Winter gave Weiss the eyebrow again. "No?"

"You love being in the military! Why would you do that?"

"To help you with your Dust company," Winter said.

Weiss' lower jaw stopped working. It almost—almost—made Winter smile.

"You were serious about starting a new company, weren't you?" she added sternly.

"O-of course!" stuttered Weiss.

"In that case, you'll need all the help you can possibly get, including mine."

"I won't let you throw away your career for me," said Weiss, flushing.

"It's mine to throw away," said Winter. "Besides, how will you stop me?"

"…I'll keep you away from your keyboard," said Weiss, even as her eyes darted around the apartment, looking for where it might be.

"And how would you keep me away from it? Would you fight me for it?" said Winter, allowing a note of amusement into her voice. "When I have my weapon on my hip, and you don't?"

Winter saw Weiss' eyes going towards her box… and relenting. "Not like I'd win if I did," she grumbled.

"In any event, I was just making a point. I don't actually need the keyboard," said Winter, bringing up her scroll. "The letter is already written."

"You knew you'd be resigning before we even started talking?" said Weiss.

"No, I didn't. That's why I typed out two letters: one reporting my resignation, and the other telling my superior when I'd be returning to duty. Our conversation merely clarified which letter I'd send. I was ready for any eventuality."

"Then why were you so surprised when I said I was making my business plan?"

Winter swiped over to her messaging app. "Because I thought it would take you longer to move on from that disaster. I thought it would take you a few days to collect yourself and gather your wits. Clearly I underestimated you. I'll try not to do it again."

Weiss stepped backwards, as if she needed a little distance to appreciate Winter properly. "You're serious," she said.

"As a heart attack," Winter confirmed, and hit SEND. She pocketed her scroll and looked at Weiss again. "I have no doubt you've been studying business and accounting and Dust, and I'm sure you could run that side of a company with aplomb. But planning? Operations? Making things happen? You're a novice at those." She smiled tightly. "But I've been doing those things for the last five years."

Winter watched as Weiss collected herself, adapting to her new reality. At last, whatever hesitancy or reservations Weiss might have had, she put down. She squared herself and looked at Winter. "In that case, I would like for you to be my full partner in this venture." She extended her hand to Winter.

Winter clasped it. "I accept. Here's to the rebirth of the Schnee Dust Company."

"We can't call it that," said Weiss. "We don't own the trademarks anymore. We can't use that name, even when it's our own name." Her eyes narrowed even as she smiled. "Here's to Schnee Dust Reborn.

"Let's get started."


Next time: Don't fail to plan (don't plan to fail)