Weiss arrived at the restaurant the next evening exactly two minutes late—and in that time, Winter and Whitley had already gotten into a fierce argument.

"—don't see why you're being so stubborn about this," said Winter, exasperated despite being by far the most stubborn person Weiss knew.

"Because you're being ridiculous," Whitley shot back. "I'm the one who made the reservation."

"We didn't need a reservation, there's plenty of room for walk-ins."

"Spoken like someone who's never tried to host an event in her life."

"You don't even know how much access you'll have to the family fortune until you turn eighteen, and I have a job."

"Do you?"

"I'm under investigation, not fired! They're looking at everyone after what happened. If anything Marrow and I are safer, we defected before the attempted coup."

"Sounds just as uncertain to me."

Winter scowled. Then, with the air of someone finally pulling out a trump card, "I'm older than you."

"Of all the petty—"

Weiss cleared her throat. Their argument died the instant they noticed her. Winter winced and started examining the sidewalk. Whitley, unrepentant, bounced on the balls of his feet and said, "Hello, Weiss!"

"What did you do."

"I decided to think ahead, and gave this establishment my card in advance."

"You're fighting... over who gets to pay for dinner." Weiss pursed her lips, because it was suddenly very difficult not to burst out laughing and Winter would not take that well.

Winter glared at their brother. "It's the least I can do, and he isn't even old enough to work yet."

"You'd be surprised how many loopholes there are in those laws," Whitley said cheerfully. "I've been following the news about that collar Cinder slipped your teammate."

"Please don't smile while you're talking about that," said Weiss. "It's disturbing. And I'm hungry, so let's just eat and Winter can pay for dessert if she wants."

They grumbled a bit as they headed inside, but neither argued—which was so odd that it left Weiss a little off-balance as she sat down and opened her menu. Whitley still hadn't stopped smiling.

She balled up her napkin. "I will throw this at you."

"Honestly! I try to give you two good news, and this is the thanks I get."

Winter's eyes narrowed. "What news?"

"They traced the Dust in the shock collar back to an SDC mine." Whitley flipped a page in his menu and hummed. "This looks better than I thought. What's in the chowder?"

"Whitley," Weiss said flatly. "How is that good news?"

"Father knew which company was buying from him. Someone leaked documentation that proves as much." Whitley paused to look deservedly smug. "I doubt they told him what they were doing with it, but they were purchasing enough high-grade energy crystals at once that they'd have to register their transactions, for security reasons. So instead they tried to pretend they were about a dozen smaller companies. But they didn't do a very good job, there's absolutely no way he didn't figure it out."

"So he provided Dust to a child slavery ring," said Winter. "I can't say I'm surprised, but I still fail to see how this is good by any definition."

"Well, the company making those collars was shut down, and they kept the names of some of the people who bought from them. It turns out one of them ran the hotel Cinder burned down first. She doesn't have to worry about legal repercussions on account of being very dead—a recurring pattern, actually—but many of them will." He sat back in his chair, smirking. "And on our end, selling enough Dust to power a city block to an organization that doesn't report what they're doing with it is illegal. Father was arrested last night."

Weiss was still gaping at him when their waiter arrived. "A bottle of sparkling cider for the table, please," he told the man. "We're celebrating."

"I don't know," Winter said, once they'd ordered and the waiter had left. "If ever there were a time for consequences to actually stick to him, I suppose it would be now. I still wouldn't get your hopes up."

"You two don't pay any attention to politics, do you?"

Weiss made an indignant noise. "Excuse you, we helped stop a coup d'état."

"Not that kind of politics. Father's kind." Whitley steepled his fingers, his face a picture of gleeful schadenfreude. "All the most powerful people in Atlas just had their whole world turned on end. Mantle proved it can say no to the upper city, the other Kingdoms saw us fold at the slightest sign of another Great War, and the Council is getting completely reshuffled with Robyn Hill virtually guaranteed a seat on it. A lot of them are probably scrambling to cover up their own dealings with our neighborhood child slavers. They're busy, and father's lost all his bargaining power. He has no control over the company, no claim to the Schnee name, and depending on how badly the divorce goes, not much lien. Some of them still owe him favors, but why should they worry about honoring them when they're struggling to maintain their own power bases and he can't do anything to retaliate if they ignore him?"

Weiss opened her mouth—and realized she couldn't find any obvious flaw in that. Mother seemed to be the only one who'd ever actually liked their father. With his influence drying up, and no way to punish his connections for abandoning him...

"You know what," she said, a bit faintly, "I think I will have some of that cider."

Her brother was first to lift his glass in a toast. Weiss found herself matching his vicious smile as she clinked them together.

"If he does get out—"

Whitley rolled his eyes. "Winter, don't ruin the moment."

She sighed, and joined the toast. The instant she drank and set her glass aside, she leaned forward and said, "But if he does."

"Oh, for—"

"He's not going to touch you, either of you, ever again." Winter laid a hand on each of theirs. "I'll make sure of that. Permanently."

"Winter..." Weiss glanced down at the tabletop, and Winter's sword hand curled around her own. "I understand, believe me I do, but I'd prefer to be able to visit you outside of prison."

"Exactly," said Whitley. "Don't be stupid, there's far less chance of getting caught if we let a professional handle it."

"That is not what I meant!"

"Not so loud, Weiss," Whitley scolded her. "If we're going to plot a murder in a restaurant we should at least do it sotto voce."

"I honestly can't tell if you're joking or not."

"And if all goes well, you'll never find out!"

Weiss couldn't pester him any further. Their food arrived, and the casual discussion about patricide turned into... a conversation. A civil one, even. She told them about her meeting with Zwei—in which she had not swooned, no matter what Whitley said. He bragged incessantly about the new benefits the company had voted in, which was so sweet and so obnoxious all at once that she had no choice but to mimic Yang, and muss his hair while he squawked and tried to bat her away.

As their bickering quieted and they traded dinner for dessert, the atmosphere sobered. Winter shifted in her seat, her shoulders going stiff as she said, "Thank you. For letting me be here."

"I'm glad you came. I missed you. Both of you."

"Of course you did," Whitley grumbled. "You went to another continent."

"That's not what I... You know I left to get away from him, don't you?" She glanced at Winter. "I think we both did. Even if maybe that's not how it felt."

"I shouldn't have." Winter gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles went white. "I should have protected you."

"Winter..."

She gritted her teeth. "I can't change that now. But I'm here, if either of you need anything."

"You could talk to mother."

"Whitley!"

"What? She offered." He picked at his tiramisu. "She's been drinking more. I could use some help distracting her."

Winter grimaced. "I can try. At the very least, she ought to be talking to an adult about that."

"I suppose you don't want anything to do with her either."

"It's... complicated." Winter leaned back in her chair and sighed. "She's not much like I remember, anymore."

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Weiss asked. "I've never seen her like this, but... I've never seen her happy either."

"I have no idea. He's awful, but her whole life revolved around him for a very long time. She's going to have to figure out what her purpose is without him. Find something else to fill that void."

Weiss glanced at Whitley, who raised his eyebrows. "Um... are you going to be okay?"

"What? I already told you, I'm not losing my job."

"That's not really an answer."

Winter's eyes dropped to the tabletop. "I don't know if I should stay," she admitted. "I could do a lot of good, I know, but... I'm not sure if I can serve something I don't trust anymore." She scoffed. "At least if they fired me—never mind."

"You wouldn't have to decide?" Whitley guessed. She scowled at him.

"Well, what would you want to do?" asked Weiss. "If you could do anything?"

Winter cracked a smile. "I thought we weren't supposed to talk about patricide in public?"

"I'm trying to be serious!"

The smile faded. It was uncomfortable to watch—Winter had always been so sure, and now... "I suppose I could try freelance. There are never too many dead Grimm in the world. Of course, that isn't easy in Atlas, and I don't particularly want to move."

"It might be about to get easier," Weiss pointed out. "Robyn is the only candidate left who actually campaigned before all this, and I can't imagine she won't try to get rid of some of the red tape for other independent Huntresses."

"Maybe."

"Or you could spend the rest of your life collecting stamps," said Whitley. "You both do remember that father isn't in control of the fortune anymore, don't you? Neither of you are about to be cut off, so long as you remember to visit once and a while."

"I haven't expected any money from the family for a long time," Weiss said firmly. "I plan to visit, but I won't be doing it because I don't want to be disowned."

Chagrined, Whitley went back to poking his food. "Well, since you have everything figured out—what are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. Quite honestly, I'm so used to bouncing from crisis to crisis that I haven't thought to make plans beyond what to do about the latest one. I assume my team and I will decide on missions we want to take once we graduate, and we'll go from there."

Whitley snorted. "Well, I was going to do another toast, but I don't know how to... ah, never mind!" He lifted his cider, which was nearly gone now. "To indecisive sisters!"

"To pests," she shot back, and clinked their glasses together.

"To choices," Winter added. "Frustrating as they may be."

It was late by then, and Whitley hadn't touched his dessert in ages. Weiss had to get back to her team soon, since they'd opted to take a late airship back to Vale—the sisters were eager to spend some time at home, and she and Blake hadn't needed much convincing to get out of Atlas for a while. Still, she found herself dragging her feet as they all left the restaurant.

"Good luck," she told Winter, and hugged her around the middle. She returned it more easily this time, even laying a hand on the top of Weiss' head.

Then, before Whitley could get huffy, she tucked a wing around him and pulled him into her side. It was much nicer when he wasn't startled. Instead of standing there like a post, he let his head rest on her shoulder.

She stepped back. Winter and Whitley, now standing very close together, exchanged a side-long look—and then a stiff, tentative attempt at a hug.

Weiss was still thinking about it on the airship, leaning against the window and watching Atlas dwindle into a blur of snow and starry sky.

"Feeling okay?" Ruby asked from the seat beside her.

"Mm. Just thinking."

"What about?"

She couldn't see the lights anymore. "I might like to visit. Which feels strange, considering I was ready to write off the entire continent a couple of weeks ago, but... dinner was nice. Really nice."

"I'm glad." Ruby grinned at her. "It's nice when people surprise you, huh?"

Weiss thought of Winter sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Marrow, white-knuckled on national news. Of Whitley shattering their father's empire. Of her mother taking a moment to find a place where she could eat, and finally, finally paying attention to what she actually wanted.

"It is," she agreed.

She wasn't sure whether to be more startled that they'd done all those things, or that she'd been there to see it. She'd been so used to disappointment for so long, so used to keeping her eyes fixed on the ground. It was a bit sad, now that she thought about it, how much easier it was to find good people around you when you already had a few to lean on.

"Ruby?"

Her partner jumped a bit, like she'd been falling asleep. "Huh?"

"Thank you, for not giving up on me. I know I didn't make it easy at first."

"Nope," Ruby agreed, closing her eyes again. "But you made it worth it. I think that's better."