"The Commander has departed for the British Isles. Iron Blood's Baden has also departed from Helgoland and is making her way there. Should we not also be sending someone to be present as a diplomat?"

Soyuz looked up from the paperwork before her, arching an eyebrow as if daring Gruziya to continue the veiled challenge. "Speak plainly or leave me be."

Gruziya shrugged nonchalantly, seating herself on the edge of Soyuz's desk, pale blue hair falling onto the desk and atop the same paperwork Soyuz had been attempting to fill out. Laughing at the annoyed sigh that came from Soyuz as she brushed the offending hair aside, Gruziya crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands on her lap in an attempt at a calming gesture that she had no illusions of effectiveness. "You know exactly what I'm saying, sister. It would be in your interest to send me not only to meet with the Commander but also to assess what the Royal Navy and Iron Blood are up to, no?"

"I approved your little vacation to Spain because there was the potential of something to be gained there, given what the Sardegna Empire and Vichya Dominion found. You returned empty-handed, and now you wish to go on a 'diplomatic visit' again under circumstances to a place where we hold no sway to find something that offers nothing to us?"

"'Where we hold no sway'?" Gruziya echoed. "And you think we hold any sway in Spain? I have been the one trying to look out for the Northern Parliament. What are diplomatic missions even for? At the same time, you stripped our numbers to the bare bones for the slightest offense, which I'm sure you'd love to do with me if I weren't so bloody invaluable to you as the only one with any sort of power that the others can trust. When was the last time you set foot outside of Moscow, hm? Rescuing Arkhangelsk's group from the suicide mission for the meteor - a mission that you sent them on, mind you - doesn't count, by the way."

Soyuz remained silent, fixing her gaze on some distant point across the room, only to avoid Gruziya's question when she spoke again. "Inform Molotov that she's to return to her ship in Kronshtadt immediately and set course for Devonport. You, Gruziya, will go join Rossiya in the Arctic."

Gruziya clicked her tongue in annoyance, pushing herself off the desk and striding toward the door. "Have it your way. It's been too long since I've been out on a front anyway. I'm sure Rossiya would love to have me more than that other musclehead," she threw over her shoulder, linking her fingers and raising her arms to stretch. "I like to assume it's because you're such a good big sister and worry about us, but, well… You know."

"Get out."


"Is there any progress?" Baden asked, stepping into the dimly lit room and glancing casually over the various pieces of equipment surrounding the table at its center. On the table lay a blonde woman, wires running from a number of the machines to her body. A woman so many in Iron Blood had thought infallible, lying unconscious and helpless, entirely dependent on the actions of others to so much as draw breath. It was a sight Baden avoided beyond moments where it was necessary, lest her guilt overwhelm her. Why hadn't she done more to keep them off the path of war?

"No."

The flat answer had come from Scheer, standing beside the table with a folder in her hands, and Baden wondered how long she had been there. It was likely far longer than was good for her, judging by the innumerable empty paper coffee cups that littered the desk in a back corner of the room, the dark circles under her eyes, and the defeat that was beginning to crack the usually stony façade. It felt like, at any moment, the pressure of everything could make her shatter - like a piece of iron trying to be shaped after it had already cooled, its purpose determined yet attempted to be forced into a shape it couldn't hold for long.

Baden knew that what she said next risked being the very thing that finally broke the piece of iron, but she couldn't stand by and allow the baseless hope for a miracle to blind Scheer to sense.

"Perhaps, Scheer, it is time to stop pursuing this," Baden suggested. "At the very least, you need to take a step back and -"

"And what?" Scheer spat before Baden could finish her statement. "Hope I just forget? She was our flagship. What if that was you lying there instead? What would you have the High Seas Fleet do?"

"They would apply themselves and resources to continue on in my absence. Although grim, we have to have contingencies in place to manage should it come to pass," came the reply without hesitation. "You're only using that as an excuse. This is personal to you, is it not? The reasons for which I cannot fathom, but this is the same anger I saw from you when Deutschland was injured during the Iberian Civil War. You're not thinking rationally."

Scheer's eyes narrowed, fury kindling in the crimson depths and blazing up to replace the defeated tiredness that had been present before. "I don't need a lecture from the same ship that sold herself out to the Royal Navy so they could build the same ships that sank her successor."

Baden's hands balled into fists at her sides at the accusation, and she closed her eyes while she focused on forcing down the impulse to answer with the same harshness. She finally opened them again with a heavy sigh, her words slow and measured. "I did the best I could with what I knew then. I was young and we were beaten. I chose the option that I believed would give Iron Blood a future. But it was not me who chose to start a second war. She chose that path for herself, and my only fault in it was that I did not do more to stand in her way. Beyond that, the fault lies solely with those of you in the ranks of the Kriegsmarine. But I will ask if the Royal Navy may have some leads on other options to try for her. Please inform Friedrich that I'll be in Devonport for a few weeks."

Scheer waited until she saw Baden's silhouette disappear from the opaque glass of the door window before she set the folder in her hands down, stepping away to pour coffee into yet another of the disposable cups. A grimace marred her face at the realization that the pot had long since shut off, allowing the coffee to cool to unpleasantly lukewarm, but it would have to suffice. It wasn't time to be picky about creature comforts like the warmth of her caffeine delivery, not when there was still work she needed to do.


"I don't see how we can keep this up, Jean," Primauguet sighed, handing over the too-short list of supplies that had been delivered. One of just many barely allowing the Vichya Dominion to scrape by. "Iron Blood is still diverting resources 'to higher priority domestic projects' while we and Sardegna are forced to take the short end of the stick. But at least Sardegna has a full navy to work with. We can't even guarantee maintenance and repair for the ships we already have, let alone promise continuation for Clemenceau's little project, or continue work on Gascogne."

Jean Bart suppressed the urge to sigh, barely even sparing a glance at the supply list. She didn't need to. Supplies had been an issue from the beginning, and it was no recent thing that deliveries had almost entirely ground to a halt. What they didn't know was why. She did, however, know how to find the answer, even if Iron Blood wanted them to remain in the dark. Or, rather, she knew who likely had uncovered the answer already and was just waiting to be asked so that she could gloat about it.

That realization did garner a sigh, echoed by one of Primauguet's own knowing what it meant.

"We're taking this to Clemenceau directly, aren't we? …Crap."

"You really wanna try sneaking one past her, Prima?"

Primauguet shook her head, snatching the papers back from Jean Bart and walking deeper into the compound. "No. But you know the route she'll choose. It's inviting trouble we don't need, and diverting eyes that could serve better… elsewhere."

"The Crown."

Primauguet nodded. "It's hard not to wonder if Iron Blood limiting the aid they send us could be connected to the Iberians making a return. Why fund a conquered state like us when they could support an actual ally like the Crown?"

Jean Bart frowned at her. "It's not like we can't ask others."

Primauguet wrinkled her nose at the thought. "I'd rather be scuttled than see the day where Vichya begs Azur Lane for help. That never comes without strings to keep us in line. We know how that turns out, Jean."

"We also know how relying on Iron Blood turns out," Jean Bart argued. "We can't just -"

The door they had approached swung open, silencing Jean Bart mid-sentence at the sight of Clemenceau standing in the doorway, her posture befitting the head of the Tribunal and the possessor of the network and information to back up a sort of quiet but infinite confidence. Jean had to fight off the instinctiveness to scowl at her own sister.

"What seems to be the problem now?" came the question from Clemenceau.

Primauguet shook her head. "Let's not discuss it where others can hear."

"I suppose that means this isn't good news," Clemenceau observed, laughing at the scowls that did emerge from the pair before her. "Come in, then. Standing there and scowling at me won't get us anywhere."

Primauguet brushed past Clemenceau, dropping the supply papers on the desk as she passed by before dropping herself into a chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Once Clemenceau and Jean Bart had also taken their seats, she spoke.

"Iron Blood is still withholding supplies from us. We should almost be thanking the Crown for their work in the Méditerranée. What Iron Blood is giving us would hardly be enough to do repairs had we come under fire and taken damage."

Clemenceau picked up the documents from her desk, giving them only a brief lookover. "I must admit, it's unusual that you'd come to me instead of huffing at my question and declaring you'd handle it yourself. Would you care to explain why you've chosen to this time?"

Primauguet barely resisted rolling her eyes, getting up from her seat only to have Clemenceau raise a hand to stop her. Her eyes narrowed sharply into a glare. "We didn't come to play your mind games. And you're no fool. You know why this was brought to you."

Clemenceau sighed, although the faintly smug smile on her lips indicated it was merely for dramatics rather than any true annoyance at Primauguet's outburst. "Surely it would reflect poorly on us to attempt espionage on such a close ally," she mused, laughter bubbling over at the shock dawning on the faces of the two before her at the thought that she was truly denying the implied request. "Why, it's almost as if you thought I hadn't already considered such a course of action."

Jean Bart leaned forward in her seat. "Who are you sending?"

Before Clemenceau could answer, a knock came at the door and Kersaint entered the room, looking more than a little flustered. "Lady Clemenceau."

"What is it, Kersaint?"

"La Galissonnière and Gloire are not here at the port," Kersaint informed her. "Vauquelin spotted them leaving just before dawn this morning."

"Shit," Jean Bart groaned, a sort of bone-deep weariness instantly expressing itself through her posture. "Where were they headed?"


Apocrypha had been pleasantly surprised to find that Bismarck Sea had been chosen to join the Royal Navy and Iris Libre fleet to provide air coverage, along with Oriskany. However, the latter had been under some protest, only to begrudgingly agree once Augusta revealed that she would remain in New York.

She shifted her gaze away from the two carriers to a pair of cruisers further ahead where she could hear one excitedly chattering away. Northampton had taken the assignment well, and Mobile had been itching to go out again within days after returning from San Diego. Apocrypha had expected her to be glad to be sent with the fleet to help offset the additional protection that would be needed since the carriers had been added to the mix, but instead, she had dug her heels in and argued to stay behind. The rest of the fleet had been prepared to see her remain behind, and Apocrypha was still unsure of just what had made Mobile come to the docks just as they were about to leave and declare that she would be joining them after all.

And even further ahead, the shapes of ships and buildings took form in place of the open land that had dominated the scenery previously. A hush came over the fleet as they approached the docks; one that Apocrypha at first thought was caused by a battleship berthed nearby with the flag of Iron Blood proudly flying, but which she soon realized was the product of another ship - a light cruiser - bearing the Northern Parliament's flag.

While she had previously been alone on the foredeck, she wasn't surprised to find Wales joining her. If anything, it was a welcome relief; someone she could ask about the Northern Parliament ship that had put everyone on edge.

As if reading her mind, Wales stated, "That is the Northern Parliament's foreign diplomat, a Kirov-class by the name of Molotov. I've no clue why she would be here, though. Last I heard, it was a sudden appearance, and I've yet to receive any information as to what she is here for."

"Could Barham have invited her, too? Maybe she just forgot to mention it?" Apocrypha suggested, only to be immediately answered with a shake of Wales's head.

"She could not have made such a decision unilaterally."

"I thought that was exactly what she did with Baden?"

"Yes, but they have history between them. As I've heard it told, Baden spent an extended amount of time as a guest of the Royal Navy after the defeat of her forces in the Great War. As Barham said, during that period, Baden advised on the construction of future battleship and battlecruiser designs. Due to that, she is seen as a traitor by the newer generations of Iron Blood's shipgirls. We can trust her as an ally if she is willing to continue under such conditions," Wales stated with certainty. "The Northern Parliament, however, keeps all others at a distance. I would venture to say that most members of Azur Lane, given a choice, would sooner trust the Iberian Crown than the Northern Parliament."

"Maybe they're trying to change that?" Apocrypha suggested. "Avrora and Arkhangelsk both seemed friendly enough. And Gruziya -"

"Is exactly as Augusta said - a snake," interrupted Wales, an icy tone starting to creep into her voice at Apocrypha's attempt to provide skepticism. "I would advise you not to be fooled into trusting her. You would be far from the first to fall as a result of her manipulations, or the last."

Apocrypha frowned at her. "I don't doubt that you want the best for Azur Lane - and for humanity, undeserving as some may be - but have you ever considered that you guys might be just a bit biased when it comes to being suspicious of the other factions? Aren't you all supposed to be working together?"

"Out of necessity."

It was a point that Apocrypha couldn't argue even if she had wanted to. She just hoped that "necessity" was enough to hold it all together if she failed to break down the walls the factions kept between each other.

When the fleet had been berthed, Richelieu and Vercingetorix had been the first to depart, promising they would return later in the evening to bring Apocrypha to see Charlemagne's awakening. Similarly, Wales and George had soon excused themselves to report the fleet's arrival to Queen Elizabeth, and Barham had also left to meet with Baden. Northampton, Bismarck Sea, and Oriskany had gladly taken Naiad's offer to show them where they would be staying during the visit, and that left Apocrypha with Hanazuki, Swiftsure, Mobile, and a Royal Navy destroyer with fluffy purple hair tied into a ponytail, the plaid pattern of a purple tartan skirt and small golden mini-crown standing on her head as an accessory.

The destroyer stretched her arms upwards before cheerfully approaching the remaining four members of the fleet. "Good day! I'm the J-class destroyer Javelin. Nice to finally be able to meet you in person. I was assigned to be your guide today. There's a lot for you to enjoy while you're here, so is there anything that you would be interested in?"

Swiftsure was the first to speak up. "Would everyone here be okay with an early dinner? I imagine you might be hungry, and I trust Javelin's judgment for something to help you unwind after the last leg of the journey.

"Sure!" came Javelin's enthusiastic reply, clearly excited at Swiftsure's endorsement. "How does a great Greek restaurant I know a few miles from the docks sound? I'd love to be able to get to know everybody over a meal!"

"Whatever gets actual food down my gullet, I'd be down," Mobile snarked, although clearly interested in the offer.

"I have no objections as well," Hanazuki said in her normally polite tone, even as she slowly slid towards Apocrypha's side and eventually stood beside - no, almost behind Apocrypha like a child hiding behind her parent.

From there, Mobile and Javelin had kept up a steady stream of conversation, sometimes even pulling Swiftsure into it, all the way to the restaurant and through the meal. But Hanazuki didn't leave Apocrypha's side either. She had largely stayed quiet and stuck to Apocrypha's shadow, always with a nervous undertone to an expression that did its best to not seem amiss to anybody else.

But for Apocrypha, it was relatively clear that, like Biloxi in Kure or even Zuihou in San Diego, Hanazuki likely felt uneasy surrounded by those who not too long ago had been the enemy of her nation. The unfamiliarity and difference of Royal Navy's land compared to Sakura Empire certainly wasn't helping.

When several hours had passed and the call for Apocrypha's appointment to meet with Iris Libre to see Charlemagne given consciousness, Javelin had already agreed to be Mobile's guide to see some old forts in the area and shop for souvenirs, and Swiftsure had already been summoned elsewhere and had left shortly prior.

Apocrypha had tried to ask the Maid Corps shipgirl - Newcastle, she had introduced herself as - whether Hanazuki could accompany her, as the prospect of being left alone was clearly causing anxiety to creep into Hanazuki's inquiries as to whether Apocrypha really had to go, no matter how much she knew deep down that it was the primary reason they had traveled to Royal Navy territory. But she was only met with an apologetic decline.

So, Apocrypha had asked Newcastle if there were any flower gardens at Devonport's facilities, and Newcastle had responded positively, offering to take Hanazuki there after providing directions to Iris Libre's research block to Apocrypha. Hanazuki had been hesitant and anxious, but a small bit of encouragement from Apocrypha was enough for her to overcome her hesitation and accept the offer. Hopefully it would be a place where Hanazuki's worries would wash away at the sight of flowers no doubt well-kept by the Maid Corps shipgirls.


All this left Apocrypha to walk through the halls toward Iris Libre's research block alone. To her right, windows lined the wall and allowed the light from outside - what little could pierce the grey clouds that had stubbornly remained all day - to illuminate the corridor while also offering a view of the River Tamar. To her left were a series of doors leading to lab rooms and offices, most only adorned with opaque frosted glass windows on the doors to prevent any unwanted eyes from viewing whatever lay within.

She had opened one of the doors to peek inside, her curiosity getting ahead of herself, but she only getting a glimpse of the lab and the holographic projections of a woman and a ship within before something tapping on a window had her quickly shutting the door and turning to look, thinking it was someone that caught her snooping something she shouldn't have seen. A quick scan turned up nothing and she quickly wrote the sound off as a breeze having made the branches of one of the trees outside knock on the window. With a shrug, she continued down the hall, letting her mind wander to the shipgirl who was about to open her eyes for the first time.

Charlemagne.

Would she be a kind, noble leader? A fierce warrior who would cut down anything in her path? It had been suggested that she be leased to the Iberians during the meeting with Cervantes, but that did nothing to help Apocrypha guess at what sort of person she would be. If anything, the black box that was the Crown likely necessitated someone who would take no pushback and make her stances loud and clear. If Apocrypha herself was in charge of development for someone to be posted in a nation with possible hostile intent, it was what she would have done.

And then there was the woman and ship she'd seen the projections of just a moment ago in one of the labs. She certainly hadn't appeared to be Royal Navy or Iris Libre in nature. If she'd had to venture a guess, she would have said she was an Iron Blood ship, though she understood well that that was impossible. They would have their own facilities and very likely keep their projects under lock and key. So who could it have been? Perhaps the flag she had seen briefly fly over the consulate?

Apocrypha's musings were cut short by something again tapping on a nearby window, accompanied by a familiar but unexpected voice calling her name. With a glance down the hall and a resigned sigh, she opened the window.


Mobile pulled her phone from her back pocket while she walked, frowning at the device as it continued to ring in her hand. Just before it would have gone to voicemail, she tapped the screen to accept the call. "The hell are you calling for, Ori?"

"Hello to you, too, Mobile," came the voice on the other line. "Did you and the Commander forget that she has an appointment with Iris Libre this evening? Actually, an hour ago."

Mobile's brow furrowed in confusion. "Sorry, what? I mean, I get I'm bad at keepin' track of that sorta stuff, but the Commander ain't with me," she said. "Been at least two or three hours last I saw her and she was headin' back."

"Mobile -"

"Dead serious, Ori. If she ain't with me and she ain't with the Catholic schoolgirls, I dunno where she is. Look, just… Dammit. I'll head back with Javelin. You're probably just freaking out over nothing big."

Oriskany snorted. "I'm perfectly calm, but if projecting makes you feel better, I guess. Look, we saw that Northern Parliament ship when we came in. I'll see what I can find out on that side of things. You and Javelin should probably get back here."


Hanazuki's ears picked up the sound of someone approaching first, the pink-furred fox ears atop her head twitching nervously in spite of the absolute ecstasy she had been in while browsing through the Royal Navy's rather extensive flower garden. She relaxed only slightly when she saw it was Bismarck Sea.

Newcastle at last looked up as well, smiling politely. "Miss Bismarck Sea. Is there something you need my assistance with?"

The maid's brow furrowed seeing Bismarck Sea's expression. "You… look worried… Has something happened?"

Bismarck Sea glanced away and then back, exhaling slowly from the exertion of running to the garden. "I'm sure it's nothing, but have either of you seen the Commander? It seems she didn't make her appointment with Iris Libre."

"We have not seen her," Newcastle said, shaking her head. "Perhaps she got lost on the way there? This place can certainly be a bit of a maze if you are unfamiliar with its layout. Hanazuki and I will help search if we can be of any assistance."

Hanazuki was quick to nod when Bismarck Sea looked toward her. "I'll help however I can. If… If that's okay, of course…"

"You don't have to ask my permission, Hanazuki," Bismarck Sea reassured with a small laugh. "If you'd both like to help search, I won't turn you away. I think right now we'd rather not raise any alarms, not when it could very well be nothing. Oriskany's already tracking down what she thinks is a lead, so hopefully that pans out with something."

Newcastle nodded, getting up and helping Hanazuki to her feet. "Have Lady Wales and Lady Barham been informed yet?"

"Not yet. If the Commander is not found in a few hours, we'll involve them. Like I said, we're trying not to cause a panic if it turns out to be nothing and the Commander just got lost. She wouldn't leave without telling us, and I trust Devonport's security to discount the possibility of an infiltrator managing to take the Commander without being noticed."


"- and I have more paperwork than any reasonable person should have on her desk because, for some godawful reason, the carriers of Task Force 58 just have to harass Amerigo Vespucci for existing within fifty feet of any of them and Andrea is pissed off about it."

It took everything in Wales not to roll her eyes at Augusta's complaints and opt to attempt a change of topic instead. "I was asking about you, not everyone in New York, Augusta."

"And I told you how I'm doing."

Wales couldn't resist this time; she rolled her eyes. "No, you talked about work and what everyone else at the base has done that has caused you work," she corrected. "This always happens when I go away. You care too much and get wrapped up in everything. Refuse to take so much as a minute for yourself. I wish you would have come to Devonport with us."

"I couldn't. You know that." Augusta sighed. On the screen, Wales could see her fold her arms on the desk and rest her head down, exhaustion and defeat apparent in the company of someone Augusta could afford to express such sentiments to. "Why didn't you stay? Barham and George would have it all under control, and Richelieu. Are you at least coming back?"

A knock on the door brought a level of relief to Wales, saving her from having to immediately answer to Augusta that she was likely to remain in Devonport for some time beyond the Commander's visit. It probably wouldn't have been taken very well.

"You may enter."

Vanguard pushed the door open, the palace guard breathing hard as if she had run over from wherever she had previously been. She quickly reached up to smooth out a few stray strands of her blonde hair before speaking. "My apologies for interrupting your call. Lady Wales, there is urgent business regarding the Commander. The report has come from Newcastle after about an hour's attempt to verify the situation."

"What's going on?" Augusta demanded, straightening in her seat and intensely at attention now.

Wales grimaced, getting up from her seat. "I'm sure it's nothing, Augusta," she promised. "I will keep you updated, though. I love you. Try to find some time to relax."

She sighed when she only got a muttered response before the call ended, turning her focus to a Vanguard clearly demonstrating confusion and concern. "Tell me what's happened."


"I did not come to threaten or cause harm to anyone."

The words, laden with an unmistakably Russian accent, ironically reminded Vercingetorix of just how wrong it was for her to hold such menial things as pen and paper instead of a sword at this very moment. She didn't doubt Richelieu's ability to defend herself, especially faced with only a single light cruiser and on the territory of a nation that would be quick to defend Richelieu if she were to be attacked. But the mere thought of her possibly needing to simultaneously devote her attention to something other than Richelieu's protection left a sour taste in her mouth. Unfortunately, the thought of neglecting other official duties was also unacceptable and a task that wouldn't see to itself. The clipboard with a not-insignificant amount of paper was but a small fraction of what had been waiting for her in her office.

Richelieu had thankfully been understanding and insisted that she was thankful that Vercingetorix was torn about the problem. Somehow that only made the situation feel worse. If the worst should happen, though, Vercingetorix wouldn't hesitate to abandon the papers to come to Richelieu's aid. After all, that had been her purpose since her birth, only further solidified in the betrayal perpetrated by the Templar Knights. The paperwork was merely a bedrock to ensure her duty could be properly carried out.

"I hope that is not the impression you believe I had from merely one innocent question, mademoiselle Molotov," Richelieu said, as calm as ever. "As I imagine everyone else here in Devonport is, I am only curious why the Northern Parliament has sent you only for you to avoid almost any sort of contact. We are all allies here, yet I have heard that you have declined all invitations to participate in discussions or activities."

Molotov was equally calm, almost indifferent, but a quick glance up from her paperwork told Vercingetorix that the nervousness she'd thought she'd heard in the cruiser's tone was not a figment of her imagination.

"I have a very specific reason for being here on Comrade Soyuz's orders. Seeing as they have no bearing on the activities of the Royal Navy or Iris Libre, this… inquisition of yours feels somewhat discriminatory based solely on my nation of origin," Molotov answered. "I understand that there exists hostility from Royal Navy, but I was of the belief that Iris Libre would be more tolerant."

"It was only a question," Vercingetorix interjected, getting Molotov's attention. "But I guess it still holds true that every accusation from the Northern Parliament can be taken as an admission."

"I cannot admit to anything I have not done, Comrade Vercingetorix," Molotov said, holding up her hands in open palms in sincerity, almost like a muted gesture of surrender.

"I promise that I have always intended to follow my orders to the letter, even if I must apologize for seeming self-isolating. That said, however…" Molotov said, lifting her chin to gesture at something behind Vercingetorix. "It seems that there is some other business you must attend to."

Vercingetorix turned to see a pale blonde in a blue- and gold-accented white dress approaching with papers in-hand. "Painlevé, what do you need?"

Painlevé glanced down at the papers in her hands and then past Vercingetorix at Molotov as if considering if now was really a good time to hand over what she held. An impatient sigh and Vercingetorix holding her hand out expectantly quickly made the decision far easier for the Iris carrier and she quickly placed the papers into the waiting hand. "I wish it were better news…"

Vercingetorix inquisitively raised an eyebrow, her expression morphing into a deep scowl the more she scanned the report on the documents. Extending one hand to offer the papers to Richelieu next, she reached up to rake the other hand through her hair, eyes closed and breathing carefully measured. The boiling mixture of anger and exhaustion in her glare when she opened her eyes was more than enough for Painlevé to take her cue to dismiss herself before Vercingetorix rounded on Molotov.

With no time to react, Molotov found the floor and ceiling swapping positions as her legs were swept out from underneath her, a knee digging into the middle of her back to pin her before she even reached the floor. Richelieu let out a startled yelp at Vercingetorix's sudden action, but that was the least of Molotov's concerns.

Vercingetorix remained in place, ignoring Molotov's attempts to squirm out of her hold. "The report Painlevé brought us was about the Commander. She did not miss the appointment we set with her out of any sort of forgetfulness or preoccupation. She is missing entirely from Devonport," she informed Richelieu, finally letting Molotov up but only in order to drag her to her feet and ram her against the wall, her hands still restrained behind her back by Vercingetorix's own. "There is reason to believe that our friend here may have been a distraction for an intruder or insider to compel the Commander to relocate herself elsewhere."

Despite being turned away from Vercingetorix, Molotov's skin instantly went pale at the information, her voice coming out almost like begging; such a far cry from her somewhat icy demeanor until now that Vercingetorix found it difficult to attribute such language to Molotov. "Comrade Vercingetorix, I swear I had no part in this disappearance. I beg for your understanding."

"Save your words for the tribunal," Vercingetorix snapped, "Perhaps I can cite a page from our Eagle Union friends and tell you that anything you say can and will be used against you."

"I was ordered to arrive here specifically to speak with the Commander," Molotov quickly replied, the words tumbling out of her mouth as if she had entirely ignored Vercingetorix's comment. "I didn't anticipate arriving several days before the Commander made her way across the Atlantic. So I had been waiting in my room since then and didn't want to risk deviating from my orders. What good would I have in abducting the Commander as a diplomat?"

Vercingetorix rolled her eyes. "If we weren't in a more civilized setting, that would be all the evidence I needed to run you through right here and now. Do you expect me to believe that a visit with such a singular purpose was mistimed by several days as you spent the entire period in your room where nobody was able to verify your presence except for very brief moments?"

"I understand how it looks, but I'm telling the truth."

"So what were you doing in your room, then?"

"I…I cannot say."

Richelieu frowned as Vercingetorix tightened her grip on Molotov, considering the information presenting itself to her. It was true that Molotov was probably the only unexpected factor present in Devonport. And her claim that she had kept to herself for more or less the entirety of her visit meant she had no verifiable alibi to provide for herself. Still, it was all circumstantial evidence at best. Jumping to conclusions, even for a nation that was as untrustworthy as Northern Parliament, grated on Richelieu's senses. Especially when put into contrast with Molotov's sudden emotional backtracking.

"Vercingetorix, I believe a tribunal to discuss a course of action would be the best place for this sort of discussion in front of others. And was there any word about a search for our missing Commander?"

"According to the report, Vanguard has already gathered a search party and set off," Vercingetorix curtly replied.

Richelieu sighed, at the same time relieved and worried. "Then it seems that all we can do on that front is wait. I shall arrange the tribunal to decide how to proceed on the belief that this act was committed by the Northern Parliament. In the meantime, I will leave Molotov to you, Vercingetorix."

Vercingetorix nodded in acknowledgment. "Very well, Lady Richelieu. Please be prompt and spread the news as quickly as possible."

It would only be once Richelieu nodded and left that Molotov dared to speak up again, even though her face was still pressed against the wall. "Comrade Vercingetorix, please, I-"

"Shut your mouth before I decide to sew it shut. Your nerve to feign innocence after abducting someone as important as the Commander makes my honor as a knight rot in your mere presence. You will not leave my sight or my grasp before I drag you in front of the tribunal and see you given the punishment you deserve. You should be grateful I elected to simply not run you through myself."

Molotov's heart dropped down her throat at Vercingetorix's words. There was no getting through to her at the moment. Yet she had no choice but to continue to squirm and protest. What loomed over her if she were to be forced to return to Northern Parliament, the most likely outcome of a tribunal, would make having her lips sewn shut or even being run through by the sword of her arrestor preferable. Any mental fortitude Molotov had conjured in the image of Sovetsky Soyuz melted away instantly at the mere thought.

There were things worse than death, and Molotov could barely keep in the tears of terror lest it damn her further in front of Vercingetorix.

How could things have gone so badly?