After having a simple breakfast in a nearby café, Alistair and Elena walked down a bustling street. The occasional sound of merchants advertising their goods, mingled with the lively chatter of locals and passersby, filled the air. Alistair stopped outside a flower shop when he saw Elena enter a nearby menswear boutique. Taking his time to select the perfect bouquet, he ultimately chose a combination that promised relaxation, healing, and balanced energy: peace lilies accented with touches of lavender to soothe both the eye and the mind.
Through the floor-to-ceiling glass storefront, Elena signaled for him to come inside. Once he entered, she guided him to the waiting couch and began checking whether the items she had picked out suited him, holding various handkerchief colors against his skin and inspecting multiple designs of collar bars and clips.
Alistair reached into his pocket to check his watch. They had been away from the yacht for a long time; the creative guests must have left already, and they needed to head back shortly.
"You take such good care of that watch," Elena remarked, looking up. "Why can't you take care of yourself with the same effort?"
Alistair traced his fingertips over the engraving on the cover. It was his sister’s old blessing to him: Live long, be unrestrained, and be as free as the wind.
When Alistair’s heart condition first manifested during his adolescence, he was kept strictly indoors. His parents were consumed by the terrifying fear that the male heir they had struggled so hard to conceive would pass away. They brought in famous doctors from all over to treat him, but his illness was a lifelong companion—one he would have to carry into adulthood if he even survived.
Elena, who had just finished high school at the time, was preparing to apply to colleges when a massive rift formed between her and their parents. They wanted her to study business, explicitly to support Alistair when he eventually inherited his shares, rather than letting her carve out a place of her own. Alternatively, they suggested she study medicine so she could personally care for him in the future, claiming that outsiders couldn't be trusted like close family. It was a paranoid, contradictory existence; his parents lived in constant fear that the family's second and third branches—Mr. Hudson’s siblings—would do something to get rid of Alistair.
But Elena had her own plans. She wanted to study physics to better understand the technical side of their business, which centered on the automotive and aerospace industries. However, their parents knew that path would give her a higher hand and greater leverage than Alistair. The tension resulted in cold, silent standoffs at the dinner table every night.
One evening, Alistair was waiting in bed for Elena to bring him his medication—a chore she had been entrusted with to teach her "responsibility" as the older sister. She was running late, and because he wanted to sleep, he got up to look for her. Before he could push her bedroom door open, he froze. Through the crack, he saw her staring intently at a glass of water, which was already mixed with his medication. Scattered on her desk were multiple crumpled, empty sachets of the drug. His limbs turned to ice. Breathing softly, he quickly slipped back to his room before she could catch him.
When Elena finally brought him the glass, he held it tightly, refusing to look at her for a few agonizing seconds. When he finally raised his eyes, his gaze locked with hers. Closing his eyes, he lifted the glass to his lips, fully prepared to gulp down the slowly poisoning, high dose.
Suddenly, Elena lunged forward, knocking his hand down. The water spilled violently across his quilt. She snatched the glass back and turned to leave, tossing a strained excuse over her shoulder: "It seems I forgot to add sugar. You don't like the bitter taste."
Later, when his condition worsened and he was confined to a hospital bed, she brought him a gift to cheer him up: the very pocket watch he held now. It was, in all likelihood, her silent apology for once wanting to send him to an early grave, and a promise never to attempt it again. Her engraved wish for him to be like the wind was her way of telling him to break free from their parents—and, in doing so, free her as well.
Yet, somehow, she had ended up being the one to shatter the shackles entirely.
Alistair wanted to ask her what had truly happened. What had driven her to leave all caution behind and murder them? Even her own fiancé hadn't been spared. She had never broached the subject again since the funeral. The weight on her shoulders seemed impossibly heavy, yet she steadfastly refused to involve him.
Looking at her now, Alistair realized she didn't truly see him as family. To Elena, he was merely a living mirror reminding her of her ties to the world—a burden she couldn't bring herself to throw away, simply because the responsibility had been engraved too deeply into her bones to ever let go.
He had a responsibility toward her, too. Cruel and unforgiving as she might think his decisions and actions were, he couldn't just stand by.
Flick.
Elena flicked her fingers in front of his face to snap him out of his thoughts. She was already holding the bouquet, having correctly assumed it was for her, and motioned with her chin toward the clerk—a silent command that translated clearly as: Pay, and let’s go.
After writing a check, Alistair picked up the bags containing the gifts she had chosen for him; but he was the one paying for them. He followed her out, and when he asked if they should head back for the third time, Elena finally answered. Swallowing the last piece of the chocolate-covered almonds he had just bought her, she said, "Let’s buy another bag of almonds, and then we can head back. My new guests must have familiarized themselves with the place by now."
On the way back to the docks, Alistair was preoccupied, absentmindedly plotting how to outmaneuver the storm that was brewing. The quiet morning had passed far quicker than expected. He recalled the server from the café mentioning earlier that yesterday, he had lost contact with the importer of the specific coffee Alistair had requested, forcing him to order a different blend. It seemed like a minor disruption, but it was a warning.
They boarded the yacht just as the crew was getting it ready to depart. Elena handed the bouquet to a stewardess, instructing her to place the flowers in a vase inside her cabin. As for the bag in Alistair’s hands, she reached in, pulled out one of the new handkerchiefs, and handed it to him before passing the rest of the bag to the stewardess to be taken to his cabin.
With lunchtime approaching, they made their way toward the dining salon. Elena glanced at him, her voice carrying a quiet advice: "Keep a handkerchief on you always. Who knows what fishy smell might disturb you."
The moment they stepped into the salon, the shift in atmosphere was undeniable. Alistair carefully wiped his hands with a warm, damp towel, taking in the scene before him. From across the room, John shot him a sharp, questioning look, silently asking: What on earth happened out there?
The previous arrangement of smaller tables was gone. In their place, a single, massive rectangular table had been set up in the center of the room, long enough to host two dozen people.
Sitting on one side was the Prominent Seven. Facing them directly on the opposite side sat another seven people—the new guests who were about to take this dangerous play to an entirely new level.