Rebellion at Tea Hour

Chapter 55: Rebellion at Tea Hour

The conservatory smelled of bergamot and betrayal. Sunlight fractured through the stained-glass dome, casting kaleidoscopic shadows over the silver tea service. Ayla traced the rim of her cup with a bloodied thumbnail—the same shade as the rosehip jam staining Lady Voss's lace gloves. Across the gilded table, Selena's wolf-head brooch gleamed like a fresh kill.

"Darling, you've barely touched your scones." Selena's nail tapped porcelain, a metronome counting down to chaos. "Wasting food in wartime is…ungracious."

Ayla's maid, Elara, stepped forward to refill her cup. Their fingers brushed—cold, trembling. The saucer's underside bore faint scratches: STARVE THE BEAST.

(Three maids down the line choked. Their trays rattled in unison—a coded symphony)

Selena's laugh slithered through the clatter. "Did I mention? We've adopted new quality control measures." She snapped her fan open, its silk painted with Lila's mother's execution scene. "Any servant caught defacing council property…"

Elara's teapot slipped. Boiling Earl Grey cascaded over Ayla's lap, seeping into the Bloodline Codex hidden beneath her skirts. The ink bled, transforming Article 12's "hybrid curfew" into a wolf's snarling jaw.

"Clumsy bitch." Selena rose, brooch prongs extending into silver claws. "You'll lick that up. Every drop."

Elara knelt. Her tongue touched the steaming pool—then froze. The spilled tea formed letters: CELLAR. TONIGHT.

(Lucas' mechanical heart whirred louder. His glove creaked around his untouched scone)

"Enough theatrics." Ayla slammed her cup down. The cracked porcelain revealed a map fragment baked into the biscuit base—Nexus 7, sewer access. She popped the evidence into her mouth, blood-orange glaze mixing with Elara's earlier knife-cut on her gums. "Your hospitality's gone stale, Selena."

The maids' trays clattered to the floor. A hundred porcelain shards skittered into a constellation: the rebel safehouse coordinates near the clocktower. Selena's claw slashed Elara's throat mid-curtsy. Arterial spray painted the conservatory's lemon trees crimson.

"You." Selena flicked gore from her brooch. "Swallowing secrets won't save them. I can smell the treason in your—"

Lucas' gauntlet shattered his teacup. Ceramic shrapnel embedded in the table between them. "Apologies. Defective grip calibration." His coolant fluid dripped onto the map fragments, activating luminescent ink only hybrids could see.

(The conservatory's hidden vents pumped in wolfsbane. Maids collapsed, convulsing)

Ayla rose, clutching her stomach where the ingested map burned. "Careful, Inspector. Broken tools get discarded." She stepped over Elara's body, heel crushing a teacup rose into the Codex's wet pages. The hybrid crest emerged—wolf and gear entwined.

Outside, thunder growled. The first rebel smoke signal spiraled from the gardens.