"It has been some time, my little breeze," her father greeted as Winter stopped just before him. His voice was smooth, as always, but there was a slimy edge to it that made her skin crawl. "I am—"
Winter didn't wait for him to finish. "Where's Whitley?" she demanded as her grip tightened around the hilt of her rapier. Her knuckles turned white , and she locked eyes with him. Every inch of her body coiled with tension as she prepared herself.
"Ever the worrywart," Jacques said with a shake of his head. He kept his voice light as if she hadn't just stormed up to him with a blade in hand. A low chuckle rumbled in his throat while his smile remained as unwavering as ever. "I thought it best not to have him venture out in this cold so early. After all, he's still just a boy," he added, the condescension dripping from his every word.
Winter's pulse quickened. A boy. The words sounded wrong coming from him. He was trying to downplay Whitley's importance or, worse, belittle him. She could already hear the undertones of disdain in Jacques's voice, and it made her blood boil.
He didn't seem the slightest bit disturbed by her aggressive tone. In fact, it almost seemed like the whole situation was a joke to him.
It was always a joke to him.
"Where is he?" she pressed again, but with a sharpened edge.
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, his smile twisted slightly, as though he were savoring her unease. He gestured toward the mansion with a casual flick of his hand. "Inside," he repeated with a colder tone, almost dismissive. "He's waiting for you."
Winter took a step forward, but Jacques raised a hand, the motion so subtle it almost slipped by unnoticed. "Not so fast, little breeze.." His voice had shifted into a firmer tone. It was a command, not a request.
Beads of cold sweat trickled down her back.
The smile on his face remained, but the mirth had dimmed a degree in his eyes. Winter's feet felt as if they were frozen to the ground. Her senses were nearly overwhelmed by the oppressive intensity of his Aura pressing down on her like an iron shackle. The wrongness she had first sensed now felt suffocating.
He was displeased.
A rebellious part of her—one that had spent years resisting his control—urged her to push forward, to confront him, and to demand he moved out of her way. But another part, quieter and more cautious, warned her to hold back. Jacques was as vindictive as he was vain, and until she knew for certain that Whitley was safe, she couldn't afford to act recklessly.
Yet, to her shame, it was not her caution and worry over her brother that held her in place but her instincts for survival. Jacques's Aura shifted, darkened, and became utterly still. The snow beneath their feet evaporated.
Damn it all, she cursed inwardly. Even after all these years, he still made her feel small.
A second later, the intensity lessened.
A mock frown, one so feigned it barely registered as a frown, appeared on his face. It was the kind of expression that grated on her nerves like he was humouring a child, a petulant child at that. "It does worry me, Winter, to see my wayward daughter so dismissive of my greeting. I do hope that your time away hasn't soured your manners. That would break Papa's heart, wouldn't it?"
The words dripped with sarcasm, and Winter fought the urge to snap back. Every muscle in her body screamed to reach for her rapier, to demand why he was playing games with her, but she kept her ground, and her jaw clenched tight.
"..."
The shock from the state of his Aura hadn't left her, but she couldn't let that show on her face. She couldn't afford to show weakness in the presence of Jacques Schnee. To do so was to invite disaster.
And she had learned that lesson far too well in her earlier years.
"...Greetings, Father," she said with saccharine sweetness with barely concealed sarcasm. "I hope you've been doing well, these days."
"As well as a man like me is expected to be," Jacques replied cheerfully, the smile never leaving his face. He took a moment to study her, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he laughed. "I never actually thought I'd see you wearing such cute clothes."
Winter's eyes narrowed. The bastard...
"I was starting to believe your entire wardrobe was nothing but military garbs. But still, it warms this old man's heart that you chose to meet me not as a member of the Atlasian forces, but as my little girl." Jacques exclaimed with mock affection.
Winter could feel her blood boil. She bit her tongue to hold back the retort that threatened to spill out. She had worn these clothes to insult him, to show him she was no longer bound by the Schnee name. But in an instant, Jacques had taken her attempt at rebellion and twisted it into a compliment.
'Your attempted rebellion is as amusing as ever,' she imagined he was thinking, 'You're a hundred years too early to go against me, damn brat.'
Winter's teeth ground together, and she fought the urge to sneer.
'You are as egotistical as ever, old crone,' she thought bitterly, turning her gaze toward the servants who flanked him, anything to avoid looking at him for a moment longer.
Winter's eyes landed on Klein, and for the first time that day, she felt a flicker of warmth. The butler had always been a source of comfort during her years in the Schnee household. Seeing him again after so long brought both relief and guilt.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Miss Winter," Klein greeted warmly. "You've grown into such a fine young woman."
"Klein," she replied with a small, genuine smile. "I'm sorry for not keeping in touch."
Klein chuckled as he waved her words away. "Think nothing of it, my dear. I understand well enough how demanding military life can be."
"Indeed, Seiben," Jacques cut in smoothly, his presence immediately draining the moment of warmth. "It's almost ridiculous that I had to go to such lengths just to speak with my own daughter." He shook his head, a faint air of reproach hanging over his words.
Winter's brief comfort vanished, replaced by irritation. It seemed Jacques couldn't stand to have the attention diverted from him, even for a few fleeting seconds.
"Are you sure you're not being overworked?" Jacques continued, feigning concern. "I could always speak with General Ironwood. I'm sure he'd be more than willing to grant you a vacation at my request."
Winter forced herself not to growl at him. There it is. The peacock couldn't resist reminding her, not even subtly, of the influence he wielded, even over the leader of Atlas. To Jacques, derailing her career was as effortless as ordering coffee from a servant.
"Your concern is unnecessary, Father," she replied curtly. "I am more than perfectly capable of managing my workload. Now, if we could, I'd like to move on to the matter we discussed over the phone."
Jacques raised an eyebrow but didn't push. More than likely, bored already. "Of course," he said, turning to lead the way toward the mansion.
Winter waited for a bit, letting him gain some distance before following. She made sure to stay far enough behind to remain outside the reach of his Aura as it still continued its lazy movement.
The Specialist had no desire to get within its reach.
Aura is the manifestation of the soul, Winter remembered her grandfather saying when he first began her training. It was one of the core principles he had instilled in her, a foundation of everything a huntsman must know.
What did that say about her so-called father?
His Aura was oppressive, chaotic, angry, unstable, and full of a darkness she couldn't quite name.
If her grandfather's words were true, what did that make Jacques Schnee?
'What else but a monster pretending to be human?'
As he walked ahead, Winter's eyes narrowed, as her focus sharpened on his saunter. Every step he took seemed purposeful and controlled as she remembered, to portray the imagee of always being in control of his surroundings. So pompous and self-satisfied in a life guided by his own desires and whims.
No different from a wild beast.
Yet, as she looked at him, she noticed that there was something off. Something subtle.
He was limping.
True enough, there was a slight limp in her father's step. Winter's sharp eyes swept over his figure, picking out other small but telling signs. And now that she had noticed, many other irregularities appeared. A glimpse of bandages peeked out from beneath the cuff of his right sleeve. Every few steps, he took a deep, measured breath, as if even breathing caused discomfort.
The beast was injured.
Her training as a Huntress kicked in almost instinctively, breaking down the clues and piecing them together. She'd seen enough injuries, on herself, her teammates, and her enemies—to recognize the signs. These weren't superficial wounds.
'A minor break in the radius, likely a fracture in the collarbone, a deep bruise on the right thigh, and several cracked ribs,' Winter assessed silently as she continued her scan. His movements gave away more than he probably realized. His left shoulder, held stiffly against his side, hinted at a possible torn ligament or dislocation that had only partially healed.
His gait wasn't just uneven; it was careful. Every step seemed to avoid putting too much pressure on his right leg, suggesting muscle strain or a more severe contusion in the thigh.
As he walked, she noticed his left knee didn't bend all the way, favouring the right in an odd contrast that suggested an injury there as well, perhaps a sprain or even minor ligament damage.
The subtle hitch in his breathing indicated more than cracked ribs. 'There's likely bruising or even minor internal damage,' she thought, noting how he tensed every time he inhaled deeply.
His posture was slightly hunched, as though protecting his midsection—a possible stab wound? — and the faint stiffness in his neck hinted at possible whiplash or strain in the upper spine.
She looked at his hands. He was wearing gloves which he had never done before at home. Unless, he was hiding something.
'Both palms must be injured too.'
The injuries weren't life-threatening, but they weren't insignificant either. For a civilian, they might have been crippling, if not fatal. For Jacques Schnee, someone with access to the best medical care and form the looks of it, sizeable Aura reserves, they should have healed quickly. Yet, from the way he moved, they hadn't.
Or maybe, Winter thought, her eyes widening, this was what remained even after healing!
These injuries weren't fresh. If she had to estimate, they were two or three days old. The discomfort he still showed left her unsettled.
What in the world had Jacques Schnee fought?
There had been no reports of him leaving Atlas or even the city recently, so it couldn't have been a Grimm attack. That left only one explanation: someone had attacked him here, in the city. Her father rarely left his office unless absolutely necessary, so it likely happened inside the Schnee manor.
Her conversation with Jacques replayed in her mind.
"It concerns your brother's future safety."
The phone call had been four days ago, right around when her father might have been injured. A grim picture began to form in her mind. Someone, likely an assassin, broke into the manor. They fought Father. Either Jacques was the target… or—?!
t couldn't be...
She clenched her fists, unwilling to finish the thought. But it fit.
"Did something happen to him?" she had asked.
"Not at the moment, but that could change soon," he had threatened.
What if it hadn't been a threat?
Her memory shifted to Ironwood's office.
"Your position remains secure," the General had said. "As for the call, you'll have to trust that it was necessary. The Schnee patriarch has assured me that he contacted you because the matter involves your family's safety. And I find myself inclined to believe him."
Winter's stomach sank. The words took on a new meaning. At the time, she had been too angry and overwhelmed to think clearly. She had assumed Jacques was manipulating her, as usual. But what if… no, he wasn't threatening her. He was warning her.
She gritted her teeth, frustration bubbling under the surface. She had been so blinded by her emotions, so eager to believe the worst about her father, that she had missed the truth.
Someone had tried to kill Whitley.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. When she considered it, everything that had confused her over the past week suddenly made sense. General Ironwood had given Jacques her contact information because her father must have told him about the assassination attempt.
But why didn't either of them tell me outright? she wondered. The phone line her father used was one of the most secure in Atlas, accessible only to the military. There was no way a civilian could have intercepted it.
Ironwood, too, had refused to say anything directly, even though they had spoken in his office, one of the safest places in the entire kingdom. There was no chance an assassin could have been eavesdropping. Unless....
"You misunderstand me, Specialist," he said, his voice slightly colder now. "This isn't about trust in anyone's word. It's about what I believe is necessary for the greater good of Atlas. And yes, that includes trusting Jacques—at least for now. To prioritize the security of our nation, I would have expected the same of you, soldier."
The Security systems!
Winter bit the inside of her tongue. Both the Schnee Manor and the military used similar systems. If the Manor was easily broken into...
The only explanation was chilling.
Atlas was infiltrated. The entire military was compromised!
The thought made her blood run cold. It explained Jacques' reluctance and Ironwood's discomfort. They hadn't spoken plainly because they didn't know who to trust.
Whoever tried to kill her brother must have ties to the military, she reasoned. A rival company? Someone with a grudge against Father?
But no, that didn't track. If it were about revenge or corporate competition, Jacques would have been the target, not Whitley. This was less about attacking a possible heir to the SDC, but about killing Jacques Schnee's sole son.
They wanted to hit him where they thought it would hurt most.
And looking at her father's state, Winter with no small amount of shame admitted that she was wrong about Jacques not caring about Whitley.
There was only one deranged group that would do so., one that had attempted and succeeded in killing several friends and family friends of Jacques.
That left only one plausible culprit.
The White Fang.
Over the past decade, more and more Faunus had joined the Atlassian military. It wasn't far-fetched to think some of them might be White Fang sympathizers—or even operatives.
It all makes sense, she thought grimly.
"…Are you even listening to me?"
Her father's sharp tone cut through her thoughts, and Winter blinked, pulled from her mind. She looked up to see Jacques stopped in his tracks, one eyebrow raised in obvious irritation as he looked at her.
"Sorry?" she asked, momentarily disoriented.
"I asked if you were listening to what I was saying," Jacques repeated, his voice dripping with annoyance.
Winter could hear the edge in his tone, the frustration rising. "Seriously, you demand I get straight to the point, and then you ignore me?"
"I apologize," Winter replied quickly. "My mind wandered for a moment. Could you repeat what you said?"
With a disgruntled sigh, Jacques turned his back on her and resumed walking. "I was saying that I called you so you could begin training your little brother. The winds are changing, Winter. Sooner or later, enemies will start coming out of the woodwork. The sooner he learns to defend himself, the better."
He wasn't being direct, but it was a clear hint.
"Couldn't you train him?" she asked, testing her suspicions. "You already have your Aura unlocked and trained, and you're much more in contact often than I am."
"No, it cannot be me," Jacques replied with a shake of his head. "No one is more fitting for this than you, Winter. He most likely shares your Semblance. Besides, there must be a load of things you know that I don't." He glanced back over his shoulder and spared her a pointed look.
"After all, you are in the military. That has to count for something, right?"
That was it.
All the pieces had finally clicked into place.
His latest words had confirmed it. Whatever doubts she'd had evaporated. The only person who could protect Whitley had to be someone on the inside.
It had to be her!
Jacques was right about one thing: he could only do so much from the outside. Jacques would handle cleaning up the Schnee Dust Company.
General Ironwood was also out of the picture. He would instead focus on re-establishing the security systems.
The only person who could protect Whitley now was someone who had access to the right resources—someone who had the power and connections to get to the truth hidden inside Atlas.
She would be the one to sniff out the rats.
Her position in the military gave her the opportunity, the leverage, to uncover anyone within the ranks who might be involved with the assassination attempt—or worse, with the White Fang.
Winter didn't feel love for the Faunus working alongside her—nor did she feel hate. They were colleagues, nothing more. But if it turned out that they were the ones who had set their sights on her brother's life?
Then they would learn, too late, that Jacques Schnee was not the Schnee they should fear.
If those animals dared lay a finger on a single hair of her brother's head—
She would sink Menagerie to the bottom of the ocean, and watch it drown in its own blood.