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"I'm sorry," Mirabel said, one brow arching in disbelief as the wind whipped gently past the enchanted windows, "but since when did the company own a private jet?"
Seated across from her, Thane didn't even glance up. His reply was flat, clipped. "We don't. But marrying into one of the oldest and wealthiest noble families in the northern hemisphere does come with a few luxuries."
Mirabel nodded to herself, more as a habit than out of understanding. She kept her gaze steady on him—studying. In the time she'd spent working under Thane as both mentee and right hand, she'd come to know his many masks. The amused genius. The unshakable strategist. The subtle manipulator. But what sat across from her now was something she'd never seen before.
He was coiled. Taut. Like a wire pulled too tight, vibrating with a tension that had no immediate release. The usual glint of dry humor that danced behind his emerald eyes was gone, replaced by something colder—harder. If she'd needed confirmation, the way his fingers slowly flexed against the armrest as if itching to grip a weapon would have been plenty.
She cleared her throat, keeping her tone even. "And just where is this jet taking us?"
Thane didn't meet her eyes. Instead, he stared through the curved glass, watching the mist-swathed landscape roll beneath them as the Sylvan Stags—massive creatures with antlers that shimmered like moonlight—pulled them steadily through the sky.
"Remember when we were exploring the option of outsourcing our rare metal supply lines?" he asked as if they were discussing quarterly projections and not fleeing a government audit.
Mirabel blinked. "Yes, but... after your engagement party, all of that was miraclely resolved."
Thane didn't acknowledge her logic. His mind was elsewhere.
Mirabel narrowed her eyes, suddenly aware that her question had been intentionally sidestepped. "Shouldn't we be focusing on the fact that the Ministry just ransacked our laboratory, tried to humiliate us with a staged audit, and publicly questioned our safety practices?"
"Oh, we are," Thane replied—and that's when she heard it. The shift. His voice had dropped a degree, low and grave, tinged with quiet fury. His knuckles whitened as his grip on the armrest tightened. "But I'm through playing these little games. I've entertained their egos long enough. No more posturing. No more half-measures. No more metaphorical dick-measuring contests. We're walking away."
Mirabel sat up straighter. Her eyes narrowed. "Walking away... as in?"
"As in," Thane said, finally turning to face her fully, "Fae Incorporated is leaving Great Britain."
There was a beat of silence. Then another. And then the weight of the words hit her like a thunderclap.
"You're serious," she whispered, but it wasn't a question.
Thane's jaw tightened, his expression resolute. "They think we need them. We're forced to cling to their markets, work around their regulations, and their approval. But the truth is—we've outgrown this place. And it's time we stopped letting small minds define the future."
Mirabel's thoughts raced, a hundred logistical alarms going off in her mind. "That's... that's not feasible. We've got infrastructure rooted in the Isles, a trained domestic workforce, inventory, and research equipment. We can't just disappear overnight. The backlash—"
"Our only truly tethered asset is our people, which I already have a solution for," Thane interrupted, his tone brokering no room for argument. "Everything else—our labs, our stores, our supply chains,—they're housed within extended spatial constructs. Constructs I designed, optimized, and networked myself."
Mirabel's mouth opened slightly. "Right... but even those spaces require grounded gateways. Physical anchors in the real world. That's how access works."
"And every gateway can be rerouted," Thane said, lifting his hand and snapping his fingers. "All spatial infrastructure is synced to my master network. If I want to move our core to Paris, Dubai, Kyoto, or the bloody moon, I can."
Mirabel blinked as the full implication hit her like a crash of thunder.
Then Thane reached into his robes and produced a thick, dragonhide folder, sealed with an arcane sigil. He handed it to her without a word.
Sliding on her reading lenses, Mirabel flipped open the folder—and immediately her eyes began scanning with impossible speed. Diagrams, economic projections, spellcraft logistics, diplomatic incentives, multinational trade architecture... her mind absorbed it all like dry parchment under ink. Page after page. Layer upon layer.
When she finally removed the glasses, she looked dazed.
"A... global arcane delivery system," she breathed, the words barely audible. "This... this would change everything."
Thane nodded once.
"There's not a single country," she continued, almost reverently, "that wouldn't bend over backward to gain access to this. Arcane transport hubs, instantaneous commerce, decentralized magical manufacturing..."
Thane's lips curved ever so slightly. "And best of all—it's no longer just a plan."
Mirabel looked at him, stunned. "We already have the prototypes deployed?"
"Three," Thane confirmed. "In untraceable and unplotable, sovereign-neutral pockets, I set up ages ago with Gringotts. And before we left I sent word to Balor to give the green light for building the others."
Mirabel leaned back against the plush seat of the carriage, her mind racing with possibilities and consequences. "You're going to break the global economy," she whispered. "In a year the world will be unrecognizable."
Thane didn't reply right away. When he did, his voice was quiet but absolute.
"I'm not breaking anything," he said. "I'm building what comes after."
Mirabel shook her head, still reeling from the sheer audacity of what she'd just read. The plans, the foresight, the boldness—it was overwhelming. But she managed to steady herself, her voice finding clarity even in the storm of thoughts swirling through her mind.
"Alright then," she said slowly, tucking the folder against her side like it held the weight of a new world. "But you still haven't answered my original question… Where exactly are we headed?"
Thane leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable as his gaze drifted toward the glowing skyline on the horizon. "South America. Brazil, specifically."
Mirabel blinked. "Brazil?"
Her mind whirred, memory flickering back to an old strategy meeting buried in the chaos of Fae Inc.'s rapid expansion. "That was one of the locations we considered for outsourcing our rare metal supply. But... they had an issue with dragon roosts in the Serra do Mar region. Intermittent attacks on mining operations, some fatalities. You said you'd deal with it personally... but it slipped through the cracks."
Thane nodded once, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. " It was shelved. Other issues were more pressing—until now."
Mirabel tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Now that we're distancing ourselves from Britain…"
"We need a new source," Thane finished. "A stable, independent supply chain. And Brazil's Ministry of Magic is desperate to reclaim its lost industrial zones. If I promise to deal with their little dragon infestation and grant them early access to our Arcane Delivery Network, I imagine they'll not only meet us halfway... they'll clear the entire path."
Mirabel slowly leaned back, the logic unfurling around her like a tapestry. Her earlier doubts began to fade, replaced by a grudging respect. This wasn't reactionary. Thane hadn't been driven by vengeance alone. The fury, yes—it was there, coiled tight behind his eyes. But beneath it? Precision. Intent. Every move was part of a longer gameboard she was only just beginning to glimpse.
Still… something didn't sit right.
She studied him again. The stillness. The silence. That tension. It wasn't just strategy humming beneath his skin. It was something older, something darker. A stirring force, like a storm barely held in check. And though Thane moved with purpose, there was something more primal layered beneath his calm.
Mirabel thought she understood her mentor. His genius. His principles. His rage when provoked. But now, she saw something she hadn't before.
He wasn't just leading a company through a transition. He was shedding a skin. And the part of him that had remained dormant—chained beneath manners and ministry compliance—was starting to stretch, awakening with eager anticipation.
Unfortunately, Mirabel only understood part of it. She saw the calculated move, the global play, the quiet brilliance.
What she missed was the part of Thane that smiled when thinking about fire. The part of him that looked forward to facing an entire horde of dragons not just to earn diplomatic leverage—but to feel their fury, to stare into their eyes, and to see them all bow after recognizing his strength.
He had been patient. Too patient. But the gloves were finally coming off.
And the world wouldn't know what hit it.