"Twenty-seven floors, reinforced structural elements disguised as architectural features, and state-of-the-art security systems." Emma's heels clicked rhythmically against the polished marble as she led Esdeath through the main floor of their newly acquired building. "The previous owners used only ten floors. We'll have ample space for everything we need."
Esdeath ran her fingertips along a gleaming white wall, leaving a faint trail of frost that evaporated almost instantly. "It's... sterile."
"It's elegant," Emma corrected. "And more importantly, it's ours."
The building stood in Manhattan's financial district, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the city around it. Frost International had acquired it through a series of shell companies and perfectly legal—if morally flexible—business maneuvers. No one connected the purchase to either of them.
"The lower floors will house legitimate businesses—tech startups, financial services, consulting firms." Emma gestured to the expansive lobby. "All generating revenue and providing perfect cover."
Esdeath nodded, but her expression remained skeptical. "And our actual operations?"
"Floors fifteen through twenty-seven. Private elevator access only." Emma pressed her palm against a seemingly ordinary section of wall, revealing a hidden panel. "Biometric security, telepathic verification, and physical keys that change daily."
"Paranoid," Esdeath observed.
"Prepared," Emma countered smoothly.
They stepped into a private elevator that whisked them upward without stopping. When the doors opened, they revealed a stark contrast to the polished corporate space below. This floor was gutted to the support beams, with construction materials stacked in neat piles.
"Our canvas," Emma said, satisfaction evident in her tone. "I've already commissioned designs for—"
"Training facilities," Esdeath interrupted. "Combat simulators, weapons storage, medical bay, emergency protocols."
Emma arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "I was going to say executive offices, living quarters, and a command center."
"We need both."
"Of course. But appearances matter, Esdeath." Emma pulled up holographic blueprints from a tablet. "We'll need to host potential allies, investors, and even enemies on occasion. The space should reflect power and success."
Esdeath frowned at the designs. "Crystal chandeliers in a war room?"
"It's a conference room."
"It's where we'll plan operations."
"Which we can do without sitting in military-grade chairs surrounded by concrete walls." Emma's voice remained calm, but her eyes flashed. "This isn't a bunker."
Esdeath crossed her arms. "It should be functional first, decorative second."
"It can be both simultaneously." Emma dismissed the hologram with a flick of her wrist. "I'm not suggesting we compromise security or efficiency. I'm insisting we maintain standards."
"Standards?" Esdeath scoffed. "When someone's trying to kill you, Italian marble floors won't save your life."
"No, but they might convince potential allies we're worth joining." Emma stepped closer, her gaze intense. "Power isn't just about what you can do, Esdeath. It's about perception. How others see you. What they believe you represent."
Esdeath held her ground. "And what do we represent, exactly?"
"Excellence. Sophistication. Control." Emma's voice dropped slightly. "We're not building another underground resistance or ragtag band of mutant outcasts. We're creating something that demands respect."
The air between them cooled—literally—as Esdeath's frustration manifested in dropping temperature. But she didn't disagree. Not entirely.
"Fine," she conceded. "But I want reinforced walls behind those fancy panels, weapons caches behind those bookshelves, and emergency exits disguised as whatever decorative nonsense you choose."
Emma's lips curved into a satisfied smile. "Already included in the plans. I'm practical, darling, just not austere."
Four hours later, they sat in what would become their strategy room, surrounded by digital displays showing profiles of potential recruits. The argument about décor had evolved into a deeper disagreement about approach.
"We can't just collect powerful mutants like trading cards," Esdeath insisted. "We need people who can work together, who complement each other's abilities."
"Which is precisely why I've selected these candidates." Emma brought forward five profiles. "Each fills a specific tactical need."
"You're thinking like a chess player. Moving pieces around a board."
"And you're thinking like a general with no diplomatic corps." Emma's voice sharpened. "A team needs more than fighters."
Esdeath leaned forward. "We need people we can trust in battle."
"We need people who can prevent battles from happening in the first place." Emma highlighted a mutant with infiltration abilities. "Not every problem can be solved with your ice, no matter how impressive it is."
"And not every problem can be solved with manipulation and mind games," Esdeath shot back.
Emma's eyes narrowed. "You're being impulsive."
"And you're being calculating and cold."
"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Emma's voice carried a dangerous edge. "Because from where I stand, calculation is what keeps people alive."
Esdeath stood, ice crystallizing around her fingertips. "And from where I stand, sometimes you need to act instead of analyze a situation to death."
They stared at each other across the table, neither backing down. The tension crackled between them—not just disagreement but something more complex, more charged.
"Perhaps," Emma finally said, her tone softening slightly, "we should test our approaches more directly."
Esdeath raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"
"Combat training. You and me." Emma stood, smoothing her white suit. "Since you're so convinced of the superiority of direct action."
The challenge was impossible to resist. Twenty minutes later, they faced each other in an empty floor they'd designated for training. Emma had changed into a more practical outfit—still white, still elegant, but designed for movement.
"No telepathy," Esdeath said, stretching her arms. "Just physical combat and your diamond form."
"And your ice," Emma agreed. "Though I'll need some... creative solutions."
Without warning, Esdeath attacked, sending a wave of ice spikes toward Emma. The telepath shifted to diamond form, the ice shattering against her crystalline body. She moved with surprising speed, flanking Esdeath.
What followed was unlike any sparring match Esdeath had experienced. Emma couldn't match her raw power, but she was cunning, using the environment and her diamond form's durability to compensate. When Esdeath created ice warriors, Emma shattered them with precise strikes. When Emma charged, Esdeath froze the floor, making traction impossible.
"You're holding back," Emma observed during a brief pause.
"So are you," Esdeath countered. "You could create illusions even without direct telepathy."
Emma smiled. "I didn't think that was allowed."
"I want to see what you can do," Esdeath challenged. "Show me."
The next round escalated dramatically. Emma projected illusions that disoriented Esdeath's senses—making the room seem to tilt, creating phantom opponents, disguising her own location. Esdeath responded by freezing entire sections of the floor and walls, limiting Emma's movement options.
They danced around each other for nearly an hour, neither gaining a decisive advantage. When they finally called a draw, both were breathing hard, their clothes disheveled.
"Not bad for a telepath," Esdeath said, wiping sweat from her brow.
"You're not so terrible yourself," Emma replied, reverting from diamond form. "Though your left side defense could use work."
Esdeath laughed. "Says the woman who tripped over her own illusion."
"A tactical feint," Emma insisted, though her lips twitched with amusement.
As they gathered their things, Esdeath watched Emma move with newfound appreciation. The woman was more than just a mind-reader or a schemer. She was a fighter—elegant and precise, but deadly in her own right.
"You like being in control," Esdeath observed casually. "Dominating the situation."
Emma paused, something flickering in her eyes. "I prefer the term 'directing outcomes.'"
"Call it what you want." Esdeath stepped closer. "It suits you."
A faint flush colored Emma's cheeks—barely noticeable, but there. She recovered quickly, her composure sliding back into place like armor.
"We should continue this discussion over dinner," Emma said. "Purely professional, of course. We have recruitment strategies to finalize."
"Of course," Esdeath agreed, not bothering to hide her smile. "Purely professional."
They parted to shower and change, agreeing to meet in an hour. Alone in her temporary quarters, Esdeath reflected on their interactions. Emma Frost was... unexpected. Not just in her abilities or her approach to building their organization, but in how she carried herself. There was steel beneath the silk, ice behind the smile.
In her previous life, Esdeath had read about Emma Frost in comics—a complex character, neither hero nor villain. But the real woman was more nuanced, more fascinating than any fictional portrayal.
She was dangerous in ways Esdeath hadn't anticipated. Not just because of her powers, but because she was equally unbending in her vision. Equally confident in her methods. Equally unwilling to compromise her standards.
For the first time since her reincarnation, Esdeath had met someone she couldn't simply overpower or outmaneuver. Someone who saw through her tactics and challenged her assumptions.
Someone who wasn't afraid of her.
It was... refreshing.
In her own quarters, Emma stood before a mirror, adjusting her attire for dinner. She paused, studying her reflection thoughtfully. Esdeath Sanchez was nothing like she'd expected. The young mutant possessed raw power, certainly, but also a strategic mind and adaptability that belied her age.
More concerning—or perhaps intriguing—was how easily she'd resisted Emma's subtle telepathic probes. Most minds were open books to Emma. Esdeath's was a fortress with walls of ice.
"Dinner," Emma reminded herself. "Professional dinner."
But she couldn't deny the spark of interest that had ignited during their sparring match. Esdeath moved with deadly grace, her attacks calculated despite her claims of impulsivity. She fought like someone who'd seen combat before—someone older than her years.
Emma rarely met individuals who could genuinely challenge her. Who weren't intimidated by her reputation or her abilities. Who pushed back against her plans not out of stubbornness, but from genuine strategic disagreement.
It was... inconvenient.
And utterly fascinating.