Apocalyptic Rebirth: With a repairman system space, she rises again. - Chapter 484

Chapter 484: Emily in Ferry lsland.
Two hours had passed precisely since Emily Stafford had been seated in the large meeting hall, which was a former school auditorium, though by her internal clock it felt closer to a century, and patience, once her strongest virtue had begun to fray like an old banner left too long in the sun.

The hall itself had been modified to intimidate. Animal heads hung on the walls like trophies of successful hunts; some were of dangerous creatures like the two headed serpent that she had only heard about. It was hard not to be impressed by the daring feats of Vicente and his group.

Emily shifted slightly in her seat, uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, played with her knife for a while, then finally broke the stillness. “How long do I have to wait?” she asked, her tone calm but sharpened at the edges.

The slim woman seated two chairs down from her did not look up immediately. She had short hair cut with ruthless efficiency and was flipping lazily through an old-fashioned magazine, the pages yellowed, the cover bent as if it had survived several wars.

When she did glance up, her eyes were bored, unimpressed. “If you want to see my husband,” Veronica said, rolling her eyes in a way that was not accidental and certainly not polite, “then you’ll have to wait until he gets back. Or you could tell me what is it that you came for, I am in charge in his absence.”

The disrespect was so blatant that Emily’s men stiffened almost in unison.

Dr. Ramesh leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Are you sure about this, Lord Emily?” he murmured. “These people don’t exactly radiate… diplomacy. I am not getting a sense of welcome here. Ever since we set foot in Ferry Island, it had been one suspicious look after another. We should reconsider this trip.”

A pyrokinetic standing behind her nodded and lowered his head to whisper into her ears, “I agree. We should leave now. After everything we witnessed in the sky, it is best to be far from here as possible. Or better yet, we can skip Vicente and go directly to Westbrook.”

Emily exhaled slowly through her nose, the kind of breath meant to prevent an explosion. Was she truly the only one in this room capable of seeing beyond fear and cheap, easy victory? The mercenaries she commanded were excellent at destruction but very poor at strategy beyond the next fight.

What they had witnessed in the sky was an even bigger reason for them to meet Vicente. But her people wanted to march on Fortress Four, guns blazing and egos high. One even said that if they died, they would die gloriously.

But how many of them would truly choose death? It was not even an option for her. Emily, preferred winning with minimum losses. She preferred survival. She preferred futures. “We need Vicente,” she said quietly to Ramesh, not looking at him. “And whether I like his wife’s manners or not is irrelevant.”

Her gaze drifted, unbidden, to the tall French windows lining the hall.

The previous night, after Joy’s failure to return, she got a feeling that things had not gone as planned. Then, she heard whispers from those who manned the rubble between Kingsbridge and Westbrook that a female spy had been captured in the open market Fortress four held.

She had known without a doubt, that it was Joy. And even though Joy was loyal, it would take no more than a day or two to break her. And then, the cruel billionaires would be on her doorstep.

So, early in the morning, Emily had driven herself to Ferry land, refusing to move with a convoy of personal superhuman guards out of stubborn principle. Determined to prove that she was not afraid. Determined to prove that she had strength. Determined to secure an alliance with Vicente Ricci.

She had known he might not be present; this was not the first time she had come here for an alliance only to go back empty. But she had not known that she would be told to sit and wait like an unimportant petitioner.

None the less, today she was going after she meet with him. He was in the town, this much she knew. He had likely witnessed for himself the flying things in the sky and that fight between them and the watchers.

There was more going on in Fortress four than they knew. And they needed to find out and ready themselves for when the billionaires came for their territories.

Rising from her chair, she stretched slightly, bones popping in protest, and walked toward the window, boots echoing softly against tiled floor.

Beyond the glass lay the rumored permanent mist, dense and shifting, a living thing that swallowed light and hope in equal measure. She rested a hand against the cold pane, watching it swirl, remembering the scraps of overheard conversation she’d caught earlier_ whispers of hidden supply caches, of men who went in with Vicente and sometimes did not come back.

How did the man have the people’s trust when he led them to death all the time?

Cries came from the mist. Sounds that made her shiver. The mist was eerie. Why Ferry Island was still occupied by humans was a mystery to her.

She had been told that Vicente had gone into that Mist himself to retrieve the supplies that he kept there. It made her smirk. He had really taken advantage of it and his ability to walk through it unharmed. “He is a beast himself,” Emily muttered under her breath.

Just as she turned to leave the window, movement caught her eye.

The Mist parted.

Not violently, not hurriedly, but as if it recognized its master.

A figure emerged, tall and unhurried, and Emily felt her breath catch despite herself. Vicente Ricci stepped out as though from a curtain, the mist curling around him like a loyal hound before retreating.

His hair, once dark as ink according to every description Emily had heard, was now pale, almost white, and his eyes_ his eyes were wrong, too dark, the kind that had stared into something dark and survived.

Fear prickled along Emily’s spine, mingling with awe in a way she deeply resented. If she had someone like him, someone who could command the mist instead of merely enduring it, her territory would be untouchable.

She would cover every corner of it with mist, keeping those she ruled inside and enemies outside.

If he could get the mist to follow him, they could storm Fortress Four. It would crumble without a single siege engine raised.

She straightened her shoulders, schooled her expression, and returned to her seat with practiced grace just as Vicente entered the hall.

Veronica was on him instantly, greeting him with open arms and a kiss that lingered far too long for public comfort. Hands wandered, laughter followed, and Emily had to look away before her mouth twisted into a disapproving line.

Uncouth, she thought, but said nothing. Allies, after all, did not need to be likable.

When the reunion finally ended, Emily cleared her throat, the sound sharp and deliberate.

Vicente turned, eyes locking onto hers with unsettling precision.

“Mr. Vicente Ricci,” Emily began, rising smoothly, “I am…..”

“Emily Stafford,” he interrupted, his voice calm, dismissive, as if he were naming an item on a list.

The room seemed to pause.

Emily felt the insult land, hot and precise. She smiled anyway. “That is correct,” she said evenly. “And given that my brother is dead and I now hold the Stafford seat, you may address me as Lord Stafford.”