The first thing Sloane noticed when she stepped outside the House of Myrrh was that the sky was bleeding.
Amber stormlight cracked across the skyline. Threads of raw data, torn from destabilized fashionlines, floated like ribbons through the air — glowing, untethered, dangerous.
"The Threadsphere is fragmenting," Cassien said. "Venna moved faster than we thought."
They had twenty-four hours. That's how long it would take for the unravel to hit the capital grid and take down every design node in the city.
Every suit, every cloak, every stitched weapon would die.
And in a world where power was fashion — that meant anarchy.
Sloane reached into her wristband and tapped her WeftLink. Ari's voice buzzed in.
"You're alive," Ari snapped. "Do you have any idea what's going on up here?"
"I'm looking at it," Sloane muttered. "Venna's starting a fashionline purge."
"Not just that. She's hijacking the HoloVogue Network. Every high-tier loom, every social filament — they're redirecting to her brand."
Sloane's blood went cold.
Venna wasn't just attacking the empire.
She was turning fashion into a cult.
---
In the center of the city, the Vogue Obelisk — a silver tower once neutral, now pulsed with violet light. The broadcasts had already begun.
Venna's face filled the sky, a thousand meters tall, draped in a glitch-couture shroud.
"My beloved audience," she purred, "You've been lied to. Your Houses built cages, not catwalks. Your nobles stitched chains instead of wings. But no more."
She smiled.
"Today, you choose your own designs. Today, you wear freedom."
Beneath the broadcast, cities rioted. Tailor guilds burned. Boutique fortresses fell. New brands rose from the ashes — all bearing the same glitch signature. Venna's code.
"She's branding rebellion," Sloane said. "It's not a revolution. It's a relaunch."
Cassien turned to her.
"Then we have to crash the debut."
---
Back at the underground Myrrh Atelier, Ari was waiting.
She was not in her usual thread-glasses and fiber coat. She was in combat weave — a stealth-black jumpsuit laced with FrayTech filaments and spectral embroidery.
"You really wore Silhouette," she muttered to Sloane. "That's insane. That dress is banned in five districts and worshipped in two others."
"It works," Sloane said. "And we need everything that works now."
Ari scowled. "Then you'll need him."
The lights flickered.
A tall figure stepped from the shadows.
He wore no house crest. No brand signature. Just a coat — charcoal grey, spiked with threadlocks and stitched warnings in four languages.
His name was Dax Vire. Fashion terrorist. Rogue loommancer. Sloane's ex.
"Well, well," he said, smirking. "If it isn't the prodigal threadwitch."
Sloane's gut twisted. "What is he doing here?"
"He's the only one who can crack Venna's new code," Ari said. "And he doesn't come cheap."
"I'm not here for credits," Dax said, voice low. "I'm here for revenge."
He walked to Sloane, stopping inches away. "You stole my design the last time. Try it again, and I'll cut the stitches out of your soul."
Cassien stepped forward fast. "Touch her and you'll regret it."
Dax grinned wider.
"You must be the prince. Cute. Does she know what your House did to her mother?"
The room went silent.
Sloane stared at Cassien.
"What is he talking about?"
Cassien didn't speak.
Dax nodded. "Thought so."
---
Ari cut in. "Enough. You two can kill each other after we survive the fashion war."
She threw a projection into the air — a map of the Threadsphere.
"Venna's new brand — NoName — is spreading faster than viral couture. She's hijacked the Vogue Obelisk's signal tower. If she stabilizes that threadline, every designer in the city will be absorbed into her network."
"And then?" Sloane asked.
"She launches a global update," Ari said. "One dress code, one design system. Everyone wearing anything remotely digital will be infected — and reprogrammed."
Cassien looked stunned. "That's… a fashion dictatorship."
"It's worse," Dax said. "It's monobranding. We've seen it before. Back when loomcraft first started. The reason the empire created design diversity in the first place — to stop one thread from ruling them all."
"And Venna wants to become the one thread," Sloane said.
Dax nodded.
"So what do we do?" Cassien asked.
Ari grinned.
"We break in. We crash her gala. We pull the Vogue Obelisk's plug live in front of the world."
Sloane's breath caught.
"You're saying we go onstage."
"I'm saying we put on a fashion show of our own."
---
The plan was simple.
Dax would breach the Obelisk's security threads.
Cassien would neutralize Venna's elite guards — the Hemline Order, assassins trained in weaponized tailoring.
And Sloane?
Sloane would walk the catwalk.
In Silhouette.
On Venna's stage.
But she wouldn't just walk.
She would steal the show.
---
The night of the gala, the Vogue Obelisk glowed like a stitched cathedral. The city around it was in blackout — all energy rerouted to Venna's broadcast grid.
Models floated across invisible runways. Dresses changed shape mid-air. Some bled light. Others pulsed with heartbeat-sync tech. But all bore the same fatal flaw:
No soul.
Venna stood at the apex stage, cloaked in a gown of shifting mirrors — a walking surveillance grid. She raised a hand.
"Let the true couture begin."
The crowd erupted.
And then, the light cracked.
Sloane walked into the spotlight.
Wearing Silhouette.
The fabric moved with her heartbeat, threads flaring in fractal patterns. Her walk was not elegant.
It was a threat.
Venna froze.
"No," she hissed. "You don't get to wear her legacy."
Sloane raised her head.
"I am her legacy."
She reached the center stage.
Venna snarled. "Guards—"
But it was too late.
Cassien appeared behind the mirrors — slicing through the Hemline Order like a storm of silk and steel.
Dax unleashed a virus thread — cracking the broadcast grid, splicing her speech, turning her image into static.
Ari's voice echoed through the speakers.
"Time for the rebrand."
Sloane lifted a hand.
And Silhouette unraveled.
It spun through the air, threads separating, catching light, forming a new design live on stage — not her mother's, not Venna's.
Her own.
A new signature bloomed in light.
Sloane Calyx.
---
The city held its breath.
Venna's code shattered.
Her mirror dress blinked out.
The Vogue Obelisk dimmed.
And then the cheers began.
Sloane stood at the center of the catwalk, shaking. Cassien reached her, hand out.
"You did it," he said.
"No," she whispered.
"We just started."