“…Who are you?”

  I insist, the question coming out sharper this time.

  The woman doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she approaches, holstering her pistol with an easy, unhurried motion.

  “Well… well… well,” she says, her voice lilting, amused. “Would you look at that.”

  I try to meet her eyes, but it’s too dark. My muscles tense as I brace myself.

  She extends a hand—then lets it pass right by me.

  “You look well,” she murmurs. “How long has it been, pet? Too long, yes?”

  My stomach churns.

  I turn just in time to see a thick, gloved hand take firm hold of Cattleya’s chin, tilting her head gently from side to side. The woman’s thumb strokes along her jaw as if inspecting a prized possession.

  Cattleya stands rigid, jaw clenched. There’s a flicker of fear in her eyes—but she doesn’t move.

  “…Cat?” I ask, my voice tight.

  Instead of answering, the woman steps closer and slings an arm around Cattleya’s shoulders—possessive, casual—pushing me aside like I’m an inconvenience.

  “Alright. Listen up,” she calls, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’re all coming with me. Put these on.”

  On cue, a soldier lowers his musket and approaches, offering me a dark sack.

  “What—” I stare at it, disbelief flooding my chest. “Who are you? And what are you doing with her?”

  My voice cracks despite myself.

  She doesn’t answer. She’s already moving ahead.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see other figures helping Kiereth to his feet, guiding him along with her.

  “It’s here,” one of the men announces as they break open the false floor of the cart we transported.

  Veil steps in front of me before I can see what they’ve uncovered.

  “It’s— it’s fine, cove,” Veil mutters, breath rough as Ulric keeps him upright. “…That thing I said. ’Bout someone I wanted t’see. That’s… that’s ’em.”

  My jaw tightens. I force my arms to relax.

  Someone pulls the sack over my head. A firm hand presses between my shoulders, guiding me forward.

  “I’m not forcing you into anything,” her voice carries ahead, calm, faintly amused. “You may stay behind if you wish. But believe me… it is in your best interests to come.”

  I bite my tongue and keep my head down.

  We walk in silence for long moments. I lose all sense of time, thoughts spiraling, questions stacking faster than I can chase them.

  Then—halt.

  “Shh. Quiet,” she says softly.

  In the distance, I hear shouting. Heavy boots. Frantic commands.

  Local guards.

  My emerald eye flares beneath the sack. I catch drifting silhouettes of Vire moving back the way we came.

  Soon enough, we move again.

  Branches scrape against my arms as we push deeper into the forest. Our pace slows, city noise fading until only distant animals and the hush of night remain.

  A sharp knock.

  Then careful steps downward. Hands grip my shoulders, steadying me as we descend stairs blind.

  I try to see with my emerald eye—only vague silhouettes further underground.

  At last, we reach flat ground.

  Footsteps move away behind us. A door closes.

  The sacks are pulled free.

  I flinch under sudden light, raising a hand to shield my eyes.

  A large wooden table dominates the room, sturdy and worn. A chair sits behind it—an office.

  The woman lowers herself into it with unmistakable ownership.

  Light brown hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, a single lock framing her face, silvery strands woven naturally through it. Two short horns rise from either side of her head, subtle but unmistakable.

  A thick, dark-blue uniform covers her neatly, her relaxed smile radiating confidence.

  She says nothing at first. Just watches.

  I glance aside.

  Ulric. Veil. Cinna.

  The men are bruised and bleeding. Cinna looks hollow, as if she’s been crying for hours.

  Finally, Ulric steps forward and draws a breath.

  “Chariot squad, Vali—”

  She lifts a single open palm.

  “I know who you are,” she says calmly, eyes closing. “Hired by Edgar Nura. Told to move cargo and not ask questions. Expected to deliver it and disappear—like sensible mercenaries always do.”

  Ulric clenches his jaw and steps back. He doesn’t argue.

  “Still— can’t say you didn’t help us out, Signora,” Veil says, arm strapped tight in a rough sling.

  The name draws every gaze.

  “Hah. Look at you,” she says, amused. “How long has it been?” Her smile sharpens. “I should skin that snake for what she did to that pretty face. Regrettable. Very messy.”

  “Where’s Cattleya?” I demand, cutting in.

  Her gaze meets mine, patient rather than surprised, then she exhales and straightens.

  “You’re right,” she says after a beat. “This is rude. I have been rude—terribly so.”

  She claps once.

  A guard opens the door behind us.

  “Please,” she says, gesturing lightly, “escort the gentlemen to the infirmary. The ladies to a guest room. It is late—we will talk properly in the morning.”

  She doesn’t wait for a response.

  She moves toward another door near her desk.

  As it opens, I glimpse a flash of white.

  Cattleya’s tail.

  “Cat—!”

  I try to rush forward, but strong hands seize my shoulders.

  A Vesfel man meets my gaze briefly before tugging me back.

  “Please,” he says firmly. “I will show you to your chambers.”

  I look to Cinna.

  She goes without resistance, eyes empty.

  My emerald eye flares again as I glance back—two dense masses of Vire, one unmistakably hers, close together.

  What is happening, Cat?

  I’m shoved forward, forced to look away.

  Narrow corridors. Then a modest room. One large bed at the center.

  Ulric and Veil are taken elsewhere.

  The guards remain standing until a third finally comes in, holding our packs. They set them down and leave. The door shuts with a sharp clack.

  Locked.

  For long moments, I hold still, breathing shallowly, forcing myself not to think about where Cattleya is—or who might be with her.

  Strained sobs break my concentration.

  I turn.

  Cinna sits on the bed, hands covering her face.

  I move to her side, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  “Ci…” I whisper.

  She flinches at the touch, shoulders drawing tight for a heartbeat—then she stills, forcing herself not to pull away. Her hands lower slowly, revealing eyes red and raw, unfocused with tears.

  “What was that?” she asks, voice unsteady. “What… did you do?” Her breath catches. “What did that man do? That woman…” She swallows hard. “None of it made any sense.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Her gaze drops, shame burning through the tears.

  “Ten years in the academy,” she says, quieter now. “Ten years, and when it mattered—I didn’t know what to do. I just… froze.”

  She hesitates, breath catching—then leans into me, fingers clutching at my armor as if afraid she might slip away if she doesn’t hold on. The sobs come then, muffled against my chest, desperate and unguarded.

  I feel my own tension ease a fraction. My hand slides gently through her hair, steady.

  “I… used to be a mage like you,” I murmur, speaking softly as she cries. “Well—”

  I swallow.

  “Not like you. I never had the coin to attend the academy. When I moved to Callistra and started working at the Lyceum as a clerk, I saved up and signed up for a class.”

  Her head lifts slightly, a small nod.

  “I don’t need to tell you what rune magic is,” I continue. “Not as refined as conjury. I wasn’t great either—passable. But it helped me advance my career… I could finally join expeditions, make discoveries of my own. You know?”

  She listens, tired gaze pressed to my chest.

  “And then something happened,” I say quietly, “and I couldn’t use any magic anymore. Anything I tried just resulted in…”

  I open my palm. A small crystalline pebble lies there.

  Cinna shifts to look closely. I hold it out.

  “…You did not bind Vire to create this,” she murmurs, studying it closely, suddenly distracted from her sorrow. “This is your own Vire. It came from your body.”

  I shrug, an awkward smile creeping in.

  “You understand those things better than I do, Cinna. All I know is that’s all I can do. Any spell I try—crystals come out.”

  Her red-rimmed eyes lift to mine, focused through tears.

  “Please, Imone… let me study how your crystals form. If you let me, maybe… maybe I’ll be able to understand what to do if—” She furrows her brow, averting her gaze.

  Then she pushes away, shame rising fast.

  “My apologies. You must be more tired than I am. You actually fought, while I was just…”

  I exhale slowly and force myself to stand. The situation unnerves me as much as it does her.

  “…Hey,” I say gently. “Let’s sleep, yeah? They were nice enough to bring our things over. Our heads will be clearer in the morning.”

  She blinks up at me—then nods after a moment.

  I go to my pack and pull out my pajamas, but I can’t help it—my emerald eye flares again.

  Cattleya is lying down.

  The other mass is standing right next to her.

  My breath catches. My jaw clenches. Cold sweat prickles down my spine.

  “Imone?” Cinna asks. To her, I’ve just been staring at a wall.

  “Ah…” I say quickly. “I was wondering where I saw this painting before.”

  The lie leaves my mouth before I even realize I’m speaking.

  I change hurriedly, set my armor over my pack, and climb into bed.

  Cinna watches me, lips pressing together as if she wants to say something—but doesn’t.

  We each take a side of the bed. She curls into herself, shaking.

  I reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey… I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Whatever all of this is, we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

  She turns, eyes shining through a haze of tears. She takes my hand and holds it against her chest. Her sobs come more freely.

  I scoot closer, my other hand moving to her back, rubbing gently as she cries.

  Cattleya…

  My thoughts dart back to her, but I force myself to stop. Whatever is happening, it’ll only be worse if I torture myself like that.

  Instead I look down at Cinna—focus on what I can do.

  “You didn’t let any of us down,” I murmur. “I didn’t know what was happening either.”

  My head settles into the pillow as she continues crying against my chest.

  …I don’t even know when sleep takes me.

  I stir awake.

  Warmth.

  I glance down—Cinna is sleeping peacefully against my chest.

  A smile creeps onto my face—

  —and vanishes as I look toward the door.

  A woman stands there. A guard. Same uniform as Signora’s. Watching us in silence.

  I jerk back, arm raised defensively.

  “…What?” Cinna wakes with a grumble, blinking up at me, then follows my gaze. Her reaction mirrors mine.

  The guard’s eyes flick away.

  “Please knock when you are dressed,” she says. Then she steps out. The lock clicks shut again.

  We stare at each other, uneasy.

  But we comply.

  I put my armor back on and knock.

  The lock releases. The door opens. The guard steps aside and starts down the narrow corridors.

  I glance once—instinctively—toward where I’d sensed Cattleya before, and have to physically resist the urge to go that way. I focus on following the guard.

  She leads us to a small lounge. Breads, jams, cheeses arranged neatly on the table, along with fresh coffee and tea.

  Veil and Ulric are already there, eating.

  Cinna rushes in first, practically throwing herself against Veil. The wounded man groans but returns the hug with the one arm he can still move.

  Ulric looks at me—tired, face swollen, stitched cuts along his lips and cheek.

  “Eat,” he says, nudging his head toward the food.

  “…Yes, sir,” I reply quietly. I pour myself coffee, snag a few pieces of cheese into a roll, then sit beside him.

  “Were you told anything yet?” I ask carefully.

  “Nah.” He chews, then tilts his head toward Veil. “Said this was a crew his old one collaborated with… Cat’s old boss.”

  My blood runs cold.

  Before any more thoughts can follow, I hear the sharp clack of multiple sets of heels coming down the corridor.

  Signora enters, dressed in a pencil skirt and sharp business jacket, a rich blouse beneath.

  And behind her—

  Cattleya.

  But different.

  Her hair is tidy, neatly parted and brushed. Makeup sharp and thick. An elegant purple dress replacing her usual gear.

  My eyes don’t leave her. Memory flashes—our first meeting, her violin, just as dolled up as she is now.

  “That was a pleasant night,” Signora says as she circles the room and takes her seat on a sofa at the far end, legs crossing elegantly. “Comfortable. Restful.”

  Cattleya stops beside her, standing, eyes fixed on the ground—never meeting ours.

  “Don’t mind us,” Signora continues calmly. “We already ate. This is all yours—have as much as you want. Ask whatever questions you have when you feel like it.”

  She gestures toward Cattleya. Cattleya lowers herself as Signora whispers to her, then Signora motions toward a cabinet in the back.

  Cattleya moves to it.

  “First things first, ma’am,” Ulric says. “Are we your prisoners?”

  “Hm?” Signora vocalizes, almost incredulous, turning as Cattleya brings her a short glass half-full of amber liquid. Cattleya bows politely as she delivers it.

  “You have the wrong impression,” Signora says mildly. “You are in my house. When you are in my house, you obey certain rules.” She gestures to the side. “But you want to leave?”

  She sips.

  “Say the word. You’ll be dropped off at the finest restaurant in Yunhai, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

  Ulric grunts—still not happy, but not displeased.

  My gaze never leaves Cattleya.

  She hasn’t looked at me once.

  “…Where is Kiereth?” I ask, forcing myself to focus elsewhere.

  Signora breathes in through her teeth.

  “The old man is in pretty bad shape,” she says, dismissive. “Not a prisoner either, but I cannot let him go. Poor coot wouldn’t live to see the next sunrise.”

  She leans back on the couch.

  “But he’s not your problem, is he? Not a mercenary. If you want to head home… I’ll take care of him. Take him where he wants to go.”

  “You say you’ll let us go,” Ulric says, eyes on Cattleya. “But what about her?”

  Signora’s eyes widen slightly. Then she snaps her fingers.

  “Pet?” she says gently. “That nice man asked you a question. Do you want to go with them?”

  Cattleya’s breath catches. Her hands tighten. She turns to Ulric and bows low.

  “I’m sorry… Captain,” she says. Her voice is hollow—flat, emotionless, nothing like her usual self. “I will remain with Signora.”

  Silence stretches.

  She straightens, still not looking up.

  “So—Signora,” Veil says, shifting his weight. “What were it you pulled out o’ the cart, then?”

  She looks at him with pleased amusement.

  “Ah. You noticed,” she says. “Clever boy.” A smirk. “A teleport crystal.”

  “A teleport crystal?” Cinna blurts. “What was its purpose? Why… why did Master Edgar deliver that statue? Why did the statue do—do…”

  The questions tumble out all at once. She clamps her mouth shut, embarrassed.

  Signora chuckles softly. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

  Then she inclines her chin toward Ulric.

  “Thing is,” she says, “I am not sure I can answer those questions, yes? Not without breaking a certain… understanding. Right, Captain?”

  Ulric’s eyes narrow.

  “The best part of being a mercenary,” Signora continues, gesturing lightly, “is that no matter what happens, all you are doing is your job. You have no chips on either side of the table. You do the work. Don’t ask questions. Get paid.”

  She shrugs, as if it’s obvious.

  “And if someone gets arrested later, you simply say you were just doing your job. Completely unaccountable.”

  She turns that calm gaze to Cinna.

  “Cross that line, and you stop being a mercenary. You become a soldier.” A pause. “Are you sure that is what you want?”

  Ulric shakes his head and returns to his food.

  Veil shrugs awkwardly and sits.

  Cinna follows, gaze lowered.

  …What?

  “Smart,” Signora adds, unbothered. “Quite a few people died there. Most of them easterners. Their mainland will want to know what happened.”

  She lifts one shoulder.

  “Yunhai will do whatever it can to cover its ass. The carriage will be found. You registered and declared everything officially, like good little mercenaries.”

  Another small shrug.

  “You did your job. Followed protocol. So whatever happens next?” She sips. “No skin off your back.”

  Her voice irritates me more with every syllable.

  “Now,” she says, gaze back on Ulric, “how about that nice restaurant for lunch? My treat. After that…” She brushes a hand aside. “Hells, I think I can put in a good word for you—find you a nice, comfortable escort job on the way back. How does that sound?”

  I stand abruptly before anyone can answer.

  Chairs scrape. Eyes lock onto me as I circle the table and stop in front of Signora and Cattleya.

  I move closer to Cat until she’s forced to look up.

  I see it—fear, uncertainty, shame—amplified by my proximity.

  It hardens something in my chest.

  “Signora,” I say, keeping my tone as respectful as I can, “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I understand precisely what is going on.”

  For a heartbeat, the room is still.

  Then she smiles.

  Not surprised. Not annoyed.

  Pleased.

  She clicks her tongue and looks away. “Well… that does complicate things, doesn’t it, Captain?” She rises from her seat and, without warning, slings an arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close.

  The Bovaryn woman looks down at me, smile still strong.

  “Why don’t you compare notes with your pals first,” she murmurs. “The old man too.” Then she releases me with a gentle tap between my shoulders.

  “How about this,” she says aloud, lifting her glass. “You have your injured friend in the infirmary. Go pay him a visit. I’ll have it vacated so you can talk in peace.”

  She takes another sip.

  “And don’t worry,” she adds, casual as ever. “We don’t spy in this house. That would be rude.”

  I feel her gaze linger between my shoulders as I walk away.

  …What was that?

  A guard escorts us through more hallways. The others stare at me in silence. My gaze drops, shame heating my face.

  “It’s fine,” Ulric finally says. “I wasn’t happy with what’s going on with Cat either. We’ll figure this out… Lucius has dealt with worse.”

  The infirmary is nothing like the one in the tower—bright, orderly, all white tile and neatly folded cloth.

  We find Kiereth behind a curtain, asleep, heavily bandaged but breathing steadily.

  “Patient’s stable,” a woman’s voice says from behind us. “Internal damage was ugly, but he’ll live.”

  My ears perk immediately.

  For a moment, the entire situation falls away.

  I spin.

  Tall, soft-looking Vixari ears. A brown, bushy tail. An utterly puzzled expression that people who don’t know her might mistake for disgust.

  “…Fuzzball?” she asks, baffled.

  “Nagi!” I exclaim—and nearly throw myself at her, arms squeezing her tight.

  And once more, everyone’s eyes land on me.