The moon hung low and full above us, its pale light spilling over the world like a delicate silver veil. It painted the landscape in gentle hues, softening the harsh edges of the night. The air was cool and still—midnight, the hour when most souls surrendered to sleep, when silence ruled and shadows lengthened, and when anything seemed possible. I stood at the crossroads, the worn map stretched out in front of me, fingers trembling slightly as I tried to make sense of the lines and symbols that seemed to dance under the moonlight.

  “The moonlight shines down upon us and paints the world in a gentle light,” I murmured, more to myself than to Luna behind me. “It’s midnight—the time when most sleep, the time when everything is possible.”

  Luna’s breath came in uneven pants behind me, the sound sharp in the quiet night. She moved forward and glanced over my shoulder, eyes quickly narrowing as she took in the map. Slowly, the corners of her mouth tugged downward in an expression that balanced amusement and disbelief.

  “You seriously don’t know where we are anymore?” she asked, a little out of breath.

  I bristled, more embarrassed than anything else. “I’m not holding it wrong,” I snapped defensively.

  “You are,” she said with a teasing smirk as she gently took the map from my hands. “See this arrow here? That’s north. You’re supposed to hold the map so north is always up.”

  I frowned. “And where is north? Where are we?”

  Luna raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You don’t know what you’re doing at all, do you?”

  I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “Well, theoretically, I do.” I was taught how to read maps once in purgatory. But maps were useless in that barren, twisted place where roads didn’t exist and landmarks had no meaning. Here, though, I was supposed to rely on them, and I was rusty at best.

  Luna’s eyes scanned the surroundings, searching intently for a reference point. Slowly, her fingers traced the map’s edges, aligning the paper with the world around us. With quiet confidence, she found our bearings. I had to admit—she was far better at this than I ever was.

  After a short walk through the darkened paths, we came to a shabby encampment where six men lay sprawled and slumped in various states of drunkenness. Their loud snores, occasional groans, and the reek of stale ale filled the air. They lived near where the latest victim had been found, a fact that made them valuable witnesses—or so I hoped.

  Luna leaned in, whispering, “And how do we convince them to tell us everything?”

  I scratched at my cheek, a little uncertain. My usual methods—intimidation, threats, or the occasional torture—felt utterly useless here. Not with Luna by my side.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m usually not the one doing the investigating.”

  One of the men, sprawled awkwardly on a wooden bench, barely registered my presence as I reached out and cupped his cheek. He didn’t stir.

  “What do you mean?” Luna asked, her voice low and cautious.

  I shrugged, releasing the man and stepping back. “Nothing. Let’s move on. This is pointless.”

  I looked at the group as a whole: some were already snoring, heads resting on their chests; one had vomited in the corner; none seemed aware of us at all.

  This wasn’t going to be easy.

  We encountered the same disheartening scene at every location marked on the map. Groups of men—always the same dismal tableau—slumped over barrels, stumbling through the mud, completely drunk. It was like a cursed pattern. After the fourth site, impatience gnawed at me, twisting into a sharp suspicion. It wasn’t just unusual; it was downright strange for so many soldiers to be wandering the camp in such a stupor at this hour. Sure, pockets of men drinking into the night were common, but to find such groups scattered near every murder scene? Something didn’t sit right.

  “There are far too many soldiers awake around these areas,” I said, breaking the silence as we trudged along the cold, empty path to the next spot. The makeshift street was deserted, as it should be at this hour—except for those pockets of intoxicated men.

  Luna yawned, her eyelids heavy and her steps lagging. “What do you mean? There are always some awake at night… like this one.” She nodded toward a lone soldier who emerged from a shadowed side street, his boots crunching softly on the dirt.

  “No, I don’t mean someone like him.” I narrowed my eyes as I watched the soldier approach. “You’re the master of patterns—what do you think it means when there’s a group of drunk men at every murder scene?”

  Luna blinked slowly, the exhaustion dulling her usual sharpness. “I don’t know… I’m too tired for my magic right now.”

  Just then, the soldier passed by us. I froze, sensing something was off. It wasn’t the familiar cut of his military coat or the sword that hung at his side. By all appearances, he was just another soldier. But something intangible prickled the back of my mind—a subtle, unnerving wrongness. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

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  “Hey, you!” I called out, spinning around. The soldier stiffened for a heartbeat—too brief to be natural—but quickly masked it with a practiced, friendly smile. He turned to face me fully.

  I scrutinized him from head to toe: black polished shoes, brown trousers, a crisp white shirt. Everything perfectly normal… except his eyes. Human eyes, yes—blue and clear, framed by a common face. But when I looked deeper, past the surface, I saw nothing. No spark, no flicker, no hint of a soul.

  “How are you doing that?” I muttered, stepping closer to peer into those empty eyes.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head in mild confusion. I bit my tongue, unwilling to reveal my suspicions too openly—especially anything that might tip Arthur off. I forced myself to ignore the eerie absence in the man’s gaze, though it made my skin crawl.

  “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice low and cold, leaving no room for evasion.

  “Colonel Hannibal Smith, Supply Corps,” he said crisply, snapping to a sharp salute. Every gesture radiated military precision, leaving no doubt about his rank or affiliation.

  “And what are you doing here at this hour?” I pressed on, suspicion tightening its grip.

  “I’m delivering beer to those affected by the recent deaths of our comrades,” he replied solemnly. “May they find a new home soon, in another world.”

  I glanced toward the drunken clusters and wondered if he was the source of the nightly drunkenness.

  “See,” Luna said quickly, sensing my tension. “That’s why they’re all up so late.”

  She smiled apologetically at Colonel Smith. “I’m sorry my friend questioned you so harshly. She gets paranoid when she’s tired.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that,” the man said smoothly, his voice calm and controlled. “Luna, Lucinda, if you’ll excuse me now. Have a good night.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode away, disappearing into the shadows as he continued his beer deliveries.

  Luna gave a polite nod. “Goodnight,” she said softly, then took my hand in hers. But I was still lost in thought, my mind racing with doubts, as she gently tugged me backward.

  “Luna… did you notice anything off about him?” I asked quietly, my eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  She sighed, as if incredulous I was still hung up on the matter. “Lucinda, I’m exhausted. I want to sleep. Please, let’s forget about him and check the last spot on the list, alright?” She tugged on my hand again, trying to coax me forward, but I stood firm.

  “No,” I muttered stubbornly. “That man was strange. How did he know my name? I specifically told Arthur to keep me under wraps. Markus is supposed to be the public face dealing with the bandits. No one—no one outside the officers—should even know I exist.”

  I squinted in the direction the man had gone, watching as he vanished around the corner. Something about him didn’t fit.

  “I don’t know,” Luna shrugged, trying to rationalize. “Maybe someone told him. We’re not exactly blending in here—an outsider like us in the middle of an army. That’s bound to raise eyebrows.”

  I hated to admit that could be true, but that wasn’t the only thing that made me uneasy.

  “Alright… then how exactly did he deliver all that beer? Judging by the number of drunks around, it had to be a sizable amount,” I said, suddenly tugging Luna’s hand and changing direction.

  “True…” she murmured, realization dawning in her eyes. The man was definitely weird.

  “And how was he carrying it? With his hands?” I asked, and Luna finally released my hand as I broke into a run. I rounded the corner, Luna close behind me, both of us suddenly certain this man was more than just a drunkard’s deliveryman—he might be connected to the murders.

  But the sight that greeted me stopped me dead in my tracks. Luna slammed into my side and I instinctively covered her eyes with my hand, blocking her view.

  She gasped, startled. “Lucinda?”

  I didn’t answer. What I’d seen was too gruesome to describe—too terrible to share with her. The man had impaled himself through the jaw, the sword buried deep in his skull. His blood poured out in a dark, sticky torrent, soaking through his white shirt, carried on the cold night breeze, mixed with a faint, almost sweet scent.

  “Luna,” I whispered urgently, still shielding her eyes, “I need you to turn around. Don’t look. Can you do that for me?”

  She hesitated, clearly torn between curiosity and trust. But in the end, she nodded, obeying silently as I kept my hand firmly before her face. Still, I could tell how tempting it must have been for her to glance back. And sure enough, the moment I lowered my hand, her head instinctively snapped around, trying to catch a glimpse of what I was hiding.

  “What…” Luna started, her voice barely above a whisper, but before she could finish, her face twisted in sudden nausea and she threw up the skewer she had just eaten. I quickly moved to her side, gently patting her back, but chose not to say a word. Any attempt at comfort felt useless—no words could undo what she had just witnessed.

  When she finally caught her breath, I pulled her into my arms, firm but careful, forcing her gaze away from the horrific scene behind us.

  “Let’s go back, shall we?” I said softly, hoping to soothe her shaken spirit, though I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Luna was still so young, so innocent—far too pure for such darkness.

  She muttered a faint, “Hmm,” and finally turned her eyes away, facing me instead of the carnage.

  Without wasting time, I spotted a nearby soldier—a plain, average man fast asleep on a makeshift bench—and shook him awake. I explained the situation quickly and clearly, making sure he understood the gravity and urgency before sending him off.

  Turning back, I took Luna’s hand, gently but firmly leading her away from the grisly scene. Her pale fingers trembled within mine, and her skin was nearly ashen, the shock still sinking in. Every few steps, she stole uneasy glances back toward where the body lay.

  “Lu…” she whispered softly, using the nickname she had given me rather than my full name.

  “Yes?” I smiled warmly, trying to brighten her mood, even if just a little.

  “That’s the wrong direction…” she said after a moment, her voice hesitant but certain.

  Damn it.