“Hey… Imo?

  What did he mean by another of your kind?”

  Light floods my eyelids. I hug the covers tighter and roll onto my side, eyes slowly opening to the dim of my room.

  The question lingers.

  Another of your kind.

  Something in my chest burns—sharp, insistent.

  Not today.

  I spring to my feet before the thought can root itself. I banish it, force myself to focus on last night instead—the good parts.

  I press a hand to my chest. My cheeks warm, heat rising again.

  That. Just like that.

  Today is going to be great.

  I stride to my dresser and pull open the second drawer, all the way to the back—my one saved dress. Too impractical for this line of work—but I’d kept it.

  I let it unfurl in my hands.

  A breezy fabric, pastel in color—mostly white, with red accents. My smile holds—then falters.

  “…Sorry, Prim. I know you hate skirts,” I murmur.

  “Just this once, okay?”

  Discussion over.

  I lay the dress neatly on the bed, then add a sturdy red jacket beside it. My favorite boots come next. Accessories can wait.

  “Yeah… buying armor while wearing this will probably be weird,” I mutter, leaning over the mirror propped against my bed, arching uncomfortably to get a proper look. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow I’ll have a desk.

  A chair.

  With some luck—a bigger mirror.

  Hair. Braid. Makeup—routine.

  When I’m done, I check my reflection one last time. A firm nod answers me.

  Good enough.

  I step out into the hall and start downstairs—then stop.

  “Oh. Right.”

  I turn and head up instead.

  I don’t hesitate. I push open the door to room 802 and let it shut behind me.

  Cattleya—still asleep. Yep.

  But this time, I know better.

  “Heeeeey… Cat-Cat,” I whisper loudly, playful, giving her bare foot a gentle shake. The moment she stirs, I jump back—alert, braced, ready for anything.

  Instead, she just sits up lazily.

  Her hair is a tangled disaster. Her tail looks like a chimney brush—if chimney brushes came in white.

  “Imo?” she asks groggily, eyes roaming over me like she’s still deciding if I’m real.

  “…You look pretty.”

  My breath stutters before I can stop it.

  I hate how easily she does that.

  The words hit clean. No warning.

  Even with all my defenses up, she still slips past them.

  I smile, heat creeping up my cheeks.

  “Get dressed, okay? Meet me downstairs for breakfast.”

  I wave and retreat before she can respond—but I can feel her eyes on my back. She hasn’t moved.

  The stairs down are peaceful. Too calm—for how tightly my chest still feels wound.

  I glance toward the command floor and spot Lucius alone at his desk, gaze drifting over ledgers and reports. He notices me and inclines his head slightly.

  I return the gesture.

  By the time I reach the basement, my first sight is Saria at the Lancers’ table, expression razor-focused. The man across from her looks just as tense. Between them sits some kind of game—one I don’t recognize, but clearly being taken far too seriously. Her squad and a few others are watching intently.

  A whistle snaps my attention away.

  “So then—who’s the date?”

  I glance at Veil—loose sleeves untied, shirt half-unbuttoned, a decorated bandana holding back his hair. My cheeks warm instantly.

  Then I see Cinna.

  She looks like herself—amplified. Frilled gloves tied with ribbons, a long puffy dress that makes her look like an expensive porcelain doll on a shelf.

  My heart melts.

  “…Oh,” she says softly, noticing my stare. “I thought I might dress up a little, since today is meant for recreation. I see you had the same idea.”

  Her smile is infectious.

  Finally, my gaze lands on Ulric—and I freeze.

  “…Captain,” I say, genuinely awed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear a shirt before.”

  Laughter ripples around us.

  “What? I can look nice too,” he protests, then looks past me.

  “Oi, Cat! Looks like we’re all here.”

  He grins wide.

  “Right then. Shall we?”

  I turn to Cattleya, expecting her usual loose, half-considered attire—but she looks… put together.

  A crisp white shirt, neatly buttoned. Short sleeves. Elegant black leather gloves. Practical trousers, tailored for movement. It’s the kind of outfit that says ready for a fight—without forgetting how to look like it.

  “Mm.” She turns without ceremony. We follow.

  The streets of Vellaris are as busy as ever, but Ulric moves like a wedge at the front of our little formation, parting the crowd with ease. People step aside without complaint.

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  The chatter is light. Easy. Almost convincing——comments about what to buy, questions about favorite colors. I tilt my head up, letting the heat of the city wash over me, the sky above a perfect, uninterrupted blue.

  “Yeah…” I murmur before realizing I’ve spoken aloud. “This is a good day.”

  “Mm,” comes the immediate reply at my side.

  I feel the others smiling.

  “All right,” Ulric announces. “Carpenter’s Lane. Best place to find what you’re after.”

  We turn into a side street, away from the main thoroughfare. It’s still crowded—make no mistake—but in a way that feels manageable. Human. Bearable.

  I drift forward, window-shopping without meaning to.

  “These are so nice…” I murmur as I pass a set of cabinets repurposed as desks—sturdy wood, painted white, trimmed with tasteful gold accents.

  I don’t stop. Not for me.

  “Eesh,” Veil mutters. “That’ll sting.”

  I don’t even need to look to know he’s seen the price.

  Between two lavish storefronts, my attention catches on something smaller. A narrow shop, almost hidden, its sign simple and honest:

  BUY & SELL

  “A used furniture shop,” Ulric says. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  He steps inside first, holding the door.

  The interior is… chaotic. Furniture stacked floor to ceiling, precarious enough that a strong breeze might doom us all. I notice Ulric’s hand lift instinctively, ready to catch something if it falls.

  I feel oddly grounded.

  “This is nice…” I say softly, brushing my fingers over a desk. Dust coats my skin instantly. “And so cheap too. They don’t dust much, do they?”

  “Aye, for sure, cove,” Veil says, already wandering. “Hells, imagine what they’ve got buried in here.”

  Cattleya drifts toward the back, white tail swaying behind her, clearly on a mission.

  “Ulric,” Cinna says gently, “could you help me? I think I see baskets, but they’re… well.”

  He follows her without question.

  Left to myself, I weave through the stacks, searching for pieces I might live with for years.

  Something tugs at me.

  I stop.

  “There you are,” I whisper, smiling.

  A wooden desk—worn but sturdy. Small shelves along one side. A gap at the back just right for my mirror. A place to study. To get ready. To belong.

  “This looks like the one we had.”

  I run my hand along the surface, dust and all, and commit it to memory.

  Then I bump into someone.

  Cattleya.

  She takes my wrist without warning and pulls me along.

  “Imo. Look.”

  I stumble after her as she leads me to the back of the shop. Sofas. Chairs. Couches.

  She releases me and drops onto a sofa big enough for two without hesitation.

  Amused, I sit beside her.

  It’s comfortable. Surprisingly so.

  “This one?” I ask, smiling. “Thinking of getting it?”

  She grins, nodding enthusiastically.

  An elderly Altari approaches, smile tired but kind.

  “How can I help you today?”

  From there it becomes a blur—my desk, a matching chair, a bookshelf. A mirror. One by one, everything piles up outside the shop.

  Cattleya’s sofa.

  Cinna’s baskets.

  Veil’s racks.

  I stare at the growing collection and feel something settle in my chest—heavy, warm, undeniable.

  Veil and Cattleya return from a nearby tavern with drinks, skewers, and a basket of chips, and we set it all on my soon-to-be desk while the staff haul out the last of our purchases.

  “Think it’ll feel more like home with all this?” Ulric asks, patting my bookshelf.

  “It already does,” I reply with a soft chuckle. “This just means I won’t have to stand while getting ready.”

  Cinna’s hand settles lightly against my arm.

  “Next time,” she says, warm and thoughtful, “I can recommend a few shops around the city to fill your shelves. And if you’d like to borrow anything from my collection, please don’t hesitate.”

  My smile widens. I nod, grateful.

  “Yeah… I’m looking forward to writing again,” I admit. “I pared everything down to a single case. Had to sell the rest of my books—at least my manuscripts are with the Lyceum for safekeeping.”

  Cinna tilts her head, momentarily confused.

  “I used to work at the Lyceum in Callistra,” I add quickly. “Long story. It’s been about four years since I started working as a mercenary instead.”

  “…Only four years?”

  There it is.

  That sharp, assessing look.

  Too sharp.

  I should’ve said longer. Something safer. More believable.

  Stop. Don’t share.

  The mantra echoes as I draw a slow breath and step half a pace away.

  “I fenced as a kid,” I say lightly, forcing a laugh. “Switching fields wasn’t that big a deal.”

  The lie lands wrong the instant it leaves my mouth.

  Cattleya’s gaze narrows—clinical. Certain.

  I remember her fingers around my hand back then—calluses measured, tendons read like text. The pause. The hum. She hadn’t guessed.

  She’d known—from the moment she held my hand.

  Cinna notices the shift immediately.

  The lie doesn’t just fail.

  It leaves something exposed.

  I feel the dust on my fingers again, my grip tightening on the back of the chair—proof the world hasn’t cracked open—yet.

  “All right!” Ulric’s voice cuts in like a lifeline as he returns from the shopkeep. “Nice fellow—even offered to deliver everything to the tower for free.”

  He hoists Cattleya’s sofa onto one shoulder and, with his other arm, easily lifts my desk and bookcase.

  Relief crashes through me.

  I grab my chair and clutch it to my chest like a shield.

  “Thanks, Ulric,” I say, forcing a grin as I fall in behind him. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  …In more ways than one.

  The others follow in silence.

  It’s heavy. Crushing.

  Each step feels too loud, like a nail being driven somewhere deep and fragile. I focus on my breathing—slow, even.

  I can’t panic.

  Not now.

  The noise reaches us first.

  Too many voices at once.

  “Huh… there’s a crowd,” Veil remarks idly as we near the tower.

  “Mercs. Not Steel Wolves,” Ulric adds under his breath. “Never seen that insignia before.”

  I sigh, letting a fraction of the tension slip—too soon. I whisper something under my breath—half prayer, half reflex—grateful for anything that draws attention away from me.

  We weave through the gathering as we approach our base. I can still feel eyes on me. I know exactly whose.

  I straighten my grip on the chair and force my breathing steady.

  Ulric stops short. I remain just behind him, clinging to his broad shadow like a shield.

  The weight in my chest shifts—not gone, just redirected.

  “My apologies,” Lucius’ voice carries from ahead. “I know you had plans for recreation today.”

  “Not at all, Commander,” Ulric replies easily, shifting the furniture in his arms. “What can the Chariot do for you?”

  “Who’re they?” Veil asks quietly, already drifting forward with Ulric. “Outsiders? Never seen them before.”

  The group starts to separate. Ulric and Veil follow Lucius ahead.

  I feel a hand close around my arm.

  “Imone.”

  Cinna’s voice is gentle—but sharp.

  I inhale slowly and turn to face her.

  “Do you trust us,” she asks quietly, “even when it’s hard?”

  Cattleya steps in beside her. No words. Just presence. Sharing the weight of the question.

  Something tightens in my chest. My breath catches. My fingers clamp around the chair until my knuckles pale.

  “Imo…”

  Cattleya uses my name like a plea.

  The quiet sorrow in her eyes hurts more than suspicion ever could.

  I bite my lip and force my expression neutral.

  Control.

  Their attention shifts forward. I follow instinctively.

  Lucius turns slightly. “You may resume your discussion shortly. I’ll only ask for a moment—to introduce you to the new captain of the Shield. I admit, even I was surprised by how quickly he arrived.”

  We exchange glances.

  They’re not letting this go.

  The stone road stretches ahead, each step heavier than the last. Like walking toward a sentence already decided.

  And then—

  A voice.

  The cadence hits me first.

  Awkward. Polite. Overexplaining, but firm. The kind of voice that could talk for hours if no one stopped him.

  My ears prick up instantly.

  I look ahead.

  Exotic armor—purchased in some distant port. Plates etched with a script I don’t recognize, symbols he once admitted he didn’t understand either. A single sword at his hip. Light. Agile. Dangerous.

  Familiar in a way that tightens my chest.

  The name is already forming before I can stop it.

  I already know the answer.

  “Til?”

  He turns.

  His eyes widen.

  “Imo?”

  Disbelief floods his voice.

  Every gaze turns.