Vellaris is crowded even at night—slower, perhaps, but no less packed.

  I walk near the middle of the group, letting Ulric set the pace. Everyone is dressed neatly—pressed shirts, polished boots.

  Everyone except Cattleya.

  She catches me looking and smiles, easy and unguarded, jacket loose around her shoulders, fabric catching the breeze like it has every right to be there.

  For a moment, she looks untouchable. Like the world slides off her without leaving a mark.

  Then I remember her face yesterday—tight with hurt, the fear she’d voiced still lingering, staying close through the night like leaving was no longer an option.

  The image settles in my chest.

  I look away, shaking the thought loose.

  “Hey, coves,” Veil mutters, glancing back at us. “If we get stopped, apologies in advance.”

  Ulric looks down at him immediately—not sharp, just alert.

  “Bad history?”

  “Few run-ins with noble guards,” Veil says lightly. “Before the Valiants. They didn’t appreciate me.”

  “They’re not Aureate,” Ulric replies. “No more authority than us.”

  “True,” Veil agrees. “Doesn’t stop them.”

  The streets thin as we move on. Wide stone lanes replace cramped alleys, lamps spaced farther apart. We loosen formation without thinking, no longer needing Ulric to part the flow.

  “…Huh,” I murmur. “I’ve never seen the city this empty.”

  Veil snorts quietly. “Noble district. Each block’s owned by someone with more coin than sense.”

  He tilts his head toward a cluster of armed men standing idle near a gate.

  “Families hire their own mercs. No need for companies like ours. Loiter too long and they’ll find a reason.”

  Cinna exhales softly.

  “And once you reach this level of wealth,” she says, “walking becomes… optional.”

  Veil clicks his tongue. “Aye. Teleport crystals. One jump costs more than most folk see in a lifetime.”

  He stops there. Doesn’t push it.

  “…Wasteful,” he adds, quieter. “That’s all.”

  I catch the tension in his shoulders, the way he reins himself in. When he notices me watching, he flashes an easy smile.

  “Didn’t mean to spoil the evening before meeting our client,” he says. “Just—history.”

  Ulric gives a small nod.

  He raises a hand, and we slow.

  “Should be this one.”

  The side street opens onto a mansion so large it makes the tower feel like an afterthought. Gardens spill out on either side, walls trimmed in gold-lit stone.

  Cinna stops short.

  “I’ve never visited his estate,” she admits. “I didn’t think it would be so…”

  She searches.

  “Narcissistic?” Veil offers.

  A few of us chuckle—then stop.

  Cinna flushes. “That’s not fair,” she says, hurrying ahead. “Master Edgar values excellence. Magic requires resources.”

  “Mm,” Veil hums, unconvinced—but he lets it lie.

  Ulric clears his throat, just enough to be felt.

  “Easy,” he says mildly. “We’re guests tonight.”

  Cattleya drifts closer, her fingers brushing my sleeve.

  “Big house,” she murmurs. “Smells like flowers.”

  I breathe out. Some of the tension slips away.

  Yeah. Big house.

  This should feel strange—meeting a new client, needing to impress, needing to prove myself—but instead I find myself…

  Oddly calm.

  At the gates, there are no mercenaries like the ones posted outside other estates. No armor. No watchful patrols.

  Just a single figure waiting patiently before the iron bars.

  “Maid?” Veil mutters, incredulous but quiet. “That’s his security?”

  He glances toward Cinna.

  “I—well, I’ve never asked about Master Edgar’s personal arrangements,” she says, flustered. “His research always took precedence.”

  I look past them, toward the estate itself. Tall windows rise into the dark, stacked so high it’s hard to tell how many floors there are. Four? Six?

  Ulric steps forward, posture straight, voice even.

  “Chariot squad. Valiants. Master Nura should be expecting us.”

  I barely register it.

  Cattleya’s tail brushes mine, a soft, excited flick. I follow her gaze toward the gardens beyond the gate—rose bushes in full bloom, heavy with color and scent, sealed away behind wrought iron.

  It takes a moment before I realize everyone has gone quiet.

  “Wh—” I start, stepping back slightly.

  Up close, the maid’s uniform is wrong. Too thick. Gloves sealed tight. Not a sliver of skin visible. A bonnet shadows her head, and her face—

  A mask.

  Runes glow faintly as her gaze fixes on me.

  “Identity confirmed,” she says, without inflection or pause.

  The gates open without a touch.

  “You may ingress.”

  Cinna blinks. “Facial recognition?” she asks, curiosity overtaking caution. “I’ve never encountered a method that—”

  Veil shifts his weight. “Feels excessive,” he mutters. “That’s all.”

  Cattleya drifts toward the garden again. I catch her sleeve and shake my head. She pouts for half a heartbeat—then smiles anyway.

  Lights bloom along the brick path as we walk, floating orbs casting a pale, cold glow that makes everything feel slightly unreal. The doors swing open ahead of us.

  Veil scoffs under his breath, but holds his tongue.

  Inside… majestic barely begins to cover it.

  The entry hall cuts upward through four floors, a broad staircase ascending in a single, uninterrupted rise through an open center. Above, a chandelier of shifting prisms refracts magical light into slow-moving color.

  And then I feel it.

  Pressure.

  Not magic—not exactly. Something heavier. Physical.

  I turn toward it.

  A woman stands at the edge of the hall, watching us.

  Caprelli. Her horns rise straight instead of spiraling, emerald hair braided neatly over her shoulders. A deep purple dress. Magenta eyes.

  Locked on me.

  Before I can react, Cinna steps forward and curtsies.

  “Thank you for receiving us. Master Edgar should be expecting—”

  “My uncle is presently indisposed,” the woman says. “This meeting has been delegated to me.”

  Her gaze lingers on me a fraction too long.

  “I trust this arrangement is acceptable.”

  Cinna falters, disappointment flickering across her face. Ulric steps forward smoothly, resting a steady hand on her shoulder.

  “It is.”

  “Minnara Nura,” the woman says.

  She returns the curtsy with precise timing. As she straightens, her eyes meet mine again.

  A shiver crawls up my spine.

  Then she turns, already walking. Expecting us to follow.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  I lag half a step behind, catching Cattleya’s worried look. I tilt my head and smile. She mirrors it, and we move on.

  The study is warm, books lining the walls from floor to ceiling. A long table dominates the center.

  Without prompting, we take our seats—Ulric first, then Veil, Cinna, myself, Cattleya.

  Maybe she was watching Cinna.

  That would make more sense.

  “My uncle requires a security detail capable of transporting a shipment of magical artifacts to the Yun coast,” she says, lifting a hand.

  A projection blooms into existence—the continent rendered in light, Vellaris marked clearly, a dotted route stretching eastward to the sea.

  “Yunhai,” Cinna breathes. “I’ve never—”

  None of us have.

  “The artifacts are to be delivered intact,” Minnara continues. “They are gifts prepared in accordance with ancient marital custom. They are not to be touched prior to delivery—by hand, by vire, or through indirect means.”

  Ulric nods easily. “Understood.”

  “The caravan will be assembled within two days,” Minnara says. “Your presence will be required at the Gate of Ascendancy at first light.”

  As she finishes, her gaze fixes on me. Deliberate. Measuring.

  I recoil before I can stop myself.

  Ulric notices.

  “You two acquainted?” he asks lightly.

  “No,” Minnara replies. “We have not met.”

  Ulric chuckles, easy. “My mistake. Ulric. Captain of the Chariot.”

  He gestures down the line. “Veil. Cinna. Imone. Cattleya.”

  “We’ll see your caravan safely to the Yun coast.”

  Minnara inclines her head.

  Her gaze brushes mine once more—then moves on.

  She turns to leave.

  A voice cuts through the study.

  It comes from everywhere at once, echoing softly off stone and glass, threading itself through the air as though the room itself were speaking.

  “My dear Minn,” it says, indulgent and amused.

  “Let us not be such ungracious hosts.”

  Minnara freezes.

  “You feel it as well,” the voice continues, pleased. “Their… potential. Don’t you?”

  For the first time, something shifts in her expression. Not quite fear. Not quite hesitation. Just the faintest tightening, her brows knitting a fraction too late.

  “Uncle,” she says quietly.

  Then, turning back toward us, her tone resets—precise, formal.

  “Yes. I feel it.”

  A pause.

  “Indisputable.”

  Her gaze drifts aside.

  A low chuckle rolls through the room, resonant and satisfied.

  “Splendid,” Edgar Nura says. “Truly splendid.”

  There is a pause, as though he is considering us—not as people, but as objects of interest.

  “Perhaps we should offer refreshments,” he muses.

  “A pitcher of table wine, perhaps. Or bread and dripping. Something familiar. Comforting.”

  Ulric scans the room, uncertain where to look.

  “We appreciate the offer, sir,” he says evenly, inclining his head. “But it is late. We would not wish to intrude.”

  Cinna rises before anyone can stop her. She steps forward and curtsies deeply, hands clasped tight.

  “Master Edgar,” she says, voice bright with reverence, “it is an honor to stand before you again. The principles of vire you taught me still guide my work to this day.”

  She straightens, hope flickering in her eyes.

  “Should you feel inclined upon our return, I would be honored if you might spare a moment of your time.”

  Silence answers her.

  It stretches. Heavy. Uncomfortable.

  We glance at one another.

  Minnara tilts her head slightly.

  “Same race,” she adds quietly.

  “Black hair. Shorter than myself. Carries a staff.”

  A beat.

  “Ah,” Edgar says at last.

  “Ah… yes.”

  His tone warms—but only slightly.

  “My dear, dear pupil. How long it has been.”

  A deliberate pause.

  “Yes. Please. I would be delighted to receive you—all of you—upon your return. In fact…”

  A hint of pleasure slips through.

  “I insist.”

  Cinna hesitates, then curtsies once more.

  “Thank you for your grace, Master Edgar.”

  She returns to her seat.

  The silence that follows is sharper.

  “Questions?” Edgar prompts.

  Ulric clears his throat and rises, posture respectful, grounded.

  “Sir,” he says, “what risks do you anticipate on this journey? Bandits? Raiders?”

  “An excellent question, Captain.”

  There is approval there—genuine, but distant.

  “The artifacts were meticulously carved,” Edgar continues. “They are saturated with vire. Such density attracts attention.”

  A pause.

  “Beasts. Opportunists. Things that hunger.”

  Ulric grunts once. Acknowledgment.

  “Uncle anticipates possible Aevophages,” Minnara adds.

  “Null-eaters?” Cinna breathes, alarmed—then immediately bows her head. “Apologies.”

  Edgar’s voice hums with faint amusement.

  “Within your capabilities,” he says. “Your recent exploits have reached me. I trust this will prove… modest by comparison.”

  Awkward glances pass between us.

  Ulric’s gaze moves down the line—checking, steadying. We nod.

  He straightens fully.

  “The task will be completed, sir,” he says. “We thank you for the hospitality.”

  A final chuckle echoes through the study.

  “Oh, I do look forward to your success,” Edgar murmurs.

  “Do try not to disappoint me.”

  We rise with Ulric, filing out in silence.

  As I step across the threshold, my foot stalls mid-step.

  That sensation again—the pressure. Stronger now. Closer. It presses in from every direction, heavy enough to steal my breath.

  “Imo?” Cattleya asks softly, stopping when she notices I haven’t followed.

  I dive inward, deep. There’s a pull there—not a voice, not a sound. Something reaching. Calling.

  Not for me.

  For her.

  Cattleya’s hand closes around my wrist, solid and warm.

  “Come on, Imo.”

  She tugs gently. I stumble for half a step, then recover, letting her lead me forward. The pressure eases as the doors fall shut behind us.

  I offer her a small, grateful smile.

  …What is wrong with me?

  “Sounded like a pompous prick,” Veil mutters the moment we clear the gates.

  We all glance at him.

  Cinna exhales sharply and quickens her pace, putting distance between herself and Veil.

  “You should concern yourself less with how Master Edgar sounds,” she says, clipped, “and more with what he said. Null-eaters are not bandits. They exist only to consume vire. They have no form, no mind.”

  “Only appetite. Whatever they feed on is what they become.”

  “And yet,” Veil says, unable to stop himself, “he couldn’t even remember you.”

  Ulric’s hand settles on Veil’s shoulder. Firm. Final.

  “That’s enough.”

  Veil subsides without another word.

  “We’ll speak with Lucius,” Ulric continues evenly. “Follow his recommendation. I’ve never fought a null-eater myself, so I won’t pretend to know what to expect.”

  He glances back at Cattleya and me.

  We both shake our heads.

  Cinna strides ahead of the group, shoulders tense.

  I quicken my pace until I’m beside her.

  “There should still be taverns open,” I say gently. “We could stop somewhere. Have something sweet before heading back.”

  “Mm,” Cattleya hums at my side, already approving.

  Cinna looks at me, the hurt in her expression softening. She hesitates, then exhales.

  “Thank you, Imone. Cattleya.”

  She thinks for a moment longer.

  “…Perhaps at the company instead? I’d rather not linger outside this late. But I would appreciate the company.”

  I smile and nod. Cattleya’s grin answers for both of us.

  The streets are quieter now, the grand lanes nearly empty. A handful of night guards patrol, lanterns bobbing softly as they pass.

  The three of us walk ahead. Behind us, Ulric’s voice murmurs low and steady. Veil says nothing at all.

  The tower comes into view once more.

  Inside, we climb the stairs in the same loose formation. I hear Ulric’s and Veil’s steps peel away behind us—no goodnights exchanged.

  Cinna’s room is… precious.

  It’s the same size as mine, yet it feels like an entirely different world. Her bed is layered with frilled sheets, making it look impossibly soft. Bookshelves line the walls, crowded not only with tomes but candles, figurines, crystals, and plants.

  My gaze lingers on the plushies by her pillow as she guides us to a small, circular table. We sit, and a pang of longing tightens in my chest—my own plushie pile, discarded long ago. Years of memories, quietly gone.

  Cinna places a plate of lemon bars on the table. Then she hesitates, reconsiders, and swaps it for a tin of cookies instead. A kettle hums nearby, held over a gentle magical flame.

  The table is small enough that our knees brush.

  It doesn’t bother me.

  If anything, I think I like it.

  Cinna and I drift from topic to topic—books, mostly. Philosophy turns into religion, religion into history. Our tastes overlap more than I expected.

  “I didn’t know you liked those,” she says at one point, sounding quietly pleased.

  “I didn’t realize how much I missed having someone to talk about them with,” I admit, smiling.

  There’s a pause, comfortable, unhurried.

  “By the way,” I add, softer, “thank you. For yesterday. For… all of it.”

  Cinna blinks, then her smile warms.

  “I wasn’t sure what to choose,” she says, a little embarrassed. “I thought something familiar might help. Romance novels and the like… they always felt a bit undignified to leave out on a public shelf.” She lets out a small laugh. “And I’ve already read them thoroughly. There was no harm in lending them.”

  I chuckle.

  “I haven’t had time to read them yet,” I say, “but I will. It’s been a long while.” I tilt my head toward her. “I used to devour them when I was younger. Then I started working at the Lyceum and began worrying too much about how I looked.”

  I lean back, eyes closing. “Even after I left and started working with Til, I avoided them. He used to go through my books—read them without asking.”

  Despite myself, a smile creeps in.

  When I open my eyes, both of them are watching me.

  “He was my…”

  The word catches, tangling somewhere in my throat.

  I hesitate, searching for something that fits. Something that doesn’t hurt quite as much.

  “…partner,” I settle on at last. The word feels thin, but it will do. “We worked together. A lot.”

  I draw a slow breath, steadying myself. “Two years freelancing. Then we joined a company together. After a while he left—something to do with his father. Time passed. The company fell apart. I needed a change.”

  There’s more there. There always is.

  I leave it where it rests.

  “So,” I say lightly, forcing my shoulders to loosen, “here I am.”

  I smile, not quite convincing but sincere enough. Cinna’s hand finds my arm, warm and careful. Cattleya mirrors the gesture on my other side, quiet and solid.

  “Here you are,” Cinna says softly, like it’s reassurance rather than confirmation.

  She glances toward the clock.

  “We should sleep,” she says. “We only have two days before we depart for a long while. Perhaps we could do some shopping tomorrow?”

  Cattleya nods enthusiastically, clutching my sleeve.

  Decision made for me.

  I’m fine with that.

  We leave as Cinna prepares for bed. I climb one more floor and unlock my door—Cattleya still trailing behind me.

  “Cat? Oh—right. I didn’t say good night, did I?”

  I open the door, already half-turned to step inside by myself.

  She slips past me without a word, curls up on the sofa, and makes herself comfortable. By the time I process what’s happening, she’s already settled in.

  “Night, Imo,” she says casually, like this was always the plan.

  I blink, then let out a quiet breath.

  She didn’t even change.

  My gaze drifts to my bed.

  One pillow.

  I glance back at the sofa—at her, already relaxed.

  “…Guess I need to buy more.”