Night settled over the Elven Kingdom like a lid.

  Not quiet.

  Controlled.

  Derpy sat at a table that wasn’t meant for comfort. Too straight-backed. Too clean. Too deliberate.

  Mk.3 sat across from him.

  She didn’t sit like a doll.

  She sat like a soldier waiting for the next order.

  Blight Vein rested around Derpy’s neck as a set of green headphones—harmless-looking, almost normal, if you ignored what she was.

  Derpy kept his hands where Mk.3 could see them.

  Not because he trusted her.

  Because he didn’t want her to think he was hiding something.

  He spoke first.

  “You seem different,” Derpy said. “Like you’re aware. Like you have a will of your own. You don’t move like a doll.”

  Mk.3’s eyes stayed on him.

  “I’m a special case,” she said.

  No pride.

  No apology.

  Just a fact.

  “I’m more aware. I can make my choices. And I’m battle-ready.”

  Her forearm opened.

  Not with gore.

  With precision.

  Stitches slid aside as if they’d never been there.

  A small weapon dropped into her palm—then expanded, unfolding into a double-sided battle axe with a weight that didn’t match its origin.

  Derpy’s gaze tracked it.

  Then returned to her.

  “Do you have any seams or stitches that are broken?” he asked.

  Mk.3’s grip tightened.

  “I do,” she said.

  Then, sharper:

  “But I don’t trust you to fix them.”

  A pause.

  “I’m not easy like my discarded sister.”

  The word discarded landed wrong.

  Derpy didn’t react.

  He couldn’t afford to.

  Mk.3 lifted the axe and pointed it at him across the table.

  “Tell me,” she said. “What does the Elven Empire want with you that was so important we had to change objectives the second we found you?”

  Derpy felt Celica stir.

  Not in the room.

  In him.

  Careful, Celica warned—quiet and tight. Don’t reveal you have two calamities. If they learn it, they may decide you’re safer dead.

  Derpy kept his face steady.

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “One moment I was fighting two of Faydrun’s heavy hitters—Ace and Joker.”

  He didn’t add Sinister Seven.

  Mk.3 already knew.

  “And the next moment you and your sisters grabbed me,” Derpy continued, “and now I’m here.”

  Mk.3’s eyes narrowed.

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  “That’s not nothing,” she said. “They brought you to be examined. They don’t normally do that.”

  Derpy inhaled once.

  Then made a choice.

  “How about I show you,” he said.

  He summoned Crescent Eclipse.

  Metal and intent formed in his hands—clean, immediate.

  He set it on the table.

  The weapon didn’t thud.

  It settled.

  Like it belonged.

  Mk.3’s gaze dropped to it.

  Then back up.

  “So you can create weapons out of thin air.”

  “Mostly,” Derpy said, shaking his head. “But I have two pets that protect me. They aren’t here because you ripped me away from them.”

  Mk.3’s shoulders lifted a fraction.

  “I did what I was ordered to do,” she said. “Retrieve the boy. Come back immediately. Those were the orders we received.”

  Derpy’s eyelids felt heavy.

  Not from boredom.

  From depletion.

  His magic still hadn’t fully returned.

  His body was trying to pay a debt it didn’t have the coin for.

  He blinked.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The room tilted.

  Mk.3 watched him with a soldier’s patience.

  Then Derpy’s head dipped.

  And something else lifted.

  Derpy’s posture changed.

  Not dramatic.

  Just… wrong.

  Like the air around him had decided it didn’t want to be air anymore.

  He raised his head.

  His eyes weren’t softer.

  They weren’t warmer.

  They were present.

  And the pressure in the room sharpened into a killing intent that didn’t need to announce itself.

  “Man,” the voice said—Derpy’s voice, but not. “That was unexpected.”

  Mk.3 didn’t flinch.

  Sinister Derpy tilted his head slightly.

  “Didn’t expect my other half to drift off like that.”

  Ice began to form.

  Not a blast.

  A decision.

  Frost crawled along the floorboards, climbed the legs of the table, and laced the air with a thin, biting cold.

  Sinister Derpy looked at Mk.3 like she was a puzzle he’d already solved.

  “Tell me, little puppet,” he said. “Why in the world are you so calm here?”

  Mk.3’s axe stayed up.

  Her voice stayed level.

  “For the first reason,” she said, “I can overpower you in seconds.”

  A beat.

  “And the second—my other three copies aren’t far. If I fall, another will show.”

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze flicked to the door.

  Then back.

  The air thinned.

  Ice climbed the doorframe.

  Sealed it.

  Covered it completely.

  “I don’t think they’ll be coming,” Sinister Derpy said. “Not for a while.”

  Mk.3 jumped back.

  Not fear.

  Spacing.

  Sinister Derpy’s voice lowered.

  “I made a promise to my other half,” he said, “that I wouldn’t hurt anyone or try to take over unless five days passed.”

  A pause.

  His eyes stayed steady.

  “Unless he opens the door for me.”

  He leaned forward slightly.

  “So I have a favor to ask.”

  Mk.3’s eyes narrowed.

  “What.”

  “Spare with me,” Sinister Derpy said. “Let me see how strong the Stitchborne series are.”

  A pause.

  Mk.3’s posture shifted.

  “Sounds fair,” she said.

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze sharpened.

  “One more thing,” he added. “No one can know about me. Can you promise that?”

  Mk.3’s forearm opened again.

  A second weapon slid free.

  Now she held a double-sided axe and a smaller hatchet.

  “I can agree to that,” Mk.3 said. “If you beat me.”

  Sinister Derpy nodded once.

  “Perfect.”

  His own ice formed weapons in his hands—mirroring her shape with cruel efficiency.

  Then he moved.

  Steel met steel.

  Axe met axe.

  The table shuddered.

  Mk.3 absorbed the first hit, boots skidding a half-step.

  Sinister Derpy pressed.

  Not wild.

  Measured.

  He drove her back toward the wall in three exchanges—each one tighter than the last.

  Mk.3 swung wide.

  Sinister Derpy caught the blade.

  His hand closed.

  Heat and cold collided.

  The weapon softened.

  Then melted.

  Mk.3’s eyes widened.

  Sinister Derpy leaned in.

  “If I was the one out in the open that night,” he said, voice low, “things would’ve gone differently.”

  Ice wrapped around Mk.3’s leg.

  Pinned her.

  Not a prison.

  A statement.

  “You would’ve lost your sisters,” Sinister Derpy continued. “Everyone watching would’ve died.”

  Mk.3’s jaw tightened.

  She pushed back—hard.

  The ice cracked.

  She swung her remaining axe.

  Sinister Derpy ducked under it and drove his shoulder into her, slamming her into the wall.

  He held her there.

  Not with strength.

  With control.

  “I’m the side that never holds back,” he said.

  His breath fogged the air.

  “Think of the nicer version of Derpy as the calm before the storm.”

  His eyes stayed on hers.

  “I’m always here. Watching. Waiting. Thinking seven steps ahead.”

  The door behind them began to bang.

  A voice called from the other side.

  “Mk.3? Are you okay?”

  Lieam.

  “The door’s jammed.”

  Mk.3 didn’t look away from Sinister Derpy.

  “Yes,” she called back. “I’m fine. Derpy fell asleep and ice started forming around the door. I’m okay.”

  Sinister Derpy’s gaze flicked toward the door.

  Then returned.

  He nodded once.

  Before he went, he leaned in just enough that Mk.3 could hear the truth under the threat.

  “Ask yourself this,” he said. “Can your sisters handle a monster if we were all together?”

  The pressure vanished.

  The ice loosened.

  And Sinister Derpy disappeared.

  Derpy slumped.

  Asleep again.

  A small bubble of breath rose and fell at his lips—too normal for the cold that still clung to the room.

  Mk.3 stared at him.

  Then at the half-melted weapon.

  “Interesting,” she muttered. “I’ll ask him about that side in the morning.”

  Mk.3 lifted Derpy carefully.

  Not gentle.

  Not cruel.

  Just… efficient.

  She carried him to the bed and set him down.

  Derpy slept the night away.

  A moment later, the door finally gave.

  Lieam forced it open, breath sharp from effort.

  “What happened here?” Lieam demanded.

  Mk.3 gestured toward Derpy.

  “He fell asleep,” she said. “Ice started forming. I tried to stop it, but my blade melted.”

  Lieam’s eyes narrowed.

  Mk.3 kept her tone level.

  “Seems when he doesn’t want anyone closing in on him, he projects a self-mechanism.”

  Lieam stared at the ice still clinging to the frame.

  Then looked at Mk.3.

  “Next time,” Lieam said, “I’ll watch you. You go recover. I’ll watch the rest of the night.”

  Mk.3 didn’t argue.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Lieam’s voice hardened.

  “In the morning, you and Mk.4 watch over him.”

  Mk.3 nodded once.

  The ice on the door finally began to crack.

  Not from heat.

  From time.

  And somewhere far away, a promise was still moving.

  Toward Derpy.

  Toward the contract.

  Toward the part of him that didn’t sleep.