She didn't understand what was going through Luschariel's mind. It unsettled her, the way he smiled too calmly, as though everything was going according to a plan she had no knowledge of, and would likely disapprove of if she did. Perhaps that was exactly why he kept it from her.
Everything had become increasingly hectic on her end. There was barely time to rest, much less to indulge in anything remotely enjoyable. Not that she ever complained. She never did. Boasting about her workload seemed foolish when it was simply part of her duty.
Luschariel had been there often, late into the night. Since the two of them were co-hosting the Gala, coordination was key. And despite their differences, they made a great duo as always.
Then, without warning, Luschariel tossed a casual remark her way as he sipped from his teacup.
"Oh, by the way. Why the sudden interest in changing that arrangement of the Gala?"
Revlis blinked at him, unimpressed. "You tell me. You're the one who decided to assign me to Hazelrink."
Luschariel hummed thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair. "You always used me as a shield," he began, gesturing vaguely, "to ward off bachelors who would dare so much as glance at you. It's unfair, really. This time, I want my Secretary to enjoy herself properly."
"You've never cared about that before," she countered, crossing her arms. "In fact, I was under the impression that you wanted your Secretary to remain undistracted and emotionally uninvested."
"Which is precisely why I picked Hazelrink," he said with a devilish smile. "He wouldn't be a distraction."
She narrowed her eyes. "Stop saying his name."
He grinned wider. "Oh my, did you want to be my partner that badly, Revlis? You could've just said so. I mean, I can always make space for you at my side, if you truly long for my undivided attention. Though I must say, I didn't expect you to be the type who's into older men—"
She didn't let him finish. She raised a finger and with a flick, zapped him with a small current of magic. Luschariel yelped and leapt from the chair, patting at his sleeve where a thin curl of smoke trailed.
"Revlis!" he exclaimed, half-laughing, half-shocked. "You could've fried my robes!"
"You deserved worse," she muttered, trying to suppress her grin. "I should've let that spell knock your hair off."
"Well, now I know how much you care." He straightened his coat dramatically. "Still, Hazelrink is your partner, and that is final. Think of it as... an experiment. A test of restraint. Or perhaps compatibility."
She stood beside the marbled desk, eyes scanning the papers strewn across its long surface. Golden streaks shimmered across the marble stone, a map of the mortal world, woven with flowing turquoise leylines of magic that glimmered like liquid light. It showed golden spots, referring to the places in the modern world where magic still exists.
"You said you had a guest of honor that night," she said, not looking up. "What's their name?"
"No one can know," Luschariel replied, too quickly.
Revlis snapped her gaze toward him, her glare sharp. "Don't tell me you don't know who it is."
He laughed, but it came out strained, and his eyes flicked away.
She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Sir, how many times have I told you—verify their background before accepting anything from them."
Luschariel sighed dramatically, as if her concern were a mild inconvenience. "Revlis, I promise, you'll be surprised."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," she muttered, voice tight. She turned sharply and began pacing the length of the desk, her boots tapping against the stone. "You cannot just invite a potential threat into a diplomatic event. This is not some tavern party in the outskirts of Venthara. This is a gala! With dignitaries, royalty, wards of high command. If one thing goes wrong—"
"Nothing will go wrong."
"You don't know that!" she snapped, whirling on him. "Gods, Luschariel. Do you even hear yourself?"
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand. He shut his mouth.
"No. Don't speak. Just—" She exhaled sharply. "You always do this."
"Sometimes, I wonder who the boss is between us," Luschariel muttered, sighing through a smile. "I checked their background myself. It was Cerys Umbria Serville."
That stopped her cold.
"The Headmistress of the HIVE?" Revlis repeated, her voice suddenly razor-sharp. "Don't they keep handmaidens there? As far as I remember... she was an accomplice of the Cleric during the war."
"She was not," Luschariel said defensively. "She was forced to take in slaves. They were sent by the Cleric himself. She had no say. They've changed their system there."
Her stare hardened. "Changed?" Her tone dripped with disbelief. "Changed, you say. And you just took their word for it? Gods, Luschariel—"
"She passed the trial. She was deemed innocent."
Her eyes narrowed. No, she couldn't trust them. The possibilities of the HIVE changing after the war was quite suspicious. Sure, Serville was deemed innocent after her trial, but Revlis couldn't trust her yet. As far as she remembered, during her experiences, Serville was responsible for almost half of the slaves' trauma in the HIVE after they were rescued.
"So, who offered first?"
"Her," Luschariel mumbled, fiddling with one of the golden leylines etched into the edge of the marble table. "She said it was another change for the magical world."
Revlis blinked. "And that was enough for you? A few poetic lines and you gave her a seat at our table?"
"What made you..." She exhaled sharply. "What made you accept her offer?"
Luschariel glanced at her, the tension behind her smile almost invisible if Revlis hadn't known her for years. "Because she offered a truce before she asked for a favor."
"Oh, and what was that? Redemption? A convenient change of heart?" Revlis scoffed. "You saw what she wanted you to see."
"No." Luschariel's tone shifted in discomfort. "I saw someone tired. Someone who's spent years trying to fix something she never had full control over. Someone who knows the blood will never wash off, and yet chooses to remain in the garden where it was spilled."
Revlis' mouth opened, but she paused.
"She didn't deny what happened," Luschariel continued, stepping forward. "She named every mistake, every blind spot. She even offered reparations. Not to clear her name, she doesn't care about that anymore. But to give those girls a place to return to... one that belongs to them now, not to the Cleric. That's what she's been building all these years. I went there myself. The HIVE has changed, Revlis."
Serville's words might've been enough to gain his trust, but not hers. She could deceive Luschariel with grace and guilt, but Revlis didn't bend that easily.
That same afternoon, she made her way to the Insurgent Division, navigating the familiar halls until she reached the Investigative Office.
She spotted Hazelrink by the far desk, in conversation with a fellow officer. Clearing her throat, she drew his attention instantly.
"Velroque."
She glanced over. "Hazelrink."
He passed the files in his hands to his colleague, who took the cue and quietly walked away. Hazelrink turned fully to face her, one brow raised.
"What brings you here?"
She cast a brief glance around the buzzing office. "It's important."
He seemed to understand. With a small nod, he gestured for her to follow. They stepped into his private office, a dimly lit room with papers stacked in columns and a faint scent of fresh ink.
She paused for a moment. The titleplate on the door hadn't escaped her notice.
Chief Investigator. Already? It didn't even take him a few weeks.
Hazelrink shed the coat of his black suit and turned to face her, leaning casually against the edge of his desk, hands gripping its corners. His gaze was annoyingly tolerable.
"Well then," he prompted. "What is it?"
"I want you to investigate Cerys Umbria Serville."
He blinked slowly, tilting his head. "You could've asked any of my agents. Why me?"
She folded her arms. "Because you're efficient."
A sly grin tugged at his lips. "First compliment from you."
"Don't let it get to your head."
He chuckled under his breath, then picked up a few files from his desk, idly flipping through them. "Serville... she's the Headmistress of the HIVE, right? According to the court, she was cleared of all charges after the war."
"I know," Revlis murmured under her breath. "I watched the trial. I read the verdict. I also watched her turn away from screaming victims in her halls."
Hazelrink's hands remained still.
"I don't care what the papers say," she continued. "I want eyes on her. I want to know what's going on inside that HIVE. If it's as reformed as she claims, or if they're just building a better cage."
He met her gaze for a long moment. "You don't trust her."
"I trust my instincts. And my instincts remember exactly what that place did to people like us."
He straightened, the teasing tone gone from his voice. "But let me ask why first."
"I can't tell you." She huffed, arms crossed. "I'm not really sure anyway. But Luschariel seems to trust her too easily."
Hazelrink raised a brow, tapping his fingers against the edge of the desk. "You don't trust him?"
"I do," she replied firmly. "But... not Serville."
"Because of her past?" he asked, tone neutral but observant. "Or because of the HIVE's reputation?"
Revlis shifted her weight, eyes narrowing slightly. "Both. Reputation doesn't build itself from nowhere. The HIVE was one of the largest trafficking networks during the war—coated in civility, yes, but rot underneath. The damage done to those women didn't vanish just because a trial cleared her name."
There was a pause until he sighed.
"I'll get on it.."
Revlis gave a faint nod. "Thank you."
As she turned to leave, he called out, "You sure you don't want to say another compliment while you're here? I'm keeping count."
She looked over her shoulder with a deadpan stare. "You're tolerable."
He grinned. "I'll take it." He watched as she reached for the doorknob and twisted it. "See you at the Gala. I hope you can tolerate people staring."
She grimaced. Then left anyway.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Hazelrink leaned back with a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Little phoenix," he muttered under his breath.
Outside, Revlis walked briskly down the corridor. But the faintest hint of color had crept up her neck.
"Tolerate people staring?" she scoffed quietly. "As if I haven't dealt with worse."
She left the office and descended the stairs. Her boots clicked against the polished marble, and her expression remained as it was, until she saw Solrien.
His eyes lit up like a child seeing the sun after a storm. Not again.
"Revlis!" he beamed, striding toward her like no time had passed. "It's been a while. How have you been? I heard you're working on the Gala with the Eldritch. It must be exhausting."
"Quite." Her tone was clipped.
He sighed, hand ruffling through his perfectly styled hair. "Look, about what happened two years ago... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I should've handled those rumors better."
Revlis's eyes narrowed, but he kept talking.
"I swear, I didn't mean for things to blow up. But you know how it is—if I defended you, people would've made assumptions. Zel... well, she was already uncomfortable."
She grimaced.
"I mean, I'm sure you understand," he continued with a sheepish smile. "Back in Halcyon Tower, I didn't even notice Zel. I was always with you. Naturally, people thought I was defending you because I—"
"That's so petty."
Solrien was cut off.
"How interesting," Hazelrink said, descending the steps just behind her. His expression was dry, unimpressed. "You left a woman to be burned alive by public rumor just to preserve your fragile reputation."
Solrien blinked, caught off guard. "That's not what I—"
"You just said it was," Hazelrink interrupted him. "You valued silence over decency. Loyalty over truth. But I'm sure your wife appreciated that selective bravery."
Solrien's ears flushed pink. "Zel was confused, she thought there was something going on and I didn't want to make her feel insecure."
Hazelrink stepped beside Revlis now, not even sparing Solrien a glance. "Ah. So to avoid conflict at home, you let Velroque bear the weight of every false accusations."
A few heads subtly turned from the nearby corridor. Colleagues paused in their conversations, pretending to fix papers or sip their coffee slower than necessary. They weren't deaf.
"I never meant to hurt her," Solrien mumbled under his breath.
"But you did." Hazelrink finally turned to him. "You let others drag her name through the mire because it was easier than standing up. And you only apologize now that the Gala is near, the eyes are back, and guilt sits heavy on your chest like a bad dinner."
Solrien opened his mouth but no words came out.
Hazelrink pushed his hands into his pockets and gave Solrien a slight, sardonic smile. "You had influence, connections, and proximity. You had everything necessary to stop those rumors. But instead of using any of it, you played neutral. Silence isn't harmless, Turan."
Solrien tensed. "You think I didn't want to say something? I had to weigh everything. Zel, she was getting uncomfortable. I didn't want to create more issues—"
"So you let Revlis carry the weight of it alone," Hazelrink cut in sharply, the casual tone slipping. "Because your wife's discomfort mattered more than her reputation. Tell me, do you think people stopped talking because you kept quiet? Or did they just talk louder, thinking your silence confirmed their suspicions?"
Whispers started to ripple.
Solrien tried to compose himself. "You're twisting this. I was trying to keep things from escalating—"
"And it cost her," Hazelrink said plainly. "You didn't defend her then, but now that there's an audience, suddenly you remember how guilty you feel?"
"Enough." She sighed, before grabbing Hazelrink by the arm. "Let's go."
She watched as Solrien stepped aside, lips pressed into a tight line. He didn't argue further. He didn't even try to save face. He just complied.
Hazelrink didn't gloat. He didn't look back at her for approval either. He simply crossed his arms and leaned against the railing like nothing happened, like he hadn't just dismantled someone's excuses in front of half the office.
Revlis blinked. She didn't need defending, hadn't for years now. She had grown past the point of expecting anyone to stand up for her. But Hazelrink? He did it without asking. Without hesitation. And without once pretending to be noble about it.
She sighed, unsure if she should thank him or punch him in the face. Hazelrink had always enjoyed exposing flaws in others, and their mistakes. That was his nature. Maybe he just hated cowardice more than he enjoyed being right.
When they reached the corridor, Revlis spun on her heel and faced him sharply. "Why did you do that? I didn't need you lecturing Solrien in front of everyone!"
Hazelrink didn't flinch. "If I didn't, who would? You think anyone else is brave enough to say it?"
"Utter bullshite, Hazelrink!"
"No, you just let him talk circles around you like you owe him something," he shot back. "You were the sharpest mind of our generation, Velroque, and now you're letting some coward with a wedding ring trample your dignity!"
"I am not!" Her voice rose. "You think I don't know what he did?"
"Then why the hell are you still letting him talk to you like he's the victim?"
"Stop acting like you know me or Solrien."
"I do know you," he growled. "That's why I cannot just stand there and watch you keep giving chances to people who never deserved your loyalty in the first place."
She didn't respond. Not right away.
Because the worst part was, he wasn't entirely wrong.
He stepped back. "You want to defend Turan? Go ahead. But don't expect others to keep silent when you let people walk all over you and call it love."
She clenched her fists at her sides, eyes burning. He walked past her.
"I didn't do it for you. I did it because someone had to."
She walked quickly down the corridors, her footsteps echoing faintly behind her. Her chest felt tight, throat burning with unspoken words. When she finally reached her office, she pushed the door shut and locked it behind her with shaking hands.
Without even thinking, she dropped to the floor, her back hitting the door as she slid down. Her knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. She buried her face in her hands, trying to steady her breathing—but it only got worse.
The silence felt heavy, like it was pressing down on her from all sides. Her shoulders trembled as she gasped for air that didn't seem to fill her lungs. Everything was spiraling—Solrien's words, Hazelrink's accusations, the weight of the past years all crashing in at once.
"Please," she whispered into her palms, voice cracking, "just stop... please—someone make it stop."
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. The pressure in her chest grew tighter, sharper, as if the walls themselves were closing in. She clutched at her blouse, desperate to tear open space where there was none.
"I can't breathe," she choked out, a sob breaking loose. "I don't want to feel like this anymore. Please... someone get me out. Please."
But no one answered. Just the sound of her own breathing, and the stillness of a room that gave her no escape.
She wanted to be free. Free from the memories that haunted her, the expectations that crushed her. She didn't want stillness, not emptiness, but peace. A state of being untouched by sorrow, untouched by the sting of words that came too late or never came at all.
She wanted to experience nirvana, whatever that meant in a world like this. To finally breathe without hurting. To simply exist without breaking.