In the middle of the night, Laury and James continued searching for the little girl's parents. The streets were quiet, lanterns flickering weakly as shadows stretched along the walls. To keep her calm, they made foolish jokes, exaggerating their voices and pretending the darkness itself was afraid of them. Her laughter followed them all the way until they finally found her parents—tearful, shaking, and endlessly grateful.
Once the girl was safely returned, Laury turned to James.
"Go back to the soldiers' camp and rest," he said. "I'll head out for a bit."
James nodded, exhausted, and disappeared into the night.
Laury told himself he was going to see Emily.
She was his girlfriend.
Missing her was natural.
Choosing her was loyalty.
As he walked through the narrow streets alone, he repeated it in his mind like an oath. He needed to be sure of himself—sure that his heart would never betray the woman he had chosen. No matter what distractions appeared, no matter whose presence unsettled him, he would remain loyal.
Then voices broke the silence.
Two men were speaking near the corner ahead.
Laury slowed.
Their accents were wrong.
Not Salvanian.
Before his hand could reach his weapon, something seized him from behind. He was dragged violently into a nearby house. The door slammed shut, locking out the street. He hit the floor hard, the breath knocked from his lungs.
For a moment, there was only darkness.
Then he saw feet in front of him—bare, unsteady.
As his eyes adjusted, he looked up.
A girl stood there wearing a simple dress. Her long brown hair was loose and tangled, her blue eyes heavy and unfocused. She was drunk—so clearly that it almost felt dangerous.
Laury pushed himself to his feet. "Who are you?"
She laughed softly, swaying. "The men you heard?" she said. "They're from Sani Scabar. They arrived this morning. No one noticed." She giggled. "Idiots. It's obvious."
Her gaze lingered on him, sharp despite the alcohol.
"You're Laury," she said. "No wonder people love you. You're not just brave… you're handsome."
She stepped toward him.
Laury stepped back.
She closed the distance again, slow and careless, reaching for him. When she leaned in to kiss him, Laury caught her wrists firmly and pushed her away—calm, controlled.
"Tell me everything you know," he said.
She only laughed.
Again.
And again.
Until her laughter faded into silence and her body grew heavy against him. She fell asleep on his shoulder without warning.
Laury exhaled in frustration.
He lifted her carefully, placed her on a chair, and splashed cold water on her face. She didn't wake.
There was no time.
He stepped back into the night, his mind already working. He needed answers. He needed proof. He needed to know how many of them had entered the city—and how close the danger truly was.
Emily was forgotten.
The Queen was forgotten.
Only duty remained.
Always duty first.