The carriage moved slowly through the fog.
The Douglas crest gleamed on the doors, but inside, nothing did. There was only silence—and it wasn't comfortable.
Lusian stared at the faint reflection in the window. Not the landscape—himself. He looked tired. More than he wanted to admit.
"What did you talk about with the queen?" he asked suddenly.
It didn't sound casual. It was something he needed to know.
Sofía didn't look at him right away. Her gaze stayed on the horizon, where the sky was bleeding into a deep red.
"The academy can't continue like this," she said after a pause. "It's closing for a month."
Lusian gave a small nod. He had expected that.
"We're heading into the forest," she continued. "All the noble houses will send forces."
This time, she looked at him.
"This isn't an inspection. It's a hunt."
The air inside the carriage felt even heavier.
"For the cult?" he asked.
"And for whatever caused it."
A pause.
"Beasts don't go mad without a reason."
Silence returned, tighter now.
"Who's leading?" Lusian asked, even though he already knew.
"I am."
There was no pride in her voice. Just certainty.
Lusian lowered his gaze.
"You shouldn't go alone."
Sofía let out a quiet breath. Not quite a laugh—but close.
"Funny. Now you're worried about danger."
He didn't respond. It wasn't a joke.
"I'm going with you," he said, direct.
This time, Sofía really looked at him.
"No."
One word. Firm. Final.
"I'm not asking for permission."
The silence that followed was different. Colder.
"You almost died," she added, more quietly. "Less than a day ago."
She didn't raise her voice—but it carried more weight than any shout.
Lusian clenched his jaw.
"That's exactly why I have to go."
Sofía frowned.
"Explain."
"Because it wasn't enough. If I stay… nothing changes. But if I go, I can stop it from happening again."
He lifted his gaze to meet hers.
That hit her. Not just as a mother—but as someone who understood exactly what he meant.
"That's not your responsibility."
"Yes, it is."
They didn't argue. Didn't raise their voices. But neither of them backed down.
"If I hadn't been there… more people would've died," he said. "And even then… it wasn't enough."
The carriage creaked as it crossed a bridge. The sound filled the silence.
Sofía watched him longer than she wanted to. She no longer saw a child—and that was what unsettled her most.
"I don't want to take you somewhere I can't protect you."
"Then don't protect me."
That tightened something in her.
"Don't say stupid things."
"Let me fight."
A long, heavy silence.
"Umber isn't in condition," he added. "If I stay here, I'm more exposed. With you… at least I know where I stand."
That landed clean. Logical. Hard to argue.
Sofía closed her eyes for a moment, thinking—not as a duchess, but as a mother.
When she spoke again, her voice had changed.
"If you come… you don't leave my side."
Lusian said nothing. Just waited.
"Not one step. You don't make your own decisions. You don't improvise. You don't take risks."
She opened her eyes, firm now.
"And if you do… it won't be the enemy who punishes you. Understood?"
Lusian nodded. No smile. No relief. Because he knew that wasn't a victory.
It was a warning.
The inner garden of Hotel Oasis was well guarded. Not obviously—but enough.
A few steps behind Isabella, her lady-in-waiting followed in silence. Discreet, attentive, watching everything.
Lorenzo noticed immediately and gave the faintest smile.
"May we have a moment?" he asked politely. "I just want to speak with the young lady."
The woman hesitated—not out of distrust, but protocol.
"We won't go far," Lorenzo added. "You can remain in sight."
That was enough. Not an order—but social pressure. The lady nodded, though she didn't go far enough. A mistake.
Isabella kept walking, uninterested.
"You're wasting your time."
"I'm not," Lorenzo replied calmly. "I'm just waiting."
"For what?"
"For someone else to speak for me."
Isabella frowned.
Then she felt it. A presence.
The man appeared as if he had always been there—elegant, quiet, but… wrong.
The lady-in-waiting looked at him. One second. Two.
"Do you know him, my lady?"
Isabella hesitated. Just for a moment.
"No…"
"A mutual acquaintance," Lorenzo cut in smoothly. "Just a greeting."
Elton inclined his head.
"I won't take much of your time."
He stepped closer, unhurried.
Isabella felt something off. Not danger—but discomfort. Still, out of courtesy, she extended her hand.
The contact was brief. Too brief to draw attention—but enough.
There was no fainting. No darkness. Just… a slip. Like a foreign thought entering her mind.
Write.
It wasn't a voice. It was an idea.
Isabella blinked.
"Are you alright?" the lady asked.
"Yes… I just…"
She didn't finish.
Suddenly, there was a pen in her hand.
Elton wasn't looking at her, but around them—measuring time.
The command was simple. Name. Destination. Signature. Nothing more.
Ink flowed across the paper. Fast. Automatic.
Then it stopped.
Isabella blinked harder. The pen slipped from her fingers.
"…what…?"
She pressed a hand to her head. No pain—just a strange dissonance.
"Are you unwell?" the lady insisted, stepping closer.
"No… just a little dizzy…"
She looked at her hands. The ink.
She didn't remember writing. But she couldn't deny that she had.
That was what unsettled her most.
Lorenzo was already at her side.
"We should head back."
She hesitated again. Something didn't fit—but she couldn't explain it.
She nodded and left with him.
The letter remained behind.
Small.
Silent.
Enough.