The carriage rocked gently over the cobblestones as we made our way home. The morning light snted through the curtains in thin white bars, painting all our faces in shifting gold.

  Seraphine sat opposite me, sulking as she examined the three demon cores she'd collected. When she caught me watching, she scowled.

  "Quit staring, you coward. I'm studying the enemy."

  I smiled and nodded. It was the same excuse she'd used in the game. But her grip on the cores was tight, her thumb pressed hard into one of the cracks.

  Beside me, Rocher leaned against the window, chin propped on one hand, lost in thought. Hardly the look of a man on his way back from a mission.

  After all, he had a crucial role to py in the pn I'd just outlined.

  I'd been so fixated on fulfilling the trigger for Evelyn's css advancement quest that I'd nearly forgotten it was only a means to an end.

  If the true goal was making her Guildmaster, there were other ways forward—ways that bypassed killing Ramón.

  One card remained unpyed: revealing that the Sacred Mask of Xolotl in the royal vault was a fake.

  As the Hero, Rocher had unrestricted access to its treasures. All he had to do was "discover" the ruse. The rest would unfold on its own, each event triggering the next, like dominoes.

  But it wouldn't come without cost.

  The ensuing investigation would inevitably lead back to me. By now, the contract was on the royal ledger; though it was sealed under the Crown Prince's protection, His Majesty could uniterally order Inquisition.

  The Sacred Mask was an artifact of profound political and religious significance—containing the spirit of humanity's savior—hence all the pomp and ceremony. The punishment for tampering would be commensurately severe. At the very least, my time with the hero party was over.

  Still, having weighed every option, this had the best possible outcome. We needed the Thieves' Guild's power to check the Crown Prince's paranoia, and to defend against the Demon Lord's siege in the coming year.

  Even if I wound up in prison, I could still advise the others by letter—and if I contributed well enough, perhaps even negotiate probationary release.

  After derailing the story so badly, it was arrogant to think I could just walk away unscathed.

  Rocher's eyes had widened when I expined it. Seraphine protested immediately, but he gently raised a hand, stopping her.

  I had expected resistance—prepared, even, to argue my case. But instead, his expression softened into a quiet smile.

  "We're more in sync than you know, Cire."

  When the carriage rolled to a stop, he said he had preparations to make and promised to tell me when the time came. I accepted.

  I needed time to prepare myself as well.

  Back at the Huerta manor, I resumed my post as Ramón's maid. My primary objective was to watch for anything that might jeopardize the pn. But I also needed the work to keep my mind from spiraling.

  "Good morning, Miss Hattie. Good morning, Miss Nealie."

  The maids ignored me, as usual. But it bothered me less than before.

  After all, I had Evelyn.

  Lately, she'd taken to tailing me on my way to work.

  "Miss Evelyn," I sighed. "I know you're there. You can drop the Total Camoufge."

  She popped into view with a grin, peeling the Sacred Mask off her face. "Haha! You're usually so composed, Cire. Don't bme me for wanting to catch you off guard once in a while."

  "How many times do I have to say it? You can't follow me to work."

  "Aww, but I'm sure Rocher would love to know what you look like in a maid uniform."

  "You wouldn't dare—"

  "And besides," she added, wagging her eyebrows, "sometimes I get curious what my idiot brother is up to."

  I had to peel her off before the manor gates. I couldn't risk her blowing my cover. But a part of me warmed all the same.

  Her ughter lingered in my chest long after she left.

  For a brief, fragile stretch of days, I almost forgot what I had set in motion.

  Then, te one night, a soft knock came at my door.

  "It's done," Rocher whispered.

  The words nded like a stone in my stomach.

  By morning, the Huerta manor was in uproar. The news had spread quickly that the Hero had found a counterfeit where the Sacred Mask should have been.

  "What do you mean they're bming us?!" Ramón roared, smming a fist on the table and sending silverware rattling across the floor.

  I quietly gathered the pieces and retreated to the edges while he and his lieutenants shouted.

  "We were responsible for transport—Point A to Point B!" he barked. "Why are we being bmed for what happened before Point A? That's the Duchy's mess, not ours!"

  "It's a fair argument, sir," one man ventured, "but neither the Duchy nor the public care for the distinction. They're demanding reparations."

  Ramón gave a dry ugh, knuckles whitening on the table edge.

  "A scapegoat, are we?" he growled. "If they think the Lion's Pride can be used as a pawn, they're sorely mistaken. Ready a team. We'll get to the bottom of this."

  I hid a smile. His useless pride would never let him ignore an insult.

  Within days, the streets ran red.

  The Mercenary Guild descended on every known Thieves' Guild outpost, torching hideouts as if purging vermin from the gutters. Smoke curled over the rooftops for miles.

  Ramón's men weren't spared either; Harker and his comrades gave as good as they got, though they were outnumbered and outmatched. The hospitals overflowed with the cries of the wounded.

  When Lumiere heard the news, she rushed back from the Duchy, sleeves rolled up before she even reached the infirmary doors.

  A pang of guilt tugged at me for leaving her in the dark, but I couldn't risk leaving a paper trail. This too was a consequence of the choices I'd made.

  Every piece was falling into pce. Exactly as I'd hoped—and dreaded.

  Under siege on all sides, the Thieves' Guild did something no one had seen in years: they united.

  Scattered interests, rival crews, bickering factions—all forced by crisis into a single purpose.

  They needed a leader. And there was only one name on every whisper: Evelyn.

  I allowed myself a small, quiet smile.

  On our morning walks—when she wasn't drowning in paperwork—Evelyn still found the energy to tease me, even though she'd stopped using the Mask to jump-scare me. The Guild was coiling around her like an army choosing its general.

  It should have felt like victory.

  Instead, it only reminded me that my time was nearly up.

  The Royal Inquisitors had begun to move.

  They swept through the castle halls in precise columns, boots striking stone with ecclesiastical rhythm—unhurried, inevitable. Their crimson cloaks flickered like firelight, illuminating every lie, every loose thread, every shadow a person might try to hide in.

  If the Mercenary Guild was a blunt instrument, the Inquisitors were a scalpel.

  And now that the Mask scandal had exploded into the open, the bde was turning toward its target.

  Toward me.

  But even that held a sliver of triumph. Because the noose tightening around my neck meant the pn was reaching its final stage.

  Evelyn's rise was assured. The factions were aligning.

  The story's rails had been bent into a new shape—one I had chosen.

  All that remained was to walk the st few steps myself.

  Public perception of the Mercenary Guild had deteriorated.

  Ramón was increasingly absent from the manor, scrambling to contain the damage. As its sponsor, His Majesty had granted him the chance to recover the Guild's honor, but his patience was wearing thin.

  Consequently, I found myself with little to do as his personal maid. I polished silver that already gleamed, folded uniforms that no one wore, swept spotless halls simply to keep moving.

  If there was one blessing in all that idleness, it was time—time to write my confession.

  The first attempt bled across the page in trembling lines: "I acted alone, compelled by…"I grimaced. Too pitiful. I crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside.

  The second draft swung too far the other way: "I confess without regret…"No, too proud. Another wasted sheet joined the first.

  By the third, I realized I was arguing—justifying. But justification was dangerous. It invited questions, suspicions, loose threads. If they pulled at any of them, everything could unravel.

  I needed finality. So that nobody else would get involved.

  Greed. That was safest. Everyone understood greed. Not loyalty, not principle—just selfishness. With this, the trail would end with me.

  Once the words were done, I stared at them until the candle sputtered. Then I folded the parchment crisply, sealed it with a wax drop from the taper, and pressed the ft of my thumb into it. No crest, no mark of any house.

  Then I began a second letter—not for the Inquisitors, but addressed to my family.

  My true family.

  To Lumiere.You were my light when the world felt cold. I always envied how your hope never dimmed, even when mine faltered. If the days ahead keep me from your side, keep that warmth safe. You were the gentlest home I ever found.

  To Seraphine.You were my crity. Sharp when I dulled, honest when I hid, unflinching when I wavered. If I disappear, remember this: every time you dragged me back to the truth, you saved me. Do not soften that edge for anyone.

  To Evelyn.You were my steady ground. I could lean on you without fear of falling. Even if I am reduced to ink and paper, I will remember the sound of your ughter cutting through the dark. I hope your new world treats you kinder than the old one did.

  To Rocher.You were my shield when I had none. Brave, stubborn, infuriating—and kinder than you know. Whatever happens next, know this: your faith in me gave me courage. Even now, it steadies my hands.

  When the ink dried, I set the pen aside and held both letters. The cold confession. The warm farewells.

  The weight of the pages felt absurdly heavy in my palms.

  I stared at them for a long time. My mistakes, my gratitude—id bare on parchment.

  If an Inquisitor came for me tomorrow, this was what I wanted them to find. No excuses. No resistance. Just the record of my crime, and the testament of my love.

  I closed the drawer softly. For the first time in weeks, I felt at peace.