Cherry didn’t respond immediately. She kept her eyes on Damon for a few seconds, assessing whether he was truly willing to get involved at that level or if it was just a momentary reaction to what he’d heard. There was no hesitation in him. That became clear too quickly to ignore. His posture had already changed; his gaze was no longer that of someone merely listening to information—it was that of someone who had already made a decision and was just waiting for the necessary details to act.

Damon exhaled slowly, controlled, and ran a hand over his chin, still slightly damp from his recent shower. He didn’t seem irritated in the usual sense. There was no emotional outburst, no raised voice. But there was something more dangerous there. Focus.

"Give me the location," he said, directly, without beating around the bush. "Distribution or production. It doesn’t matter. I’ll go there and stage an intervention."

Cherry crossed her arms again, this time more firmly, as if mentally organizing what she could or could not give. She wasn’t dealing with someone who needed convincing. She was dealing with someone who needed precise guidance.

"Not yet in production," she replied bluntly. "We haven’t been able to trace the origin. Whoever is behind this knows how to hide it very well."

She took a sideways step, approaching a small table and pulling out a partially marked map. It wasn’t decorative. It was functional. Used.

"But I have three confirmed distribution points."

Damon didn’t move from his chair, but his eyes followed her every move with absolute attention.

Cherry placed the map on the table and pointed.

"One here," she said, marking a denser area of ​​the city. "Low-lying area. Constant movement. Easy to mix product with other things."

She slid her finger to another point.

"The second is further away. Abandoned warehouses. Fewer people, more control. Probably used for intermediate stock."

And then the third.

"And this one here," she said, her tone slightly more serious. "This is the most recent one. Still relatively quiet, but... growing too fast."

Damon analyzed the points silently for a few seconds. He didn’t ask any immediate questions. He didn’t need to. He was organizing his approach.

Cherry continued, before he could speak.

"I’m exposing myself just by giving you this," she said, without dramatizing, simply stating a fact. "Whoever is behind this isn’t small-time. They’re not amateurs. And they clearly don’t like interference."

Damon finally stood up.

Slowly.

Without rushing.

He approached the table and looked at the map more closely, memorizing each location without needing to touch it.

"Did you know about this before you saw me?" he asked.

Cherry didn’t hesitate.

"Partly," she replied. "But not all of it. Some things only started to connect today."

Damon nodded slightly.

That made sense.

He remained silent for a few more seconds, staring at the marked points as if he were already mentally executing each movement.

Cherry then finished, her tone lower now:

"I’m in danger getting involved in this."

It wasn’t a cry for help.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was a fact.

Damon looked away from the map and faced her again.

"Why get involved then?" he asked.

Cherry didn’t hesitate to answer.

"Because there’s one thing I can’t stand," she said directly. "Drugs."

A short pause.

"Money, power, influence... all that can be negotiated. You can control it. You can use it."

She tilted her head slightly.

"But this can’t."

Her gaze hardened.

"It destroys everything indiscriminately. And I’m not going to let it grow within my area."

Damon observed her for a second.

Without judgment. Without explicit approval.

But understanding.

He then looked back at the map.

"...I’ll take care of this," he said.

Without emphasis.

Without exaggerated promises.

Just a statement of fact.

Cherry didn’t respond immediately.

But her gaze fixed on him again, trying to gauge how far this would go.

Damon continued:

"I was going after her anyway," he said, clearly referring to the Duchess. "But this..."

He paused briefly.

"...this just accelerates it."

Cherry crossed her arms again, leaning against the wall once more.

"You’re talking like it’s simple," she said.

Damon didn’t look at her this time.

"It’s not simple," he replied.

Another pause.

"But it’s not complicated either."

This made Cherry let out a small sigh through her nose.

"That confidence of yours is going to kill you one day," she muttered.

Damon finally looked at her again.

"It’s not confidence," he said.

Short.

Straight.

"It’s ability."

The silence that followed was heavy.

But not uncomfortable.

It was the kind of silence that appears when two people understand exactly what is being said—even without needing to elaborate.

Damon then took a step back, moving away from the table.

"She spoke of Mirath," he said, his tone shifting slightly, becoming colder. "Said she could dominate."

Cherry observed the change.

And realized.

This wasn’t just a strategic problem.

It was personal.

"...it affected you," she said.

Damon didn’t deny it.

"It crossed the line," he replied.

Without raising his voice.

But with enough weight to make it clear that this was non-negotiable.

Cherry nodded slowly.

"I understand."

And she truly did understand.

Power could be contested.

Territory could be negotiated.

But certain statements...

No.

"Even so," she continued, now more firmly, "caution."

Damon didn’t respond immediately.

Cherry uncrossed her arms and took a step forward.

"These points don’t exist in isolation," she said. "They’re part of something bigger. Going in and smashing everything might solve the immediate..."

A pause.

"...but it might also alert whoever is behind it."

Damon listened.

But his expression didn’t change.

Cherry continued:

"If you really want to get to her, you might need to go beyond just destroying things."

Silence.

Damon absorbed that for a few seconds.

He didn’t reject it.

But he didn’t agree immediately either.

"...I’ll see when I get there," he said finally.

It wasn’t recklessness.

It was pragmatism.

Cherry exhaled slowly.

"Of course you will."

Damon then turned slightly, preparing to leave.

But before—

"...which of the three is the most active?" he asked.

Cherry answered without hesitation:

"The first one. Low zone."

Damon nodded.

Decision made.

He began walking towards the door.

Without haste.

Without tension.

But with absolute direction.

Cherry watched him approach, her eyes following his every movement.

"Damon."

He stopped.

But didn’t turn completely.

"If this escalates..."

She paused.

"...you’ll be alone."

Damon answered without looking at her:

"I already am."

And then he left.

Without looking back.

Without waiting for an answer.

The door closed behind him with a dry sound.

Cherry remained motionless for a few seconds.

Her gaze still on the door.

Thinking. Calculating.

And, for the first time since the beginning of the conversation—

There was a real trace of concern there.

Because now—

It wasn’t just information anymore.

It was movement.

And when Damon moved—

Things didn’t go back to normal afterward.

...

The room was silent, but not calm.

Elizabeth stood before the high window, her eyes fixed on the dark exterior, where the distant lights of Mirath sketched a living, but vulnerable, city. The night breeze moved the curtains slightly, but she didn’t move. Her posture was rigid, controlled, like someone who was already processing too many problems at once and refused to yield even an inch.

She didn’t turn her face when she spoke.

"What happened?"

The question had no inflection. It wasn’t curiosity. It was a demand.

For a second, she didn’t answer.

Then—

The shadows in the corner of the room moved. Not dramatically.

Nor flashy.

They simply... reorganized themselves.

And from within them, a figure emerged.

The dark elf stepped forward, silent, as if she had never truly left that space. Her presence was discreet, yet firm, and her eyes carried a weight that hadn’t been there before.

"Mistress," she said, bowing her head slightly in respect.

Elizabeth didn’t respond immediately. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Still looking out.

Waiting.

The elf understood.

"...the situation has changed," she continued carefully. "And not for the better."

A brief pause.

"Several factions have begun to move simultaneously."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes slightly.

Still without turning her face.

"Be specific."

The elf took a deep breath once.

"Swords are being pointed at Mirath."

Silence.

Heavy.

Dense.

Now Elizabeth turned her face away.

Slowly.

Her eyes met the elf’s, and there was something there that wasn’t surprising.

It was confirmation.

"...how many?" she asked.

"More than expected," the elf replied. "And more organized than before."

Elizabeth let out a low sigh.

Annoyed.

Controlled.

"...as if the royal family trying to force that ridiculous marriage wasn’t enough," she murmured, more to herself than to the other. "Now this."

She looked away, slowly running a hand through her hair, organizing her thoughts with almost cold precision.

"Who."

The elf answered without hesitation.

"Independent merchants, some smaller houses... and two groups that don’t expose themselves directly."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes.

"Cowards."

"Pragmatic," the elf corrected, without disrespect, just factual.

Elizabeth let out a soft sound through her nose.

No humor.

"It’s all the same."

She moved away from the window, walking a few steps across the room. Each movement was measured, without waste, like someone already devising a plan while still listening to the problem.

"Reason."

The elf paused for half a second.

"...Mirath."

Elizabeth stopped.

"Obviously."

Another pause.

"Be more useful."

The elf nodded slightly.

"It’s the only city that doesn’t follow the pattern."

This made Elizabeth look at her again.

Now with more attention.

"Continue."

"Complete abolition of slavery," said the elf. "Strict internal control. Presence of non-human races in significant numbers."

She paused briefly.

"...including elves."

Silence.

This time—

Heavier.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a second.

Just one.

And when she opened them—

There was something different there.

Colder.

More direct.

"Of course," she murmured. "It was only a matter of time."

She walked to the nearby table, placing her hands on the surface, leaning slightly forward.

"They don’t accept exceptions."

"No," the elf confirmed.

Elizabeth exhaled slowly.

"...write them all down."

The elf blinked once.

"Master?"

"Everything," Elizabeth repeated, now more firmly. "Names. Routes. Contacts. Funding. I want every piece."

The elf hesitated.

Slightly.

"...this will take time."

Elizabeth looked up.

Cold.

Direct.

"Then begin." Silence.

The elf didn’t move immediately.

And that—

It drew attention.

Elizabeth noticed.

"...there’s more," she said, narrowing her eyes.

The elf took a deep breath.

"...this is no small matter."

Elizabeth didn’t answer.

She waited.

"If you move now," the elf continued carefully, "you’ll draw direct attention. And not just from those factions."

A pause.

"From the crown as well."

Silence.

Elizabeth stared at her.

For a few seconds.

Long seconds.

And then—

She straightened up.

Her posture changed.

No longer analyzing.

Deciding.

"And?"

The elf frowned slightly.

"...mistress, perhaps it’s best to proceed with caution—"

"No."

The word cut through the air.

Simple.

Definitive.

The elf fell silent.

Elizabeth took a step forward.

Her presence shifted with it.

It was no longer just control.

It was... positioning.

"Mirath is the only city that abolished slavery," she said, her voice low but firm enough to not allow interruptions. "The only one."

She took another step.

"It’s the only place where elves can still exist."

Another step.

Closer.

"Even if they hide their ears with magic."

The elf lowered her gaze slightly.

She knew.

She felt it.

Elizabeth continued.

"It’s the closest thing to home there is."

A pause.

Short.

But charged.

"...since the World Tree was felled."

Silence.

Heavy.

The elf closed her eyes for a moment.

Respect.

Pain.

Memory.

When she opened them again, Elizabeth was still looking at her.

And now—

There was no room for discussion.

"You want caution," said Elizabeth, lower now.

The elf nodded slightly.

"...yes."

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly.

"I want results."

Silence.

"Go," she ordered.

The elf didn’t move yet.

Waiting.

More instructions.

Elizabeth didn’t disappoint.

"Start by buying every elven slave you can find."

The elf blinked.

Minimal surprise.

But present.

"...all of them?"

"All of them," confirmed Elizabeth. "No matter the price."

She resumed walking, already reorganizing the plan as she spoke.

"Use intermediaries. Safe routes. Leave no direct tracks."

The elf nodded.

Memorizing.

"And prepare them."

Elizabeth stopped again.

Turning.

"...prepare?"

"To get out of where they are," Elizabeth replied. "And to where they’re going."

Silence.

The elf understood.

It wasn’t just rescue.

It was strategic movement.

"Understood," she said.

Elizabeth held her gaze for another second.

And then she finished:

"I will begin the plan."

The elf took a deep breath.

"...alone?"

Elizabeth didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

Silence.

The elf clearly wanted to say something.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew—

It wouldn’t make a difference.

"...as you wish, mistress."

She took a step back.

And then—

The shadows enveloped her again.

No spectacle.

No sound.

Disappearing as if she had never been there.

The room returned to silence.

But not the same silence.

Elizabeth remained standing.

Momentary for a few seconds.

Looking at the empty space where the elf had been.

And then—

She turned back to the window.

Mirath was still out there.

Alive.

Ignorant.

Still. "...try it," she murmured, almost inaudibly.